Only desserts
Growing up in the country allowed our parents the luxury of not worrying about our diets. There were no MacDonalds and candy and sodas cost cash, of which we had little. Our table was laden with farm-fresh vegetables, very small portions of meat, local fish in season, and plenty of fresh fruit.
The fruit can be eaten fresh, canned for the winter, preserved or, best of all,
ending in a freshly baked cake. My mother inherited a natural talent for baking.
and kitchen of his father, who owned and operated a German deli
grocery store for fifty years. All salads, soups and cakes were personally
made by my grandfather.
My father was the chef at our little summer hotel in the country. at six thirty
every day he lined up the eggs, the rafts of bacon, the loaves of white and rye bread
for toast and all the necessary paraphernalia for oatmeal, pancakes and cream of wheat. The bacon grease was collected in #2 cans and placed on top of the stove.
to settle down The next day, the tins were placed in the refrigerator in preparation for baking the cake.
Flooded apples, peaches, pears, plums, blueberries, cherries, and strawberries
farmers markets June through September. The current price of a bushel
of apples and peaches was four dollars. They grew strawberries, raspberries and pears
right on our property, ready for pick up. In autumn pumpkins, zucchini and
rhubarb were added to the cake baking mix.
Early in the morning after breakfast, my mom would prepare the dough for the
edge of the cake Four pounds of bacon shortening (just the white part on top of the cans), five cups of flour, and one teaspoon of salt are poured into a large stoneware bowl.
mixing bowl and crumbled into one and a half inch pieces. A cup of this mixture, placed
on a still cold marble slab, rolled out into two twelve-inch circles of dough until thin
one eighth of an inch. A ten-inch pie plate would fit two cups of sliced apples, brown
sugar and a few pieces of butter. No milky thickeners were used in these cakes, just the
natural juices thickened with a little water and a handful of tapioca. the top was
glued to the water at the bottom and crimped with thumb and forefinger. some bars
on top allowed steam to safely escape and a layer of half milk and half cream
secured a toasty brown glaze.
My mom’s cakes were reserved every week by dozens of lucky gourmets who tried them.
patties only ounce. Pumpkin pie was one of my favorites and I can still relish in my mind the
salty flavor of spices – cinnamon, cloves, ginger and allspice. The filling was firm and
creamy, not runny or stiff. The flaky crust was melt in your mouth and even the bottom
it stayed crunchy. A local restaurant heard about this epicurean delight and wheedled mom
to produce an additional dozen pies per week. No fresh fruit was safe from his capable
hands and no cake was safe from our voracious appetites.