When I was in Tulsa last month,my brother had everyone over for dinner, and it was great. My niece, Teresa, brought THE potato salad, and a spirited discussion was begun on what were the 'appropriate' ingredients for Grandma Alene's potato salad. Which pickles, which potatoes, and oh yeah, the perennial mayo versus Miracle Whip discussion.Teresa, a true purist, insisted that only Idaho potatoes and Heinz Kosher pickles would do. Me? I just use whatever white potatoes are at the store, and for pickles, as long as they don't have spices and crud floating around in the brine, I'm good. We ALL agreed that a Salad Master grinding machine was of paramount importance; a modern food processer is just not gonna do it. ( You can find Salad Masters , sometimes, on Ebay if you are really motivated) We never got around to discussing the proper hamburger mix, but I know that, when company was coming, my Dad would drive into a grocery in town , the name of which I cannot remember, and watch while the butcher ground the beef to his satisfaction.
This discussion put me in mind of just how many, many family get-togethers that I have attended in my young life, and , of course, each and every one was accompanied by some sort of gastronomic episode. That thought led me to another thought: we, in our family, are quite interested in family history and, often, e-mail each other with questions about this or that dead relative. As the train of thought kept chugging through my'station' (that's the way my mind works, one stop, then another; used to worry Daddy, 'Dear, do you find that your mind tends to wander?'). I started thinking that Baker/Britton family recipes were as integral a part of our history as where we lived and died and which dead family member was the craziest. (My money is still on Uncle Commie for that 'award')
For example, when I think of the summers that my family spent in Louisville, I remember Onie and Worden's screened in porch. On that porch, in the heat of the day, my aunt , mother and various cousins and 'aunts' would sit and play canasta until the temperature dropped. While playing, they would drink iced tea out of brightly colored aluminum glasses that Onie had bought from the Meadow Gold milk man when they were full of cottage cheese. With the iced tea, there would be sandwiches of home made cheese spreads. At these times, I felt quite anticipatory for I knew that as soon as Onie decided the temperature had cooled enough (usually, I observed, about the time it looked as though someone else was going to win the card game), we kids would be gathered up and taken over to the swimming pool where we would splash until supper time.
I was never all that crazy about cheese sandwiches, but now, all these years later, at least once during the summer, I will find myself mixing up a batch each of pimento cheese and pineapple cream cheese spread. While this summer, I took those spreads with me on my Reno trip, a lot of times, I won't eat it and will end up giving it away. It's not the eating of the cheese sandwiches, I don't think, as much as it's the memories that come back to me as I'm mixing it up, the conversations that went on in the kitchen while the preparations were being made.
I was peeling potatoes for potato salad one Easter morning when Mother realized she did not have enough Easter napkins. She looked up and seeing only my husband and Libby's husband ordered them to go down to the TG and Y to get some. I remember that Antonio asked her 'What do they look like?' My Mother, impatiently, I thought, replied, 'Oh don't be silly. You know what Easter napkins look like.' At that point, Daddy walked in, and commented, 'Alene, for one thing, the TG and Y is closed on Easter Sunday. For another, would you look who you're sending out for Easter supplies? The Jew and the Iranian.' Since my Mother never acknowledged being wrong, she didn't bat an eye. Just ordered the two of them out of the house with instructions to bring back napkins. Even my idiotic husband, who never did one darn thing he was told, had enough sense to keep his mouth shut, get up and go look for napkins.
Other foods that bring back those kinds of memories to me are Grandmother Baker's raisin pie, Grandmother Britton's applesauce cake, my Aunt Joan's divinity which she only made at Christmas. As a matter of fact I was e-mailing her the other day, and she mentioned her Spaghetti Red. I remember that, too, but I gotta tell you, it's remembering her divinity that puts me in mind of all the Christmas dinners that were held in Grandmother and Grandaddy's love filled little house. I'm going to make an effort to gather up some of these recipes and from time to time, post them. If anyone has a favorite that they would like to share, please feel free.
Onie's Pimento Cheese Spread
1 lb cheddar cheese ('Extra sharp, Sally')
1 small jar of pimentoes, drained
1/4 cup of Heinz Sweet Pickle Relish(Heinz, Sally. Nothing else tastes right)
Mayonnaise to taste (she liked a lot)
Grate the cheese, (I use my Salad Master with the finest grate cone), throw in everything else, and refrigerate it. Serve it with Ritz crackers , preferably, but if you've got a bunch of little kids around, it's ok to spread it on white bread. Onie didn't like to do that, but she would. It was one of the few concessions she'd make to the fact that little kids didn't often appreciate the finer things in life.
Skyline of Tulsa, Oklahoma
Onie's Pineapple/Cream Cheese Spread
2 bricks of Philadelphia Cream Cheese, room temperature (no off brands)
1/4 cup of chopped scallions or green onions
1 bell pepper , diced (she liked red for the color, although she DID admit that green tasted the same, 'But I think the red is just so much prettier. Don't you? ' I never disagreed. One did not disagree with Onie any more than one disagreed with Mother)
1/4 cup of chopped pecans
1 can of crushed pineapple (drained)
Don't use the blender on this, just dice it all up and mix it with a fork. And, here is where the true hosteses (Onie) are separated from the posers (Me) . Onie would mix that concoction up, form it into a ball and roll it over some more crushed pecans. Then she'd put it in the middle of a pretty plate and surround it with those Keebler club crackers. I just smoosh it into a plastic bowl and set the cracker plate alongside. Even as I do it, I experience pangs of guilt, but not enough to take the time to roll that sucker in pecans.
Posts
