In conclusion I have to say I picked the best senior project.I got to eat and talk while other kids built benches and learned how to dance.Though I often struggled finding time for this senior project, amidst the college and scholarship applications plus school work load, the time I found to devote to it were some of the best spent hours in my senior year.I enjoyed my time with the community members immensely and learned so much from their character and generosity.My goals changed throughout the project as did my plans for the finished product yet what remained the same was my passion for preserving these stories and making sure nothing was left behind.For those of you reading my blog, I thank you for supporting my senior project.More importantly with my blog I hoped to spark an interest in others to collect their families stories.I wanted my stories to encourage others to sit down with their loved ones and cook a favorite meal.Or just sit down and “shoot the breeze” as my grandfather would say.
All in all this project was an incredibly meaningful experience.All of my subjects helped me so much.Each one of them had more than cooking tips to offer, they gave me advice for my future they shared a piece of themselves.To them I am tremendously grateful.
To my mentor Greg Patent, thank you for being with me during this process.
To my advisor Beth Cole, you are a saint…but without the bread.Thank you for keeping me calm and helping me find the project that meant the most to me.
To my mother, I thank you for all that you have done for me and for our family.Your expectations and drive for perfectionism have shaped my character and kept me going.It is because of you that I work so hard and that I was able to make this project come true.
To my Grandma Dorothy, this is for you and all other seniors who struggle with dementia and Alzheimer’s Disease.If I only could have learned how to make your pie crust or taken more time when you showed me how to make chocolate milk.
To my Grandpa Dryden, thanks for watching over me and making sure everything turns out ok.
To my readers or friends I bribed with cookies to follow the blog…Thank you.If you listen to one story or cook one dish I will count this project a success.
Ok…so I’m cheating just slightly with this story.It’s one of my own, a recipe I share with my best friend Molly.Our friendship was built off this dish, and many of my most treasured high school memories are centered around it. This story will take a slightly different form than the previous five yet I hope to maintain a similar point of view.
THE HISTORY…
Molly was not my friend.She had the ability to guess on our weekly current event quizzes and always get it right.She would waltz into our world history class just as the bell rang the day of a huge test, turn around in her seat and face me laughing as she said, “Winging this one! Studied for like 10 minutes last night.”I who had poured over my notes for days, leaving every ounce of energy and tears I had in my text book would just look at her in amazement.When the tests came back, Molly would only miss one or two more questions than I had.No, we were not friends.Acquaintances … sure, but I held a fiery contempt for the confidence she had in her guessing abilities.This was Sophomore year, one where my course load broke my back and I often had trouble lifting my spirits.Somehow fate brought me and that monster of a guesser together, alphabetically she had sat in front of me the whole year, and though I didn’t know her – or like her all that much -we bonded that summer when we found ourselves at the same camp on Salmon lake.We may be different, certainly our study habits show that, but we grew closer through the losses that we had both experienced in our lives.By the spring of Junior year she was my closest friend and she invited me over for dinner and a movie.That is where this recipe was born, from ingredients we threw together with some rice and a hunger for friendship and food.
ON THIS SPECIFIC DAY…
The Baumstark home is nestled on a wee concrete island in the middle of Missoula.It is run efficiently; there is always someone coming or going and everyone is welcome.Today the door is open so I walk right in, as usual without knocking.I find Molly on the computer and we head into the kitchen to get started.We crank up the iHome immediately, a key ingredient to this dish and our friendship.We start dancing and singing while Molly measures out the rice and water.I am just getting warmed up, not quite ready to put all my dance moves out on the floor; so I set the pots and pans out on the stove.
I open up the fridge and start looking for something to cook as Molly switches the song to “Callin’ Baton Rouge”, (we share a secret love for Garth Brooks.)The fact that I am trying to find ingredients is all part of the fun.The only sure thing about this recipe is that it always includes an iPod, chicken and rice.Three staples in the Baumstark home.Our process comes to a slight halt when we can’t find any teriyaki sauce.We could improvise…but how are we to make chicken teriyaki without teriyaki sauce?Molly calls in reinforcements…her dad David, and he encourages us to make the sauce ourselves and over the phone he recites the recipe from memory.David is a magician in the kitchen, he loves to cook and can make a wine glass sing by smoothing his finger over the rim.
Which is why she is doing dishes and mixing the teriyaki sauce at the same time.I take advantage of this time to ask her my journalist questions.As I add garlic to the peppers and let those flavors combine she tells me about her eating habits.She mostly associates food with family, friends and comfort.She has a simple palate, and eats very little vegetables.I ask if she is a meat and potatoes kind of girl.“Ya I am, well actually I am a chicken and rice girl.”Appropriate since that is what we are preparing today.(Over the months that we have been making this dish I have gotten Molly to try bell peppers; I am happy to report that she doesn’t mind them.)Her little sister Gretta comes in and interrupts our interview.I am used to Gretta’s frequent outbursts and need for hugs.We help check her homework then I add chicken to the pan.This is why I love spending time at the Baumstark home.I learn about family when I am here.How to deal with annoying little sisters who like to repeat everything you say, or how to double bounce someone on the trampoline.These are things I didn’t get the chance to learn at my home; I cherish the moments I spend with Molly’s family and the dance parties we have in her kitchen.Molly is working hard on her concoction, adding another dash of this or that until she gets the sauce right.I feel like a proud Mama watching her make the sauce.Our favorite song comes on and we take a quick dance break to shake away the stress of school and senior projects.
The song ends and the sauce is ready to be added to our chicken.I am so excited for this, it smells amazing and the homemade sauce is going to make this dish extra special.The rice is done but we wait for the chicken to fully join forces with Molly’s awesome teriyaki sauce.As we wait I take some notes for this story and Molly loads the dishwasher.We would dance but Gretta has switched the tunes from Shakira to Alvin and the chipmunks.Gotta love a 6 year old.We dish up and head out to the back porch to eat our meal.It is a beautiful sunny day.The dish is amazing as is the time I am spending with my best friend.I tell her this with my mouth full of food, a true sign of our kinship.Our friendship grew stronger around this dish and our kitchen dance parties.They were our way of unwinding as well as bonding together.Though the future is uncertain and the days until graduation are nearing single digits, I still have so much to learn. Yet sitting here with Molly, watching Gretta run around the yard and eating the product of our hard work, I realize I have a couple things figured out.I have a friendship that came to me by surprise yet has lasted and grown stronger, I have memories in this kitchen that will last a lifetime, and I have a quick recipe that can lift my spirits.Yep, it’s been a good year and I can’t wait for what the future holds, both in food and in stories.
Teriyaki Sauce
¼ cup cooking sherry
Just a bit of fresh ginger
¼ cup soy sauce
1 Tbls white vinegar
2 ½ Tbls Brown Sugar
Pinch or two of sesame seeds
1 cup of water mixed with 1 Tbls cornstarch
Mix ingredients well and add to your favorite stir fry dish.Molly and I just use what we have and with this sauce it will all turn out ok.Enjoy with a good friend and over rice!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Hello, I am trying to figure out why the pictures for the Swedish Meatballs didn't load. Until I work out the kinks, I'll leave it to your imagination...
To all those who read this I must add the following disclaimer: I didn’t meet Officer Jim Johnson by way of handcuffs, unpaid parking tickets or a drug bust.However, even if I had met him by way of running into the law I know he wouldn’t have treated me any differently.JJ, Hellgate High School’s resident police officer (formal title School Resource Officer), is a known figure in the halls of Hellgate and is almost always seen donning red and gold at our sporting events.Though his towering stature and badge may be intimidating, JJ couldn’t be less than a friend to anyone he meets.JJ has the loving personality of a teddy bear; a really big teddy bear who has to duck his head to walk through any door way, (pardon my slight exaggeration).
When JJ heard about my senior project he immediately shared that he had a family recipe that could fit the bill.This was not uncharacteristic of JJ, he goes out of his way to reach out to those in need.We struggled to find a time to meet and cook up some meatballs.After months of chasing this cop down, he finally pulled over and we settled on a date.(Apologies the pun was just to good).
On a sunny April afternoon I am charmed by the presence of JJ’s two sisters when I meet him in the culinary room.I am very excited to get cooking the Swedish meatballs that JJ has told me so much about during our brief encounters in the halls.
JJ’s father was an authentic lefse-making, lutefisk-eating Norwegian.He started the tradition of making these meatballs every Christmas eve.Though the family is spread out now, from Seattle to North Dakota, the Grandchildren still demand the meatballs with gravy every Christmas eve.“It just wouldn’t be Christmas without the meatballs.”JJ’s sister Sandy and I start on the meatballs, checking measurements with the hand-written recipe.While JJ peels and chops up the potatos Judy, JJ’s other sister, sits by and checks on our work.For years Judy was the champion lefse “roller” in the family until a couple of years ago when a stroke left her in a wheel chair.Her spirit hasn’t been damaged and she still manages to help us out, filling in the gaps of the stories and encouraging our efforts.
We get to the rolling step, making about 30 meatballs and dropping them into the electric skillet.The second they hit the oil I can smell spices and Worcestershire sauce, making a memory of my own in our little culinary room at Hellgate.I start taking notes and learn that Sandy and Judy are only two of JJ’s seven sisters.“That’s why I am so feminine,” JJ jokes.We keep the humor light hearted as the room fills with the thick aroma of sizzling meat.I see another side of JJ when he is with his family.They call him “sonny”, a nickname that stuck from way back when.
Dinner is coming a long and my stomach is starting to growl as the starchy liquid of the potatoes starts to boil.I ask him what is so special about the meatballs.Why he holds them so dear?With this he stopped washing the dishes and turned toward me.“Just being with family.”He pauses before he adds, “…and making sure I got enough.”With seven sisters and a brother each kid only got three or four meatballs a piece, and that was with four lbs of ground meat in the mix.The potatoes are starting to get tender and our meatballs are crisping up.We transfer the meatballs to a baking pot and place them in the oven to keep warm while we make the gravy.Their Dad was always the one to make the gravy.Sandy is almost nervous as we measure out the ingredients.“I hope this turns out,”she says as she measures the flour.Though a bit worried myself we break up the lumps and keep on trucking til the gravy turns a coffee with cream color.The gravy looks good and I am thrilled when the potatoes are ready.
I sit down to eat with the Johnson family, and as I take the first bite the “homey” flavor warms my mouth; I can almost taste the memories.The gravy wraps around me like a blanket. If it wasn’t so bright and sunny outside it’d feel like the middle of winter.I am in pure meat and potatoes heaven. I can now see why one of the Johnson sisters (who wasn’t present at our gathering) requested the meatballs at her wedding reception.The whole family pitched in to make the 400 plus meatballs.By the time the church bells rang every family member had meatballs bursting out of the freezer.
Halfway through the meal JJ’s wife Laurie, who came in just in time to get a plate, says I definitely picked the best senior project.I couldn’t agree more.As I am writing this post we seniors have about a week until senior projects are due.While other seniors are choping at the bit, counting down the hours until we toss our caps at graduation, I am getting sentimental…looking forward to the future but not quite ready to leave the red lockers and tall staircases behind.Cleaning up the culinary room JJ washes, Sandy dries and everyone is helping put bowls away.JJ comments on the knives, thinking like a policeman how it would only take one angry kid to use those knives for more than chopping onions.I smile at this, maybe I am ready to leave high school.
Swedish Meatballs
1 lb. ground beef
1/2 lb. ground pork sausage
1/2 cup onion
3/4 cup dry bread
1 Tbls Parsley (dried)
2 tsp salt
1/8 tsp pepper
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1 egg
1/2 cup milk
Combine ingredients and mix well. Roll into ball shape and place in electric skillet (350) with cooking oil. When cooked place in oven to keep warm while you make the gravy. (Use the same pan for the gravy)
Gravy
1/4 cup flour
1 tsp paprika
1/2 tsp salt
1/8 tsp pepper
3/4 cup sour cream
2 cups of water
Add flour, paprika, salt, and pepper to pan juices. When combined add water and sour cream. Stir until gravy consistency. Pour over meatballs with potatoes and enjoy this piece of heaven!
The drive to Lynne Willstein’s house is a winding road through the trees of the upper Rattlesnake.It is finally spring and I am enjoying the wind in my hair and the sun on my face.The drive takes away all my worries. For the next hours I spend with Lynne I almost completely forget that I am a senior and have to finish this project -within a month- in order to graduate.
Lynne is the most generous person I know.She is generous with her time, her managing talents, her energy, and her stories.She was one of the first people I thought of to cook with for my project.
It’s Sunday and I arrive at the Willstein home just in time for dinner.Lynne’s children Ben and Sara are returning from paintball birthday parties and soccer tournaments while her oldest is off to a hockey game.This is a busy family.There is always one kid coming and another needing a ride but Lynne seems to be the ultimate soccer mom, juggling getting dinner in the oven and listening to the highlights of the soccer match.These kids are shocked that their mom is baking and can’t wait to try the cookies.Lynne says she isn’t a baker, “and my kids know this.”I smile remembering when I thought cookies were made out of the plastic tub in the store, because that is how I always saw my Grandma do it.While we set up, Lynne even has trouble finding her mixer and beaters, remarking how I’m probably going to write this in my story.(Well, it helps the story along and fits in with her whole “I don’t bake” theme.)
On this particular day we are making oatmeal cookies - homemade.I am thankful when I look at the recipe and find that there isn’t a trace of raisins in the bunch.As we get things ready Ben is telling his mom about the birthday party and she stops what she is doing to listen to her youngest recall how he almost won the game.She pulls the pizza out of the oven as she hears the account of the weekend’s soccer tournament from Sara.Being a past bartender she is a great listener and an even better storyteller.I get the full benefit of this as we cream the butter and sugar and crack open a fresh bottle of pure vanilla.
Growing up Lynne was in athletics; she never cooked or baked but after leaving the sorority house in college she suddenly found herself in need of cooking skills.She grew up in the age of convenience where mothers were thrilled to call Swanson dinners a meal or cake out of the box “gourmet”.“My mom was an academic. Sure she cooked but it was box cakes,” Lynne says as we measure out the dry ingredients.
Throughout the process we mostly talk about the future.My future, which seems to be the hot topic in every conversation I partake in.However, talking about the possibilities with Lynne is different than with others.I feel more comfortable and am enjoying listening to her stories from college.We are hand mixing in the flour.Doing it the old fashioned way. “No cheating with a mixer” says Lynne.Rather than look down on my “undecided” future she encourages me to go into what I am passionate about, but she doesn’t hide her comment about making a plan so I will have an income.I have heard all this before, but for some reason at this house, adding flour into the mixing bowl, it’s different.There is something about cookies that brings out the best in people and situations.
As the stirring gets tough I hand off the wooden spoon to Lynne and start adding the quick-cooking oats.Lynne tells me about her parents who have both passed on now.“My Dad crafted the things he said, he put thought into his words.” I nod when she says this, it reminds me of my grandfather.“My mom,” she says with an on-the-other-hand tone, “she was point blank with her words.”Lynne has a wonderful family and is an incredible mother.She sent an e-mail to her sister telling her that she was going to cook their mother’s cookies with me.Her sister’s reply: leave some dough to bake.I laugh at this response, a true sister’s comment.
We have finished stirring in the oats and I ask if I can try some of the dough.It is good.But what is better is that I am comfortable enough in this house to lick my fingers and steal extra dough.We form the dough into rectangle logs and put them in the refrigerator.Then stand around chatting more about the cookies and all the memories attached to the recipe.
She remembers all her brothers and sisters getting really excited when their mom would bake these oatmeal cookies.“They don’t have cinnamon or raisins in them, which is what I like about them,” says Lynne.She remembers digging into the dough, a cherished childhood memory.Looking back she knows that her mom wasn’t the average housewife.She was a hard worker and encouraged her girls to wear pants.“She wasn’t normal.”But when she made cookies Lynne felt like she fit in more with all the other kids in the neighborhood.
Cookies are the world’s greatest equalizer.They are a sparkle in Santa’s eye, a warm hug from a friend.Cookies have the ability to transform time, make memories last forever, end a fight, start a friendship.Here, in the beginning of spring, these oatmeal cookies have given me a new outlook on life, and the future from my standpoint.
As I drive home I roll my window down and take in the smells of budding spring.I can still taste the cookie dough, a taste of sweet simplicity, compassion, and home.
Oatmeal Cookies
1 cup Shortening (we used 3/4 margarine, 1/4 butter)
1 cup white sugar
1 cup brown sugar
2 well-beaten eggs
1 3/4 cups sifted flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla
3 1/4 cups quick-cooking oats
Cream shortening. Add sugar gradually. Add eggs and beat. Add flour, soda and salt - hand mixing. Add vanilla. Add oatmeal, still stirring by hand. Divide dough into two parts. On wax paper form into a log-type roll. Chill in refrigerator. (preferably overnight) Slice and bake at 350 degrees for 12 to 18 minutes. Enjoy with a good friend.
I am a senior at Hellgate High School and started this blog as a part of my senior project. I love to cook and I love to listen to stories. I combined these two loves and my Senior project was born. Please comment til your wee fingers fall off and try the recipes. Some take all day and require companions around to laugh with when you make a mistake. However, I am only speaking from experience.
