The summer I was sixteen my mother decided
that we children should all have to learn how to plan meals, do the grocery
shopping for same then actually cook the evening repast: she started with me –
not because I was the oldest – as my job that summer was folding sheets hot off
the mangle in the hospital laundry and since it was a miserably hot job we
worked from 7 until 3 p.m. meaning that I was the first off work or out of school
or whatever else my siblings were doing to occupy their time.
I have often laughed about that summer as I
was the one who always forgot to salt the dishes that I made: this stood me in
good stead when later in life my husband needed to be on a salt-free diet.
I managed, but certainly was never the cook
that my mother was. Then there was boarding school until I got out of
university and although I often worked in the cafeteria of whatever school I
was then attending, cooking was limited to peeling potatoes, running the cash
register, or even washing the dishes.
As a young wife I didn’t get much more
practice as since we worked together and were self-employed we often ate out,
had to entertain clients, or had little time: my husband thought that after we
got home the meal should be on the table within the following 5 minutes. That
didn’t leave much scope for fancy meals.
The kids came along and again it was more
getting a balanced meal on the table in short order at least twice a day: as
there is an age gap in between my two sons, often we had two main meals as one
or the other had been missing at lunch or would be at dinner: again more
utilitarian meals.
Throughout though I developed a love of
baking – my mother’s sister made us pies, cakes and cookies even when we were
small and weekends were never lacking in fine home baked items.
So at one point my husband and I decided
that Sundays we would only have two meals – a late breakfast and an early
dinner – thus allowing us to take the kids swimming in between. That worked
until teenage dietary needs loomed, then I started making a fruit tart for
“dinner” as they needed something.
Christmas has always been “my” time with cookie baking, fruitcakes, etc.
I’ll start end November, beginning December and normally we’ll still have
something in the freezer at least until my older son’s birthday end January.
I can’t remember when first I discovered
the brownie recipe, but it has become a tradition. The one thing that I can
always do well; the one item that a growing circle of friends love seeing come
their way. At some point they have asked
for the recipe – as have my kids – but I thought to myself, no, that is the one
thing that I do excel at in the kitchen, let’s keep it my specialty.
I always make them in the winter, but have
been known to do so at odd times and recently the weather was cooler, I had the
time and needed dessert for an evening meal so got busy. The resulting double
batch were enjoyed as dessert, some went to one good friend, some to another, some
up to my landlord in the mountains and some were even left home for my
housemate, her husband and my son. I’m not very good with saying I love you or
even writing it, but those for whom I make brownies need to know that that is
my way of showing it. But it isn’t only me that uses “Brownie Love”:
My housemate sent me the following by
e-mail this morning:
“This morning I found on the brownie pan a note
*Proof of my love for you! I 'm drunk and that brownie looks so
good"
I left a note and half a brownie "Proof of my love for you."
RRR”
Brownie
love is a fine thing!
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| the latest batch |
