Really? I just love them. My daughter's a graphic designer, and she covets them. Too bad, I keep telling her. I understand they're worth a lot of money. Or at least they're collectible. That's nice, because they're in MY collection.
What a gorgeous read. So evocative. Thank you. The smell of mint takes me right back to my own grandmother’s house (or Nanny, as is one of the names for grandmother in pats of the UK).
Thank you for your kind words, Penny! Egg coffee is a Scandinavian thing, You bring water and ground coffee to a boil in an old-fashioned enamel coffee pot, then crack in a raw egg. It collects the grounds. It really does.❤️
You swirl the egg around in the pot and it absorbs the grounds and helps them settle. Those old enamel pots had a perforated opening, so they filtered out what the eggs didn’t collect. If you tried it with any other pot, you’d need a strainer. I personally like French press or Chemex. I think egg coffee is mostly nostalgic.
Hmmm I’m not sure I’ll try it! 😂 Thank you again for a lovely read. It arrived at just the right time. Glad to have subscribed. You might like some of my fiction, if you have chance to take a look. 🤍
I think of egg coffee, and just kind of shake my head. As in, "Sounds delightful, maybe next time!" I'm glad you enjoyed this piece. It's wonderful that you're here. I'm going to check out your work tonight.
Sounds like we have some family roots in common! And I remember those pyrex bowls fondly! The red one was my mother's bread bowl. Only five loaves at a time and we had an electric stove.
A wonderful piece! Love to read what you remembered. Sounds a bit familiar, though, the baking, the traditions, the house, the ample kid-helpers. My husband's maternal side is Norwegian from N. Dakota. It's the Lefse!
Mary, what a beautiful story. I come from a long line of Chefs and I spent 40 years as a very successful one myself, your story resonates with me on so many levels. Especially the bread baking. During covid pandemic I made 150 loaves a week in my oven, no bread machine for me lol. I donated the loaves, 75 white and 75 wheat loaves, to our 3 local food pantries and anyone who requested a loaf or two that was unable to make it to the pantry. Anthony joined in to help me and it's one of my most treasured memories of us.
Oh, Robyne, you are so very kind. Baking all of that bread during the pandemic with your husband at your side, and giving it away to those in need. Cherish that memory.❤️
Indeed I do Cherish it. It is one of many. I would give all that I have and all that I am to have him back again by my side. But I will patiently wait til eternity just like he would want me to.
Oh, this is lovely and evocative, rich with nuances and sprinkled with love. What a gem of a read Mary. Really, all that and then some. I adore grandparent stories like this — my GPs were already gone (deceased) by the time I was born. Thank you. I love that flat whisk and how you equated the colored bowls with safety.
So yes, scrambled eggs will always remind me of Dad. And Mom snipping dates (with kitchen shears — young me thought she was so clever, and of course, she was 😉) for date and nut bread — always a special occasion in our home growing up. I'll have to write about both. Yes, I think I will.
Maureen, thank you! I love having my mother’s things around me. Even holding them or taking pictures brings good memories. I look forward to reading your stories. Snipping dates. Clever, really. My mom didn’t have kitchen scissors. I can’t get by without them. I find that family life is reflected in so many small things that are actually profoundly meaningful.❤️
No, it’s been my logo from the beginning. Also the banner. I did them on Canva for free so some of the fonts and print images were paywalled. So I did many iterations before settling on these. Glad you like them!
I only knew one of my grandparents and she died when I was twelve. But she made a chocolate cake that's legendary. It's as no nonsense as she was. You mix all the ingredients up in the pan. No bowl to wash. It's made with pantry staples. No eggs. The rise comes from baking soda and vinegar. And it's the best chocolate cake I've ever had. Really. Nothing else compares. But at this point the memories of making it with my own kids have subsumed those of my childhood. I can't say I have a lot of fond food memories from childhood. Looking back on my own childhood as a mother has tarnished things a bit for me. There are things that are hard to accept, hard to reconcile. The kid I was needed the mother I am now. But she didn't get her. Parenting my kids the way I should have been parented has helped heal a lot of that hurt. I have so many happy food memories with my husband and kids.
Tara, the cake sounds wonderful. I'm so sorry you lost your grandmother when you were young. My dad's mom - I was named after her - died before I was born. My other grandma died when I was five. But I have warm and vivid memories of her. She came and stayed with my mother after I was born (don't remember that, except on some very deep level of consciousness) and I think both grandmothers are still with me in a spiritual way.
I also feel a vast sadness for the difficulties you've had with your own mother. I faced many of them, as well. Our relationship was conflicted, to say the least. And yes, it was very difficult to be a parent when I hadn't received the love I needed when I needed it. It's a deep wound. I'm glad to hear that you recognize the struggle and are re-parenting yourself. Good for you, and good for your kids.
When I wrote this story, it started out as a meditation on objects and aesthetics. Actually, it began as a poem. But as you know, poetry is never only about what's there in front of you. It's a universe in a grain of sand. So I guess I was like a kid on the beach, pondering some lovely bowls that are made, essentially, from sand. And the story just grew from there.
I'm not sure if any of this is helpful. I spent years labeling myself as a terrible mother. But I'm tremendously happy now that I can care for them as adults - they still need me! - and they take good care of me. And even though my sponge cake isn't as good as Grandma's, my potato salad is incredible.
Thanks, Mary. As ever, your response is so kind and thoughtful. It's all so hard, isn't it? I mean, I want to see my parents with compassion, because that's the way I want to go through life. But layering my own experience of parenting on top of my childhood, there is just so much dissonance, so many things I can't just disregard. And I never saw much of myself in my parents. I believe I'm more like the grandmother who died when I when I was young. I wish I'd had more time with her. But your talk of potatoes reminded of my paternal grandfather. He was born in 1870 in Ireland, so 100 years before I was born. I never had a chance of meeting him. But I heard stories from my aunt about how he would sit by the wood stove after a long day as a longshoreman, with his feet up close to the stove, peeling potatoes for the evening meal. Often that was all there was, but he always loved them, and he loved to sit in the warmth of the kitchen and peel them. I don't know all that much about him, but that's how I always think of him. You're so right about how objects hold memories. I'm not terribly precious about things, but the few objects I have from my grandmother are precious because they call her to mind. Thanks as always. Your writing always makes me think, and your responses are always a comfort. 💙
Lovely story. Your mother's sponge cake reminds me of my grandmother's coconut cake. May or may not have caused riots in church reception halls. Ok, maybe not riots, but it does have to be hidden until it's time to serve dessert or people sneak up and take it all during dinner.
Thank you, Stephanie. I love hearing these stories about food, and especially desserts. The thing about cakes and pies is that they were always special, and mothers and grandmothers took great pride in them. And rightfully so. To bake a cake that you need to hide from poachers is a real accomplishment.
Oh my, Mary! I can't decide what I love more between the nostalgia, generational recipes and the deliciousness of your prose. It was my godmother's Pyrex bowls I coveted as a child. Surely if I possessed such magical vessels I could whip up amazing goodies. Thank you for the photos.
My childhood memory of oatmeal raisin cookies made by my mother conjures up nurturing like nothing else. My sister and I would eagerly devour the warm, lumpy sweetness but inevitably scorch our tongues on the hot raisins at the edges. Bonus point for Mom if the raisins were slightly burnt.
Truly an amazing post from an accomplished writer.
Colleen, bless your heart! (That's something my mom said, and meant it, and I mean it, too). You are so incredibly kind. I took the bowls out of my cupboard to take pictures of them, and now I can't bring myself to put them away. Also brought up her cake pan. Is she trying to tell me something?*
Oatmeal raisin cookies sound wonderful. I bought a huge bag of oatmeal at Costco some time ago, and haven't used any of it. About time I took advantage of the cold weather to heat up the house. And burnt raisins! All right, I'm making a shopping list.
What great stories you have, Colleen. Please share them here, AND on your Substack. This Side of the Couch is a great place to discuss cooking, and how healing it is for the soul.
*Mom says: You have the matching casserole dishes. What on earth are you waiting for? Time for some tuna noodle hot dish!
Beautiful, Mary. For me the food of foods is my late mother’s rhubarb pie. Our first house came with a rhubarb patch that she would harvest every spring, returning with an ambrosial pie. My husband and son didn’t share my passion for rhubarb, so I got to eat most of it myself.
Yay, rhubarb! When I was a kid, I loved to eat it raw, without sugar. I won't do that now. But I have a file of rhubarb recipes I've saved over the years. It doesn't do well in my shady yard, but I'm fortunate in having generous neighbors.
I think rhubarb thrives in cold climates. It’s one of the best things about spring. Rhubarb has those wonderful big leaves that are toxic, and thus unattractive to animals. The stalks themselves are a lovely shade of red. Even if it lacked culinary attributes, rhubarb would still be a nice border plant.
To this day the scent of dark chocolate, no sugar added, sends me to heaven. My mother kept it on her "forbidden shelf" in the pantry of the old house we grew up in. In northern NH stores were not around the corner and did not carry speciality items like good unsweetened chocolate, or hearts of palm. The forbidden shelf held all the things my mother found on her travels outside the mountains and brought back for special occasions and recipes. The chocolate went into her chocolate mousse -- a confection that she made for special birthdays and holidays.
To this day the scent of dark chocolate, no sugar added, sends me to heaven. My mother kept it on her "forbidden shelf" in the pantry of the old house we grew up in. In northern NH stores were not around the corner and did not carry speciality items like good unsweetened chocolate, or hearts of palm. The forbidden shelf held all the things my mother found on her travels outside the mountains and brought back for special occasions and recipes. The chocolate went into her chocolate mousse -- a confection that she made for special birthdays and holidays.
Ohhh, dark chocolate. Just the thought of it makes me want to go searching through every cupboard in my kitchen and in the drawers where my husband kept his stash. He made chocolate pots de creme that were so rich you could make an entire meal of one. And we did.
If you had done it, you would have quickly learned that children could climb and will do so the minute they have an opportunity. More than once, my mother reached for Nestle's semi-sweet morsels to make cookies only to find an empty bag.
Nestle’s semi-sweet morsels, and marshmallows! We’d mix them together in a bowl and devour them. There was no place in the kitchen that they would be safe.
A wonderful essay, Mary. With the farming background, the signature dish and the heirloom bowls, this evoked so many memories in me. You have captured so much here. Thank you!
Really? I just love them. My daughter's a graphic designer, and she covets them. Too bad, I keep telling her. I understand they're worth a lot of money. Or at least they're collectible. That's nice, because they're in MY collection.
What a gorgeous read. So evocative. Thank you. The smell of mint takes me right back to my own grandmother’s house (or Nanny, as is one of the names for grandmother in pats of the UK).
What on earth is egg coffee?
Thank you for your kind words, Penny! Egg coffee is a Scandinavian thing, You bring water and ground coffee to a boil in an old-fashioned enamel coffee pot, then crack in a raw egg. It collects the grounds. It really does.❤️
As a coffee lover, I am so curious about this. Do you scoop the egg out with the grounds? Or drink the cooked egg? Trying to picture (and taste) this!
You swirl the egg around in the pot and it absorbs the grounds and helps them settle. Those old enamel pots had a perforated opening, so they filtered out what the eggs didn’t collect. If you tried it with any other pot, you’d need a strainer. I personally like French press or Chemex. I think egg coffee is mostly nostalgic.
Hmmm I’m not sure I’ll try it! 😂 Thank you again for a lovely read. It arrived at just the right time. Glad to have subscribed. You might like some of my fiction, if you have chance to take a look. 🤍
I think of egg coffee, and just kind of shake my head. As in, "Sounds delightful, maybe next time!" I'm glad you enjoyed this piece. It's wonderful that you're here. I'm going to check out your work tonight.
Why read Proust when I can read Mary Roblyn?
Jenna, I’m so honored. I’m speechless. You are so very kind. I promise to never write six volumes after eating a piece of cake.❤️
I agree!
Jenna,
Sounds like we have some family roots in common! And I remember those pyrex bowls fondly! The red one was my mother's bread bowl. Only five loaves at a time and we had an electric stove.
Yes, those bowls are precious! Lots of memories. Lots of love.❤️
A wonderful piece! Love to read what you remembered. Sounds a bit familiar, though, the baking, the traditions, the house, the ample kid-helpers. My husband's maternal side is Norwegian from N. Dakota. It's the Lefse!
Oh, the lefse! My dad’s side of the family came from Norway to South Dakota. We have lefse and krumkake at Christmas. Great stuff.❤️
Mary, what a beautiful story. I come from a long line of Chefs and I spent 40 years as a very successful one myself, your story resonates with me on so many levels. Especially the bread baking. During covid pandemic I made 150 loaves a week in my oven, no bread machine for me lol. I donated the loaves, 75 white and 75 wheat loaves, to our 3 local food pantries and anyone who requested a loaf or two that was unable to make it to the pantry. Anthony joined in to help me and it's one of my most treasured memories of us.
Thank you for sharing.
Oh, Robyne, you are so very kind. Baking all of that bread during the pandemic with your husband at your side, and giving it away to those in need. Cherish that memory.❤️
Definitely will ❤️
Indeed I do Cherish it. It is one of many. I would give all that I have and all that I am to have him back again by my side. But I will patiently wait til eternity just like he would want me to.
I love this “It doesn’t nest, as the bowls do, in the orderly comfort I crave.”
Thank you, Kay.❤️
You're most welcome, Mary.
Oh, this is lovely and evocative, rich with nuances and sprinkled with love. What a gem of a read Mary. Really, all that and then some. I adore grandparent stories like this — my GPs were already gone (deceased) by the time I was born. Thank you. I love that flat whisk and how you equated the colored bowls with safety.
So yes, scrambled eggs will always remind me of Dad. And Mom snipping dates (with kitchen shears — young me thought she was so clever, and of course, she was 😉) for date and nut bread — always a special occasion in our home growing up. I'll have to write about both. Yes, I think I will.
Maureen, thank you! I love having my mother’s things around me. Even holding them or taking pictures brings good memories. I look forward to reading your stories. Snipping dates. Clever, really. My mom didn’t have kitchen scissors. I can’t get by without them. I find that family life is reflected in so many small things that are actually profoundly meaningful.❤️
also, random question, Mary - is your logo "writer interrupted" new (I love it!) or am I just noticing it today?
No, it’s been my logo from the beginning. Also the banner. I did them on Canva for free so some of the fonts and print images were paywalled. So I did many iterations before settling on these. Glad you like them!
I only knew one of my grandparents and she died when I was twelve. But she made a chocolate cake that's legendary. It's as no nonsense as she was. You mix all the ingredients up in the pan. No bowl to wash. It's made with pantry staples. No eggs. The rise comes from baking soda and vinegar. And it's the best chocolate cake I've ever had. Really. Nothing else compares. But at this point the memories of making it with my own kids have subsumed those of my childhood. I can't say I have a lot of fond food memories from childhood. Looking back on my own childhood as a mother has tarnished things a bit for me. There are things that are hard to accept, hard to reconcile. The kid I was needed the mother I am now. But she didn't get her. Parenting my kids the way I should have been parented has helped heal a lot of that hurt. I have so many happy food memories with my husband and kids.
Tara, the cake sounds wonderful. I'm so sorry you lost your grandmother when you were young. My dad's mom - I was named after her - died before I was born. My other grandma died when I was five. But I have warm and vivid memories of her. She came and stayed with my mother after I was born (don't remember that, except on some very deep level of consciousness) and I think both grandmothers are still with me in a spiritual way.
I also feel a vast sadness for the difficulties you've had with your own mother. I faced many of them, as well. Our relationship was conflicted, to say the least. And yes, it was very difficult to be a parent when I hadn't received the love I needed when I needed it. It's a deep wound. I'm glad to hear that you recognize the struggle and are re-parenting yourself. Good for you, and good for your kids.
When I wrote this story, it started out as a meditation on objects and aesthetics. Actually, it began as a poem. But as you know, poetry is never only about what's there in front of you. It's a universe in a grain of sand. So I guess I was like a kid on the beach, pondering some lovely bowls that are made, essentially, from sand. And the story just grew from there.
I'm not sure if any of this is helpful. I spent years labeling myself as a terrible mother. But I'm tremendously happy now that I can care for them as adults - they still need me! - and they take good care of me. And even though my sponge cake isn't as good as Grandma's, my potato salad is incredible.
Thanks, Mary. As ever, your response is so kind and thoughtful. It's all so hard, isn't it? I mean, I want to see my parents with compassion, because that's the way I want to go through life. But layering my own experience of parenting on top of my childhood, there is just so much dissonance, so many things I can't just disregard. And I never saw much of myself in my parents. I believe I'm more like the grandmother who died when I when I was young. I wish I'd had more time with her. But your talk of potatoes reminded of my paternal grandfather. He was born in 1870 in Ireland, so 100 years before I was born. I never had a chance of meeting him. But I heard stories from my aunt about how he would sit by the wood stove after a long day as a longshoreman, with his feet up close to the stove, peeling potatoes for the evening meal. Often that was all there was, but he always loved them, and he loved to sit in the warmth of the kitchen and peel them. I don't know all that much about him, but that's how I always think of him. You're so right about how objects hold memories. I'm not terribly precious about things, but the few objects I have from my grandmother are precious because they call her to mind. Thanks as always. Your writing always makes me think, and your responses are always a comfort. 💙
Lovely story. Your mother's sponge cake reminds me of my grandmother's coconut cake. May or may not have caused riots in church reception halls. Ok, maybe not riots, but it does have to be hidden until it's time to serve dessert or people sneak up and take it all during dinner.
Thank you, Stephanie. I love hearing these stories about food, and especially desserts. The thing about cakes and pies is that they were always special, and mothers and grandmothers took great pride in them. And rightfully so. To bake a cake that you need to hide from poachers is a real accomplishment.
Oh my, Mary! I can't decide what I love more between the nostalgia, generational recipes and the deliciousness of your prose. It was my godmother's Pyrex bowls I coveted as a child. Surely if I possessed such magical vessels I could whip up amazing goodies. Thank you for the photos.
My childhood memory of oatmeal raisin cookies made by my mother conjures up nurturing like nothing else. My sister and I would eagerly devour the warm, lumpy sweetness but inevitably scorch our tongues on the hot raisins at the edges. Bonus point for Mom if the raisins were slightly burnt.
Truly an amazing post from an accomplished writer.
Colleen, bless your heart! (That's something my mom said, and meant it, and I mean it, too). You are so incredibly kind. I took the bowls out of my cupboard to take pictures of them, and now I can't bring myself to put them away. Also brought up her cake pan. Is she trying to tell me something?*
Oatmeal raisin cookies sound wonderful. I bought a huge bag of oatmeal at Costco some time ago, and haven't used any of it. About time I took advantage of the cold weather to heat up the house. And burnt raisins! All right, I'm making a shopping list.
What great stories you have, Colleen. Please share them here, AND on your Substack. This Side of the Couch is a great place to discuss cooking, and how healing it is for the soul.
*Mom says: You have the matching casserole dishes. What on earth are you waiting for? Time for some tuna noodle hot dish!
Beautiful, Mary. For me the food of foods is my late mother’s rhubarb pie. Our first house came with a rhubarb patch that she would harvest every spring, returning with an ambrosial pie. My husband and son didn’t share my passion for rhubarb, so I got to eat most of it myself.
My mother's rhubarb crumble had a similar status for me
I make a great rhubarb crumble. I love the unique tartness that remains, no matter how much sugar you throw at it.
Yay, rhubarb! When I was a kid, I loved to eat it raw, without sugar. I won't do that now. But I have a file of rhubarb recipes I've saved over the years. It doesn't do well in my shady yard, but I'm fortunate in having generous neighbors.
I didn't know about rhubarb pie (with strawberry) until I moved from Switzerland to Canada in 1980. 😊
I think rhubarb thrives in cold climates. It’s one of the best things about spring. Rhubarb has those wonderful big leaves that are toxic, and thus unattractive to animals. The stalks themselves are a lovely shade of red. Even if it lacked culinary attributes, rhubarb would still be a nice border plant.
We have one we had to divide multiple times because it got so huge!
You’re lucky! My yard is shady, so I don’t have the best conditions for rhubarb. But it grows. Not profusely, but at least it grows!
To this day the scent of dark chocolate, no sugar added, sends me to heaven. My mother kept it on her "forbidden shelf" in the pantry of the old house we grew up in. In northern NH stores were not around the corner and did not carry speciality items like good unsweetened chocolate, or hearts of palm. The forbidden shelf held all the things my mother found on her travels outside the mountains and brought back for special occasions and recipes. The chocolate went into her chocolate mousse -- a confection that she made for special birthdays and holidays.
To this day the scent of dark chocolate, no sugar added, sends me to heaven. My mother kept it on her "forbidden shelf" in the pantry of the old house we grew up in. In northern NH stores were not around the corner and did not carry speciality items like good unsweetened chocolate, or hearts of palm. The forbidden shelf held all the things my mother found on her travels outside the mountains and brought back for special occasions and recipes. The chocolate went into her chocolate mousse -- a confection that she made for special birthdays and holidays.
Ohhh, dark chocolate. Just the thought of it makes me want to go searching through every cupboard in my kitchen and in the drawers where my husband kept his stash. He made chocolate pots de creme that were so rich you could make an entire meal of one. And we did.
Forbidden shelf... That's funny! I don't think I heard this before but now wish I had implemented it with my own kids. 😀
If you had done it, you would have quickly learned that children could climb and will do so the minute they have an opportunity. More than once, my mother reached for Nestle's semi-sweet morsels to make cookies only to find an empty bag.
Nestle’s semi-sweet morsels, and marshmallows! We’d mix them together in a bowl and devour them. There was no place in the kitchen that they would be safe.
A wonderful essay, Mary. With the farming background, the signature dish and the heirloom bowls, this evoked so many memories in me. You have captured so much here. Thank you!
Thank you, Jeffrey. I'm glad it resonated with you.