When I was in my twenties, I noticed that my mother was still cooking in pots that she had been using as far back as I could remember. Some of them were missing handles, and I was afraid she would burn herself. So, in what I thought was a good gesture, I bought her a set of new pots and pans with non-stick finishes. I included some non-metal utensils. I was very proud of myself for my generosity.

            It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was much more excited about my purchase than she was. When I pointed out the pot with no handle, she said, “But that is my cream puff pot.” My mother made very, very good cream puffs. Still, I cringed every time I saw her pick up that pot. Despite my warnings, she continued to use the old pots, and she didn’t seem to remember not to use metal utensils on the new ones. It didn’t take long for the non-stick surfaces to get scratched, and she slowly stopped using them.

            I truly did not understand why she loved the old pots until recently. Unlike her, I have taken excellent care of my non-stick pots and pans, but I’ve noticed recently that food has started sticking to my biggest pot. I have also been hearing about the negative health effects of PFA’s or perfluorinated chemicals which were most likely used in the pots I have been cooking in for decades. I guess it is time for me to retire that pot, but all I can think is, “That is my spaghetti sauce pot.” This pot is to me what my mom’s pot was to her. It isn’t just a pot. It is the memories and the flavors of life. It is the concern that what we have been cooking in those pots for years cannot be duplicated in newer ones.

            Someone in my family much wiser than me simply replaced the handles on my mother’s cream puff pot. I think my sister still has it, although I’m not sure how often she uses it. That pot is part of the fabric of our family. I wish I could tell my mom that I finally understand. I am not going to throw away my spaghetti sauce pot just yet. Maybe it can be a decoration for my kitchen. It can be a testament to the love that went into it.