Cooking
This is an entry in the Fond Food Memories Competition, held by Jennifer at The Domestic Goddess
Even though my life these past years seems to have evolved around food (whether it be cooking it, serving it or eating it), it hasn't always been so. I remember a couple of months back when Meg from Too Many Chefs encouraged commenters to tell where they got their appetite for food and it's preparation from - who had been their inspiration and idol, who had guided them forward and helped them do the dirty dishes on their way. Her own story was a fascinating read about a Mom and two grandmothers, who all through her childhood had made fabulous food and homemade cakes, and who's strongly influenced the way she cooks and generally go about the kitchen today.
I never had that. Now, don't get me wrong. I don't feel deprived because of it, nor do I feel I've been a victim of neglect or anything. It's just a fact. My mom wasn't so enthusiastic about the kitchen. And who could blame her for not wanting to spend never ending hours in front of a hot stove once she got home from a 8-9 hour day at work, had done the grocery shopping and picked me up from kindergarten - and squeezed in a half hour chat with my older sister about the latest girlie gossip from school. I for one couldn't.
But we did spend a lot of time in the kitchen. It was a large, white marble, black hardware and birch wood kitchen, with lots of cupboards and a great view over the back garden. My Grandad build the house and left it to my Mom when he died. There was a huge, also white marble dining table in one end of the kitchen, with black chairs around it. Once, when my sister and I played circus, she dropped me on the white marble floor, and I got a concussion.
My Moms favorite dish was rye bread with cold cuts - herring, spegepølse, leverpostej. I used to suspect it was because she didn't really have to cook to make that, but later found out it's always been her favorite dish - she put it in a friend's book once when she was 8 or 10, you know, those books where all your friends answer a lot of questions: what's your favorite color, what do you want to be when you grow up etc. etc. I know it is to this day, her best friends favorite dish too - it's what they always eat when they meet up, as they do about every other week or so.
One thing she did cook for me and my sister, was grilled sausages with (bought) potato salad and sweet mustard. Okay, so maybe you can't really call that cook, but she plated it, and it looked darn good every time. We used to eat it in front of the TV, the three of us together, me and my sister probably on the floor, arms almost not reaching the glass table top, but scoffing down sausages with bright yellow mustard and sweet potato salad. Mom on the sofa, head over the plate so as not to spill too much on the couch, although that was never anything that would get anyone in trouble in that household. If I was lucky, there'd be sausages left, and I got them in my lunchbox the next day on rye, complete with potato salad and mustard on top. WHY on earth would a little girl want something like that in her lunch box? Well, I loved it. I truly did. I loved the fact that my mom did my lunch, each and every single day, until I got too old and thought it embarrassing to bring lunch when I could buy it just as easily, and feel cool with the cool people at school.
So for a couple of years, I didn't bring lunch. And I didn't get her sweet messages that was a must in that lunch box. A simple faded, yellow post-it sticker stuck to the inner side of the lid of my lunchbox. "Hi Sweety! Remember we're going to J's tonight, so you have to come home after your dance lesson or let me know if you just want to go straight there. Love you! Mom"
When I got in high school, I went back to bringing my own lunch, but this time I made them myself. Mom baked me sandwich buns (still not entirely from scratch, but that wasn't really what mattered) And yes, she still wrote me post-it sticker messages. I still have a jar filled with them. I'm pretty sure she'd still be doing it if I still lived at home.
Where am I getting at? Well, I don't live at home no more. Luckily, she doesn't live to far away, and she drops by every now and again. Of course, all too little, but isn't that just the way things go when you grow up? There's too little of everything, especially time. Nowadays, I'm the one doing the cooking, and even though I'd do her the most elaborate meals, if that's what she wanted, I can always be sure that if I call her, asking what she'd like to eat that evening, she'll go quiet for a second, just because she's a teeny tiney bit embarrassed that she always likes me to cook the same thing for her, and then she'll say: "you know. I want Caesar's!" Yes, she could have gone for the whole rye bread thing, but afterall, she can do that herself. I know she eats rye bread almost every night when she's home alone, so every time she does drop by, I try to make sure that I've got a freshly baked rye bread ready for her, to take with her home and enjoy on the evenings where she sit at that glass top table, head pulled over the plate, watching the couch and enjoying her dinner. She might not have been the one teaching me to cook, but she's the one that's always encouraged me to go into things with an open mind and an open heart - and a little yellow post-it sticker stuck somewhere...
Rye Bread - adapted from a Camilla Plum recipe
Makes one large loaf
Day 1
1 dl. rye sour dough
750 ml water
2 large teaspoons salt
- stir the three ingredients together. Add to this:
75 g. rye (whole kernels)
75 g. linseeds
150 g. rye flour
150 unsifted spelt-flour
150 g. sifted spelt flour
1/4 bottle "hvidtøl" (beer with no alcohol) - about 10 cl.
Leave for 12-24 hours
Day 2:
Add to the dough:
250 ml water
225 g. rye flour
100 g. linseeds
100 g. wheat kernels, cracked
50 g. rye kernels
25 g. sesame seeds
25 g. sunflower seeds
25 g. pumpkin seeds
25 g. poppy seeds
Pour into a buttered loaf pan, about 2 liter capacity. Remember to keep a batch of sourdough for your next loaf. Leave to rise for 2-6 hours.
Bake in a 150 C hot oven for three hours- Turn out of the pan, then leave the rye bread to cool in the turned off oven.
- Muesli Rolls For Breakfast
.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } As if it's not enough that we're notoriously bad at eating our vegetables...
- On The Twentysecond Day Of Christmas: My Favorite Man And His Favorite Bread
.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Even though I've had this blog for 3½ years, there's a certain someone...
- Procrastinating With Potato-wholewheat Bread
.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } I learn so much from blogging. Like the word "procrastinate". I love that word....
- Kneading Is My Meditation
.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } No, no, I'm not going to be one of the birds piping the virtues of that fabulous...
- [dansk] Jomfruhummere And My Dad
I love my Dad. I know, every little girl (and the not-so-small ones, too) love their Dads. But my Dad is special. I think I've mentioned before that I've never lived with my Dad. My Mom and him split up shortly after I was born. When I was little,...
Cooking
Fond Food Memories
This is an entry in the Fond Food Memories Competition, held by Jennifer at The Domestic Goddess
Even though my life these past years seems to have evolved around food (whether it be cooking it, serving it or eating it), it hasn't always been so. I remember a couple of months back when Meg from Too Many Chefs encouraged commenters to tell where they got their appetite for food and it's preparation from - who had been their inspiration and idol, who had guided them forward and helped them do the dirty dishes on their way. Her own story was a fascinating read about a Mom and two grandmothers, who all through her childhood had made fabulous food and homemade cakes, and who's strongly influenced the way she cooks and generally go about the kitchen today.
I never had that. Now, don't get me wrong. I don't feel deprived because of it, nor do I feel I've been a victim of neglect or anything. It's just a fact. My mom wasn't so enthusiastic about the kitchen. And who could blame her for not wanting to spend never ending hours in front of a hot stove once she got home from a 8-9 hour day at work, had done the grocery shopping and picked me up from kindergarten - and squeezed in a half hour chat with my older sister about the latest girlie gossip from school. I for one couldn't.
But we did spend a lot of time in the kitchen. It was a large, white marble, black hardware and birch wood kitchen, with lots of cupboards and a great view over the back garden. My Grandad build the house and left it to my Mom when he died. There was a huge, also white marble dining table in one end of the kitchen, with black chairs around it. Once, when my sister and I played circus, she dropped me on the white marble floor, and I got a concussion.
My Moms favorite dish was rye bread with cold cuts - herring, spegepølse, leverpostej. I used to suspect it was because she didn't really have to cook to make that, but later found out it's always been her favorite dish - she put it in a friend's book once when she was 8 or 10, you know, those books where all your friends answer a lot of questions: what's your favorite color, what do you want to be when you grow up etc. etc. I know it is to this day, her best friends favorite dish too - it's what they always eat when they meet up, as they do about every other week or so.
One thing she did cook for me and my sister, was grilled sausages with (bought) potato salad and sweet mustard. Okay, so maybe you can't really call that cook, but she plated it, and it looked darn good every time. We used to eat it in front of the TV, the three of us together, me and my sister probably on the floor, arms almost not reaching the glass table top, but scoffing down sausages with bright yellow mustard and sweet potato salad. Mom on the sofa, head over the plate so as not to spill too much on the couch, although that was never anything that would get anyone in trouble in that household. If I was lucky, there'd be sausages left, and I got them in my lunchbox the next day on rye, complete with potato salad and mustard on top. WHY on earth would a little girl want something like that in her lunch box? Well, I loved it. I truly did. I loved the fact that my mom did my lunch, each and every single day, until I got too old and thought it embarrassing to bring lunch when I could buy it just as easily, and feel cool with the cool people at school.
So for a couple of years, I didn't bring lunch. And I didn't get her sweet messages that was a must in that lunch box. A simple faded, yellow post-it sticker stuck to the inner side of the lid of my lunchbox. "Hi Sweety! Remember we're going to J's tonight, so you have to come home after your dance lesson or let me know if you just want to go straight there. Love you! Mom"
When I got in high school, I went back to bringing my own lunch, but this time I made them myself. Mom baked me sandwich buns (still not entirely from scratch, but that wasn't really what mattered) And yes, she still wrote me post-it sticker messages. I still have a jar filled with them. I'm pretty sure she'd still be doing it if I still lived at home.
Where am I getting at? Well, I don't live at home no more. Luckily, she doesn't live to far away, and she drops by every now and again. Of course, all too little, but isn't that just the way things go when you grow up? There's too little of everything, especially time. Nowadays, I'm the one doing the cooking, and even though I'd do her the most elaborate meals, if that's what she wanted, I can always be sure that if I call her, asking what she'd like to eat that evening, she'll go quiet for a second, just because she's a teeny tiney bit embarrassed that she always likes me to cook the same thing for her, and then she'll say: "you know. I want Caesar's!" Yes, she could have gone for the whole rye bread thing, but afterall, she can do that herself. I know she eats rye bread almost every night when she's home alone, so every time she does drop by, I try to make sure that I've got a freshly baked rye bread ready for her, to take with her home and enjoy on the evenings where she sit at that glass top table, head pulled over the plate, watching the couch and enjoying her dinner. She might not have been the one teaching me to cook, but she's the one that's always encouraged me to go into things with an open mind and an open heart - and a little yellow post-it sticker stuck somewhere...
Rye Bread - adapted from a Camilla Plum recipe
Makes one large loaf
Day 1
1 dl. rye sour dough
750 ml water
2 large teaspoons salt
- stir the three ingredients together. Add to this:
75 g. rye (whole kernels)
75 g. linseeds
150 g. rye flour
150 unsifted spelt-flour
150 g. sifted spelt flour
1/4 bottle "hvidtøl" (beer with no alcohol) - about 10 cl.
Leave for 12-24 hours
Day 2:
Add to the dough:
250 ml water
225 g. rye flour
100 g. linseeds
100 g. wheat kernels, cracked
50 g. rye kernels
25 g. sesame seeds
25 g. sunflower seeds
25 g. pumpkin seeds
25 g. poppy seeds
Pour into a buttered loaf pan, about 2 liter capacity. Remember to keep a batch of sourdough for your next loaf. Leave to rise for 2-6 hours.
Bake in a 150 C hot oven for three hours- Turn out of the pan, then leave the rye bread to cool in the turned off oven.
- Muesli Rolls For Breakfast
.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } As if it's not enough that we're notoriously bad at eating our vegetables...
- On The Twentysecond Day Of Christmas: My Favorite Man And His Favorite Bread
.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } Even though I've had this blog for 3½ years, there's a certain someone...
- Procrastinating With Potato-wholewheat Bread
.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } I learn so much from blogging. Like the word "procrastinate". I love that word....
- Kneading Is My Meditation
.flickr-photo { border: solid 2px #000000; }.flickr-yourcomment { }.flickr-frame { text-align: left; padding: 3px; }.flickr-caption { font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px; } No, no, I'm not going to be one of the birds piping the virtues of that fabulous...
- [dansk] Jomfruhummere And My Dad
I love my Dad. I know, every little girl (and the not-so-small ones, too) love their Dads. But my Dad is special. I think I've mentioned before that I've never lived with my Dad. My Mom and him split up shortly after I was born. When I was little,...