Saturday, September 27, 2014

Eating My Family History- A Gift From Past Kitchens


               Last week, I took a trip with husband, baby, and sister in tow to visit my father and grandparents in Florida, whom I had not seen since my wedding five years ago.  My relationship with them has always been founded on good intentions, but in my teen years became distant and rocky.  My father's drug addiction (he's got more than a year clean now), coupled with my grandparents' enabling of that addiction, made for a very heartbreaking situation.  Much as I always wanted to get re-acquainted with them, the idea seemed pointless in the midst of all the chaos that would inevitably follow.



                 I'm happy to report that the visit was a very pleasant one, full of catching up, memories shared, and stories told.  My Nana and Grampie got to meet their great-granddaughter, and I got to see a much better side of my father from the one I remember.  One evening at the house he shares with his parents, Dad brought out a small plastic bin with three smaller boxes inside.  I had no idea what was in it, until he opened it. 



Each box was stuffed with recipes, some handwritten on old envelopes and index cards, others clipped from newspapers and magazines decades ago.  Even just rifling through them gave me an idea of what my dad and grandparents liked to eat- stews, chowders, roasts, desserts, and other comfort foods that told of their New England Irish background.  A few I even recognized, like the pea soup Grampie made for us, or his delectable fudge, or my dad's famous beef stroganoff.  There they all were, waiting after all these years. 

One of the boxes was so warped, it was held together with clear packing tape.  Another had my Nana's name, Lucy, on the cover.  According to my mother, she was never as much into cooking as Grampie and Dad were, but a few of the recipes are in her handwriting nonetheless. 

And my Grampie, ever the scientist/inventor, made precise notes on several of the recipes.  Mostly about what to add when, and amounts that needed to be tweaked.  I'll have to be sure to try his suggestions when I attempt those particular dishes. 

What all this boils down to, is more than a bunch of new recipes for me to try.  This is the chance of a lifetime to learn about the side of my family I almost wanted to forget about, the well-to-do people from Lowell, MA, who had their faults but tried their best.  And clearly, my love of food and being in the kitchen is no coincidence! 

So in the days, weeks, and months that follow, I will be pulling recipes at random and giving them another swing.  Some are going to be tricky, like the 100-year-old Boston Baked Beans recipe with the ingredient list taking up an entire page.  Others are going to be fun, like Nana's dill macaroni salad or Grampie's fudge.  And still others are clearly dated, like holiday jello mold, chicken divan, and lobster newburg sauge.  But they are pieces of my family's history, and I can hear them speaking to me already.

It's as if they're saying "Welcome home.  Hope you're hungry."

Monday, September 1, 2014

Scraping the Bottom of the Barrel


            Sometimes I envy working moms.  It's a ridiculous thought, because given one week working at a job, I'd miss my daughter so horribly I'd cling to her like she does to her stuffed doggy at bedtime.

             Being an introvert is not very forgiving as a mother of a young child, because they always, always want to be where you are, doing what you're doing.  Thankfully, mine can entertain herself a good portion of the time, but the monotony of days and the high energy demands take their toll. 

             There are some days, like today, when you just feel like you've got nothing left to give.  You give up, and put on back-to-back episodes of My Little Pony in hopes that just maybe you'll recover a bit of your sanity along the way.  Mornings and early afternoons are the hardest for me, when the day stretches out and all I see is a list of things that need doing being hung up by the immediate demands of a very energetic, albeit very cute, little person.

             If I can sneak in a little rest/alone time during the day, then about 4pm I get a second wind.  All of a sudden, those daunting chores don't look so bad.  Of course, it helps that Evie's at an age when she wants to help, so sweeping and vacuuming are a lot more fun.  I've found that doing dishes is a lot easier when she's in her high chair eating dinner, though I've tried to get more in the habit of us eating meals at the table together.

           Please know, this isn't an everyday thing.  Especially when Jon's away on a trip, I crave breaks in the routine almost as much as I do solitude.  I remember plenty of lonely days before the baby was born, but now I savor even an afternoon by myself in the quiet.

           Let me explain a little of what I'm coming out of these last few days.  Not only has Evie been through teething hell and back, I.E. up every 15 minutes at night and clingy and whiny during the day, but at the worst of it Jon lost his only car key after returning from a trip.  Which meant packing the baby and myself in flannel jammies at 1am and driving nearly an hour to go get him at the depot, then an hour back.  He felt bad about it, but I was happy to rescue him.  And Evie slept like an angel almost the whole time.

         What this equation has wrought has been very interrupted, minimal sleep and chaos that left me feeling like I'd somehow dropped the ball.  I didn't feel like cooking tonight, and there wasn't even bread to make sandwiches. 

         Please tell me I'm not alone, that plenty of wives and moms out there are scraping the bottom of their strength reserves trying to make it one more day, hour, or even minute? Because I have a feeling that even on days when we feel like total nincompoop failures at this, the simple act of trying is a success all on its own. 

        As long as we don't give up, we're still winning.  Right?