You know when you are asked to answer a security question for a log in system on your computer and one of the options is “Name of your childhood best friend?” What’s so very cool is when the answer is the same name for 40 years. I have one of those friends, and we went to visit her last weekend.

In fact, it has become our family tradition to pick up our daughter from school the minute it lets out for the summer and head west to LA for a mini-vacation and time well spent with someone to whom we all consider kin. Lucky for me, her mom currently resides with her!  Let the spoiling begin!!

I phoned a few days before we left and talked with ‘the mom.’ I jokingly requested dinner be ready upon our arrival. God love ‘er, she took me seriously and started rattling off menu ideas: fried chicken, lasagna, steaks or chops, “whatever you want, honey.” Knowing my family the way I do and considering that no good food is ingested on a road trip, I asked for soup. Go figure! She made a glorious beef vegetable.

My best friend and I grew up just down the street from each other and our families cooked in a very similar fashion, which is largely due to that farm to table thing that was an everyday element in my hometown. Talk about tapping into the childhood memories. We both had a complete set of barnyard animals, a humungous vegetable garden, apple trees, cattle, pigs and fishing poles. Wild blackberry and raspberry bushes sprouted up like kudzu all over the Valley.

My friend and I did summer sleepovers all the time. In order to spare our parents the sleepless nights caused by giggling girls, we’d pitch a tent in the backyard or set up house in the hayloft.  Even though we lay awake deep into the dark night, sleeping in was never an option. But, we didn’t really care once we smelled the side pork frying and knew that blackberry pancakes were on the griddle.

Childhood food memories are made even more memorable when they can be recreated. Last weekend, the side pork was substituted with bacon, but we did walk across to the neighbors and filled a few buckets with blackberries… those pancakes were just a little bit of heaven for all of us!

I began this bit of a story with a description of my most dear and lasting friendship which then evolved into a depiction of the very special relationship that I have with her mother.  Childhood moms rock, especially when they make you feel at home and cook for you with love.