Christmas Eve: Caramelized Brie with Almonds and Apples

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My family's big celebration of the Christmas holiday was with my Father's family on Christmas Eve. Dad was from a large family and there was always a lot of commotion when we cousins got together. Christmas Day was reserved for with my mother's parents. Because she was an only child, Christmas Day was more low-key—I had no cousins on that side of my family. So for as far back as I can remember, we always went to my Grandma & Grandpa Warrington's home on Christmas Eve. There, together with Dad's seven brothers and sisters and their families, we all gathered to celebrate the holiday.

I do not have very clear recollections about those evenings at my Grandparents' house. In fact, much of what I remember of my Grandpa Warrington is from photographs, as he died when I was just a little girl. By today's standards he was young, about 62, at the time of his death. And I can't remember whether we actually had dinner there or not, since there were so many people. But I do remember receiving gifts from my Grandparents and my Aunt Heloise, the oldest of my Father's siblings. My Aunt Heloise never married. She lived with my Grandparents, and after Grandpa's death with just my Grandmother, until her death at the age of 93. Aunt Heloise passed away two months ago at the age of 101.

Aunt Heloise was an independent, remarkable woman, and I will devote articles just to her in the future. But for this story, what I remember is that for her Christmas gift, she gave each of her nieces and nephews the sum of Five Dollars. Now that might not seem like a lot of money today but, including my three sisters and myself, Aunt Heloise had 27 nieces and nephews. In 1955, One Hundred Thirty-Five Dollars was a lot of money. I looked forward to that Five Dollars every year. It was something that I knew I could count on. I could also rely on the fact that every Christmas Eve, Mom would make us take a nap in the afternoon so that we could stay up late for all the festivities. (For me, mind you, this was no hardship as I loved taking a nap, and still do!) Those festivities included Midnight Mass, Santa's visit, the visit at Grandma & Grandpa's house, and opening gifts. I also knew that every Christmas Eve while we opened our gifts after attending Midnight Mass, we would have my Father's homemade Eggnog and the Christmas Cookies we baked throughout the month of December. Another certainty was that Bing Crosby, Perry Como and Andy Williams would be singing Christmas Carols on the turntable in the background as we all gathered around the Christmas tree. I can still visualize it today.

I never gave it a thought that Santa Claus came every year while we were at my Grandparents' home. I also never put two-and-two together when every year my mother had to go back into the house after we had all loaded in the car for the trip to my Grandparents' for the evening. Sometimes she forgot the food we were supposed to take with us. Sometimes she forgot her purse. Sometimes she just had to go to the bathroom. Sometimes it was an item my Father asked her to get for him to take with us to his parents. I do remember to this day sitting in the dark in the old '52 Chevy, waiting for my mother so that we could leave. And I remember it taking her for what seemed like forever. As you can imagine, four little girls all under six years old were not very patient. And after all, how long could it take to get your purse? We were all dressed up in our Christmas finery, with our permed hair in tight little locks, eager to get the evening started.

Most probably, the reason that I recall all these things is because I could count on them. Every year, they were part of my family's Christmas Eve tradition. Once I married, I had to begin sharing Christmas Eve with my husband's family. That was fine, as long as I could be at Midnight Mass with my family and back to my parents' house after Mass, where we would open gifts, drink Eggnog, eat Christmas Cookies, all while listening to the Christmas Carols of Andy Williams, Perry Como, Bing Crosby, and Johnny Cash on those new fangled cassette players. When my first child was eighteen months old, my husband and I moved to another city about 40 miles away from our parents. Reluctantly, I had to call an end to the only Christmas Eve traditions I had ever known. It became too difficult and too late in the evening to drag Scott, my oldest son, to so many places on Christmas Eve, and still be able to really enjoy the festivities. The only way to solve the dilemma I then faced was to invite everyone to my home. I knew I was rocking the boat, but the consequences I faced if I didn't change something were a cranky baby, too little sleep, and bad memories of Christmas Eve.

I decided that my little family would create its own traditions. We did, and we kept those traditions until my husband and I parted ways in 1983. After that, my boys and I established our own customs. One of those was that the boys spent Christmas Eve with me and Christmas Day with their father. Another, although I did not realize it the first time I set the menu, was that our Christmas Eve dinner would stay almost exactly the same from year to year. The boys, as well as the friends and family we invited to spend that evening with us every year, counted on seeing the Roasted Beef Tenderloin, Glazed Carrots, Browned Potatoes, homemade Eggnog, and this Appetizer—Caramelized Brie with Almonds and Apples. Every once in a while I would try out something new to see how it went over. If it met the approval of my family and guests, I would include it in the following years' menus. That's how my Red and Green Christmas Salad with Sugared Walnuts,¹ and Peppermint Ice Cream with homemade Hot Fudge Sauce² joined the party.

Today's recipe is so wonderful that you won't believe how simple it is. It's also so rich that you'll want to serve it early in your day's or evening's festivities, so that guests have time before the main course to let it settle. (Really, ½ cup of butter on top of the Brie?) Or you could do like we do and run around the block six times after appetizers and before dinner. (And if you believe that . . . ) I do not recall whether I first tasted the Caramelized Brie at my in-laws' house, or if it was my own creation. I do know that I added sliced almonds and tart apples, and that I have always served it on top of thinly sliced miniature loaves of French bread. The small loaves are the perfect size for appetizers. You can either serve the bread fresh, or bake the slices first and serve it as Crostini. Either way, I hope that you enjoy this part of our Christmas Eve as much as my family does.  And who knows.  Perhaps you'll want to make it a part of your family's holiday traditions!

¹Please see "Red and Green Christmas Salad," posted on this blog.
² Watch for Hot Fudge Sauce with Walnuts in this blog sometime in the next few weeks.

©2012 The Cook in Me: Christmas Eve by Kathy Striggow
©1990, 2012 Caramelized Brie with Almonds and Apples by Kathy Striggow

Caramelized Brie with Almonds and Apples

 

Prep Time:  10 min.

Baking Time:  25-30 min.

Yield:  12-16 Appetizer Size Servings

 

Ingredients

1-8 inch wheel Brie, whole (1.5 to 2.5 lbs.)

8 oz. Butter, softened (1 stick, NOT margarine)

½ c. Brown Sugar

½ c. Sliced Almonds

2 or 3 finely sliced Granny Smith or other tart apples, dipped in lemon water to prevent browning

Miniature loaves of French or other crusty bread, in thin slices (fresh or toasted as Crostini)

Directions

1.Heat oven to 325° F.

2.Unwrap Brie from its packaging and place it in an greased pie plate or decorative ceramic tart pan.  Do not remove the rind from the Brie.

3.Spread softened Butter liberally on top and sides of the Brie.

4.Carefully press the Brown Sugar into the softened Butter on the top and on the sides of the Brie.

5.Sprinkle the Almonds on the top and press them into the Brown Sugar and Butter.Sprinkle more almonds on the bottom of the pan around the sides of the Brie.

6.Bake for approximately 25-30 minutes, or until the Brie is oozing from the top of the wheel and the butter and sugar mix has caramelized.

7.Remove from the oven and serve immediately on thin slices of French or other crusty bread topped with the apple slices and caramelized almonds. 


©2012 The Cook in Me:  Christmas Eve by Kathy Striggow
©1990, 2012 Caramelized Brie with Almonds and Apples by Kathy Striggow

 

 

 

 

 

Changing the Thanksgiving Holiday© and Turkey Soup with Danish Dumplings©

Every year as Halloween approaches, I realize how fast the year has flown, and I start looking forward to celebrating the holidays. As always, I find myself hoping that friends and family find themselves in good health and able to celebrate with loved ones. It seems that every year they sneak up on us more quickly than the last (the holidays, not the loved ones).But I guess that’s part of the aging process. Time passes more and more quickly.

The weeks and months fly by, and before you know it, another year is behind you. I think that is why I am a firm believer in making every minute count—you never know how many more you have left. When I turned fifty, I told my sons and their families that the extravagant Christmases were over. The best gift I could give to them, and that they could give to me, was time. Time spent together is not something you can buy. It is not something that will break and be discarded with yesterday’s trash. It is, however, something that can live on in memories, and photographs, to be cherished forever.

The holiday that I treasure the most is Thanksgiving. While there is so much to be thankful for all year ‘round, it just seems to me that Thanksgiving Day gets lost in the hectic craziness of the Christmas season. This time of year the earth is alive with color and fragrance; and all we have to do is sit back and drink it all in and be reminded of the beauty of the world. However, that is primarily in September and October. The meaning and purpose of celebrating Thanksgiving Day gets lost in the hectic craziness of the Christmas season. You can’t walk into a store in September any more without seeing displays of Christmas decorations, hearing Christmas music, and listening to people brag that they have already finished their Christmas shopping. Thanksgiving Day has actually become Christmas Bargains Day Eve. Instead, shoppers lose site of the purpose of Thanksgiving Day, anxiously anticipating the bargains and good buys they will find at the opening of stores in the wee hours of the Friday morning after.  This year, stores even started opening at 8 o'clock in the evening, to enable shoppers to beat the Black Friday rush.  My grandson had to be at work at 11:30 p.m. on Thanksgiving because his store opened at midnight.  He worked until 4 p.m. the next day.  What ever happened to letting the employees have a day off to share with their families, for which I am sure they are grateful.

Perhaps we should move Thanksgiving to another month, June for example. June is a much better month for a Thanksgiving celebration. We can be thankful that we and other elderly family members and friends have made it through the winter in good health. We can be thankful for the graduations and weddings of our loved ones, the joy of watching children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren thrive in the sunshine and fresh air, and for the birth of babies after difficult or seemingly never-ending winter pregnancies. We can be thankful for the warmth and beauty that surrounds us after a bleak, cold winter, and for the miracle of the land bearing fruits and vegetables when only a few months ago it looked so barren we thought nothing would ever blossom and grow again. Yes, I think June is an excellent choice for celebrating Thanksgiving. Don’t be surprised if you smell the aroma of turkey coming from my kitchen or grill in that month.

No matter in what month you choose to celebrate Thanksgiving, don't let that turkey carcass go to waste.  Turkey Soup with Danish Dumplings tastes just as good in the summer as it does in November.  I can't recall where I originally found this recipe.  I know that it was back in the 1970s though, and it was probably in some magazine.  It called for turnips and bay leaf and tomatoes, and that just didn't sound good to me. Also, I like a lot of parsley. So, of course, I altered it to my taste.  Let me know what you think.  And if you do celebrate in June, you'll have fresh parsley from the garden to use in it!

©2012 Kathy Striggow

Turkey Soup with Danish Dumplings



 

Ingredients                                       

1 meaty Turkey Carcass 
12 cups chicken stock  OR
12 cups water with 1/2 cup chicken broth base
1 large onion, chopped
4 stalks celery, sliced (2 cups)
2 medium parsnips, sliced or diced
2 medium carrots, sliced or diced
1/2 cup snipped parsley (or more to taste)
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1 recipe Danish Dumplings

Directions

1.   In a large soup pot, combine carcass, water and chicken stock.  Bring to boil then simmer 1 1/2 hours, or until meat falls freely from the bones.  Place on a plate and allow to cool.
2.   When the turkey is cool enough to handle, remove meat from bones and set it aside, together with any juices that have drained.
3.   Add the onion, celery, parsnips and carrots to the stock.  Bring to a boil.
4.   Reduce the heat and simmer for 30-45 minutes or until the vegetables are tender.
5.   Return the meat to the broth. Taste to determine if the stock is properly seasoned.  If necessary, add additional stock (or dry stock base) and salt.
6.  Add the parsley and stir well to incorporate.
7.   Reduce the heat and simmer for another 15 minutes.  In the meantime, make the Danish Dumplings.
7.   Drop the dumpling dough by tablespoons on top of the bubbling soup.
8.   Cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Do not lift lid until 20 minutes have passed.  Remove from heat.
9.   Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Serves 8-12.

Danish Dumplings:
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup butter
½  c. flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/8 tsp. salt 
2 large eggs
2 Tbsp. snipped parsley

1.   In a medium saucepan combine water and margarine; bring to boil.
2.   Add flour, baking powder and salt all at once, stirring vigorously.
3.   Cook, stirring constantly until mixture forms a ball. Remove from heat and cool slightly.
4.   Add eggs, one at a time beating after each until smooth.
5.   Add parsley. Drop by tablespoons into bubbling soup. You should be able to make 12 dumplings of this size.  If you like smaller dumplings, use a teaspoon  instead of a tablespoon. 
 6.   Cover the pot and simmer for 20 minutes.  Then enjoy!

Grandma's Buchta (Coffeecake)©

  My Grandma Lasak instilled in me a love of being in the kitchen.  As the second of my parents’ four daughters, I was probably a typical middle child, competing for my parents' attention.  But  when I went to stay with my grandparents (which I did as much as my parents would let me), I was accorded the status of a princess.  My Grandparents treated me like I was their only grandchild; this was due to a number of factors that I won't go into here.  Suffice it to say that even at a very young age, I knew that they treasured me.  When you stepped through their front door, you were greeted by the heavenly aromas of yeast




pastries, garlic, chicken or veal roasting in the oven, and my Grandfather's shaving cream.  To this day, whenever I smell Barbasol®, I picture my Grandparents' bathroom with  Grandpa's shaving strap and straight razor hanging behind the door.  

I'm not proud to say that my Grandparents gave me anything I wanted, but that's how I remember it.  My Grandma, to me, was everything a grandma was supposed to be.  She was soft, and very affectionate, and I knew that I was special in their eyes, (not "Kathy, don't eat the Vaseline special", but unique).  I had no doubt that she loved me unconditionally and that whatever I did was all right by her.  I followed both my Grandpa and Grandma around the house trying to learn to do everything like they did.   Whether it was airing out the bedrooms every morning before remaking the beds (even in the dead of winter,) sweeping the floors, doing the laundry on the old wringer washing machine, ironing the sheets, pillowcases and underwear, or working in the garden, I took it all in.

 

Grandpa and Grandma had a fixed schedule that was never broken unless they were deathly ill. Wednesday was noodle or strudel making day.  Thursday was grocery shopping day.  Sunday was church and dinner with my parents and sisters.  Monday was always laundry and ironing day.  Grandma got up early on Monday morning, like she did every day.  She had a lot of work to accomplish before lunchtime.  When Grandpa left for work after breakfast, she would begin their dinner, and then she'd begin the laundry.  This was no small task because they still had a manual wringer washing machine. I remember she didn't use bleach, but rather bluing that made all their clothes beautifully white. (In case you're wondering, no, she never did use it on her hair like some of her friends did.)  Every piece of clothing had to go through the wringer, sometimes two or three times, to get all the water out.  They didn't have a dryer, so the clothes went out on the clothesline in the back yard to dry in the spring, summer and fall.  In the winter, Grandpa strung clothesline in the basement for Grandma to hang the clothes on.  Either way, by 11 a.m., the laundry was finished.  She would then either fold the items or sprinkle them with her sprinkling bottle (a warm water filled Coca Cola® bottle topped by a tight fitting metal cap that had holes poked through it), and place them in a wicker clothesbasket until ironing time.  It was time then for completing the final dinner preparations for their noon meal.  Every week day, my Grandfather walked home from the factory where he worked so he could eat the mid-day meal with Grandma.   

 

Dinner at Grandpa and Grandma's was a special event for me because they had their big meal mid-day, not in the evening like we did.   They had a beautiful garden in their back yard and, among other things, they grew parsley, parsnips, onions of several types, herbs, radishes, and several varieties of lettuces with peculiar names (deer tongue and oak leaf, for example).  The lettuces were tender and tasted wonderful, however.  They also grew carrots, beets, green beans, turnips, lima beans, peas, tomatoes, peppers (both hot and sweet) and garlic.  About 2 weeks after the ground thawed in the spring, Grandpa and Grandma would begin transplanting the seedlings that they had planted in February and March in egg cartons and kept under lights in their basement.  Grandpa and Grandma grew lots of garlic.  My Grandmother used a lot of garlic in her Moravian/Slavic cooking.  But they grew so much garlic that even she couldn't use it all.  There were two neighborhood food markets, not chains, within walking distance of their house. I used to go with Grandpa to sell the extra garlic to those markets.  He was their largest supplier of garlic in the summer and fall.

 

For dinner, they always had salad from the garden, and vegetables most likely from the garden. Grandpa and Grandma canned a lot of the produce from their garden, so they even had their garden produce in the winter. They also had meat, generally either chicken or veal with a gravy thickened with either sour cream or heavy cream, and dumplings, potatoes or what my Mother called rivulets.  It was not until I began taking a real interest in other ethnicities' foods that I realized that rivulets were the same as what the Germans call Späetzle, the Hungarians call Nokedli or Galuska, the Italians call Gnocchi, and the Polish call Halŭski.  Because Grandma always made her own noodles, they would almost always begin the meal with a small bowl of soup made from the stock of the meat she was preparing, vegetables and her noodles.  The meal almost always ended with a sweet pastry that my Grandma had baked the previous Saturday.  This might be a slice of poppy seed Buchta (we pronounced it Bouk-tee), Little Buchta which were stuffed with a plum filling, or Kolache (stuffed with a sweet mixture of dry cottage cheese, egg yolks, sugar and cream, or fruit filling).  Probably because I loved the poppy seed filling the best, I  remember most often having the Buchta. 

 

After Grandpa returned to work, I would willingly return to the feather bed to take my nap, and Grandma would do the ironing while she watched her stories on television. You have to remember that both my Grandparents were immigrants who didn't speak a lot of English.   Television was new to everyone in the early 1950s of course, and they thought it was a wonderful invention. They never really understood the entertainment industry, however.  For example, my Grandma would get visibly upset and cry during her stories, murmuring, "those poor, poor people."  I couldn't figure out how she got so wrapped up in the actors' crises.  It wasn't until many, many years later when my Grandfather went to live with my sister for the final years of his 105-year lifespan, that I learned that he and my Grandma thought the daytime soap operas depicted real-life situations, and that the people in them weren't actors, but real people, and real families, with real-life troubles.  Had they only suggested such a concept of "reality television" to television producers back then, they probably would have been millionaires.  They were way ahead of the concept's inception.  

 

I never thought to write down my Grandma's version of her recipes. When you're young, you just think your parents and grandparents will live forever, and that you'll enjoy the fruits of their labors ad infinitum.  My Grandma passed away when I was only 19 years old, and I remember thinking that those recipes were lost forever.  After all, my Mother never made them.  My Grandpa tried to mimick some of Grandma's culinary genius, but it just wasn't the same.  After I got married, and began gaining confidence in the kitchen, I decided I was going to try and duplicate what I remembered of my Grandmother's cooking.  Because my Grandma never used any type of standard measurement, or pre-packaged staples, and her cooking was a combination of Moravian and Slavic heritage, I have never been able to find recipes for her dishes.  Some are close, but not on the money.  That could  be because she added her own genius along the way.  But I have never tasted Kolache, or Sauerkraut, or Noodles, or Veal Birds like hers.  In fact, I've never even seen a recipe for Veal Birds.  The closest I've ever come to her Chicken Noodle Soup was on my first trip to Italy at age 48, almost thirty years after my Grandmother's death.  The second night we were in Rome, we ate in a Ristorante named Alfredo's where the house specialty was, you guessed it, Fettuccini Alfredo.  For my first course I ordered a chicken vegetable soup.  When I took my first bite, tears welled up in my eyes.  The flavor was the same.  The soup had the same taste, but it was without her straight-pin thin noodles.  The brain is a wonderful thing to have stored that flavor memory in me for so many years that I could recall its origin with one bite.  I had to fight back the tears as I slowly savored the soup.  I hoped that the bowl was bottomless and that the soup would go on forever. Alas, it did not. (For you inquiring minds out there, yes, I had the Fettuccini Alfredo as a second course.

 

I'm sharing my recipe for Buchta (Coffeecake) with you today.  I think this is probably my favorite of all her pastries.  It's not difficult at all to make.  Although the dough is a just a sweet yeast dough, it took me some time to find a comparable imitation.  My sister gave me her recipe for it, but she uses a potato based yeast dough, and my taste buds and memory don't quite equate it to Grandma's.  Grandma used to make her own filling from ground poppy seeds, egg yolks, sugar and a little milk.  I used to have a poppy seed grinder, but it got lost in one of the fifteen moves I've made since I got married.  So I just use the Solo® brand poppy seed filling.  I can't tell the difference. If you're not fond of a poppy seed filling, use cinnamon sugar instead.  It then becomes just a large cinnamon Coffeecake.  I hope you enjoy this taste of my Grandmother's cooking that I so loved.  I know she would be pleased!

©2012 Grandma's Buchta by Kathy Striggow (text)

Grandma Lasak's Buchta©   (Coffeecake)

 

Yield:  2 large Coffeecakes

Ingredients

4-1/2 tsps. active dry yeast (2 packages)

1/2 cup sugar

1 cup lukewarm water

1 cup butter or margarine (2 sticks), softened (not melted)

1 large egg

1 cup warm milk

6 cups all-purpose flour (approximately)
1-1/2 teaspoons salt

2-3 large eggs lightly beaten, combined with 2 Tbsp. water for eggwash

2 cans Solo® poppy seed filling OR approximately 1 c. cinnamon-sugar blend

Melted butter for brushing tops of coffeecakes

  

Directions 

1. Using an electric mixer with a dough hook, combine the yeast, sugar and lukewarm water and mix on low for 2 minutes to dissolve the yeast.
2. Add butter, egg and warm milk, increase speed to medium and mix for 2 minutes, scraping sides of bowl with rubber scraper.
3. Add 3 cups of the flour and the salt. With the mixer on low, mix until the dough starts to come together.
4. Continue gradually adding the remaining flour and when it appears the dough is soft and coming together, increase the mixer speed to medium-high and mix until the dough comes away from the sides of the bowl and crawls up the dough hook.
5. Continue mixing on medium high for about 10 minutes (to knead the dough), until the dough is smooth and elastic.
6. Shape the dough into a ball and place in large bowl that has been greased with 1 Tbsp. vegetable oil or butter, turning the dough over once so that top of dough ball is greased. Cover loosely with a lightweight, dampened towel or plastic wrap and let the dough rise in a warm place (80 to 85 degrees F.)¹, until doubled--about 1-1/2 to 2 hours. (Dough is doubled when 2 fingers pressed into the center of the dough leaves indentations.)
7. Punch down the dough by pushing in the center of the dough with your fist, then folding the edges of the dough into the center.
8. Turn dough onto lightly floured surface; knead lightly to make smooth ball.
9. Divide the dough into two equal sized balls and cover each with a bowl. Let the dough rest for about 15 minutes.
10. Preheat the oven to 400° F. Butter the bottom and sides of 2 bundt or angel food cake pans, or spray them with non-stick baking spray.
11. On a lightly floured surface with a floured rolling pin, roll one of the balls of dough into a rectangle about 12 in. x 15 in. and 1/2 in. thick. Gently poke your fingers into (not through) the dough to make indentations.
12. Brush the egg wash onto the top of the dough. Make sure you extend the egg wash to each end of the rectangle. Liberally spread the poppy seed (or cinnamon sugar) filling over the egg, making sure to cover all the indentations. Use one can of poppy seed filling for each Coffeecake.
13. Starting at the long side of the rectangle, roll the dough topped with filling into a log, tucking the ends in tight. Place the log around the center of one of the buttered or sprayed bundt or angel food cake pans and pinch the ends of the dough together to seal the seam.
14. Cover the pan with a lightweight dampened towel. Repeat the process with the other dough ball. Place the pans in a warm place for about 45-50 minutes, or until the dough has doubled.
15. Gently brush the tops with melted butter.
16. Bake the Coffeecakes for about 30-40 minutes, or until the tops are golden brown and they smell like they are done. (You will get to know the smell of yeast dough when it is finished baking).
17. Remove from the oven and place on cooling racks. Brush melted butter over the tops.
18. Wait for about 10-15 minutes before removing the Coffeecakes from the pans and onto the cooling racks.
19. Cool completely before serving or storing. Top with confectioners' sugar before serving.
20. Store in tightly sealed containers. You can freeze them for serving at a later date, but they are best served fresh.

¹Before I even pull out my mixer, I begin the preparations for a nice incubator environment for my yeast dough. I heat the oven to 170° F., and as soon as it reaches that temperature, I turn it off. I then stand the door open slightly. I mix together my dough, then check the oven temperature. It should be warm, but not hot, I check the rack where I am putting the dough to raise. It should be warm--NOT hot. I place a doubled kitchen towel on the rack and place the covered bowl on top of the towel. Then I close the door. The dough has a nice, warm little house in which to do its magic. If I already have something in the oven and I'm doing laundry, I place the bowl in the laundry room and close the door. The humidity from the washer and the heat from the dryer make a cozy environment for my dough. (Just don't place the
bowl on top of the washer or dryer as it's liable to take a tumble!)

 

©2010,2012 Grandma's Buchta by Kathy Striggow 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Welcome to The Cook in Me©

I created this blog to document and share with my grandchildren and friends some of the recipes I've created over the past 40 years. I'm kind of thinking of it as my cooking legacy to my family.  I've found that with every good recipe, there is a story.  I want to share those stories too.  I know that my grandchildren, and probably even my children, are unaware of  these stories.  They're just something you don't think to share unless the need arises.  I hope that some of you readers (if there are any readers) will share some of your stories with me.  All of life's stories tell us something about ourselves. One of the most important things I've learned during my life, through the good experiences and the not-so-good ones, is that I cannot survive without a sense of humor.   Some of my best stories today happened at a time when I thought I was in the middle of a catastrophic event.  There I was at the time, clutching the pearls, thinking that there was no way out of a crisis situation, when in fact it's the humorous side of the incident that I always remember.  It's better to recall the humor in the story, than to relive the fear and anxiety that the circumstances elicited.  I'm sure it prolongs your life.

Sometimes I think I missed my calling and should have embarked on a career that I knew I would love.  That would have been cooking or writing.   But being a single mom with two elementary school boys was not conducive to the hours that a culinary career or free lance writer career requires. And I didn't think I would be able to financially support my family as an apprentice chef. I didn't think, I KNEW I wouldn't be able to support my boys as a writer.  I wasn't actually sure I could write well.  And I didn't have the time to find out.  So I opted for an entirely different profession.  But I love to cook, and I love to write, and I knew I could still do both while pursuing  gainful employment.   I believe cooking is one of the ways that even we emotionally guarded, seemingly uninspired people can express love and artistic creativity.  I love entertaining family and friends.  I love making a knock out meal for friends, family, and even strangers.   To me, there is nothing more satisfying.  I don't care if I eat it or not.  That's not where the satisfaction lies.  It's in the process.  Once I  had a dinner party for a few friends when I was on an all liquid diet.  It didn't faze me at all.  They probably thought I was crazy, but they wouldn't be the first ones.  They enjoyed the meal, though!

I'm creating this blog at this time of year because the holidays evoke such wonderful memories, many of which are related to, or accompanied by food. I know that we all have our traditional holiday meals.  But if you're like I am, there's always something new and different to try--not better, just different.  I learned to cook from my GrandmaLasak (my mother's mother).  I also married into a family with two wonderful cooks from which I greatly benefited by observation:  my husband's maternal grandmother (Annie Myers), and my mother-in-law (Alma). My grandmother was from what is now the Czech Republic. She was actually either Moravian or Slavic. She immigrated to this country in the early 1920s when she was a young woman. I had to watch her closely to learn her foods. None of her recipes were written on paper, and when she said a cup of flour, she meant a heaping cup in one of her coffee mugs (probably about 12 oz.). I learned to make bread and pastries by watching her knead the dough for what seemed like hours. I can't knead a loaf of bread today without thinking of her. And the simple aroma of yeast dough immediately evokes Saturday morning memories.


Every Saturday morning she awakened about 4 a.m. in order to make her bread and pastries. They had to be ready before she and my grandpa went to the farmer's market to buy the chicken grandpa would slaughter for Sunday dinner. And oh, the pastries. I would be sleeping in the feather bed, tightly tucked beneath the feather comforter with my head on the goose down pillow, and by 7 a.m., the heavenly aroma of yeast pastries wafted under my door and tickled my taste buds. What a breakfast I would have! Buchta, little buchta, kolachke, breads, noodles as thin as a straight pin. If it was a Moravian or Slavic, she made it expertly. Whether it was stuffed with poppy seed or plum fillings, covered in powdered sugar (angel wings), or sugared with cinnamon, it was on that table every Saturday morning. My grandmother passed away when I was only 19 years ago. I regret that I didn't pay closer attention during my teenage years because I would give anything today to be able to replicate my grandmother's cooking. I've searched through cookbook after cookbook, but those recipes of hers, whether in reality or just in my own mind, aren't there.

Unfortunately, my mother did not embrace her heritage. As a child, her parents spoke only Czech at home, and my mother primarily learned English at school. She was taunted by classmates because they thought she was Polish (the similarities in Eastern European dialects are sometimes hard to identify to the untrained ear), and apparently in Northwest Ohio pre-World War II, the poles were not highly regarded. My father also didn't embrace my mother's heritage. His mother was also a good cook, and my father wanted my mother to cook like his mother. Consequently, mom did not make the wonderful ethnic dishes that my grandmother did. I loved my mother, but as cooking goes, she was a plain cook. She didn't like to use spices. She didn't try new things--dad didn't like it. We had wonderful times around the dinner table however, despite what the meal was--meatloaf, pork chops, ham and bean soup, and the standard Sunday dinner meal--pot roast. I have many stories that revolve around spaghetti & meatballs, or cook outs, and I'm sure we'll hit on those.

So, sit back, grab a cup of coffee, and plan to peruse my life as a cook.  If anything strikes you as familiar, or evokes a memory, please let me hear from you.  I'd love to hear your stories.

©2012 by Kathy Striggow