When I was younger, Sundays were always the day my dad cooked. Mom made the quick weekday meals, but Dad always made the simmering pots of soup or meaty crocks of chili or bubbling cheesy casseroles—the mainstays of our Sunday family dinners.
His preparations would start after church. Dad might cut up a chicken, toss it and a few vegetables into a large pot of water, and let it simmer away to make stock for homemade chicken and dumplings or a tasty chicken noodle soup. Sometimes he would set a large pot of tomato sauce and basil on the back burner and let it cook for hours. It was delicious on an oversize bowl of homemade pasta. The enticing smell would fill the house all afternoon.
Back in those days, we kids would leave the housetoward the river. My parents had bought an old wooden toboggan, and we would cram as many kids as we could on the sled and propel ourselves down the hill, trying to see how far we could go.
