Ch. 4 Mum, where did you learn to cook?
"Madame Solicitor, come back to me. Get your brain out of a brief and talk to me."
"Oh, sorry Ginny. I was thinking of Christmas ninety eight when Molly gave me my first cookbook. I nearly blew that one up for us, and instead, it worked out pretty well."
"I know what you mean. I can make a decent meal, but I love coming to Sunday lunch so I can get Mum's cooking. About the only thing I can cook better than Mom is fresh made bread. She still takes the mickey that I bake a better loaf of bread than she does now. Everything else is hit or miss. Try as I may, I'm still not as good as she is. Thank Goodness Harry can't tell that much difference between her Roast Lamb and mine. There is just something about her cooking that I can't replicate."
"I've tried many a time to make Molly quality meals. I've burned too many meals early on to bother trying more than the simple fair that I make for him. I can roast a chicken in the oven or make a huge bowl of spaghetti bolognaise, even being as ambitious as making pot roast, but the complicated meals that Molly does? I just don't have that gift."
"It's that huge dash of love I throw in when I start cooking," said Molly as she was walking out with platter of roasted Ham. "Honestly, it's not hard, just taste and a feeling. Maybe if you two hadn't hung out in my scullery with your eventual spouses so much during the summer you might have learned more. I know you girls try your best, but I think your mind is more on the kids or your books to spend more than necessary to devote to cooking."
The two best friends blushed while enduring such a back-handed compliment. Trust Molly to boil the whole issue down at once. "Gee, Mum. That's just what we needed to hear. Did you hear that? We were too busy shagging our boyfriends and learning to live instead of learning how to cook. Thanks!"
"You're welcome Ginny. Now, let's get the kids and their Dads here before the ham gets too cold."
Thirty minutes later, the summer table was packed with three generations of Weasley and family. Over the years, the table had been expanded from seating the 9 original ones, to the current 25. Platters of Ham and chicken were the centerpieces, along with roasted turnips, various green salads, candied yams, and other tasty treats. The pumpkin juice flowed, along with butterbeer for the men at the table. Even such, the two youngest wives in the group – namely Ginny and Hermione – were the designated runners for the extras in the house. Pitchers of juice, bowls of salad, and creamed potatoes were added to the table when the first ones were emptied by the ravenous hoards.
Once back, the best friends continued their conversation, working through minutiae of book writing. Hermione had already been published four times over, starting with a new revision of Tales of Beedle the Bard. That first publication, written when she was on healer-ordered bed rest with Rose, put her name back in the media spotlight. Her next three, discussing Elf rights, a collection of children's stories, and finally, a legal trieste dealing with the overhaul of Wizarding Law Enforcement laws, made her a media darling where her work as a Solicitor did not.
"So, Aunt Hermione, why don't we come over to your house for dinner one night this next week? Uncle Ron said that you cook Wednesday nights," intoned Victorie from up the table.
A hush went across from all of the adults at the table. "Mummy, why would they want to come to dinner? The only thing you cook well is pasta," chimed in Hugo, not realizing the temerity of his blatant honesty.
"Mummy, where did you learn to cook?" followed Rose right behind him. "Did you learn from Granny? Granny and Gramma Molly cook better than you do."
The adults at the table sat in silence, wondering whether there would be another meltdown similar to Christmas past. The girls were looking at one another, knowing that they weren't going to discuss the year on the run. They kids weren't old enough for that bit of truth. 'The kids won't understand yet.'
"Well, I spent some time in the kitchen with Granny, and Gramma Molly, and Aunt Fleur and Aunt Ginny. Most of the time I had my nose in a book rather than over a stove top. Once I left Hogwarts, I was working full time and studying at night at Oxford. Daddy was working also for Uncle George, and going through the Auror Academy. Neither one of us had much spare time to learn how to cook. Your Gramma Molly was a life saver many a night for us, keeping us fed when neither of us had time or money to get take away from Auntie Hannah at the Leaky Cauldron."
She took a sip of water to temper her words.
"So, unfortunately, about all I do well is pasta and other simple fare. Your Gramma Molly is such a master in the kitchen that the rest of us pale in comparison to her skills. Isn't that right, Aunt Ginny?"
Hermione glanced at Ginny across the table from her, hoping that explanation would suffice for the kids at the table. Ginny picked up where Hermione left off, talking about her five seasons with the Harpies that kept her away from the kitchen most of the time.
Hermione then stole a glance at her husband, further up the table, sitting next to Harry. A smile and wink would have to suffice for the time being, at least until they were behind closed doors.
"So if your mum will allow, you can come Wednesday night for dinner. It might be a salad and spaghetti, but you're welcome for it. Maybe Aunt Ginny can send over some Italian bread for us too."
Victorie looked down at her plate of tossed greens, slices of roast ham, and a mouth-watering chocolate torte sitting in front of her, and smiled. "Merci, Aunt 'ermione. Mere is making Ratatouille for dinner Wednesday night. Maybe next time?"
Hermione smiled, knowing that Victorie loathed her mother's cooking as much as her own. 'She's a silly girl,' thought Hermione over her own salad. 'She loves Gramma Molly's cooking like the rest of the Weasley clan does. It must be that huge dose of magical loving she spoons over everything.'
Ron started gesticulating with his fork and a pile of potatoes on it. "Maybe Mum could – "
He accidently flung the creamed potatoes on his fork, hitting Fleur right on the chin. Gravy and butter landed on her blouse.
Hermione laughed while her husband turned a fabulous shade of fuchsia. Many a face was in shock, including all the kids.
Before she could blink, a spoonful of mashed turnips hit her husband in the face.
And that was how the first and only time a food fight broke out at a Weasley family brunch.