It's been interesting this March, putting the focus on simplicity, and realising it can be found in many areas of life - in the practical, the emotional, and even the spiritual.
In previous posts this month, I've written about a few areas of simplifying, some fairly obvious, others not quite so. In applying the decision to simplify as many aspects of life as I can, taking note of the day to day changes, and observing the fruit coming forth, a deep sense of confidence, joy and peace has begun to settle on my heart. Honest, it's quite simply, lovely.
I have been promising to share our family recipe book for ages, and whilst sorting through more than thirty years of notes and files, I had to take lots of breaks as it became a larger project than I had first imagined. When I chose "simplicity" as the theme for March, it hadn't yet occurred to me that this was how I needed to put together a recipe book, but as the weeks have passed, it suddenly seemed common sense to choose the recipes we enjoy a lot, the ones I have never stopped making regularly, the simple family fare my children and husband ask for time and again, the meals and treats my girls request the recipe for so they can carry on the tradition of old family favourites with their own children.
So, in simplifying my stack of old recipes for the girls, I was able to move forward with the plan to share them with you too.
Another aspect of simplicity with this project, was to break it up into sections, and share them one at a time. Today you'll receive Part 1 - Sweeties...
Use the link below to download Part One in A4 or Letter files...
As this is part 1, I also decided to write about the inspiration I have for cooking, and it should be no surprise to you that it all began with Nana and Pop.
You may not want to download this first recipe file, but perhaps you'd like to know a bit more about those precious grandparents who raised me, so I'll share that story here for you...
From the age of three I was blessed to be raised with an abundance of love and laughter in the tiny
home of my Nana, Phyllis May, and my Pop, Eric John.
Nana was born in 1911, a few years before the Great War. She married at eighteen and within four years
had three small children to raise, right in the midst of the Great Depression. Her younger sister died a
few years later so Nana took on the care of her sibling’s two children for a season as well.
By the time World War 2 began she was well equipped by previous experience to feed the family on
whatever was available. She had learned all the tricks of using up what was already on hand, mending,
repurposing anything and everything, re‐using (tea bags especially), bartering, growing some basics in
her tiny yard, preserving, doing without, substituting ingredients, and watching every penny.
I remember her telling me how during the Depression, she and her sister would save pink or red tissue
paper to re‐use as makeup. They’d dab a tiny piece with water and use it rub on their cheeks for rouge,
and on their lips for lipstick. Growing up with Nana, I never saw her leave the house without applying
an inexpensive red or vivid pink lipstick and clipping on a pair of earrings, and when she told me about
this experience from the war years, I understood why. They are small things by today’s standard, but
after doing without through a Depression and a war, it gave her much pleasure to ‘do herself up’ a little
throughout the remainder of her life.
My nan was a very basic cook, but everything she made was delicious and the taste of her food still
lingers in my memory. In fact, I find it fascinating that even today I can close my eyes and smell the
simple but yummy meals she lovingly prepared for Pop and I.
I remember with delight the breakfast conversations with her and Pop, when he’d praise her for the
simple meal and how blessed he was to have her as his wife, and how he’d encourage me to be just like
her. At the time I thought that task impossible, and later in life wished I’d paid more attention to ‘what’
she did, instead of only being awed by who she was – but Nana glowed with soft love, her vivid blue
eyes twinkled, and her loud house‐shaking laugh (which I inherited, along with her eyes) drew attention
wherever she went, especially mine. I simply adored my Nana and Pop, and never in life have I known
two people such as they, who were able to be content with so very little, and yet offer it all to a small
granddaughter like me.
We always ate leftovers for breakfast, never was a bowl of cereal seen on our humble table. If there
were no leftovers, Pop would roll up his sleeves and take over by peeling potatoes, chopping them into
chips, and frying them in a shallow pan with the fat from last Sunday’s roast. Served with slices of bread
and a sprinkle of salt and pepper, they were a real treat! Pop couldn’t cook anything else, and I doubt
Nana would have let him if he wanted to, but she knew there were no better chips to be had than those
cooked by her dear little husband.
Lunch was usually bread with whatever was available. In those days lamb was cheap so it was often
leftover roast lamb and her homemade pickles, but it might also be soup and dumplings during winter.
Nana grew a choko vine (chayote) over the back fence, and it was quite a prolific producer so she made
use of it in many ways – seasonal jars of pickle relish, pan fried in butter, crumbed and fried, or chopped
with apples and cinnamon to fill an apple pie. I was 23 when Nana passed away, and treasured the last
jars of choko pickle Pop gave me after the funeral. Every spoonful on a sandwich over the following
months was seasoned with my salty tears, and a crushing pain in my heart...right beside the memory of
her great loving hugs.
I was not a good cook when I first married and began a family, as Nana had not ‘taught’ me to cook, but
gradually, sitting quietly for a time and remembering all I could over many years, the simple recipes
came back and I’d tweak them until they tasted ‘almost’ the same…after all, how could I ever make
anything taste as wonderful as she did?
My children and grandchildren love what I make them, and so I suppose that’s the way of generations
as time goes by. The wonderful meals we remember as a child from our mother’s or grandmother’s
kitchens may be recipes we struggle to replicate today, yet our own children and grandchildren are
right now creating their own memories of our kitchens and our meals – and so the traditions go on.
I have come to believe that food is a lifelong memory, so let us not view it through the eyes of friend or
foe with regards to various diets or programs, but let us rejoice in the way it unites young and old
across a table, and how it lingers on in our minds many years after a cherished cook has folded her
apron one last time.
I'll sign off for today, but will be back at the end of the week. I'm re-reading all the gospels right now, and as with this time each year, I am once more brought to my knees by what our precious Saviour did to save us. There will never be words enough to express how His sacrifice changed my life...is still changing my life.
If you have drifted from the Lord, and don't know quite how to rebuild a relationship with Him, read the gospels, dear one. Just quietly walk through them and follow the journey of Jesus once more...He will meet you in those pages, and change your life. He does that. I'm here today because He did that for me.
Love and hugs
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