Comments on: Memory http://www.premodern.org/upsidedownpear/archives/2004/07/15/memory/ Ramblings about food, cooking, and so on and so forth. Wed, 14 Sep 2011 12:00:11 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.3.1 By: Rachel http://www.premodern.org/upsidedownpear/archives/2004/07/15/memory/comment-page-1/#comment-26 Rachel Mon, 19 Jul 2004 20:18:17 +0000 /?p=14#comment-26 In 1995, when I was twenty, my grandmother died. That fall, when the High Holidays rolled around, I decided I needed to duplicate the Rosh Hashanah lunch she had made throughout my childhood, to honor her memory. Of course, I didn't know how to cook worth a damn; I spent ages on the phone with my mother, my sister, my sister-in-law, hunting for recipes and tips. I roasted cornish hens; I made wild rice, and giblet gravy; I made tsimmes (an Eastern European casserole of sweet potatoes, potatoes, prunes, and brisket, heavily flavored with lemon and pepper and cinnamon). I was living in a house with a ragtag bunch of college students and computer programmers, most of whom were not Jewish and all of whom were baffled at being hauled into the dining room for a late lunch on a white tablecloth with candles lit and wine poured. The hens were a little dry, the gravy a little burned, but everyone assured me that the food was gorgeous, and for the duration of the lunch I almost managed to convince myself that my grandmother was watching, and that she was proud. In 1995, when I was twenty, my grandmother died. That fall, when the High Holidays rolled around, I decided I needed to duplicate the Rosh Hashanah lunch she had made throughout my childhood, to honor her memory. Of course, I didn’t know how to cook worth a damn; I spent ages on the phone with my mother, my sister, my sister-in-law, hunting for recipes and tips. I roasted cornish hens; I made wild rice, and giblet gravy; I made tsimmes (an Eastern European casserole of sweet potatoes, potatoes, prunes, and brisket, heavily flavored with lemon and pepper and cinnamon).

I was living in a house with a ragtag bunch of college students and computer programmers, most of whom were not Jewish and all of whom were baffled at being hauled into the dining room for a late lunch on a white tablecloth with candles lit and wine poured. The hens were a little dry, the gravy a little burned, but everyone assured me that the food was gorgeous, and for the duration of the lunch I almost managed to convince myself that my grandmother was watching, and that she was proud.

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