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."