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Sunday, January 24, 2010

Ess, Bublelah. Ess!

Faint are my memories of my actual Bubbes. I did know three of them, technically. My great-grandmothers all passed when I was young. I do have faint memories of sitting at the table in the upstairs kitchen at a Bubbe's house in Brooklyn, potato latke in hand. Grandpa (actually he was my great-grandfather, but everyone called him grandpa) sat at the head of the table, hot tea in one glass, teeth in the other, and a pocket full of Hopjes coffee candies for the kids. Bubbe showered (pelted) us with rich, delicious foods and wouldn't take no for an answer.

I like to make the occasional spin through the kitchen myself, but the schedule we've had lately has kept me away from cooking anything more interesting than a pack of ramen noodles or a fried egg. But tonight we were treated to a feast that would make a Bubbe proud. Matzo ball soup, brisket with gravy, fried kugel, a week's worth of calories. Each dish so rich and wonderful. My mother-in-law is a great cook, and she was obviously a great mother (I did marry her son, after all). What's even better is that she's become a great friend as we've gotten older. Delish.

5 comments:

Cora Spondence said...

I do believe you have photographed a darn near perfect kugel. Those are some great memories you shared---I had a big dinner and now, thanks to you, I'm a tad peckish. Good writing!!

BJNR said...

Wonderfully mouth-watering post! And NEVER knock your fried egg. You know you have a fan up here!

SJR said...

Oh, that sounds so good! Saturday night's dinner was the closest to home cooked I've had in a while.

MJ said...

I loved reading your memories and your reflections on what feeds you now--food and love.

Anonymous said...

Soup ... time for some soup! :-)