My grandmother could never throw anything away. Occasionally, my mom and her sisters would clean out the pantry, and my cousins, siblings, and I would stand by and bet on the oldest item. A ten year old ketchup bottle? A pack of custard powder several years over its due date? Or maybe something that had to be bought with post-war food stamps?
My Grandmother had a very different approach to food than we do. She raised six kids on a budget, during and after the war. If something grew moldy, she would cut out the soiled parts and declare the rest perfectly edible, and, in fact, eat it. I don’t think she ever got sick. She told us that dirt made you healthy, and my mother related to me that as kids they believed one pound was the acceptable amount of dirt per year.
My grandmother had learned cooking professionally, and when I say professionally, I mean efficient, not fancy. For our family dinners, she cooked for an army, and her meatloafs and patties are legendary. My mom’s were good, but these were heavenly, probably because my grandma believed that more fat makes anything better. She was a round woman with rosy cheeks, and in my memory, she always wore a flowery dress and a grey wig. She would roll down hills with us kids and could pop out her dentals, which we thought was the coolest thing ever. If we were grumpy, she would give us “laughing pills”, what other people called Mentos.
Her two worst memories were the night they bombed the neighboring city, when the horses screamed in their stables ( “Have you ever heard horses scream”, she would whisper with a shudder), and the Polish soldier who stole her strawberries. When she grew old, she was cared for by a Polish nurse, and I think Poland was able to redeem itself in her opinion. After the death of my grandfather, she got very sad and only wanted to be reunited with him.
She died during the night, with one eye open and a surprised look on her face.
I often think of her when I cook, and what she would have done. I collect and filter the grease whenever I fry bacon. I buy cheap cuts of meat, like shoulder or chicken hearts. I think fat makes everything better. When I cook, I cook for an army.