Restaurant Industry Moms
Stacey Morelos Marin, my mother, ran a food truck with my father when I was a toddler. Until I was 3, they sold burgers and shredded chicken adobo sandwiches out of "Pop's"—named after Pop's Chok'lit Shoppe from Archie Comics.
New Orleans history is overflowing with mamas who taught their children to cook. In the grand tradition of industry moms such as Leah Chase and Ella Brennan, here are some mothers who shared their food with all of us, as told by their children who've worked with them.
Where Y'at: Tell me your mom's name and what she does or did?
Carling Lee Gannon, Miss Shirley's: Shirley Lee, and she does everything: boss lady to the extreme, executive chef, menu creator, runs front of house, kitchen, dumpling maker. [She's a] classic Asian lady—eyes on everything. The only thing she doesn't do is scheduling.
Lisa Mosca, Mosca's Restaurant: Mary Jo Mosca. She still works every night. She probably works more than me—definitely more. She says she's a cook, but she's the chef. Always in the kitchen since she married my dad in '81. She's been cooking since.
Ermias Alemu, Cafe Abyssinia: Ashleach Wako. She used to live in Chicago. She came down here when I opened and helped me every day those first three months. She passed away five years ago.
Quoc "Q" Trieu, Tan Dinh Vietnamese Bistro: Maria Vu, founder and chef. Everyone calls her "Mama." Mostly backside now-she breathes down my neck. Before I even touch a saucepan, I'm doing something wrong. She knows what I'm about to do. I'm blessed to have her.
WYA: What's your favorite food memory of your mother?
CLG: Probably making dumplings at home, when I was little—watching her make dumplings. We had the Metairie restaurant, so I had to work, obviously. But as a little kid, put on top of the dumpling table, sitting by the chopping block, that was where I helped. Growing up, I would forever help make dumplings for next day service. Sometimes I'd be sleepy at school, my teachers would ask why, and my parents didn't know.
LM: My favorite, which still occurs, is her cooking for holidays. Christmas is our favorite holiday, so, being Italian, we always have more food than humanly possible for us to eat. Her cooking alongside my Aunt Mary, who was my dad's sister—two Marys—they'd always cook everything. My other, I grew up at the restaurant, obviously, my dad would take me there after school. I'd sit on a little stool, and she'd test my vocab and help with homework while she was cooking.
EA: Has to be kitfo—her making it for special occasions, eating it together. We always ate it after Easter church—with the family, with everybody. My family still does that. Some people get it medium rare, but we Ethiopians always eat it raw.
QT: She's so tough. She worked [in] a textile factory. Then, after work, I'd help her break down pork, peel carrots, prep bánh mì for [the] neighborhood market. [On] weekends, she'd wake me at 5 a.m. I was 10. We'd load up the truck and sell sandwiches for $1 or $2. My fingers were blistered from chopsticks. It was the '80s. We didn't have tongs or gloves. We've been doing bánh mìs my whole life. Going from that with her hard work to the restaurant is great. She'll outwork most to this day—eight days a week if she could.
WYA: What's your favorite dish your mom makes or made?
CLG: She makes such awesome soups—classic Chinese soup. It's not store bought. It's that sorta herbal apothecary soup. A Chinese vegetable soup, almost like a borscht. I grew up having that in Hong Kong, as well. That's it.
LM: That's not on the menu at the restaurant? Of all time? There's two. An amazing Cornish hen with wild rice. We used to have it on the menu. I'm still like, "Bring it back." She makes that for holidays. My second favorite, which I always beg for on my birthday, is shrimp and eggplant—a casserole.
EA: Besides kitfo? Doro wat. Classic. The whole chicken, she'd cut it into 12 different parts. She'd marinate it with lemon juice then cook it with honey, garlic, ginger, and, of course, berbere. And, of course, the boiled egg in there.
QT: Egyptian spinach soup—in translation—with pork. If I met a girl and wanted to win her parents' heart, this is what I'd cook. Not fancy, but so good. If you make this for someone—game over. They'll love you. It's a classic. [It has] seasonal vegetables—doesn't matter which. She makes it so well. Whenever she does, I ask for a big batch. I break it down to little servings and freeze it. I wouldn't introduce it to all my friends, but it's Vietnamese comfort food.
WYA: Have you ever cooked anything that impressed your mother?
CLG: I have. I can't even remember what it was—something simple like cornbread or corn pudding. Time stopped. Even my friends were like, "Did your mom just give you a compliment?"
LM: Yes. [It's] a weird thing, but she loves it. I make really good white beans—so easy and random, but she always asks for it. And I know how to cook, but that's what she wants. "Lisa, make those white beans." I'm like, "Okay, beans. Sure."
EA: Yeah, she liked when I cooked spaghetti. Spaghetti with ground beef and tomato in it, garlic, and jalapeño. So simple, but she loved it.
QT: Probably only my beef and vegetable misao. She likes when I stir-fry ramen with vegetables and meat. I use Mama noodles. Growing up, I'd take packs to school and sell 'em. She was amazed they went so quick. She doesn't usually like my cooking. She'll even cook her own food at the restaurant—something steamed, never anything with too much oil.
WYA: Describe your mother in one word.
CLG: Lovable.
LM: Loyal.
EA: Teacher.
QT: Terminator.
