Suzy Says

Love/hate for Friday, September 6, 2002
Cooking

As I mentioned earlier, the few talents I have are domestic ones, and perhaps the major one is that I am a good cook. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know how to cook. In my family, Dad was the cook, and I learned from him both the pleasures and practicalities. Dad learned to cook from his mother, who wanted to keep an eye on him while the Germans were merrily bombing them and making life difficult for all Londoners at that time. To that end, she kept him with her in the kitchen, and to keep him busy, taught him to cook.

Both of my grandmothers were very good cooks, though somewhat Victorian or traditional. My father’s mother had a roast beef every Sunday, the remains of which were made into shepherd’s pie the following day. One day a week (I can’t now remember which, but knowing her, it was always the same day each week), she would bake cakes and pies for dessert and high tea. On those occasions, my grandfather would bring his wing chair into the tiny kitchen so he could be with her during the length baking process, though of course he never helped, since he was a Victorian gentlemen. But he also didn’t want to be away from her during baking time, either.

My mother’s parents had a much bigger kitchen and didn’t have afternoon tea, but Nana also baked a great deal. My grandfather provided quality control by eating the less than perfectly shaped cookies that couldn’t be served to company.

From my English grandmother, I acquired an appreciation for daily shopping for fresh fruit and vegetables, and the beginnings of a cookbook collection, including the venerable Mrs. Beeton and a delightful volume called “The One Maid Cookery Book” which starts off, “Many households now-a-days must make do with only one maid.” Quelle horreur! (Yes, the French consider horror to be feminine, Stephen King notwithstanding. I’m sure boys of all ages agree. But I digress.)

From my American grandmother, I learned how to ripen peaches, how to make preserves and jellies and really good piecrust. To this day, I “draw” an apple with my knife on the top crust of an apple pie, just as she did, and I always think of her.

Dad and I cooked together in many countries, and always enjoyed using local produce. He was an excEt and inventive cook, and I treasure the cookbook he made for me, a collection of his recipes. In fact, I planned my trip to England next week the way I did because the fish van comes from Hastings to Wimbledon on Wednesday and Friday, so I always arrive on a Wednesday to take advantage of this, without realizing that I would be arriving there on 9/11.