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Farm Kitchen:  Food Memories  |
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stephaniesmith
True Blue Farmgirl
58 Posts
Stephanie
Independence
MO
USA
58 Posts |
 Posted - Jun 17 2014 : 10:30:00 AM
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I spent most of Sunday making bread and butter pickles to stock the pantry. The smell of the pickling spices filled my home, and I was instantly transported back to my Grandma Helen's kitchen, watching her make endless jars of delicious treats for our entire extended family.
Which smells, tastes, sounds send you back to another time? What are your favorite "food memories"?
http://www.bystephaniesmith.com
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danyel
True Blue Farmgirl
350 Posts
Danyel
Robertsdale
PA
USA
350 Posts |
Posted - Jun 21 2014 : 6:42:13 PM
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I love the smell of bread baking. Every weekend when I was little my mom would take my sister and I to grandmothers house and we would bake everything for the week. Homemade bread, cakes, cookies. And I agree with you on the smells of canning, peeling peaches, they bring back the sweetest memories, like it was yesterday. I hope my daughters have the same memories as they get older and start families of there own. Sunday suppers were truly a family affair. It was held at gram and paps every Sunday after church the families would arrive, we would set down to a home cooked meal, and then play with the cousins, oh those were the days.
Danyel
farmgirl sister 4202 |
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HealingTouch
True Blue Farmgirl
3448 Posts
Darlene
Kunkletown
Pa
USA
3448 Posts |
Posted - Jun 21 2014 : 8:02:36 PM
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Homemade bread by Grammy! We would eat that bread hot out of the oven with butter running all over. Yummy! German home made apple struedal and poppy seed bread. The list could go on and on!LOL! Cooked in a wood burning stove! Fond memories for sure.
Be Blessed and Be a Blessing,
Darlene
Sister 1922
God first, everything else after!
When Satan's knocking at your door, just say "Jesus will you get that for me?"
When it gets to hard to stand, Kneel!
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Ninibini
True Blue Farmgirl
7577 Posts
Nini
Pennsylvania
USA
7577 Posts |
Posted - Jun 22 2014 : 07:43:26 AM
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For me, it's Grandma's pot roast simmering on the stove. From the time I was wee little, I can remember the delicious aroma wafting down the hallway to her kitchen. Mmmm... REAL comfort food. I still make it to this day, especially when I'm feeling blue, and I swear I can almost feel her arms wrapped around me.
Then there's smell of her hot apple pie which always evokes memories of she and I donning her aprons and peeling and slicing SO many apples together. Then she'd hammer down her rolling pin and roooooollll out the dough on her plastic pastry sheet. To this day, I can neither make a crust as good as hers nor roll it out as thin and flaky. She'd smooth out the crust in her favorite glass pie plate, then load it up with sliced apples, sprinkling them with sugar and cinnamon, then topping those with a few dabs of butter before adding the top. And I'll be danged, but she made the prettiest edge with her fork - I don't care how many times I try, it's just not as perfect as hers. Then she'd dab a little milk on the top crust before baking it to perfection. She would she would always tell of her grandmother, whose pies weren't more than a pinky width thick. Her eyes would open so wide over her glasses as she'd stick out her pinky and say, "Her pies were only THIS thick!" She never failed to be so shocked and upset about how stingy her grandma was with the apples! Not MY grandma, though. Her pies were works of aromatic, tasty apple-stuffed art! There were never any leftovers, either! :)
And there's the smell of my Grandpa's garlic-studded leg of lamb - it's just not Easter without it. 'Matter of fact, my neighbors love Grandpa's mouthwatering lamb so much that they have started making it for their Easter dinners, too!
Oh! And Grandpa's shepherd's pie, which is my son's favorite meal of all time. Grandpa was much better than me, though, grinding the finest beef he could find by hand on his meat grinder. Nevertheless, we can still feel his love in every bite.
And oh, how he loved making homemade French fries, too. He was so funny - always looking for a reason to make fries... or fried scallops, for that matter - he LOVED fried scallops. 'Couldn't get enough of them! Anyhow, when I was very young, he and Grandma lived with us. On more than one occasion, I feigned illness just to stay home with them. Grandma and I would watch "Match Game," and Grandpa would pull out his French fry cutter and a big pot of oil. Before I knew it, he'd be making "sick" little me a big batch of "medicinal" French fries, and miraculously, I'd be cured! LOL! Wonderful memories.
Now that I'm older, every time I make Grandpa's meat sauce in my great-grandmother's cast iron skillet, memories immediately come to mind of being a little girl, sitting on a yellow wooden stool-chair at the stove and stirring the slow-cooked sauce with a big wooden spoon for-e-ver. I remember every painstaking step to making the sauce by heart, and the pride and pointed care with which Grandpa taught his secret to me, my Mom later carrying on this tradition. I also always smile and remember the story of how he learned how to make it. He and Grandma were on their honeymoon. In those days, people stayed with strangers along the way. My grandparents were invited to stay a lovely French Canadian couple, and the man made for them the best meat sauce Grandpa had ever tasted. He invited my grandparents to stay another night just so Grandpa could learn how to make it. I swear I must've heard that story a thousand times as a kid, but, oh, what I wouldn't give to hear Grandpa tell it just one more. :)
And yes, for me, bread is in the memory mix. Although it wasn't bread that was made at home. My Grandpa was a big fan of fresh Italian and French bread from the bakery, and I remember the joy it gave to him to pull a warm, fresh loaf out of the wax-coated white bags. With a sparkle in his eye and a wink, he'd sneak a pinch off the end and share it with me - a secret special treat shared just between the two of us! I remember one "Little House on the Prairie" episode where the community suffered the plague after rat droppings made their way into their grain supply. Their bread had little black spots in it. Well, a few weeks after seeing the episode, Grandpa had had a hankering for a loaf of fresh rye. He had asked me to slice it for dinner, and I was horrified at all the little black spots (rye seeds, of course, but I didn't know) throughout the loaf. I was so upset that Grandpa packed me up in his little red car and drove me to the grocery store to buy a brand new, fresh loaf of bakery bread to replace the "infested one," as I called it. He didn't have to do it, but I think deep down, he knew - and loved being - my hero. Whether opening the door for me or rushing out to buy safe bread, Grandpa would do whatever it took to make me feel special, safe and protected. :)
Gosh, how I miss my beloved Grandparents. What sweet, loving, kind people. I hope when I grow up I will be just like them. :)
Thank you for the warm walk down food memory lane, Stephanie!
Hugs -
Nini
Farmgirl Sister #1974
God gave us two hands... one to help ourselves, and one to help others!
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churunga
True Blue Farmgirl
3983 Posts
Marie
Minneapolis
MN
USA
3983 Posts |
Posted - Jun 22 2014 : 11:34:22 AM
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My Czechoslovakian grandmother made bread and pastries every Thursday on the farm in North Dakota. She would mix the bread dough on Wednesday night and put it into the loaf pans to rise in the warm kitchen overnight. Before she went out to do chores, she popped them in the oven. After chores she would make breakfast for the whole family and then get back to the baking. She made cinnamon rolls, kolaches with poppy seed filling, crescent rolls and dinner rolls. Then she would start on the pies: apple, blackberry, strawberry. She would pinch the crusts with her fingers to make an edge which had peaks. She cut a wheat design on the top of the crust. She would quick bake the scraps of pie crust in the oven with cinnamon and sugar on them for us to eat. We were in charge of watching so they didn't burn and become inedible. My sister and I were too young to help her but my mother learned so much from her mother-in-law. She died when I was nine and I didn't get to learn the art from her.
Marie, Sister #5142
Farmgirl of the Month May 2014
Try everything once and the fun things twice. |
Edited by - churunga on Jun 22 2014 11:36:11 AM |
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Farm Kitchen: Food Memories |
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Food Memories
