Of Grief and Cooking

Watching someone age is a funny thing. When you're there to watch the slow evolution over time, the aging is almost undetectable. But sometimes loved ones hit a point of rapid decline. And that is jarring.

On Feb. 23, my family lost a family matriarch. Great Grandmother Mae was my husband's grandmother. It's been a difficult thing to accept. For a long time, Grandmother Mae dealt with a number of health issues. One sometimes giving rise to another health challenge. Still, she seemed to recover and carry on. One day, sometime last year, she began to lose weight. She began to move slower. Eating became a challenge. The health issues that she had successfully navigated began to take their toll. Her worsening accelerating like a boulder rolling downhill. There were hospital stays and home caregivers.

And then one day, she was gone. Since her passing, a kind of grief that I feel I have no right to feel has hung over me. She wasn't MY grandmother. Both my grandmothers had died long ago.

Mae was 97. Born in the early 1920s, her worldview was painted during a vastly different time from mine. The child of immigrants who experienced racism, I learned to believe that "some people do not belong." And I was among those "some people." I would often isolate myself, sitting on the sidelines to save racism and prejudice from excluding me. Grandmother Mae had been raised in the mid-west, married, raised a family in a very traditional American home. Her husband, who preceded her in death, was a military vet who served during World War II and the Korean War.  They owned a beautiful home in a beautiful neighborhood.

I was raised by parents who had come to the United States from Central America. They started their own cleaning business. I was one of their laborers, often vacuuming and dusting. Everything we earned went toward paying bills. We were the embodiment of the cliche "eking out a meager living." Though my parents owned a home when I was a child, my father's impulsive nature cost us home-ownership after he sold it and moved us to his native Costa Rica - before I was 5. The money from the sale was spent. That impulsivity struck again and we returned to the US, but we never owned a home again. Then I became a writer and grew older while struggling to make ends meet with my husband, also an underpaid writer.

Not much common ground between grandmother and I.

One day, long before her age-induced decline, my hubby and I decided to pay grandmother an unscheduled visit. Despite some nerves, I agreed we should visit. We chatted and had some sodas. Grandmother Mae sat in her comfy recliner asking questions. 

"I hear you've been helping your sister," Grandmother Mae said suddenly. My eyes grew wide. The matriarch of the family is displeased, I told myself. She is about to remind me that I need to take care of my own small family before anyone else, as so many others had told me. In fact, despite our own financial struggles, we tried to help my younger sister. My heart jumped. I tried to downplay the whole thing. She smiled.

"It feels good to help others doesn't it," she said. I was stunned. She passed no judgment. She gave no admonitions. There was nothing but gentle encouragement. The nature of our relationship changed that day and I would try to show my gratitude, at least until this February.

Over the last few weeks the family has sifted through the pieces of her life, emptying drawers, closets, and cabinets. I have uneasily joined in. Among the things I was drawn to were her knitting supplies and her cookbooks. I see them as things that defined her. She was known as the Cookie Lady for obvious reasons. She spent a lifetime making meals. She had recipes that were uniquely hers. 

As I sifted through the cookbook collection, so many of the books seemed below her skill level. As I looked closer, I realized there were a great many things in these books that are not much talked about anymore. A bit unabashed, I gathered and claimed the collection and have been slowly sifting through the books. Some of the recipes should see the light of day.

With this in mind, I decided to post a few here over the summer. I chose a book randomly tonight and ended up leafing through the Family Circle Illustrated Library of Cooking published in 1972. It features foods popular throughout the United States and a culinary dictionary that defines everything from canape to rennet to zest.

While most of the recipes are what I would call "sleepers" not heard much of, this one totally caught my eye. Perhaps I should try to make it.

Grape Harvest Pie

Juicy fruit, fragrant spice, and nippy lemon blend pleasingly in this fall dessert. Bake at 400 degrees for 50 minutes. Makes 1, 9-inch pie.

1 package piecrust mix

2 pounds Emperor grapes, washed halved and seeded (about 5 1/2 cups)

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup flour

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon mace

2 eggs, slightly beaten

1/2 teaspoon grated lemon rind

2 tablespoons lemon juice

2 tablespoons butter or margarine

1. Prepare the piecrust mix, following label directions, or make pastry from your own favorite 2-crust recipe. Roll out half to a 12 inch round on lightly floured pastry cloth or board; fit into a 9-inch pie plate; trim overhang to 1/2 inch.

2. Combine grapes, sugar, flour, salt, and mace in medium-size bowl; stir in eggs, lemon rind and lemon juice. Pour into prepared pastry shell; dot with butter or margarine.

3. Roll our the remaining pastry to an 11 inch round; cut several slits near center to allow steam to escape; cover pie; trim overhang to 1/2 inch; turn edges under and press together to seal; flute.

4. Bake in hot oven (400 degrees) 50 minutes, or until top is golden-brown and juices bubble up. Cool on wire rack about an hour; serve warm.