Ho ho ho from your friends at Chez Champion of My Heart. Please enjoy this holiday remembrance of my Gram, along with links to a few earlier posts with recipes.
An Unlikely Gourmet
By Roxanne Hawn
I grew up at the elbow of a gourmet cook, and I didn’t know it. Only later did I understand my grandma’s culinary treasures, made without fuss in her tiny canary yellow kitchen, inside her small two-tone green, post-WWII house in Colorado.
(That’s me in my grandma’s arms, watching my mom, my sis, and my brother open something. The photo behind them is of my great grandparents who immigrated from Italy in the early 1900s. She hated having her photo taken so this is the one of very few photos I have of us together.)
Then, life intervenes and only memories remain.
My grandma died years ago. But, Alzheimer’s took her away from us long before that. People called her Millie, but her name was Carmella. The eldest cousin in my big, Italian immigrant family pronounced it Carmillie. And, it stuck.
Now that she’s gone, I see that she made everything look so easy – no recipes, everything done by memory and instinct. I wish I had paid more attention.
Still, not all is lost. There’s a sweet tooth in my genetic code, just like grandma. While certain family traditions fade as generations pass – no fish okies grace my holiday table – I do keep my heritage alive when I make pizzelles, those thin, waffle-like cookies. For a few hours each December, I pretend that I’m just like her – effortless, efficient and good without the glitz.
My grandma made these cookies one at a time, using a cast-iron pizzelle iron with a long handle, held over a burner on the stove. For some reason, she always overheated the iron before she started. I suspect that she oiled and seasoned the cast iron doing this, but I don’t know for sure.
I was all about the cookies, not the prep. So, my recollections begin with her burning the first few, until the iron settled into the right temperature. The smell of anise oil seared the air, like molten licorice. Steam fogged the window beside the stove. Big band music played from the Bakelite radio on the counter, next to the fridge.
It took hours to make the mountains of cookies generated from a single batch. There she sat on the step-stool, batch after batch after batch. When I snagged a fresh one off the platter nearby, she’d always yell “Foof it!” to remind me it was hot as I snuck off, pretending to get away with something – like the countless times I untied her apron.
Other than the early scorched ones, all of grandma’s pizzelles were perfect.
I don’t know who got her pizzelle iron when she died. I use an electric one with a nonstick surface that makes two at a time, but I still can’t quite get it right. Thanks to a guestimated recipe book my Auntie Mary Ann gave me when I married, I pretty much have mastered the taste and the texture. The shape, however, evades me. Hour after hour, I concentrate on the dough dollop size and placement, but I’ve yet to produce consistently perfect cookies. Mine are too small, where the full design is not realized. Or, they are too big, with ugly, flat overruns on the edges. As I make the attempt year after year, I imagine her telling me how they look doesn’t matter.
I also remember all the things she did with such ease, all the gourmet meals she served, all the things she did just right. And, I just didn’t know it.
That is a lovely remembrance of her. Cookies play a big role in my memories of my grandmothers too. I almost have her sugar cookie recipe down – but not quite. I think of her every time I make them.
Isn’t it wonderful how the power of certain foods bring up so many wonderful memories of our families? These look beautiful, Roxanne.
Your pizzelles are awesome! I enjoyed reading about your grandma. I could almost smell the anise oil in the air, like molten licorice.
What a nice way to remember your grandmother! I still think your cookies are a work of art compared to some that I’ve made, though!
What a wonderful story. It’s a good day to remember those who we loved but have departed. Your cookies look wonderful!
Loved this story. I don’t have fond memories like yours, but I can imagine. And I think your pizzelles are beautiful! Happy holidays!
They do look pretty even if they aren’t perfect. “Close enough” is my motto. Kind of reminds me of the krumkakes my cousin tried to make at my house because her husband remembered his grandma making them. They didn’t turn out quite right either but it’s the thought and effort that counts.