I'm resigned to the fact at this point that I'm not posting in my blog all that often. Every once in awhile though, inspiration will strike and I will feel like I absolutely must share what I'm thinking about here. Mainly because I know that there are folks out there who *do* read my blog when I get around to posting. And they let me know that they appreciate it. Which is really, really nice. I'm pretty crummy at using the phone, (and the pen as it turns out.) Maybe when I'm older I'll grow back into that. There's always hope.
Last week my youngest had her tonsils and adenoids removed. I'll spare you the details. But she's home. Doing well considering and, onward ho.
In my garden, I have given said youngest free reign to plant carrots basically wherever she pleases. I mean really, they take *so* long to grow and you get them in ones and twos so why stop it?
This morning I went out to water and discovered one very happy carrot ready to be picked. She gets to pull any and all carrots since she planted them, after all. But she is sure to face certain death if she eats the carrot. (Tonsils & all...)
So... off I went to find a recipe for soft carrots. What I found instead is an article and recipe for Carrot Pudding. Michael Procopio writes a really nice piece that weaves together Carrot Pudding and the phenomenon of how 1st generation Americans inherit the recipes of their parents, but over time, they change. "They are still recognizable, but they bear the branding of adaptation, of assimilation."
This is something that I've thought a lot about. I like traditional foods. My maternal side of the family came to "America" well over 200 years ago. Don't know of any food traditions there. Probably because it was hand to mouth in those days. Paternal side came from Germany. Or maybe Poland. We don't know for sure. But hey! They were bakers! Yay! But wait... that was in the late 1800's and um... no recipes. Hey guys, what gives? (Now, I must give credit to my awesome aunt who gave all of us cousins a book of recipes from my grandmother's personal collection. And I have a family cheesecake recipe that I guard with my life.) Which brings me to...
The Bialy Eaters.
Easily one of my favorite books of all time. Not a new book. But I read it earlier this summer. Mouthwatering and heartbreaking. Bialys are named after Bialystok in Poland. An authentic Bialy is next to impossible to find. No one even makes Bialys in Bialystok anymore. (Before I read this book, I thought a Bialy was just a Bagel without a hole. Wrong again, Einstein.)
I wish I could know what my ancestors ate. I'm sure there's culture in there somewhere.
With all of the picking of berries, carrots and jam making we've done this summer, I've wondered whether way back when, "my people" were gatherers. Meanwhile. I'll try out this carrot pudding and see how we like it.
