Mom's Midas Touch

I was saddled with the important duty of picking up my father at the airport, and in exchange for my efforts Margy and I were invited to my parents' place for dinner.

Or, more accurately, I invited us over for dinner. But there's no need to split hairs here. I delivered said father into the waiting arms of said mother, and she in turn delivered a big bowl of spaghetti with squid to the table.

There's very little Mom can't cook. (Duck comes to mind, but even there I'm not convinced. Every time she made it when I lived with my folks, I'd be eating happily only to hear constant complaints from both of them. Mom: "I don't know why I try to make duck -- this is terrible." Dad: "I told you that you can't cook duck, but you never listen!" My protests always fell on deaf ears.) That said, she has a special rapport with squid and achieves hands-down excellence every time. Those little guys get mouthwateringly tender for her on command.

This sauce was wonderful as usual and tasted vibrantly of squid. Somehow Mom knows how to avoid buying flavorless cephalopods. I don't know her secret, but if she could apply her deft touch to shopping for and cooking a duck, my dad would be most impressed indeed.