The Sunday Memory Drawer - Grandma in the Kitchen

It's nostalgia week as we continue to celebrate the fifth anniversary of Len Speaks.  And, keeping with the festivities, I went back into the archives to find the very first Sunday Memory Drawer, which I ran way back in October, 2008, on what would be the date of the very last baseball game to be played in Shea Stadium.

Digression aside, I've included that very first "memory drawer" below, but it naturally spurred me to wax a little bit more on the topic at hand.  Specifically, my grandmother in the kitchen.

Now, I'm sure you might have some wonderful memories of tasty treats cooked up by your grandmother.  And, trust me, the lady could bake with the best of them.  Every Saturday morning, I would be awakened upstairs by a veritable Entenmann's Bakery going downstairs in Grandmaland.  Pies.  Cakes.  Bread or rice pudding.  Even the simplest of pound cakes would figuratively send me to Heaven.

If it was summertime and her rhubarb had grown nicely in the garden, you would have the added aroma of that stewing in a pot on the stove while the bottom shell of the pie was baking in the oven.  Grandma's rhubarb pie was well-known throughout the family and made regular appearances at all functions.  She did it differently than traditional pies and I believe two of my cousins still follow her recipe on holidays.   I can remember her process as if it was yesterday.  Stew the rhubarb into a mush.  Add a box of strawberry Jell-O to stiffen it up.  Pour it into the bottom of the pie shell.  Cover it all with fresh whipped cream. 

Bingo.  Grandma's rhubarb pie.  And I miss it to this day.

Thank God the woman could make dessert.  Because she sure as Hell had her challenges with other parts of a meal.

Truth be told, she's probably not completely at fault.  I think she fell into some nasty cooking habits during the days of the Great Depression and never got out of them....forty years later!

For instance, here's something you rarely see in stores anymore...

Oh, they still make it, but I doubt you can find many people who open up this glop and then add a can of water to make soup.

For my grandmother, Campbell's Condensed Tomato Soup was a staple of the kitchen.  She used it in so many ways.

Straight out of the can, it was sauce for spaghetti.

It was gravy for beef stew.

Watered down slightly, it acted as ketchup when we had run out of the bottled stuff.

Ugh.

But, back in 1929, I am guessing one did what one had to do.  And Grandma was no different.

Now, who uses this anymore?

I am sure it's still out there, but, back in the days of my grandparents, you didn't drink coffee without it.  And there was always an open can in the refrigerator because, God forbid, one can needed to last you a whole week.

Salad dressing?  Apparently, olive oil was a delicacy in Grandma's world.  Frequently, her lettuce topping was as simple as two spoonfuls of vinegar and a fistful of sugar.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, sugar.

Her lunch, usually at 11AM every morning, never ever varied as long as I can remember.  Two slices of bread.  Two slices of Oscar Meyer bologna.  Mustard?  Nah.  Mayonnaise?  Nope.  Her condiment of choice?

Welch's Grape Jelly.   And not just any jelly but one that came in those damn Flintstones glasses.

Grandma probably had about two dozen of these containers all over the kitchen.  No matter what you were drinking, whether it be milk, soda, or beer, Grandma served it courtesy of Fred, Wilma, and Barney.

Of course, even with the questionable bill of fare at Grandma's kitchen, there was one place there I absolutely loved.

Her pantry.  And as told back in 2008 in my very first Sunday Memory Drawer...

This room was a full-out treasure chest for me. Situated right off her kitchen, it was a full-sized room that had a counter where I could do homework. And there were shelves all the way up to the ceiling. Lots of places for me to hide whatever toy figurines or soldiers I was occupied with at the time. One side would hide behind the double boiler and the other would secrete themselves behind cans of Libby's vegetables. And I could hide myself in another corner and let it all play before me for hours and oodles of fun.

There were many other fringe benefits. My grandmother baked every single Saturday morning and there was usually some sort of cake or pie stored there. Pieces disappeared regularly. And, of course, her Poppin' Fresh cookie jar was always loaded with Jane Parker or Ann Page's finest chocolate chip cookies. Only the best that the local A & P had to offer. I still have that cookie jar here in LA and it's always filled. With chocolate chip cookies. The tribute that just keeps on giving.

One day, I noticed something else. My grandmother would go into the pantry, hop on a step stool, and reach up to the very top shelf. Where apparently she was keeping some very special chocolate bars.

Hmmmm.

It didn't take many days after this discovery before I wanted to tap into this reserve myself. If my grandmother was hiding this candy, it must be damn good.

The step stool still left me about three shelves too short for the reach. So, I essentially climbed gingerly from one shelf to another. The Wallendas had nothing on me, especially if there was a tasty treat at the end of the stunt. I got to that chocolate and munched. One piece and then another. And then another. She wouldn't miss a whole bar. I reasoned she probably had others stashed away all over the house.

And then it came. Or, in reality, there it went. About an hour later, I was sick to my stomach. And couldn't stop visiting a certain room in the house. Where I would be sitting and not standing. It was so bad that I missed two days of school and even was summoned to appear before the always feared pediatrician, Dr. Fiegoli. Nobody had any answers and I certainly didn't make the connection. Until my grandmother asked the question that begged for an answer...

"Who ate all my Ex-Lax?"

Dinner last night:  Kung pao beef from First Szechwan Wok.