Family recipes

The old gray and black linoleum table rhythmically rocked and squeaked as my mother kneaded bread.  The sound of “slap, slap, squish” as she folded and pushed the bread until (as my grandma taught) the dough was “as soft as a baby's bottom”.  Growing up in our house was centered around moments like this:  connected to the kitchen.

I remember arguing with my brothers about who had the most blueberries or tallest pile of ice cream.  I remember mixing chocolate into vanilla ice cream and stirring it until it was the consistency of a milk shake.  At Christmas, we would make divinity with dad, pick the nuts out of my mom’s fruitcake, and dip snowflake irons into hot oil for Norwegian Rosettes.  The cooled cookies would be dropped into a paper sack with powdered sugar to be bounced about the kitchen then pulled out and eaten before it had a chance to rest on the plate for the Schoefllers across the street on Norwood.  I remember becoming inpatient as we beat Monsieur Bon-Bon’s Secret “Fooj” with a wooden spoon.

My grandma and granddad Shaw's home in Tigard, Oregon was filled with "foodful" memories too.  We’d go ride out to the garden in my granddad’s makeshift tractor.  We picked and husked mountains of corn for dinner.  The plates of corn would be piled so high that I couldn't see the person across the table from me!  I would walk out to the garden with my granddad to eat garden sandwiches.  He’d bring out slices of homemade buttered bread to fill with onions, kohlrabi, and cucumbers sliced with his trusty pocket knife.  The smell of grease and tobacco mingled with the aroma of onions freshly sliced by my granddad’s broad, weathered hands.  My Grandma Oliver's place was also a place of tastes, smells, and intrigue.  I remember my grandma's wild plum jam and the garden she kept outside of her kitchen.  My dad used to fish on Klamath Lake and the family has a rich tradition of self-reliance and making do with what they had.  They didn't just "make do" but created delicious traditions that centered around food. 

Every so often, I sift through piles of greasy, wrinkled papers to find my favorite childhood tastes and smells.  My tattered recipe binders are filled with splattered remnants of yesterday’s treats.  I have called my mom many times with the question, “How did you make that again???”  

When I was a child, my grandma had a closet that she called the "Fibber McGee Closet"  I remember sitting with her and going through the items she had tucked away inside her closet of treasures.  Those moments gave me a connection to my roots and now I'm sharing our family roots with you.  My recipes have become like my grandma's Fibber McGee's closet and it's time to dust them off, call my mom for a little help and put them on this page for you.  I shouldn't be keeping the treasures to myself any longer!  We have even created some videos to go along with some of the recipes.

Have fun, visit often, and look for new additions!

~ Mom