second serving of Banana pudding

Shields 1
Henry Shields
English 101
Adam Weinstein
September 28, 2007
A second serving of Banana pudding
When food was mentioned for this assignment, banana pudding was the first thought that ran through my head. Ever since I was a little boy I have loved this dessert. Every serving felt like Christmas morning. The experience is euphoric and my obsession for this food is unparallel to anything else. The taste, smell, texture, sight and even the sound of the words “banana pudding” gives me a thrill and happiness that I could only compare to the feeling an alcoholic gets thinking about his next shot. Before you judge and call me crazy for getting all worked up over a dessert, I would like to make one thing clear. “BANANA PUDDING is no ordinary dessert”. In fact it is in a league of its own when it comes to desserts. You see, the banana pudding I am going to tell you about is not your “run of the mill” pudding; it is homemade by my mother, the undisputed greatest cook in the world. My mother has always been the best cook I know. Of course everyone claims their mother’s cooking to be the best, but mine is truly the crème de la crème. From Red beans and rice to Cremebrulee, jambalaya to seven layer dip, fried or baked chicken to Sheppard’s pie, she covers the whole nine yards. But of all her great meals, Banana pudding reigns supreme. It is the best cook in the world’s number one dish. Imagine your greatest feeling, thrill, life achievement, or moment of ecstasy packed into one little bowl of pudding that is all yours for the taking.
At first thought, Banana pudding reminds me of home. I like to remember Sundays because it is the greatest day of the week, the day of rest (a day of rest for me anyhow). I’m lying down in my favorite spot watching my favorite T.V. show without a care in the world. My little sister is gossiping on the phone, my mom is getting things organized, and my dad is usually tending his garden because he is an old man and that is what old men in the south usually do when they are not getting ready to go fishing or hunting the next morning. The day rolls on into the evening which is considered by most people the end of the day. But for me it is just the beginning. It is the beginning of a marathon of consuming the greatest food known to man, my mother’s homemade meals. There are mounds of everything a man could ask for and more. Although my oldest brother and sister have left for college, my mother still cooks enough for six. I think she likes to cook enough food for them because it reminds of her of everyone being home. She has her thoughts, but to me it just means I am blessed enough to get a second or even a third serving if I am hungry enough. Our dinners are usually filled with indifferent conversations between my stern dad and laid back mom, which makes for a comical situation for my sister and I. But for the most part everyone is in a slight comatose state indulging in the miraculous smorgasbord my mother has lain before us. Dinner passes by and I need not say what comes next. My mother excuses herself from the table and replies in her sweet, soft voice, “everyone stay seated, I have a special treat for ya’ll”. Those words hit me like a bolt of lightning every time because I know I am about to enjoy something so remarkable my body begins to lose all ordinary function and falls into a trance. It seems to take hours for my mother to get back to the table. All the while I am preparing myself as if I were about go into to battle. WAITING…WAITING…WAITING… finally she arrives. The dish in my mother’s hand is like the sight of a new puppy with a red bow around his neck being brought in on Christmas morning. My mother lays the dish on the table with some spoons and napkins. The sound of the glass dish makes a thud on the hard wood table, but to me it might as well be angels singing a heavenly tune. Just as I begin to fall deeper and deeper in trance my mother says, “Henry, I forgot the bowls, would you please get them?” I don’t respond, my body has neglected all outside distractions. “Henry!” she says again. “Huh? Ma’am? , I reply in a mumble.
“Would you please get some bowls?”
“Oh, yea sure”
I go to the kitchen in my zombie-like state. I return with the bowls and the Banana pudding catches my eye as soon as I enter the room. I almost want to leave and walk back in again because the first sight of it is so euphoric. But I force myself to take a seat because the only thing in this world better than seeing it, is sitting down and eating it. I give my mom the bowls. She grabs a spoon and dips into the pudding releasing an aroma that is more sweet and satisfying than anything this world has to offer. She scoops up a big heap of it and places it into a bowl. She hands it to my sister. Another big scoop goes to my dad. This is just mental torture. Getting the last bowl of Banana pudding is like getting picked last for dodge ball at recess in lower school; it sucks. Finally, the moment arrives. My bowl is handed to me. My eyes light up and my body tingles. I feel like Indiana Jones who has just discovered the Holy Grail. I lift my spoon and scoop up a bite. The spoon makes its way to my mouth like the movies show the slow motion of football headed for the game winning touchdown. The crowd goes silent. Time and everything else around me stands still. It’s a perfect spiral. A straight shot. Here it comes….. TOUCHDOWN HENRY!!! The crowd goes wild! My body is overwhelmed and all my teammates come and jump on me! Hooray! Way to go! We did it, we won! My mind is frantically celebrating as I go for another bite. BAM! Another touchdown! Touchdown after touchdown, the smooth, rich, and creamy texture with the occasional Nilla wafer smuggled in is ecstasy. It’s like a real life TiVo, I can relive the moment over and over and I am taking full advantage of it. The taste consumes everything; my mouth, tongue, teeth, and even the spoon and bowl. I have scored all the touchdowns I can and I find myself trying to hit the replay button, almost devouring the spoon. The hard metal of the spoon against my teeth is the only thing that stopped me. Suddenly I stop, my body slowly regains conscience. I look up as if I have been lost for days. I have consumed the entire bowl with no recollection of time or action. I regroup and take note of my surroundings. I’m in my dining room that has just transformed back from a 92,000 person stadium where I scored the game winning touchdown. I sit in silence for a while. My body snaps out of its trance. I regain my ability to speak, look over and say the only word that can come to mind, “Thanks” to the undisputed greatest cook in the world.