Thursday, July 8, 2010

Food Legacy: Recipes for Life

What will I remember about this  4th of July week-end? Without a doubt it will be Adele's gazpacho--the best I have ever eaten, and Adele. 

The next day she gave me a gift that will also help me remember the meal:  fifteen people working together to prepare a holiday meal in a beach house on Lake Huron--ideal weather, a few lightweight fireworks, tons of laughter, a bit of teasing, young folks flirting, older ones remembering, some political opinions, sun-burned backs, sangria.....

The gift? Her gazpacho recipe, handwritten that morning, in her elegant 90 year old penmanship.

I started collecting recipes about 40 years ago.  The clippings from magazines and newspapers, the recipe cards from friends/family and yeast packets with scrumptious sounding breads, all used to be neatly organized in a long  basket.  A few years ago  I  dropped the basket, which dumped everything onto our farmhouse kitchen floor.  The  sections "Favorites from Grandma's Kitchen", "Fun Things to Make with Sara", "Early Garden Harvest" etc. were instantly homogenized.   I scooped everything into a grocery bag and planned to reorganize them soon.  But I got distracted by the convenience of looking  up recipes online. 

Last year I discovered the bag in back of the pantry when we moved from the farm.  Again, I  vowed to restore order to my collection. Someday.

When I received Adele's recipe I pulled out my bag and began to sort.   Within minutes I felt like old friends--many of whom are deceased--were sitting around my kitchen table. 

 I spotted my sister's handwriting on a card labeled "Kathe's Chocolate Mints".  She loved fanfare and drama, and created Martha Stewart-like celebrations for even the most mundane occasions.  She introduced that recipe to our family when she was a young mother, determined to create the perfect home, complete with homemade bonbons.  Kathe died in 1999, but her special sweet treats are made every Christmas by my daughter, Sara, who started making them years before Kathe died.    Even before her illness, the chocolates were part of her legacy.  



One thing we all have in common, beside the fact we will all die, is that we all eat. Nurturing our bodies with nutrients sustains life. Part of our self-identity comes from our relationship to food. 

Do you cook/bake?  Grow your own food?  Buy local?  Prepare certain foods for certain occasions? 

Do you identify as a healthy eater?  A compulsive eater?  Someone who occasionally splurges on a favorite food?

We will leave behind perceptions of who we were, always with an element of mystery. Our family and friends will regret that they didn't ask  for more  details and stories that only we could have told.    A food legacy -recipes, stories, favorites--is only one way to share important aspects that make you uniquely you. 

I am not suggesting we give up the Internet, but these treasures that surround me tonight--handwritten cards or printed recipes with personal notations--will always mean more to me than a  Google search result.

I want my grand-children to know that their ancestors produced food by working  in gardens and fields.  And to eat some of the same foods that were always a part of special occasions.

A man who I did not know well, but admired for his kindness and generosity, died last week.  Tonight I found the following recipe that he wrote for me a couple of years ago.   

Bill's Apple Cake


Spread 1 can of apple pie filling in 13x9" cake pan.

Mix together in a separate bowl: 2 c. flour, 1 c. sugar, 1 tsp salt and 1 1/2 tsp soda:  then sprinkle over pie filling.

Beat together: 2 eggs, 2/3 c. oil, 1 tsp vanilla, 1/2 c. nuts.  Pour over dry ingredients and even out batter.
Bake at 350* for 40-50".    

Caramel icing:  melt 2/3c. butter or margarine and 1 c. firmly packed light brown sugar.  Stir in 1/4 c. milk.  Bring to boil and simmer for 3 minutes.  Remove from heat and let cool before spreading on cake.   Enjoy the fruits of your labor!!

Farewell my friend. Thank you for the recipe.  You will not be forgotten.