I woke up and made cornmeal porridge!
I haven’t made,or had, it in ages!! I recall watching my mother make porridge for the four of us kids on many occasions—it was easy and it was inexpensive. As a Jamaican breakfast item cornmeal porridge was/is akin to Corn Flakes—always good for you but before “rebranding” (or a form of food gentrification) people didn’t talk about eating it too much.
I recall sneaking finger licks, spoon dips, or foil paper filled pouches of the sweetened condensed milk—the best part of the preparation process. The smell, and taste, of vanilla extract, the powder of freshly ground nutmeg, and that thin little extra outer layer on the nutmeg (even though I thought it to be bitter and disgusting) all were mixing together in the pot—it was part of the experience.
I’ve now lived longer than my mother was on this Earth—she died at 36. I’ve surpassed many educational (she never completed high school) and economic milestones my mother would have imagined for herself and honestly for her children—yes, America was to provide better opportunities than Jamaica…but she understood the challenges of being Black in America. I am deeply thankful that my mother gave me what I needed…which was not more than what she had and somehow that was just enough.
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It feels like home.
