One of my secret goals in life is to one day be like my
Grandma Hildegard.
Now, I appreciate that my memories are distilled through the
eyes of a 6 year old, however this woman rocked. What I remember so distinctly is that she was
always so welcoming, greeting you with a big smile and ever-present apron
around her waist. She and my grandfather
didn’t have much, but that never seemed to bother her. I remember her outside of their small home
working a tiny garden around the shed, wide brimmed floppy hat on her head to
cover the fair skin of the once red-head where my mom, girls and I clearly all
get it from. Once I had taken some dried
lima beans from their kitchen and secretly planted them in some tiny patch of
ground in the garden just to see what would happen. I would like to say “always the scientist”,
but in reality it was an impulsive move that I quickly forgot all about until one
day she called my mom wondering why there were lima beans growing in her
garden. While I don’t know for sure how she reacted, in my mind, and in my
heart, I can see her laughing.
However the one thing that Hildegard was truly known for was that woman could cook.
I don’t mean fancy, farm-to-table fare, but just true home
cookin’ made with love.
In infamous tales told during family gatherings that just
naturally have their way of expanding as the years go by, the stories of how
you would show up and there would be a spread a mile wide are told. And whatever type of desert was your favorite,
she’d have it. As in, like, multiple
pies. And ice cream and chocolate syrup for
the kids. And the candy drawer that she
would keep bite size Butterfingers in and always look away when you were
sneaking one. And her fudge- oh Lord- the one that sends you into a diabetic
coma after one bite and that both my girls still ask for made by the recipe
that was passed down.
I like to think that I got a small sliver of her cooking
gene, as that is one thing that I love to do. Cooking makes me happy. All parts of it- discovering recipes, trying
new ingredients, the cooking process, the amazing feeling when you get it
right. But most of all it’s cooking for others and seeing the joy on their face
as they indulge in something that you made.
Something that was made with love.
“Back in the day” (AKA- when I was married) I used to cook
all the time. It was wonderful to plan
out big dinner parties, bring dishes to tailgates for multiple families and
participate in recipe exchanges with friends.
Post-Divorce, all that went out the window. Not intentionally, but the scope of what I
was capable of achieving was pared down to simple survival mode. (Heck, I don’t think the girls and I even ate
off of real plates for the first two years simply because I didn’t have time to
do the dishes. I’m not kidding. I’m still trying to make up my environmental
footprint on that one.) But somewhere in the past year or so, the joy of
cooking came back into my life. I think it was an accumulation of things; the kids
are older, I have a much better handle on life, and perhaps because GG is my
budding foodie who will try anything and Belle has been bitten by the baking
bug. And while all of this is true, I
think the biggest shift is that I found my joy in the process again. It no longer feels like something I “had” to
do out of necessity nor out of forcing myself to do something that once brought
me happiness and so I should keep up with it (if that makes sense), but because
it really DOES make me happy now.
Over the past several months I am proud to say that I have my cooking mojo back revived some of my favorite recipes from long ago. I knocked out all of my
Thanksgiving specialties for European visitors, including yellow squash
casserole, my secret stuffing recipe and the best roast turkey you will ever
have. I have also perfected a few new
gems including stuffed French toast and- if I may say so- a killer fillet made
on the cast iron skillet. I have also
tread into new territory, gettin’ jiggy making craft cocktails. It was
during one of these mixology sessions where I was making simple syrup- sugar and
water that can be infused with specialty ingredients such as sage or ginger,
and boiled down to a thick, flavorful liquid-
when something hit me.
Life really is like simple syrup.
As I get older, my friend base has tended to boil down, the
activities I plan are fewer just due to life’s demands, but the events and who
I spend my time with are much richer. My
time spent with friends add the “flavor” to my life, not a watered down version
of well-drinks just for the sake of being out because that was the thing to
do. The people and events are my
specialty items that have evolved over time, evolved into something special and
sweet. Without these key ingredients,
you know that things might be “ok” but not nearly as good as it could be,
because it’s not something that you get to indulge in every day but a specialty
item that make the ordinary event extraordinary just because you are enjoying
it.
So to all of you that are the components that make up the simple
syrup in my life, I want to thank you.
You make my days richer, sweeter, and full of flavor. I think this is what my Grandma Hildegard knew all along, and it showed in her cooking and the way she made you feel
loved. She knew that the spice of life
was all about who was around the table outside the tiny kitchen where she
miraculously made all of the dishes, so full of flavor and love, to celebrate
the moments when we were all together. She
made memories through these dishes, and one day, I hope I will be able to say I
did the same.
Apron and all.
