My son came over for dinner last night. And, as all of you who are mothers to sons know, no matter how big they get, they’ll always regress to little boys when they come to see you. Now, my son is anything but little. He’s 6’3″, and a head turner. Really darned handsome if I say so. However, there’s nothing turning his head when he’s at my dinner table.

“You are an amazing cook!” he says, (which means more coming from him than ALMOST anyone,) “you make the best comfort food, but it always has a twist; always. And it’s a good twist!”

And so the genre is born.

He’s in the midst of relocating to another home. The furniture is in a storage unit which means he brings his laundry over once a week until the condo is ready. And good thing, too. Since he was 4 he always wears one sock right, and the other inside out, so this is my chance to create a little order for him. It’s enough to charm your socks …. wait. That one’s been used. Anyway, it fuels my motherly hormones and makes me kinda hum for the rest of the evening.

“So, what are you in the mood for?” I asked, knowing he’d never settle for the leftover vegetable stew I had.

“Well, something with meat, and well, a lot of it.” He grinned.

Ah, I love boys.

And so it continued. Me, chopping, searing, braising, marinating and steaming, (and grinning I might add,) and my son sorting the coloreds from the whites, waiting patiently for his meaty, twisty, comforting meal.