THE PRACTICE OF PRECISION AND UNIFORMITY

One hundred years ago this year my mother was born. With the exception of me (59 and holding), her children are in their 70s. Her grandchildren range in age from 27 to 53. [The picture to the left is of me with my mother in her kitchen in 1984, taken by brother Chuck.]

Hallie suggested I scan and post some of Mother's recipes. As I was sorting the recipes, I had the opportunity to reflect on something I had forgotten -- that Mother was a good cook. It wasn't the kind of cooking where you'd say, "Her lasagna was to die for!" No, she cooked nutritionally balanced meals of meats and vegetables with smooth sauces and gravies. Perhaps we could even say her cooking wasn't overly imaginative but always tasty. She loved recipes and new ideas, but she didn't use recipes for most of her basic cooking. One of her favorite dishes was to cut leftover roast beef and potatoes into a casserole dish, cover with gravy, and re-bake. She was her own worst critic when it came to bread making. She said she didn't have enough strength in her hands to knead the dough, but her caramel sticky rolls and holiday bread wreaths were delicious. She had a good understanding of the chemistry of cooking.

What were her favorites? Christmas baking comes to mind. She's the one person I've ever known who loved traditional holiday fruitcake. Her idea of a good fruitcake was just enough batter to hold the candied fruit together. I remember some years when she candied her own fruit. She also baked Scotch shortbread and spritz cookies. "Look at that! Isn't it beautiful!" she would say as she creamed the sugar and butter. Mother and my sister Nina would spend hours decorating Christmas cookies. And she made divinity in a variety of flavors -- and pralines.

Her pies were excellent. My dad praised her piecrusts, and she acknowledged it was difficult to teach me that skill knowing my dad appreciated her efforts. She would cut the shortening into the flour with a knife and when it looked right to her, she would begin to work it with her hand until that looked – and felt -- right. Her cooking and her sewing were as delicate and refined as her handwriting. She practiced uniformity in all things. I really don't know if she was taught that standard or if she had natural ability in that direction so worked to that standard.

She loved fresh fruit of any kind. Her favorite cooking apple was the transparent, and in her kitchen they became sauce and pies for the freezer. When pie cherries were in season, she made and froze cherry pies.

In everything she did -- whether sewing or cooking – she worked with precision. She paid attention to her white sauce and her gravy, or any mixture that needed constant stirring over medium-low heat, well knowing that to leave off stirring was to invite the certainty of a lumpy final product. Such was unforgivable in her book. It's true she would get caught up in her sewing and forget to eat or to prepare a meal. My dad always fixed a nourishing hot breakfast for the family and was prepared to step in and fix any other meal. Daddy loved to cook but was not as careful as Mother. For instance, when my dad made soup, he would use bits of meat I considered inedible and leave the broth fatty. I once remarked to Mother that I didn't like homemade soup. "I'll make some soup, and you will like it!" was her quick comeback. She did – and I liked it. Carrots, onions, and celery were finely diced, the meat was lean, the broth had been strained and seasoned. She was a good cook of the old school.

Although Mother was willing to labor long over her sewing and her cooking, she wasn't slow. She worked quickly and evenly whether stitching a fine seam, making a pie crust, or dicing vegetables.