On a cold and windy February night, I think of small changes I see around me. The sun is setting a little later and there are a few more minutes of light to enjoy. Small buds on trees show that I’m not the only one thinking about the end of winter. Talk of spring break edges into conversations. And we all know that February is the shortest month of the year. This Saturday the Clay Guild hosts its Empty Bowl Fundraiser to benefit Interfaith Hospitality Network and that always closes out the month of February and ushers in March.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about my Grandmother Hollopeter. Maybe it’s because my mother showed me a picture of her and her siblings taken when she was ten. It shows them standing by the old barn on their property. In my mind, I went back to my grandma’s house in Ohio. Whenever we came back from Belgium, usually every three to five years, we would always set feet first at her house. It was a safe place to land, familiar among an unfamiliar culture, enough in the country that we were protected from the shock of too much too fast. The house itself was an old farmhouse with a large front porch sitting back from the road. It had enough room that our family of six could find their own space in it. I say, my grandma’s house but my grandpa lived there also.
Grandma, though, was the rock. She fed us and listened to us and carried on in a comforting way. I slept upstairs in a room with a screened window that was open to let the summer air and smells float in. Sometimes at night the sound of the train’s whistle just down the road would bring me out of a deep slumber. In the morning, I would go down the stairs into the kitchen. Grandma would always have a big breakfast spread for us. Coffee, milk and orange juice, eggs and bacon, toast and cereal, even Long Johns and donuts would cover the table. It was a feast for the eyes and the stomach. The kitchen was the central hub of the house and I remember the sun streaming in the windows as I sat and ate foods that I hadn’t had for a long time. Built-in cupboards lined the one side of the kitchen and behind one of those doors, Grandma had a glass chicken that was always filled with pink peppermint candy or cinnamon red hots. We knew we could sneak a few of those as needed.
Grandma also had a garden and since we usually visited in the summertime, there would be tomatoes and corn and produce from just outside her back door. In the apron she always wore, she would carry things back to the house with our help. I think the thing that stands out the most from my visits there is that she accepted me without question. If you lived there, you were part of the household and life kept on going. She had a natural way of making me feel totally at ease. She never put on airs. If we disagreed, that didn’t change a thing between us. The family bond was greater than that.
So this week, my mother reminded me that my grandma was a coffee drinker. I continue that tradition as a third generation coffee drinker. And I hope that I can also be like my grandma in other ways: calm, hardworking, honest and natural. Here is one of her passed on recipes which I made this week in my new Le Creuset cooking pot that my daughters gave me for Christmas.
Swiss Steak
Pound a 1/2 c. seasoned flour* into both sides of a 3 lb round steak (2 inches thick). Brown 2 onions (sliced) in hot fat in heavy skillet. Remove onions and brown meat on both sides. Top with onions and add 2 c. cooked tomatoes. Cover and cook slowly until tender 2 1/2 to 3 hours. (8 to 10 servings)
*Seasoned flour: 1 t. salt and 1/4 t. pepper mixed with a 1/2 c. flour
(I followed my mother’s notes: “My steak is never 2 inches thick! I do mine in a roaster, covered in the oven for 2 hours or so. I test it to see when it is tender.” I fried my onions in olive oil. The meat took 2 1/2 hours at 300 degrees. I served it with boiled potatoes.)
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