“Mother’s Day” Series # 1

By

Gerry Niskern

Moms and food go together. With my mother, it was food and family stories, always with a moral.

One of my first memories is of my mother standing in our kitchen making cottage cheese. I can’t tell you how she did it, but I know there was a cloth bag involved. Anyway, it was the best cottage cheese you’ve ever tasted.

That brings us to buttermilk; cold, tangy, buttermilk. I was allowed to help pump the churn plunger up and down. (A process that would have gone more smoothly without my help, I’m sure.)  After that she used wooden paddles to collect and shape the mounds of butter from the bottom.

All these dairy products were the result of mom insisting that we have Daisy, a young cow.   Mom suspected that she was part deer because she kept leaping the barbed wire fences to chase the bulls.  Mom hiked across the steep hillsides to bring her back and soothed her scratched udder with balm but the milking process was hectic.

Dad worked in town, but mom loved living in the country. She planted large gardens, plowed and hoed them herself and canned vegetables and fruit every summer. She made deep fried fritters with chunks of peaches, apricots and plums.

I’m always amused about the ongoing debate of today’s young mothers. Should they work or be a stay-at home mother? With mom, there was no question. She was a working mom; in the barn, kitchen and the garden.

But along with the chores was a running monologue of her opinions on democracy, morals and life in general.

In the l930’s, during the dark days of the depression, one or two men came to our back door every day. They would ask if they could get a drink from our pump in the yard. Then they would as if they could do some work for a bite to eat. Mom never let anyone go away hungry. Occasionally, I was trusted to carry a battered tin pie pan heaped with steaming eggs and generous slices of homemade bread and butter out to the destitute man waiting on the porch. Mom always followed with a fresh pot of coffee.

When my adult kids are reminiscing about grandma’s cooking, each remembers a favorite dish. Was the Sunday roast beef, with mashed potatoes and gravy, the “to die for” meatloat, or the fresh green beans, seasoned with bacon that was the best.

I’m here to tell them that the chicken and homemade noodles win, hands down. The egg noodles were rolled out on Saturday, cut into thin strips and laid on wax paper to dry overnight and dropped into the golden broth on Sunday before she finished frying the chicken.

On second thought, I forgot to mention Halupkis. Every European country seemed to have their version of cabbage rolls. Mom’s recipe came down from her mother. Each roll, (leaf of cooked cabbage), contained a delicious mixture of ground beef, pork and rice. They were cooked in a large pot in brown gravy with bits of tomato floating.

I should mention the creamy dill flavored potato soup. Of course, my husband votes for her pies.  She baked two every Saturday up until the day she left us.

In her kitchen, while cooking, Mom taught me many things about honesty, hard work and putting family first.

I wonder if many of today’s young mothers who occasionally announce that they are “cooking tonight” will be remembered so well?