Mom Cooks

I look through several old photographs of my mother. All dressed up and wearing a fancy apron, she is cooking . The small, apartment size, electric stove tucked away in the corner of the narrow kitchen is nearly inaccessible for her use. Whoever designed that kitchen put it in as an afterthought. This was the “modern” post-war house. The left rear burner was a deep cooker. A tall aluminum pot fit down into a well, and once the lid was on, it would lie flush. Today’s equivalent, I suppose, would be the crock pot.

In the photo, my mother is kneeling down and sliding a perfectly roasted turkey out of the oven. I remember the Thanksgiving turkey’s of my childhood. The closer they weighed to thirty pounds, the more delicious they were! My mother’s ability to maneuver anything in or out of that narrow kitchen was nothing short of a miracle, and she frequently pulled off these miracles on a regular basis; not just for the six of us, but while entertaining guests, too.

Being raised in Pennsylvania farm country, my mother had learned a lot of her culinary talents from her mother, Orilla, who once worked, cooking for 50 hungry lumberjacks in the Lumber Camps around the Pennsylvania, New York border. Later, in the town of Port Allegany, Orilla worked in a diner and was famous throughout Porter county for her Homemade Custard Pie. In researching my mother’s family tree, I have only found Connecticut Yankees. It is a mystery that my grandmother mostly cooked in Pennsylvania Dutch style (really German). But, I recently learned from a cousin that Orilla was directly descended from the original Dutch settlers of New Amsterdam. Could it be that their cooking style was the same?

My mother could bake any kind of pie, mincemeat and chocolate cream being my favorite. I remember one time when we spent a whole year tending to a grape arbor in the side yard. When the grapes were ripe, we carefully plucked them and took them into the kitchen where my mother spent the rest of the day making grape pie. It was the most delicious pie I ever had in my life. I don’t recall her ever making it again, and I have never seen it offered anywhere else, either. It certainly was a lot of work to grow those grapes!

My mother’s biscuits were never matched by anyone, except maybe, by my Cousin Eva Mae, who was so thin, you would never think she ate any of what she cooked. Gravy: my mother made the best giblet gravy. It took nearly as long to make it as the turkey took to cook. The gravy pan sat simmering on the stove all day, tantalizing our taste buds. Spice cake with peanut butter icing: I have never been able to duplicate it, and long ago gave up trying. She also made chocolate cake with Marshmallow Icing. Yummy!

She knew how to make a big country breakfast, too. It is probably too rich for today’s tastes, but when a whole passle of relatives spent the night, my mother made bacon basted fried eggs that were curly crispy around the edges and the yolk cooked to order. She could roast any kind of meat, do up any kind of potatoes, even Scalloped or Au Gratin. Some other favorites I remember are recipes I seldom cook: Goulash, Pigs in Blankets, Yankee Pot Roast, Boston Baked Beans (cooked in the oven overnight). The list goes on!

Thanksgiving Memories

Thanksgiving Memories

I remember back when I was young what Thanksgiving was like at home, all the family gathered together. Everyone sat around the table, mismatched chairs and all. Relatives came from miles, sometimes driving through snowy weather. Beginning, days before, Mom prepared the meal. Mom was a really great cook! She made a huge turkey for us with sage dressing and all the trimmings. The house filled with the smell of turkey, roasting in the oven with frequent bastings. Giblet gravy simmered on the back of the stove a whole day, a huge pot of potatoes boiled up and mashed by hand, sweet potatoes with brown sugar and butter baked in. Fancier folks called them "candied yams". Then there were fresh light-as-a-feather biscuits, pickles, olives and relish dishes, celery sticks and deviled eggs, corn and peas, and cranberry sauce cut in slices from the can. I never could figure out how it was called a sauce with it being so solid, like that.

Each year it seemed to be a contest to get a bigger turkey than the year before. I remember that one of the turkeys was so large, Mom had to thaw it out in the bathtub!


After the turkey is cooked, and eaten down to the last shred of meat the family ritual included carefully removing the wish bone which was saved, tucked up above a door, I always thought for good luck where it dried. Later, my  brother and I pulled it apart to make a wish on. There's a certain art to breaking a wishbone in half. only one side will get the wish. "The wishbone, known in anatomy as the furcula, is a fused clavicle bone found in birds which is shaped like the letter Y." according to wikipedia.





Mom worked hard preparing thanksgiving dinner often without any help. Back in those days, it was pretty much considered "woman's work", and I was not much a kitchen helpful daughter. I much more wanted to run and play. (Sorry, Mom.) If cousin Eva Mae was there, she helped Mom if she and Don arrived early enough. Cousin Velva did not. The smell of fresh baked pies wafting through the house smelled like heaven.

The table was overloaded with food, plate pressed up to plate. More food sat in the kitchen waiting to be asked for. “Can I have seconds?” was never refused. Pies cooled out on the front porch, that is, until one of our cats walked through one.

Mincemeat was my favorite. Nobody eats that anymore. I couldn't even find it lately at the grocery store, or the restaurant that specializes in pie desserts! I shall miss it! And Mom’s great cooking. They don't make thanksgivings like that anymore!