For My Grandmother, Who Loved Roses

Roses for My Grandma on http://www.theculinarylife.com

- Roses were her favorite flowers -

Some of you know that I’ve been carrying a weight the past few months, a load that a lot of you out there bear as well: caring for a sick family member who can no longer care for himself. Then a few weeks into that difficult situation, my grandmother died. She had been drifting outwards for several years now so it wasn’t a surprise, but given everything else that has going on, it certainly was a shock. There are affairs of her estate to tend to, and a service, and a myriad mishmash of family members in varying degrees of resentment, estrangement, alienation, and grief. It’s exhausting to dog-paddle through the turbulent wake of everyone’s combined experience, but since I’m accustomed to operating in crisis conditions, the drama of it all is acutely familiar. That makes the landscape a little easier to navigate.

My grandmother was an incredible baker. It might be completely cliche to say so, but she’s the main reasons I work in food right now. She’s the one that taught me how to bake, and with her mentoring I was operating in the kitchen entirely on my own and above the skill level of the average eight year old.

Being a depressed kid stuck at home without a lot of parental supervision, I got bored pretty quickly. Since baking was the only thing I really knew how to do well at that age, I used to dig up the most complicated recipes I could find in my mother’s worn 70s copy of The Betty Crocker Cookbook and power through them, only rarely finding failure. (To this day I still can’t make divinity, and it irks me more than I’m usually willing to admit.) I made my first pâte à choux at nine years old, but still intimidated by crème anglais – which I didn’t master until I was 12 or so – I filled my eclairs with small scoops of vanilla ice cream and covered them with canned chocolate frosting. Hey, it was the 80s – Duncan Hines rained supreme in those days.

When I was ten or so, I remember watching some god-awful morning show called Mike & Matty, where they shared a restaurant’s most well-known offering: cinnamon rolls made from scratch. The clincher for me was the fact that they added vanilla pudding mix to the dough used to make the rolls. Details are sketchy, but I remember that I had to call long distance to the TV station five or six times until I found someone who could give me the recipe. Being so young, I had no idea that I was given a commercial formula.

I vaguely understood that this was going to be a big undertaking, but by that time the arthritis in my grandmother’s hands and knees kept her from working at the kitchen counter for more than a few minutes at a time. I set to work making the cinnamon rolls myself. After spending what amounted to 8 hours kneading, rolling, and filling the dough, I think I ended up with nearly four-dozen cinnamon rolls, ranging in size from three-inches in diameter to almost six-inches across. I was annoyed by the inconsistent sizes, but hey, you try rolling out an evenly measured 5-foot square sheet of dough with the short arms of a ten year old!

I don’t have that recipe anymore. My grandmother slid the stained sheet of looseleaf paper into her recipe collection for safe keeping.

People keep talking about my grandmother’s estate, but my focus is elsewhere. Somewhere out there is a small, white, metal box of my grandmother’s recipes: instructions for the chocolate caramels bars she used to make for me and my brother; striped Neapolitan cookies that she loved to share during the holidays; an old newspaper clipping for Jimmy Carter’s strawberry cake that she adored for its pink color; and that crazy commercial recipe for the cinnamon rolls that challenged me like nothing else I’d ever made at the time. I’d like to gather all of these recipes into a nice little book and make copies for anyone who wants to remember my grandmother through the activity that she loved more than almost any other: sharing food with those she loved. But most of all I just want to make a lot of these recipes again, to remember what it was like to sit with her at that old formica kitchen table in her early 50s track home, blowing bubbles in a glass of milk and eating something so delicious that it blew my little mind and changed it forever.

My grandma’s recipes are out there somewhere, but they were handed off to someone else once she moved for living assistance. I’m beginning to doubt I’ll ever see them again. I’ve asked my great aunts about the box and gotten only vague responses that seem to indicate that my grandma’s little clippings and 4×6 cards have been mixed into someone else’s collection, and that they’re not really interested in fishing them out. The thought of these dishes being out of my hands forever breaks my heart – the thought that no one will ever try another one of her cookies and remember exactly where that recipe came from, how it was born of the world’s most loving and generous woman and handed down from grandmother to granddaughter nearly 40 years after the first time they sat at the table and sifted flour together. With everything else that’s going on, it’s really too much to bear.

Who cares about the estate when her strongest, most poignant memories are brushed aside?

There’s no recipe today. It felt wrong to post one here, given I don’t have any of hers.

 

Comments

  1. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your grandmother. I was lucky enough to end up with my great grandmother’s recipe cards and can’t imagine that treasure being lost to someone else. Perhaps when things settle you can be like my sister who occasionally sends out an email asking for a recipe that Nini would make. Maybe a group email will flush out the person with the cards who will at least let you borrow them long enough to copy.

  2. Oh man, I feel your pain. My grandmother in Mexico, who couldn’t cook Top Ramen, passed away last weekend. It wasn’t unexpected either, just jarring and sad. It’s crazy to think I’ll never hear her hardy laugh coming out of her tiny body again. (She must’ve been no bigger than 4′ 6″.) My other grandma, she’s the baker. Rum balls at Christmas, a delicious ham at Easter, Yorkshire Pudding just because – I love her cooking. She’s already started giving me her inspirational cookbooks with little notes jotted throughout. Our memories of these special women will keep them alive. My condolences. I hope you find your white, metal box.

  3. I am so sorry Stephanie for your loss. I know what your going through. My mother is in a home as we speak and I go four times a week to feed her and my other sisters do help also. But these last six year have been hard on family and yes the sisters have fought over petty things that do not matter.

    My mother was a baker and had four daughters but I was the one who helped her bake. Her passion became my passion and I bake to this day at sixty-four for friends, family or whoever will enjoy mine or mom’s creations. My mother baked and yes kept a metal green box with her recipes which I fought tooth and nail for. Yet no other sister baked they did not want to relinquish mom’s recips. I made copies for them all. I never did understand the greed family goes through when a member leaves this earth. But I was lucky enough to find her recipes and did have a one Aunt who shared them. In fact her sister gave me a book of recipes that were not all correct but she wrote them when she was seventeen. I pray your family looks deep into their hearts and try and find those lost memories of your grandmother and share them with you. Paulette

  4. I hope you’re able to find at least some of them. When my mom died unexpectedly while my sister and I were in college, I searched everywhere for her recipe book and never did find it. Luckily I already had many of my favorites that she gave to me when I first left home, but I still wish we had been able to find the old familiar book filled with stained 3×5 cards. I’m so sorry for your loss. Take care of yourself.

  5. So very sorry for your loss! May the guardians of the lineage of family cooks everywhere see to it that the little white metal box wends its way swiftly to you. May your heart soon be healed so that all memories bring joy.

  6. Kookboekrecensies Cobuse says:

    Dear Stephanie, I wish you well and love the way you write. I will burn a candle for your grandmother (no religion attachment for me, just think that candles are a nice quiete moment for them, who we lost or who are need for some extra attention…).

  7. Хикару Мццартхы says:

    I am sorry you are going through all that, and hope the writing is cathartic.

  8. Sending you SO MUCH LOVE and Light. Also, crying over this article.

  9. Susan Weiner says:

    Very touching story

  10. I was lucky to get my grandmother’s recipe box, but her most cherished recipes weren’t in there because she knew them all by heart and didn’t need a recipe. I lost those when I lost her, but I’ve tried to recreate most of them from memory and adapting other recipes. Maybe you can do the same?

    I found a listing that might bring some comfort to your heart::

  11. Keep looking for the recipes! But remember where your true passion got its start….that is the most important thing. You are doing what you love that was taught to you by someone who loved the same thing AND loved you enough to share. Everyone else who needs material items do not have what you have……..cherished memories that last a life time. I am again very sorry for the loss of your Grandmother.

  12. Susan Bossert says:

    Dear Stephanie ~

    Do not despair ! YOU are the recipe box you are searching for ! Continue to bake the beloved recipes as you best recall them and they will bloom and continue to blossom
    into beautiful roses. Your Grandmother gave you the
    finest gift of all ~ an appreciation that loving hands
    can create masterpieces. Carry on, dear Steph !
    a kindred spirit ~ Susan Bossert

  13. This is such a lovely post. I hope you do find your grandma’s recipe box. But even if you don’t, your grandma’s influence will be with you forever. When you cook, you honor her memory. And I had no idea that you were cooking at such a young age!

  14. Sarah Olson says:

    This is a great, heartfelt tribute to your grandmother, and even though you don’t have the recipes you are lucky for having such wonderful memories.

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  1. […] mentioned a few months ago that I lost my grandmother, and I lamented how sad I was that it didn’t look like I was going to be able to get her […]

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