2 posts tagged “family”

Good heavens... six weeks since I've posted anything. Many apologies.

Every spring for Mothers' Day, my brother and I get together and cook a brunch/lunch for our mother. At least, for the last three years we have done so; I think we had a particularly trying brunch out at a local restaurant and decided we could do it better on our home turf, without the rude waiters and screaming children. We try to have a theme. I think this year, the theme turned out to be Yummy Spicy Things from Communist Countries.

My brother wanted to make Spicy Mandarin Chicken and steamed rice; who am I to argue? Note the 1950's kitchen in the background. Except for the new range, it's pretty much the way it was when I was learning to cook in it. I think I recognize some spices and herbs I bought back in about 1980, still in the cupboards.

Green pepper massacre

I debated about making a side dish, but was working under some constraints. My husband had a 75-mile bike race the previous day, in The Dalles, about 80 miles east. We were playing on staying in The Dalles most of the weekend and then driving back to the family abode on Sunday morning. I didn't want to have to go grocery shopping that morning as well, so I needed something portable.

The answer? Cuban sandwiches. I packed along my new Cuisinart Griddler and all the fixings (had a refrigerator at the motel) and all I had to do was assemble the works and toast the sandwiches. Kettle Chips Lightly Salted rounded out the meal.

Cuban sandwiches, partially assembled

We drank some bubbly while we cooked and Mike entertained Mom in the living room (he's good at that). The chicken dish and the sandwiches, all yummy, we accompanied with a nice cheerful French pink wine. Mmmm.... wine and potato chips, my favorite.

Maphead's Mandarin chicken

Completed Cuban sandwiches

I don't have the chicken recipe, but Cuban sandwiches are basic to our household and very easy to make.


Soft French hoagie rolls (We use Franz Pub Rolls)
Soft butter
Dijon mustard (I like Grey Poupon Country Style)
Cooked shredded pork OR sliced roast pork OR sliced turkey
Sliced ham, the best you can get
Sliced Swiss cheese, full-flavored

Slice the buns open. Spread sparingly with soft butter and and with mustard to taste. Layer some pork on each bottom bun, followed by ham, and finally with cheese. Top with (duh!) the top halves of the bun. Toast them until golden in a panini press or contact grill; in a pinch, a waffle iron will do the trick. (For the Cuisinart Griddler, I cook two sandwiches at a time for five minutes on Medium and then turn it up to High until I hear sizzling sounds). Allow to cool slightly and cut in half with serrated knife. Serve with side dishes such as coconut rice and Cuban black beans, or with Kettle Chips.

This morning, I found myself talking to a cake.

Not just any cake; this is a plutonium-dense traditional English fruitcake that I made a few days ago. It's sitting nicely on a covered cake stand, aging. As part of the aging process, I drizzle brandy over it every day. Today, I punctuated my actions with comments such as, "Let's see if you can take a little more. Oooh, did you drink that already?" I would have tied a napkin under its chin, if a Bundt-shaped cake could be said to have a chin.

This afternoon, I mixed up homemade marzipan. On Saturday, I will roll it out and cover my boozy little fruitcake-child in a creamy blanket of it, tucking it into every little Bundt-y ridge and valley. Late that night, I will mix up a batch of royal icing and smooth that on top of the marzipan, and let it dry overnight. I'll take it to the post-Lessons and Carols party, and serve it up to some of my most beloved fellow Anglophiles, topped with a sprig of holly.

Christmas Cake, someone else's

Christmastide baking and cooking makes me a little goofy, every year. I always think that I am too busy, too professional for such shenanigans. I shy away from Christmas shopping or having a tree (the cats would knock it over, anyway) and I almost never bake cookies. But something in my soul is soothed by the making of traditional English Christmas dishes, and I realize anew every year that I enjoy the process as much as the end-result. Perhaps more.

I've dabbled in fruitcake starting about 11-12 years ago, with varying success. And our first Christmas in this house, I cooked a Dickensian Christmas dinner of roast goose, stuffing, potatoes, gravy, and all the trimmings (all while coming down with pneumonia... I think I had more stamina then). I've reprised the goose a couple of times and have done English roast beef as well. But my latent Anglophilism really kicked in with the pudding.

I think it was Christmas of 2002, or maybe 2003, but I'm not sure; we had either goose or roast beef, and I served trifle and steamed plum pudding for dessert. I think everyone was a little dubious about the pudding, and I admit that an unmolded plum pudding is an odd sight. I plopped it onto its plate and served everyone a little. And when my mother took a bite, she exclaimed, "Oh! Your grandmother used to make this!"

She went on to tell me about the half-remembered taste from her childhood. My grandmother, with a mother carried away by illness (influenza, perhaps? It was about the time of the Pandemic of 1918) and a father who didn't know what to do with her after that, was raised by her Aunt Julie. Aunt Julie was either English or a first-generation immigrant. Surviving photos of her show a sturdy peasant woman with strong arms, capable of kneading bread or stirring a pudding. She taught my grandmother how to make steamed puddings and fruitcakes. My mother remembers that Grandma steamed hers in a coffee can. She'd never mentioned any of this to me, at least not the culinary details.

I've made it since then, not every year (some years we have just given up in exhaustion and not hosted a Christmas dinner) but every year that I could. Mom still makes the same comments. I think that I serve it to her hoping that she will remember more stories to tell me, as if raisins and currants and rum sauce will trigger some hidden action in those lost childhood memories, before all of the family tales are forgotten. And almost every year, I make a least one fruitcake, and feed it lovingly upon brandy, and in turn feed it to those that I love.