I enjoy watching the plethora of cooking shows. Some of my favourites: French Food at Home, A is for Apple, Trisha’s Southern Kitchen, Baking with Anna Olson.
Most Saturday mornings, while my laundry is drying, I’m snuggled into the corner of my couch, nestled under a pile of wheat bags, a cup of coffee to hand. I have a novel, my Bible and writing material at the ready.
This morning Anna Olson was baking pies and a variety of puff pastries. One type she cut into thin strips and braided two together. She glazed with egg wash and a sprinkling of sugar. The finished product looked tantalizing. She also demonstrated a selection of savoury-filled rolls. Lastly she transformed dough into sugared jelly doughnuts. That twigged something for me.
My mom created a vast display of desserts of all types. I remember that she made doughnuts with a bread dough recipe, not the more traditional cake variety. Mom rolled the dough out to maybe an inch thickness, then cut them out with a cutter.
Some of the recipes in my Mennonite cookbook suggest letting the dough rise in the bowl before rolling it out. Some require rising after the dough has been shaped and trayed. I’m not sure which method mom used.
Because she was working with a pot of hot fat we weren’t allowed to get too close. She had it heating in the large Dutch oven and the lid close by in the event of splashing or a flash fire. She carefully slid each doughnut into the hot oil, then used a large slotted spoon to turn them over till each was golden brown. She lifted the doughnuts out one by one onto a cookie sheet covered with paper towel to absorb excess oil. Once they cooled we were allowed a taste.
I enjoyed helping Mom but my offered assistance was limited. I stirred, measured and stirred again.
Watching the television experts, I realized that we grew up on a starchy diet. Mom often commented that her kids had hollow legs. Bread became the “go-to” filler.
We ate good, wholesome meals but because we worked hard alongside our parents we were constantly hungry. Bread was affordable and made more sense than offering second helpings of meat. We grew all our own veggies and mom always made a vast pot of mashed potatoes. She also made scalloped, baked and fried, diced potatoes but the mashed were a favourite. Dad used to tease my older brother with the words, “never mind passing the bowl; pass your plate.”
Mom was constantly making bread: loaves, buns and cinnamon rolls. I seem to recall apple dumplings, with whole cored apples wrapped in pastry and baked. Her cookie sheets were much larger than the current ones, perhaps double the size. She sometimes made a sheet full of tiny, rounded buns. Once those rose, she covered them with a caramel sauce. The end product tasted like cinnamon buns rolled in butterscotch pudding.
Not only did the cook and assistants have accumulated pots and pans from preparing the feast, we also had the task of cleanup. Our kitchen didn’t have much counter space. I remember that vast stovetop served as the dishwashing centre. We used two large dishpans, metal with white enamelled finish and a red trim around the edge. One held hot soapy water, one rinse water. The water in the stove’s reservoir remained hot as long as the fire continued to burn.
One of us stood with hands plunged into the soapy, dish-filled pan, two others rinsed and dried. That job usually fell to we three sisters. The boys had to help with the dairy cows and barn cleaning. Carol and I had outside tasks too, to be completed before supper. Judy was the sous chef and we each were house cleaners in training.
Sometimes we share recalled stories. We remember very little grumbling, at least in our parents’ hearing. The work had to be done and on the whole we just went for it.
– Joyce Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
