Generations Cafe (Amy Johnson Crow): Week 14 Favorite Recipe
I believe it was in middle school that I got the flu or a very bad cold forcing me to stay home for a week. As I mended, I became very bored and decided to organize my mother’s recipes that were written on pieces of paper or index cards. Some were written in my grandmother’s handwriting. I put them into a black 3-ring binder, a small 5×7 one, nothing huge. I do not know if my mother appreciated this but I can still see the binder and a recipe for rum balls written by either my mother or my grandmother in my memories. This is the recipe I will share below. Every Christmas my mother would make rum balls and other cookie recipes. When my mother died, I did not know this little black book would be important to me some day so I didn’t take it and I am sure it ended up in garbage. In the moment of grief, it is difficult to identify what will become important years from now.
My mother’s side of the family was overtly British in terms of food. My cousin would make Yorkshire pudding at Christmas and my mother would set aflame the English Christmas pudding with hard sauce on the side. My great-aunt would have a huge party on New Year’s Day with so much food and conversation. As a child, I was extremely bored and sick from the cigarette smoke. The meal was always a huge ham and scalloped potatoes. Tables were set up everywhere – in hallways, and in bedrooms – there was that many people. I am sure I missed the opportunity to meet great-aunts and uncles from Britain. I gaze at photos from then trying to figure out who was who. I am not sure my grandmother’s Sunday roasts were not overcooked but the meal was always filled with the love of family. There are photos of adults sitting in my grandmother’s flower-filled backyard at tables with a kiddy pool underneath for their feet for the cooling effect. This side of the family equated food with love. I still have my mother’s vintage 1954 Betty Crocker cookbook, most likely her first cookbook after marriage.
My father’s side of the family was influenced by his mother’s Norwegian roots. Everything about this side of the family, the maternal Norwegian and the paternal Irish, is overshadowed by the opinion of my parents. With genealogy, I have tried to wipe the slate clean and start afresh and develop my own opinion. My father always said his mother was a terrible cook and until he married my mother, he didn’t know a decently cooked, very rare steak. My paternal grandmother did not have a cookbook except many free government or company how-to’s and educational pamphlets. She wanted to be educated in how to be the best wife and mother to her family. There are many photos of her entertaining friends and family at their home but food appears to be lacking. On Easter, we would go their home to have an “Easter egg hunt” and lunch. Lunch consisted of canned Vienna sausages, canned ham spread, and saltine crackers. I don’t think she enjoyed cooking but she enjoyed having us there. Instead of the negativity surrounding the meal, we could have brought something but this is the past. As Goethe says, “Nothing is worth more than this day. You cannot relive yesterday. Tomorrow is still beyond your reach.”
I wonder what my children will remember of our celebrations and every day meals. Will they remember the walk-around waffles, special birthday cakes, and the holiday celebrations? And of their memories, which will they choose to pass down their families? It was difficult to decide which of my memories to share here because with each moment, a new memory arises, just like ants at a picnic.