Living Your Dream

I grew up surrounded by cooks… good cooks. No, they did not go to culinary school but they could have taught an entire graduating class the joy of cooking. My maternal grandmother and grandfather were the first two people that I stood in awe of when a meal was prepared. The lived at the foot of Whiteface Mountain in a town called Wonalancet, New Hampshire. They retired there when I was pretty young so that place was imprinted on me as who they were…. mountain people. They weren’t really mountain people.

My grandfather immigrated to the United States (New York city) from Austria when he very young and then on to New Britain, CT. His father was a butcher and ultimately settled in Southington, CT. Some of my grandmother’s people were Dutch and settled in Pennsylvania. Her mother was of English decent and is a descendent of Lady Jane Grey. My grandparents met in Sherman, CT and married ridiculously young as it was done back then. Life was hard. They were both laborers. My grandfather was a trapper and hunter before he made a career as a factory worker at General Electric. My grandmother worked at Pratt Whitney Aircraft during the war but she spent the rest of her life as a homemaker. They were hard workers and built their first home in Southington, CT. and had two daughters. Everyone helped with anything that needed to be done. It did not matter if you were a girl or not. If something needed to be built, they put a hammer in your hand and you built it and the woman weren’t the only cooks. My grandfather was a heck of a cook. I will say this…they weren’t terribly health conscious but the food was fresh, the meat was either something they killed like venison, or came from a local butcher and they knew the farmers. They grew their own vegetables, had an orchard of pears, apples and peaches and blueberries and raised their own pigs and their lives were sustainable before that word became trendy.

As a kid, when we would visit them in New Hampshire, the smells coming from their kitchen were intoxicating. Some of their recipes and favorite foods were taken into the loving arms of my siblings. My older sister still makes my grandmothers apple cake, another sister loves this dish that we called “fricky” (fried salt pork and cheddar cheese and this would be one of those dishes that is absolutely not healthy by any means) and I love back strap bacon. Please don’t tell my Rabbi. My grandfather had a smoke house and I grew up loving his bacon. Our kid loves most of the foods that Jorma and I handed down from our families but for the most part, our table looks much different than what ours looked like growing up.

Today, our table is loaded with greens, fruits and exotic grains, local meats, chicken and tofu and there are three cooks in our house. I made the decision to let Izze cook when she was five. It started out with her just mixing in spices, stirring ingredients and quickly (within days) trying her hand at pasta, scrambled eggs and then not that long after, I let her make a full meal. We made it fun. I bought her a monogrammed, Jr chef coat and told her that I was her assistant. Watching your little one around fire and big knives is nerve racking but I tried to be gentle and made sure I showed her how to hold the knife, how to curl her fingers under as to not cut them off, how to open an oven and how to keep her area clean and sanitary. I empowered her like my grandmother empowered me. My daughter is ten now. She has been cooking for six years. She has signature dishes that I did not teach her to make… like her risotto. It is award winning!

She’s big on Pinterest and found the best vegan chocolate chip cookies that she makes that are served to our guests at the Fur Peace Ranch. We are working parents so to have her be able to cook for herself when she is hungry is also such a relief. We eat most all of our meals together and sometimes, we are having three different things. I tend to eat lighter in the summer so if my family wants something more than a big salad, they can both cook. I never forced Izze to eat anything, like I was forced to eat food when I was little. Things were different back then I guess. If you didn’t eat what was on your plate, you got it for breakfast the next morning. I have always wanted Izze to be inspired by food and not dread what we were having for dinner. By allowing my daughter her own space in the kitchen, cooking became interactive, encouraging

and engaging for her. Just like with a paint and brush she has been able to use that imagination and self-expression with her own food. We have also been saying grace before our meals since she was very young and in the early years, we sang it. It just acknowledged that we honored the food before us and that has made all the difference to my Jr. chef.

Thank you for this food

This glorious, glorious food

And for the animals

And the minerals

And the vegetables

That make it possible

Amen