Ellie Tonkin (3:26)

When I was in grade school, most kids got the hot lunch for 25 cents a day. I really wanted to be like most kids. I coveted the American chop suey with green Jell O and whipped topping. For dessert, the sloppy joes, the Hungarian goulash. But alas, I couldn't have any of it. Unlike most other kids, unlike most other families in Leominster, Massachusetts, my family kept kosher. So I brought my lunch. My mother made me peanut butter. I mean, my mother made me tuna fish sandwiches and fluffernutters, but mostly tuna. That was before we worried about rationing our intake of mercury contaminated fish. In fact, it was probably before we poisoned the tuna population to such toxic levels. Be that as it shouldn't be. Day after day, I sat in the lunchroom surrounded by the sweet smell of hot franks and beans or whatever was the gourmet offering du jour. And I unwrapped my tuna sandwich. It might not have been so bad. I didn't mind the taste of tuna, but I could not stand mayonnaise. The look of it, the texture, the sliminess. So when I was 12, I finally got up the nerve to ask my mother to please not put mayo in my sandwich. It needs it to hold it together, she said. So I proposed a compromise. How about if you put mayo on the tuna but you don't spread it on the bread? Okay, she said. And I thought we had a deal. The next day I go to school, sit down in the lunchroom, pull out my sandwich, and to my horror, there is mayo slathered all over the bread. I am just livid. I cannot believe she would do this to me. As soon as I get home from school, I confront her. Mom, why was there mayo on the bread of my sandwich? It needs it to hold it together, she says, as if for the first time. But you promised. The sandwich needs it to hold it together. I guess it's what you'd call gaslighting now, but whatever you call it, whatever you call it. I was just devastated that she could be so oblivious or indifferent to the betrayal. I really did and still really do dislike mayonnaise. But it was about more than the sandwich. No matter how loud I hollered, it felt like she had me on mute. At around that time, like every other 12 year old girl I knew, I received a diary for my birthday. I filled page after page with the same three word sentence. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. Now. I grew up in the kind of family where it went without saying that we all loved each other. Literally. No one in my family ever said I love you to anyone else in my family. But we all did, and we still do. And that included my mother and me. But I also really, really hated her with a passion. And it didn't let up. Years later, when I was in my 40s, I was visiting my parents in Leominster. I should mention that for close to 30 years, I was a mediator with the federal government. I tried to help people have hard conversations about environmental disputes. Anyway, on this particular visit to Leominster, my mother asked me a question about myself and I started to answer, but within about two seconds she had drowned me out and was talking about something else. I just erupted in frustration and screamed, you're not listening to me. You never listen to me. I have spent so many decades not being listened to by you that I had to go out and make it my full time job to get people to listen to each other. She let me finish and then without missing a beat, she said, how wonderful I helped you find your career. I used to fantasize about the big blowout scene I'd have with my mother where I'd detail her lifetime of crimes against me. She'd acknowledge what a terrible mother she'd been and beg for my forgiveness. I, of course, would take the high road and tell her not to give it another thought. Needless to say, that conversation never took place. But during the last of my mother's many battles with cancer, I did make my peace with her. And the funny thing is, we didn't have any conversation. I mean, we had lots of conversations, but none of them were about us. They were about her. Potato leek soup recipe, or whether President Bush or that moron, as she referred to him, was taking us into Iraq, or how grateful she felt or lucky she felt that she had such good medical care. I knew she was terrified, but she was determined to maintain her dignity. Every day my father and I were there, and every day she was brave. At least as far back as my school lunchroom days. I've understood the power of listening, but I might have underestimated the power of showing up. I never got the sandwich I asked for, but I always got a sandwich. And it was one that was made to hold together. Thank you.

Chloe Salmon (9:24)

That was Ellie Tonkin. Ellie was a mediator who lived in Brookline, Massachusetts. Unfortunately, she passed away in 2024, a few months after telling this story. She left behind a devoted partner, three siblings, two stepdaughters and countless friends. The thing I love about Ellie's story is how she found a way to embrace her complicated relationship with her mom and tuna fish sandwiches over time. I admire when a person is brave enough to say, look, it's complicated, but let me tell you about it anyway. Because often, as is true in this case, being honest about the messiness is exactly what makes a story echo long after it's told. After the break, two more stories of food gone wrong. Be back in a moment.

Host (10:10)

The Moth is supported by AstraZeneca. AstraZeneca is committed to spreading awareness of a condition called hereditary Transthyroidin mediated Amyloidosis, or hattr. This condition can cause polyneuropathy like nerve pain or numbness, heart failure, or irregular rhythm and gastrointestinal issues. HATTR is often under diagnosed and can be passed down to loved ones. Many of us have stories about family legacies passed down through generations. When I was five, my mother sewed me a classic clown costume, red and yellow with a pointy hat. It's since been worn by my sister, three cousins and four of our children. I'm so happy this piece of my childhood lives on with no end in sight. Genetic conditions like HATTR shouldn't dominate our stories. Thanks to the efforts of AstraZeneca, there are treatment options so more patients can choose the legacies they share. This year, the moth will partner with AstraZeneca to shine a light on the stories of Those living with Hattr. Learn more at www.myattrroadmap.com.

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Chloe Salmon (11:51)

Welcome back. We've got two more stories about food disasters for you, both favorites from the archive. First up is Kayleigh Hudson. She told this at a Denver story slam where the theme of the night was ambition. Here's Kayleigh live at the mall.

Kayleigh Hudson (12:09)

So my mom is a great cook. That was kind of wasted on us as kids when we insisted on a diet of frozen fish sticks, chicken nuggets and peanut butter on taco shells. But as I got older in high school and freshman year of college and I expanded my palate to include vegetables and meat that did not come from a microwave, I realized this woman can cook. And so sophomore year of college, I go back down to school in South Carolina and I move into an apartment with two of my girlfriends I met freshman year. And so we just think like, it's just so cool. Like my first time not living at my parents house or in a dorm and we have a kitchen. And I decide, you know what, I am going to cook a meal for some of our friends that we haven't seen all summer. And I as a welcome back kickoff to sophomore year, I had never cooked a meal before that did not involve boiling water first and pasta and cheese. Those are the only ingredients I really worked with. I was a freshman in college before that. And so I invite them over and I was like, what am I going to make? Okay, well, my mom makes a really one of my favorite things is a London broil. I was like, okay, I'm going to make a London broil. Ok. So I call mom, I need to know exactly how you do this. And she told me and I followed it to a T. Like I invited people over. Like on Saturday night, Friday, it spent all day marinating in the fridge. And then Saturday morning it goes in, you know, it goes in, start cooking all day. And then I like just it cleaned up and I timed I had salad, I had sides, you know, like a green. I googled like I had a green thing and something else too. I'm sure I had a dessert. Like I had everything and I'm just like, all right. Like, yeah, I'm totally my mother's child. Even though I look act talk and everything else. Like my dad, like I got this for my mom. So people come and I time everything to End, like, right as people get there too. So, like, I'm thinking, like, I'm hot stuff right now. So people come over and I'm like, oh, you know, welcome. Oh, you know, I'm just finishing up a few things and I invite them over to come look as I reveal this beautifully cooked London broil, the, like, main entree, and I have them gather around and we go and I pull it out. And in front of us is an uncooked, raw now room temperature slab of meat, not cooked one bit. So we all sit there and we stare for a few seconds. And then finally Caroline, sweet, sweet Caroline says to me as gently as she can, I'm in South Carolina, so I'll put on the accent a little bit as gently as she can to me, well, Kaylee, why did you try to cook it in the drawer? And I tell her very matter of factly, oh, no, that's a broiler. And someone else chimes in, it's like, no, that's just the drawer where you, like, store the pans. And I'm like, oh, okay, I've got some dummies for friends. I'll educate someone else now. No, yeah, you can keep your pans in there when you're not using it as a broiler. Well, eventually I got, you know, there's some education that happens on my part and I learned some ovens. That's just a drawer.

Ellie Tonkin (15:26)

So.

Kayleigh Hudson (15:27)

But in my defense, I grew up my mom's oven, the only one I'd ever really dealt with until this point, you know, that was a broiler. And that's where you put the raw London broil in. You take a cooked one out, like, at the end of the day. So luckily we had just a few days before we had met our cute neighbors. Like, who has cute next door neighbors? Like, sophomore year of college. And so one of them had gone to culinary school. So of course I'm like, I get to go see the cute neighbors. Okay. I have to ask for help, though, in the kitchen. So I walk over there and it's like, oh, hey, I don't remember me. Yeah, my friend tried to make a London broil in our oven and I wasn't paying attention and didn't have a chance to tell her that, like, that's a drawer.

Gabrielle Shea (16:14)

So.

Kayleigh Hudson (16:16)

That didn't hold very long. He was very quickly brought. The truth came out very quickly. But he came over, saved the day. So we had a great little entree of something green, probably broccoli and maybe some celery. Who knows and dessert and everything. And then we had our entree later. He did save the day. And I have maybe tried to cook two real meals since. I'm gonna be real talk right now. This happened, like, 11 years ago, 12 years ago. But also. But you would think the most embarrassing part would be that, like, I spent a whole day, like, I had a whole day where I thought I was cooking a London broil in a drawer. But really, honestly, the part that was the hardest to come clean to my friends about was I told them, like, y' all about halfway through the cook time per, like, hours in per my mom's instructions that I followed, I opened it up and I flipped it over. No idea. Thank you.

Chloe Salmon (17:29)

That was Kaylee Hudson. She works in accounting in Colorado and enjoys spending time with her partner and her dog, playing ultimate Frisbee, and considering the consequences of her Gamecock football devotion. After this story first aired, Kaley's mom called her to say that she was only supposed to broil the meat for four minutes on each side, not hours. Kaley got to put her new knowledge to the test in 2023 when she and her friends decided to give a redemption London royal ago. Eighteen years after that first disastrous attempt, they nailed it. Our next story is from Gabrielle Shea, who told it at a New York City story slam. Here's Gabrielle live at the mosque.

Gabrielle Shea (18:15)

In my teens, you couldn't tell me anything. I swore that I was a chef extraordinaire. Granted, I was cooking for myself and my brother, but up here, my cooking was the bomb. My specialty of choice was baked macaroni and cheese. Now, bear with me as I share this recipe. Step one, pull a box of Mac and cheese out of the cabinet. Step two, cook according to package directions. Step three, place said Mac and cheese in a baking dish and top with an even layer of corn flakes. Now, I'm gonna give you all a moment to clutch your pearls, because I now realize that that is blasphemy. And step four, bake until cornflake topping is golden brown. Now, my black card should have been revoked for that. Okay. In high school, I hung out with friends all the time. I went to one friend's house one afternoon, and her mom had just finished making dinner. She asked me if I wanted some baked Mac and cheese. Now, as a lover of food, I was not going to turn her down. Plus, I wanted to see if her version matched up to mine. So as she plated, I decided to share my recipe. I'm going through it, and I'm a little cocky. A little overly confident, so I can't realize. I can't understand why they're looking at me like I'm crazy. So before I get through it, she shoves a fork full in my mouth. And when I tell you those flavors Explore exploded. I thought to myself, is this real cheese? Cheddar mozzarella. It was so creamy and so smooth. It was truly a life changing experience. So my friend's mom felt pity for me, took me under her wing, and that day taught me how to make real baked macaroni and cheese. Fast forward a few years and I meet this guy, Frank and I dated for a while. It got serious, and he decided that he was going to introduce me to his family. I'd already met his mom and his sister, but there were four other siblings, their significant others, and about 15 plus nieces and nephews. This was a big deal. I was meeting the entire family and I had to make a good impression. Now I'm Caribbean. And when we are invited to someone's home, we cook. We do not do store bought. It's a cultural thing. Cooking is a sign of love. It's a sign of respect. It's like I'm giving a piece of myself to those that I'm feeding. So it's really important to me. And of course, I decided that I was gonna make my new and improved baked macaroni and cheese. Plus, Frank was Irish. So I wanted to show these white folk how black folk throw down in the kitchen. Now, on Thanksgiving, sides are a very, very important part of the meal. Probably the most important part of the meal, sometimes more than a turkey. Mac and cheese is up there with mashed potatoes, collard greens, candied yams. So if you're going to do it, you got to bring it. And I knew I could bring it. So we get to Frank's sister's house and the introductions start. Things are going great. He takes my dish and puts it right by the turkey. People start to eat, and Frank goes right for my Mac and cheese. So I'm watching him across the room and he's eating, but he doesn't look like he enjoys it. I'm a bit confused, kind of offended. He comes over, and before I can even get the question out, he shoves a forkful in my mouth. I start to chew, I start to gag. I feel like I'm about to throw up. But I managed to swallow. And in that moment, I realized, holy crap. I used sweetened condensed milk instead of evaporated milk, which is what the recipe called for. Lesson of the day. Always taste your food before you serve it. Something that I did not do. So I'm mortified. Straight up panic mode. He sees the look on my face and says, babe, I got you. He went and performed some covert black ops extraction mission and got that Mac and cheese off the table without anyone knowing. I was between relief and total embarrassment. Now, I know that they liked me after meeting me, but I guarantee you, if they had tasted my bangin Mac and cheese, they would have loved me. Lucky for me, Frank did not throw in the towel. He invited me to Christmas dinner and I knew I had to redeem myself. So what did I do? I made another batch of baked Mac and cheese, but this time I tasted it to ensure that I used the correct ingredients. We get to his sister's house, another sister, and everyone goes for the Mac and cheese. They are loving it, which I knew they would. One person even says, dang, I can't believe I missed this. On Thanksgiving Day, I give Frank this knowing look because we got this little secret. Frank and I end up getting married, right? He's who I had those three girls with. And 20 years later, my baked Mac and cheese is still the most sought after dish on the family dinner table. Thank you.

Chloe Salmon (25:07)

That was Gabrielle Shea. She's a wife and a mother to three girls, all of whom no doubt love her Mac and cheese. I so felt for Gabrielle when her dreams of Mac and cheese glory were dashed. But I have a sneaking suspicion she redeemed herself later. And now she has a pretty wonderful story to tell about the time it all went wrong. That brings us to the end of our episode. Thank you to our storytellers for sharing with us and to you for listening. From all of us here at the Moth, we hope you'll remember that even if the food goes terribly wrong, at least you'll get a good spirit story out of it. Happy Thanksgiving and we hope you'll join us next time.

Mark Solinger (25:46)

Chloe Salmon is a director at the Moth. Her favorite Moth moments come on show days. When the cardio is done, the house lights go down, and the magic settles in. This episode of the Moth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin, Janess, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Solinger. The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Marina Clouche, Jennifer Hickson, Jordan Cardinale, Caledonia Cairns, Kate Tellers, Suzanne Rust, and Patricia Urenia. The Moth podcast is presented by Odysee. Special thanks to their executive producer, Leah Rhys Dennis. All Moth stories are true, as remembered by their storytellers. For more about our podcast information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website themoth.org.

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