The kitchen has always been the heart of the home. The stove warmed our cold toes and dried our woollen mittens when they were caked in snow. Our earliest memories are cradled there, memories of special treats made by our mothers and grandmothers.
Food was wholesome and often served directly from the garden to the table. Nothing was wasted. Pantries were stocked with summer bounty and jar after jar of relishes, pickles, fruits, and vegetables were put by for the long winter. Christmas cakes were baked, soaked in liquor, wrapped and hidden away to age.
Apples and pears were wrapped and stored on open shelving in the cold cellar. All these things, I remember.
A few years ago, while sorting things in my mother's house, a worn notebook appeared along with some very old family photos. The faces in the photos brought to life many of the old stories that had been told during a lifetime of family gatherings. The notebook was like a thread that stitched these stories together with truth and strength.
What else emerged from these fragile pages were recipes for the delicious treats I remember my grandmother serving her family. Her home was always filled with friends and relatives and there was no shortage of food.
This blog is about good food, both from my grandmother's notebook and from my own kitchen. I hope you enjoy it.
Welcome to my home, my kitchen.
