Hope that all of you in Cyberspace are having a stellar Thanksgiving weekend. We are sufficiently bloated here.
When the holidays roll around, inevitably thoughts bombard of loved ones who are no longer around. Today I kept thinking of my maternal grandmother, Mary Charles Bradfield, who died two years ago this coming Valentine's Day. What a character. I'm pretty sure we spent most every holiday with her when I was growing up, before we started having The Feasts at our house. She had this thing about drinking out of glass measuring cups, standing in the kitchen with the fluorescent lighting and wooden cabinets. Most of that had to do with obsessing over serving everyone else first (especially the menfolk and boyfolk; she would walk over hot coals to ensure they had vittles.)
Also, drinking out of the measuring cup didn't mean she was short on glasses but rather, I think, time. Get thirsty? Dip the measuring cup under the water faucet.
Most of the time I can't remember her eating at the table with us, especially before my grandfather died. She was always finishing up something in the kitchen. After Granddaddy passed away, she took his seat at the table--if she took a seat at all. (In retrospect I wish she'd been able to relax more but then again most cooks, unless they are Martha Stewart, share that frenzied feeling at holiday time.)
So whenever I measure something for a recipe, I think about her. God Bless the cooks, and especially grandmothers.
1 comment:
It's funny the things that spark a good memory. With me, it's a really good-looking pie crust. My grandmother could knock one out in no time, and it was always beautiful.
As for measuring cups, I'm not sure I ever saw Elsie use one. Ever. She just poured ingredients together and the food was always wonderful. Mom and I still can't replicate the chocolate mocha layer cake she used to make. I can't tell you how many pounds of flour and dozens of eggs I've used to try.
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