The Angry Gourmet

I have vivid memories of my mother pounding chicken breasts with a tenderizing hammer on a wooden cutting board. She did this when making chicken Kiev. The cutting board was quite solid and raised up on four feet. The hammering was SO LOUD, forty years of frustration and anger built into each slam. I'd hear the pounding from downstairs while I was trying to concentrate on my homework. She made special gourmet meals for her husband, my step-father, who spent his days in NYC before returning on the commuter rail to the leafy dull suburbs. They would eat together alone after 7 PM. We kids were served a meal at 5 PM made by our nanny Jean Seale who cooked lentils and rice or open-face grilled-cheese sandwiches. My mother always wanted "honeymoon" time with my step-father even on family vacations. We were allowed to say hello during their dinner, but my mother was not happy with our presence.