A Special Treat, A Bit of Sophia
- thepadol2
- May 1
- 19 min read
Updated: 7 days ago
It was a long time ago, and as they say, the memory is like yesterday. Like most other kids I was picky in what I ate but Mom never made a fuss about it. I had my go to staple foods that I enjoyed. Whether it was good for my health was never part of the picture, not quite like today, when in an age anything you touch becomes an overwhelming concern on the number of years it shaves off. Still, while growing up with regular and predictable lunches, dinners, breakfast, snacks, late night bites, and whatever else fancies a kid, there were special moments.
T-Minus 30 Days (Inception)
While I wasn’t being asked, it was just normal that I would listen to what Mom and Dad discussed as they planned a dinner party. It didn’t happen frequently or was even a regular opportunity but there were occasions during the year. I typically sensed that these dinner parties were a part of a hospitality custom for embassy and FAO staff, and in some cases visitors from Thailand. They had decided on a date and inevitably it would fall on a Saturday evening. Once decided things moved into high gear. Mom quickly put together a menu for the dinner, and in ways I couldn’t quite fathom, she gave Dad a budget request for the food supplies and any other necessities. There was just the three of us at home, and it wasn’t a large apartment so a dinner invitation to four couples or any combination that would put us at twelve was kind of pushing it for space. The upper limit was set by how many chairs and sofa space could be mustered.
I was excited. I was actually just a tag along, but such dinners brought out a different array of culinary dishes that were fascinating. Some I could eat and enjoy, others simply too complicated for my simple palate. Most certainly it was not a sit down dinner, but buffet style as that was the only way Mom could reasonably manage the event. Even to say reasonable is a major understatement in hindsight.
T-Minus 25 Days
30 days might seem like a long time by today’s standards, but back then making invitations by phone wasn’t exactly simple or immediate, it could take days. If guests were traveling overseas it was even more complicated as getting in touch by mail, as in real letters took time, particularly if it was RSVP. In part it was mitigated because if they were Thai friends, some type of dinner get together would have already been built into their travel dates and plan.
Mom started preparations in earnest although our daily life and routine still had to go on as usual. Mom made breakfast for Dad and me. She made lunch for Dad as he always returned home for lunch and even had a customary siesta before returning to the office. Then it was my early dinner which was late afternoon as I returned from school. Then it was dinner for Dad when he come home for the day. Mom cleaned the home, she did the laundry by hand, everything was ironed. She had to to the dishes and clean the home as well. We had a refrigerator but in 1970 an Italain refrigerator was certainly quite a compact box compared to the typical American Admiral big boy. Didn’t really matter much since daily grocery shopping was the norm with hardly anything ever being frozen, the freezer space was ridiculously small anyways. So Mom, every day, with the exception of weekends, would walk the neighborhood to your vegetables/fruit place, the butcher, the bakery, and of course a caffe at the bar (cafe). All on foot with an increasing number of bags. Mom never went for the typical Italian grocery trolley, I suppose she was vain enough about her looks.
T-Minus 14 Days
What she needed to get for this dinner party was going to require Dad’s help because of the sheer volume and weight which was beyond her capacity to carry on foot. So two weeks prior, Dad would drive for Mom to get the non-perishable goods and groceries that didn’t need immediate refrigeration. It wasn’t a particularly large apartment so Mom never really stocked any significant amount of any thing. FAO had a commissary and while to me it didn’t feel extraordinary in reality in Italy supermarkets were just in their infancy. She went to get a couple of imported items and the Planter’s salted peanuts were irresistible.
Then there was the trip to the local market at Testaccio near home for rice. It was a small shop next to the shoe store and wasn’t really beckoning in my view. It was more like a warehouse with all its large cloth tarp bags filled to the brim with various grain type goods. In a time when packaged grain wasn’t a thing, whatever you wanted you had to get by weight. So while you got to pick and choose by actually seeing the grain, you only got what the grain seller had available. I’m sure these shops and the rice grains were available in different grocery stores but Mom went only to this one having known by experience that she could get what she needed. Specifically it was a type of long grain rice that was suitable for her Thai dishes and would go well with visiting Thai folks. Ethnic markets were unheard of then. Maybe the exception was the Chinese community which was in its early stages for Rome.
T-Minus 1 Day The Friday
Friday was the day at the butcher. Actually Mom went the day before to lay out what she wanted. Friday she went and made her final choices. I never saw her use a recipe book or for that matter any written notes. She did the best with what she had on hand. Friday was critical because she had to refrigerate everything for a night and every inch of the refrigerator had to be optimized. It was a combination of beef, pork, and poultry. She stuck with the cuts that she could manage without any extensive or complicated preparations although Thai dishes did require a lot of preparatory work in general. By the time Friday evening arrived she had already started preparing for the various dishes.
Mom early 70s and Sophia Loren in "Un giorno indimenticabile" - a typical kitchen of the 50s and 60s, the kind of kitchen Mom managed.
On a daily basis Mom spent an inordinate amount of time in the kitchen. To call it a kitchen is probably a stretch in modern terms. It probably wasn’t larger than 9 sqm, 3 meters by 3 meters at best. The refrigerator was in different room. There was a small four burner gas stove, a marble kitchen top, and wash sink with no running hot water. There were no cabinetry, just some open shelves. If you didn’t know it just looked chaotic but that’s what happens when space is limited and you make do, who cares if it doesn’t look nice, it just needs to work. For this dinner Mom didn’t complain or maybe there just wasn’t anyone who could listen or offer a help, so she just went with the cards she had. The hallway between the kitchen and so called pantry, already fairly small became cramped as Mom piled the bags of groceries she had collected. What still amazes me today is that feeding three mouths everyday had a number of pots, pans, dishes, and cutleries, but to provide for twelve required quite a bit more. Plates for twelve wasn’t a showstopper in terms of storage space, but the number of pots and pans, serving plates, and kitchen utensils went well beyond the normal. I don't know how they magically appeared. When I poked my nose into the kitchen there were literally things everywhere. It was like Mom was an octopus as she was moving from one spot to the next as she was preparing or cooking.
With Thai folks among the invited guests, Mom inevitably selected the Thai dishes she could manage. Sounds straight forward, but hardly. Thai recipes are already complicated by definition, but they do use quite a few more ingredients that aren’t part of western dishes which means following them to the T was literally impossible. After years of living abroad with non existent Asian markets, Mom must have developed her own set of unique solutions. What she had figured out was that for every Thai dish she had a pretty good memory in the taste and fragrance she wanted. To that she had the knack to figure if more sugar, salt, chili, bitter, and any other assortment of typical Thai tastes needed to be balanced out, and which western ingredient could produce them as a simple substitute.
Moo Palo and Beef Massaman curry
Kai Palo (egg stew) or Moo Palo (pork stew) , was almost a certainty as one of the dishes. It was easy to tell. The dish called for hard boiled eggs and she would prepare them on Friday and then add them to the stew of pork belly that was in a broth of Thai/Chinese dark sauces providing a mix of sweetness and saltiness. She would let it sit overnight so that the stew broth would be absorbed the eggs to render them brown in appearance. Twelve people met at least two dozen eggs and if you think about it, boiling them requires quite a big pot to hold them all. A dish to be savoured with a portion of steamed white rice. Definitely a winner at these dinner occasions and easy for me as it wasn’t spicy.
Another delight was Kanom Pang Na Moo or Thai pork toast, a tasty appetizer. For me it was a treat I could have eaten a whole mountain, or maybe as quickly as Mom could make them. Typically they are fried as customers order them, but Mom had to have them done before the guests arrived and being deep fried that probably posed a challenge As a I kid it wasn’t a problem I was concerned, hot or cold to me they were fine. Still when they were served to the guest Mom must have found a way to quickly heat them without an oven, without a microwave, or any modern helper. I supposed it was a frying pan and being a gas stove Mom could control the heat almost instantaneously to her satisfaction. So it was these as a Thai appetizer together with traditional salted roasted peanuts and potato chips. Sometimes there would be prawn crackers which would be sourced from what she had shipped before while on home leave, a sign of forward planning. Thai guests would always be amazed as prawn crackers were simply not exepected.
While Mom did well enough with pasta dishes, she avoided any spaghetti as precooking them didn’t render them justice. What she did do was to pick some things from the rosticceria which in those days made roast chicken that you could smell the aroma a mile away. She also made sure she could get some porchetta. The chicken skin was always nice and crisp, perhaps with some hint of some burnt spots. This was perfect as it was close to what typical Thai grilled chicken from the Isaan region was like, something people always had close to their heart to remind them of home. Out came the heavy meat cleaver as she had to divide the chicken in Thai style for typical servings. While Thai grilled chicken goes hand in hand with sticky rice, Mom knew the white rice she had was a convincing substitute with its fragrance when steamed to perfection. None of the guests were about to make any comment on an absent sticky rice given their gracious host. Thai grilled chicken many times is accompanied by grilled pork neck and this wasn’t something that Mom could easily make, so the porchetta became the novel substitute and certainly was enjoyed by the guests. A well chosen porchetta has many different textures and flavours that satisfies everyone. So on one hand guests thought Mom had an open charcoal grill somewhere, and on the other she brought a little of Roman specialities in a Thai rendering to the table.
The Italian versions make a very palatable substitute for Thai grilled chicken and grilled pork
There were other dishes too, but I couldn’t touch them as they had unfamiliar aromas and were heavily spiced to my liking. One was a Thai massan curry, so typical that it was almost a mandatory dish. All in all there were five or six main offerings on the buffet table.
Aside from fresh fruits for dessert, some sweet Thai dessert was probably the icing on the cake for the guests. Mom knew that she could only make certain desserts with the limited ingredients she had as well as the time and kitchen oven. They were, nonetheless, a hit with everyone for the simplicity and reminding them of Thai sweets.
Sangkaya - Thai egg and coconut custard Thai tapioca pudding
As a reflection - Mom never came around as someone passionate about cooking. She never actively sought to tell or teach anyone, although she was willing enough to answer and give her thoughts on how some things would be cooked. She gave more the impression that she cooked out of necessity or responsibility. While all this might be true, I don't think a person is an able cook out of the blue, there has to be some starting point. So I remember that on a particular home leave to Bangkok we visited the home of relatives where she grew up as young girl, and Mom was happy to see the family's cook. Thai families in the past century, at least in the early decades, of a certain stature, had servants and attendants as well as a family cook with helpers. By the way they conversed one could only sense that there was warmth and so Mom must have spent time close to the kitchen and she would have actively helped. She never talked about it to me, but it makes sense where or how she would have learned "secrets".
The Saturday
While Mom was busy in the kitchen, Dad on the Saturday morning started to prepare the dining and living room space. Every unnecessary object, books, paraphernalia were simply shoved to the bedroom. This wasn’t so simple for the various credenzas that had to be repurposed as buffet tables, but that was the exercise. The dining table could be extended and required the insertion of middle section as well as reorienting the table due the increased length. Though liquor and wine wasn’t a thing, he pulled the few liquor bottles out for display and selection. The thing is though, while Dad had decided on the dinner occasion, it was all pretty in the hands of Mom. In all my years I don’t ever recall seeing Dad walk into the kitchen which was just behind the dining room. I suppose he didn’t know what to do and Mom never asked him for any help. I did what I could to help arrange the chairs and sofas so that it all looked orderly. Dad didn’t comment and he didn’t rearrange anything I had touch so I assume it was ok.
On the Hour
Mobile phones didn’t exist and people only used the phones in real necessity. Nonetheless guests showed up at the indicated hour. At some hour in the late afternoon Mom had taken the time to dress and do her makeup so that she could greet the arriving guests. She was the one to open the door and welcome the guests. I was there to take their coats, hats, and anything else. It was my job to take them to the bedroom which had become the assigned cloak room although nothing was hung. Dad would be in the dining and living room to greet the guests from Mom as she now had to concentrate on the welcome drinks.
The show was on. Mom was like a master juggler as she really had to multiask without making any of the guests uncomfortable. Entertaining guests as in having a conversation is the simple definition. The art of entertaining is a completely different matter. I’m sure Mom was never schooled or trained to be the ultimate host, but I dare say she was second to no one. However the conversation started, it was never about her or us, just the guest. Sounds easy, just ask a question to the guest so they have the opportunity to respond. Sure, but Mom knew how to really make this work. If it was someone she had met before, she would remember aspects their family, background, interests, and maybe things they particularly like. If it was someone knew, no problem, it was just a new entry in her memory. Past the customary niceties on weather, she would start a question that somehow required some emotional response rather than just a simple yes or no. That provided an opening for her to elaborate for more causing the person to be even more involved. People generally like to be asked about themselves. Makes them feel important, visible. Mom was also attuned to not leave anyone out. She might even extend a question to a second person if they seem to be eager to be involved. In other moments someone who was listening would interject their own comment or question. Either way it was an opening for Mom to pivot to a different person. As the only kid at the dinner there wasn’t much for me to other than to simply observe and listen.
Mom at the corner of our street. A compliment she always appreciated.
The 1 Second of Time that Stays with You Forever
That Mom was a master conversationalist was quite evident but she was also at an advantage given other qualities she had as well. Though I can only be biased for she was my mother, her many qualities were always in play outside the home. Physically she had fine features, light skin tone, well proportioned for her diminutive stature, and she could move with grace effortlessly. Everyone would say she was a beauty. Quite often many would comment by saying she looked like Sophia Loren. Who knows maybe it became a sort of fulfilling prophecy as Mom may have chosen to capture some of Sophia Loren's projected presence. Actually in 1952, maybe against all odds, but I suppose more the case of being in the right place and the right time, she got a small part in Roman Holiday, the classic with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. Shot in Rome, Mom got the part of an Oriental royalty at the reception part by the Princess played by Audrey Hepburn. It only lasted one second and was part of the final edit. That is all it took and now she is there forever for future generations.
Few probably noticed but she had a very lean foot, ankle, and calf structure which were a great look in high heels affording her some additional height at events. It wasn’t easy as she was constantly dealing with corn on her soles and toes. She never raised her voice, but she knew how to turn a disapproval or anger into something where she was clearly a victim creating a sense of embarassment to the other party. While she was honest, loyal, trustworthy, and with integrity, she was also street smart. It wasn’t beyond her to push boundaries or a slight bending of rules if it was in her family’s interest. This latter part most likely came with her time in Italy and her daily shopping chores. She would work her beauty and charm to gain any advantage in a country where queuing was unheard of, and elbowing was the way to gain attention. Her nonchalance way of doing things so that it was perceived to be an innocent behaviour was something she continued to exploit even in her later years.
I would recall a time when she was a guest at a Thai wedding reception in Bangkok at a 5-star hotel. There was a nice buffet spread and guests had already lined up to take their plates. Mom was in no rush. At one point she got up, and she was always a sight to behold in her exquisite grace, bijoux jewelry dangling, and dark shades, and maybe a touch or tint red hair. She would saunter over to the buffet table, seemingly oblivious to the long queue, and she would charmingly ask for a plate. Given her age and stature, anyone was willing to oblige. With a plate in hand she would then walk to the head of the buffet table, literally the opposite end of the line, and begin to pick what she wanted. Sometimes she would scoop the serving herself, but inevitably others would provide a helping hand. As her plate became more full, someone would come by to offer hand to take it back to her table, which she obviously thanked in the warmest way possible. It wasn’t difficult for people to be enamored by her. She knew very well the liberties she had, whether by age, stature, or presence, and she never felt guilty. Occasionally she might comment in a way that perhaps bordered on the Italian “furbi” in connotative sense of being smart and not taken for a fool. There were two other occasions worth recounting as anecdotes.
It was Good Friday in Rome and so we went to the service at Santa Susanna and Dad had to park on Via Firenze. The only problem was that it wasn’t clearly marked as a parking stall, but Mom convinced him to park there anyways lest we would be late for the service. When we returned there was a parking ticket, and while Dad may have been upset, he probably thought it was just a penance to accept. Mom instead, being street smart, had already noticed that there was a vigile or traffic policeman further down the street and he looked like the one who gave the ticket. In a moment she had brought him to our car and asked about the parking ticket. I sat in the car. Vigile or not they all look a little menacing for a kid. Dad was standing next to Mom but he looked more like an innocent bystander. it wasn’t a long conversation and while I couldn’t hear what was being said, I could see how it was being played out. Mom wasn’t shouting but she was the one talking constantly. The vigile's body language went from authoritative to relax to ultimately being crestfallen. The conversation ended when the parking ticket exchanged hands and was torn up. It didn’t end there as they continued to talk for a couple more minutes and it just looked like a meeting of friends. Somehow Mom had convinced the vigile that this particular ticket wasn’t the right thing considering the family was just attending the Good Friday service. Maybe God wouldn’t appreciate this ticket that punished a good family. There was nothing to be gained but much to lose for the vigile. In an age of paper tickets it was easy to resolve as if the incident never occurred.
The second anecdote was many years later. I was driving Mom to a lunch and it was an unfamiliar location on a main street. I missed the location and given Bangkok’s road layout, it would literally take 2-3 km to circle back to the location and with heavy traffic it was bound to take many minutes. Seeing a lull in traffic I decided to make a U-turn. After the U-turn and heading towards the location, a policeman on a motorcycle went by signaling me to pull over which I did promptly. Now, to picture this clearly – the car wasn’t exactly a limousine, but enough to stand out a little. I was driving, but Mom was seated in the back as she rarely ever sat upfront. From the outside it probably looked like a car with a driver and owner in the back seat. Indeed the policeman didn’t walk up to my window but rather to the rear window. I watched from my side view mirror. All this happened in a matter of moments. As he approached the rear, Mom had begun to roll down her window, and now the policeman could see who was seated in the back. Maybe he wasn’t surprised. He had in his hands the block of note for tickets. He reached the rear door and began to greet Mom in typical deference to a senior citizen. Quite natural. Then I could a very easy movement of Mom’s hand out the window going to the block notes which was in close proximity and her hand placed a nicely folded banknote in the page crease. the policeman was equally quick in adjusting a top page so that the bank note was covered. Little did he know that while I was driving that I was also her son and not a hired hand. Some niceties were exchanged but the policeman was apologetic more than anything else. Till this day I simply do not know how Mom was able to get organized so quickly and that she knew exactly how she wanted it to go. It’s easy to say “tsk, tsk”, but the timing was simply incredible. The policeman hadn’t even yet uttered a single word. Nothing was yet communicated, if indeed there was a problem. Therefore nothing was inferred. While Mom’s movement was clearly deliberate in hindsight, in the moment it could have meant anything since the play had yet to start. Perhaps what was more telling was the policeman’s prompt action.
Back to the dinner. At some point after welcoming everyone, getting hors d’oeurvres served, it was time to get the main dishes for the buffet to be ready. Nothing was to be served cold, but how could one person get five mains hot, placed in serving, and then setup. It wasn’t unusual for one of the lady guests to volunteer to help which Mom never really declined. It also served another purpose. As this person ventured into the kitchen she could see what was prepared and the aromas hit their mark squarely. This person would then comment to the other guests that they were in for a treat as the servings were place on the buffet table. Setting up guest expectations was a neat trick. As a buffet guests sat anywhere they wanted, they just had to balance their plates. There was constant movement as some finished a helping before others and returned for seconds. Most would have thought that Mom sat and ate among them, but in reality she kept moving back and forth making sure the buffet table remained full as much as possible. Even after dessert, Mom still had to take care of coffee which meant working with the moka maker on the stove. Finally as the dinner rolled to an end Mom relaxed a little although no one hardly ever noticed as she was always smiling and laughing. Dinner closed with caffè which required a bit more work in the kitchen with the moka pot. In time and by experience she had invested in properly sized moka pot so that enough could be brewed. With caffè Mom finally relaxed a little and indeed most were happy to have her lead the conversation. Everyone settled in. Mom smoked her Salems. Dad smoked his brand which I don't really recall but most likely were Marlboros. The other joined in. Sometimes cigars and pipes. I didn't really enjoy this time as the one could literally cut the air that was so dense with smoke. Occasionally there were side conversations but Mom was the center piece and most always circled back to her rather quickly.
Cigarette in her hand
I was there to bring guests their coats as they decided to take leave, doing my best to remember who had what and where in the pile of coats it would be. Once all the goodbyes were done, it was never early in the night but there still things to be done. Mom returned to the kitchen to take care of things that simply couldn’t be left overnight. Dad brought stuff that had ended up in the bedroom back to their original place, but as it was late at night he did so without causing to much noise. The following day, a Sunday, was typically a day of rest, but this time Mom had take care of cleaning the dishes, cutlery, and everything else. No dishwasher and not even running hot water. While she did boil water it was never a really practical solution, just a necessity to clean effectively. Sunday was Sunday and so by 11am we had to leave for Mass followed by lunch. This was routine and hardly ever missed unless there was unusual necessity.
The dinner party was quietly archived and the apartment took on its typical appearance. The kitchen didn't become any simpler. Cooking was a relentless chore by any measure but Mom never seemed to make it look chaotic or that she was stressed. She would always have a cigarette but mostly just light puffs, it was more for the looks, even in the kitchen when no one was watching. And so back in the kitchen she was making my regular meals, snacks, and whatever else struck her fancy that made me smile with expectations.
As a kid, being fed, eating what I fancied, was simply taken for granted. A lesson learned only years later on how that was possible.
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