Sunday Scribblings

Found this via Kristin and thought it was a cool idea. Here is a link to the original site -- Sunday Scribblings.

This week's topic -- dinner.

Evokes a very emotional response from me, which tells you my connection to food! ;)

I've never been a big cook. I think it's partly the mess factor, but I just don't enjoy it. It's unfortunate because food has always been a huge, important part of my family's culture. Sunday dinners were spent at my grandparent's house. My grandmother spent half the day in the kitchen -- boiling, and frying, stirring, and straining. My favorite meals were always those that had German roots. Rouladin and my grandpa's bread dumplings were a common favorite. I remember inviting friends to dinner with great pride, knowing my grandma would cook something phenomenal that they never would have had before. I almost always requested apple struedel, because having dessert as dinner was just awesome, and I could attribute it as OK because of my heritage. Good times. ;)

And don't get me started on entertaining. A holiday dinner at my family's house, no matter who was hosting, was at least a 2-day cooking affair. If a buffet was the offering of the day, there were standard dishes that always made an appearance, but not the salads/Jellos/casseroles you'd expect. More typical -- raw beef on a bed of white onions, served with a dark rye bread; my grandma's hot German potato salad; and very often a smokey, German ham that you eat very thinly sliced.

My grandfather always supplied the baked goods. At Christmas, it was stollen, butterhorns, and hundreds of cookies. Fall brought us his pumpkin pie, made with his special blend of spices -- a recipe that died with him. Spring and summer featured his famous cheesecakes, some covered in fresh fruit, others mixed with our favorite candy bars.

This particular way of providing for one's family is the simplest, yet most meaningful way to show your loved ones you care. Jason does the bulk of the cooking in our house. He has a very difficult job in trying to balance our mutual (but different) pickinesses, but he does so without complaint, always monitoring our responses to a meal and how he could make it better. It is in these simple acts that I know he loves me.