The Patterns of History

 

Orchard Street on the Lower East Side
maybe about turn of the 20th Century

Dinner on my own again tonight, and I was dithering between shakshuka and scrambled eggs with corn and goat cheese (more about all of that another night) when my computer reminded me that I had signed up for a webinar on tenement kitchens from 6:00 to 7:00 tonight.

Several years ago, I reviewed a book titled 97 Orchard Street, a fascinating history of one tenement building on New York’s Lower East Side. The book traced the history of various families who occupied the building, as the waves of immigrants poured into New York from various countries. First, in the mid-1800s, came the Irish, forced to flee the potato famine. Then, around the turn of the century, refugees from the pogroms and harsh conditions in Eastern European countries, and by 1940 immigrants from south of our border. Little did I realize at the time that 97 Orchard Street and a companion building at 103 were the center of a museum devoted to the study of immigration. Next time you’re in New York, the Tenement Museum at 103 Orchard is well worth a visit.

Tonight’s program was on tenement kitchens and looked at three successive families—the Moores from Ireland and the Rogshefkys from Russia, who both lived at 97 Orchard, and the a single Puerto Rican mother (Romanika?) who lived at 103 with her two sons (97 had by then been condemned). A knowledgeable curator walked us through each kitchen—the first two apartments probably some 325 square feet where conditions were so crowded, children slept in the kitchen. We saw the progression from coal to gas to electricity. Each segment featured a typical dish from the family’s culture—boxty, from Ireland, was a pancake-like dish prepared with grated potatoes, egg, and seasonings. Several viewers commented that it looked like Jewish latkes, and I did think it emphasized the similarity of cultures—many feature their own versions of the same food, with a different name.

The Jewish/Russian dish was cholent, a stew put on to simmer before sundown on Friday and eaten after services on Saturday (Shabbat or holy day) when orthodox Jews are forbidden to cook. Cholent is made mostly of whatever is on hand, and usually includes beans of some kind. In my years of being married to a Jewish man and coming to love the food, this is one dish I never was served or tried to cook.

The dish for the Puerto Rican woman was a rice pudding—sorry the name escapes me—made with coconut milk, and the process of making coconut milk was painstakingly described. You did not just go to the local grocery and buy a pint. The dish also had several seasonings, including what looked to me like a lot of cinnamon. Again, this demonstrates the link between cultures—several viewers chimed in to say that rice pudding was a staple of their Jewish backgrounds.

This program interested me partly because I’m interested in American history but more because increasingly my food interest is on American food, and I well realize that our culinary traditions involve a lot of the melting pot—we have absorbed and incorporated from the many immigrants who have been welcomed to our shores. No better illustration exists than the popularity of Mexican cuisine which may have first moved into Texas (and in many instances become Tex-Mex) but has also moved throughout the country.

It struck me as I watched that one of the lovely benefits of retirement is that I am free to dart down this rabbit hole and that. When I read the news in the morning, if a particular item interests me, I can take the time to search out more information on the internet. So it was tonight—I wanted to watch this, and I could easily take the time out from what I meant to accomplish tonight. My deadlines are my own.

Supper? I had a ham and cheese sandwich. I’ve got another dinner on my own this week and will have to decide between inventing shakshuka for one or those scrambled eggs. Hmmmm.

 

Of Books and passing time

I can survive well enough on my own—if given the proper reading material.” – Sarah J. Maas—American fantasy author

Predictions for authors and the book industry varied from gloomy to wildly optimistic as this period of social distancing set in. It seemed only logical to me that people, robbed of other pastimes, would read more. But bookstores are closed, Amazon is making medical supplies a priority over books, and the outlook is grim. Authors report lagging to nonexistent sales.

I truly though I would read all the time, but for the first two weeks I read only sporadically. I was glued to the internet, reading every credible source I could find on pandemic news. Maybe it’s that now I am inured to predictions of death and destruction, but today I got back to serious reading.

I finished Something from the Oven, by Laura Shapiro, a study of the changing eating habits of America in the 1950s. Actually the story of change begins earlier and carries on to a climax in the ‘60s with the revolution jointly inspired by Julia Child and Betty Freidan, two seemingly opposed women who had much in common and together changed forever the American housewife’s role. I was particularly interested, however, in the ‘50s, the rise of packaged and prepared foods, and the attempts to “glamorize” them. There were some awful dishes served in those days. Just think pineapple Jello with miniature marshmallows and you’ve got the essence.

The book which really has captivated me though is Erik Larson’s The Splendid and the Vile, about Winston Churchill and the early bombings of London in WWII. Larson is the extremely talented and thorough author of books about the Galveston Hurricane of 1900, the 1892 Columbian Exposition in Chicago, and the sinking of the Lusitania, among others. Churchill is, of course, a fascinating character—idiosyncratic but canny, a strong and determined leader, bound to save his country at all costs.

I see many parallels between those 1940 days in London and our situation today in the pandemic. People were, as we are, living with anticipatory dread (isn’t that a wonderful and descriptive phrase), fearing an unknown and unpredictable enemy that loomed large. They were, as Governor Cuomo said today, surrounded by death. But for many Londoners, this crisis brought out the best in them—and so it is for many in America today. The only difference is that the Brits had a strong leader and, today, we do not.

One of Larson’s skills is the ability—based on his deep and thorough research—to reveal character. So we see Churchill in his elaborate gold dressing gown, embossed with dragons, cigar clamped in his teeth, pacing in the gardens at 10 Downing Street during a night bombing. Or we see him touring London after the first devastating raid, crying with the people as he saw the destruction. We get a glimpse of his family—the daughter who wanted so badly to be part of the war effort and her parents’ determined efforts to keep her safe. Or his wife, Clemmie, who tried to keep a normal household. People make history, and the people of England are revealed here.

The narrative occasionally jumps to Germany where we get glimpses into the thinking of Goring and Goebbels and, by reflection, Hitler. These passages were harder for me to read, but I pushed through.

My dad, a Canadian who fought Germany in WWI, hero-worshipped Churchill, so reading this not only fascinates me but serves as a tribute to that wonderful, strong, honorable man who raised me. I’m still only half-way through, but I will finish this book and be the better for having read it.

Tears of joy, tears of sadness

It’s been a week of mixed blessings on our block of Park Place Avenue. One family lost a beloved grandfather; another welcomed a brand new baby girl. So Jordan and I are making a double batch of our standby recipe—Doris’ casserole.

This is a family favorite, beloved by all but one of my children (she doesn’t like cream cheese, sour cream, etc.). It was served to me at a dinner party nearly fifty years go by a woman named Doris. If I remember the story correctly, it was called Mrs. America’s Beef Casserole. A friend who also makes it calls it American lasagna. Doris’ husband was a resident in training, with my ex, and when he completed his training, they moved to Granbury. I didn’t see much of Doris in later years but when I did she barely remembered the casserole. Doris died several years ago, and I think that the recipe lives on is a nice tribute to her.

In fact, the recipe has become ubiquitous. It was included in my first cookbook—Cooking My Way through Life with Kids and Books. It’s been served at a TCU luncheon and one son’s decade-changing birthday, served to countless guess in my home and Jordan’s, and reprinted in countless guest blogs. I guess you’d call is my signature dish, though Jordan makes it as often as I do

Doris Casserole

First layer:

1 lb. ground beef

1 14 oz. can diced tomatoes

1 8 oz. can tomato sauce

2 cloves garlic, crushed in garlic press

2 tsp each sugar and salt (I cut back on those but sugar is important in tomato-based sauces—my mom taught me years ago it sort of rounds it off.)

Pepper to taste

Brown ground beef in skillet. Drain grease and return to skillet. Add tomatoes and tomato sauce, garlic, sugar, salt and pepper. Simmer 20 minutes, until it thickens a little.

Spread in a 9 x 13 pan.

I gave the recipe to a friend who insisted the noodle layer should come first. I assured her it shouldn’t.

For noodle layer:

5 oz. (approximately—they don’t come in this size pkg.) egg noodles

3 oz. pkg. cream cheese (here again, you have to fudge; cream cheese doesn’t come in 3 oz. pkg. anymore)

1 c. sour cream

6 green onions chopped, with some of the tops included

Cook egg noodles and drain. While the noodles are hot, stir in cream cheese, sour cream, and green onions. Spread over meat mixture.

Topping

1-1/2 cups (or more) grated cheddar cheese (do not ever buy pre-grated cheese; it has wood particles to keep it from clumping. For heaven’s sake, it’s not that much trouble to grate it yourself. No, that is not something I read on Facebook and took for gospel. The cheese monger at Central Market told me about this.

Top the casserole with grated cheddar, bake 35 minutes at 350 or until bubbly and cheese is slightly browned.

This is supposed to feed six, but it disappears quickly. Leftovers, if any, freeze well.

           

A Whole Bunch of Nothing

This morning, as I do every morning, I turned on m computer and the TV. The TV flashed a warning that there was no signal—so I turned off the computer. Go figure. It was not an auspicious start to the day.

Lewis Bundock, who keeps my house and property in running order, came by to put a support in the middle of a newly installed long gutter. As we talked, I mentioned that I’d just had fried mush for breakfast—the plate of syrup on my desk was testimony. “Mush?” he asked. “What’s that?” When I said fancy people today call it polenta, he said he knew that, and he’d call what I just ate “johnny cakes.” Goes to show what I miss as a northerner even though I’ve lived here over fifty years. As a student of western history, I thought I was well-schooled in regional foods, and Lord knows I’ve heard of johnny cakes—also called hoe cakes—but I guess I never made the connection. I thought they were a pancake of some kind. But now I know. I’m going to practice telling people I had johnny cakes for breakfast. Whatever they’re called, they sure are good, but you sure feel like everything is sticky after you eat them.

And that’s kind of how the day went. I did some serious and good work on the book proposal I’m struggling with, and I did some reading—finished a novella. I’ve done more reading lately and recently finished a book called Bayou City Burning. Cast as a P.I. detective novel featuring a young girl (another go figure), it’s the little known story about the machinations behind LBJ’s 1961 efforts to secure the NASA manned space center for the Houston area and the mob efforts to prevent that. A good fast read if you’re a fan of P.I. novels or a history buff interested in twentieth century urban history. You’ll be charmed by Dizzy Lark, the twelve-year-old, and her efforts to prove that a man didn’t really die in a train wreck in Cleburne, Texas. It’s sort of a retro read but well researched and absorbing. Watch for it to be available on various platforms June 1.

Jordan cooked dinner tonight—well, she put the finishing touches on something I started. I found. a recipe for lettuce wraps using ground chicken, but it called for a lot of things I didn’t have like mint and cilantro—the latter would have been really good. So I cooked the chicken the other night and added chopped red onion and scallions, along with a healthy dose of soy. I sort of decided we could use the chicken as a base. Jordan reheated it in wine, added part of a can of green chilis, salt and pepper, diced tomatoes, chunks of avocado, and lots of feta. Trouble was I was reluctant to buy head lettuce, so I thought we could use the leaf lettuce I like so much better. Leaf lettuce doesn’t wrap, so we had sot of a salad with a ground chicken base—pretty and delicious, but not what the New York Times cooking column suggested. Still, I’ll do it again and may experiment with the sesonings.Cumin, anyone? I told Jordan the end result was sort of Mexican/Oriental/Greek.

A good day I’m off to read another novella. Happy times, y’all.

Taking a new road

I debated about blogging about this, because I try not to blog a lot about my writing career. But a timeline I recently saw said on the road to self-publication the first thing to do is tell family and friends. So here I am to say I'm going off in two new directions next fall: I will self-publish my historical novel, "The Gilded Cage." Yes, I know there are other novels by that name, but it's so apt. I've had some success with similar novels before, about extraordinary women of the American West, but this is different. It's a fictional biography of Bertha Honore (Cissy) Palmer and her husband, Potter Palmer of the Palmer House Hotel in Chicago.
I'm fascinated for two reasons: I grew up on Chicago's South side, Hyde Park/Kenwood to be specific, close to the grounds of the 1893 Columbian Exposition--rumor has it that the 1892 house in which I was raised was built for the exposition. As I delved into that story, I became more fascinated than ever at the amazing amount of talent showcased there, everything from scholars like Frederick Jackson Turner and Henry Adams to sculpture by St. Gaudens and art by Mary Cassett--to the Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show, the original Ferris Wheel, and the scandalous "Little Egypt" where there was--gasp!--belly dancing.
And Cissy Palmer herself was an unusual and strong woman. Born and married into wealth, she was among the first to see the connection between wealth and philanthropy. Yes, her husband gave generously to various causes, but Cissy was the one who attended women's meetings, supported women's causes, traveled among the shanties of West Chicago to distribute help, worked at Hull House, Jane Addams' famous community shelter for immigrant women. The crowning glory of Cissy's career came whens she was elected President of the Lady Managers of the Exposition, responsible for the design, decoration, maintenance, and operation of the Women's Building.
I've turned the entire story into fiction, invented scenes and dialog and characters while sticking with the people who were really there. Most notably, I've injected a note of decorous romantic attraction, which I'm sure never existed. It all comes to a head the last night of the exposition.
The manuscript is with an editor and the idea with a cover designer. All plans can go awry of course,, but I hope to publish in October--so make your list of Christmas gifts. It will be in e-book and trade paper simultaneously.
And I'm equally excited about the book that Texas Tech Press is publishing in November: Texas is

Chili Country. I absolutely love the cover they've designed for it. The book is a light-hearted but documented look at the history of chili and the popularity of chili cook-offs today, with the granddaddy of them all at Terlingua each November. There are photos and recipes galore, along with chapters on beans and beer. Yes, I know--purists will not stand for beans in their chili, but they're often a side dish. And who can have chili without beer? I was lucky to have the cooperation of several good people in the compilation of this book, and I really look forward to some chili cook-off signing parties.
For those of you who like Kelly O'Connell and her Fairmount neighborhood or Kate and the Blue Plate Café, don't despair. There will be a third Blue Plate mystery in March or April 2016. Kelly will be back sometime, and so will Susan Hogan of The Perfect Coed.
As I said, plans can go awry, but there are my goals. Over the summer, I'll be blogging about Chicago history and chili recipes. Nothing like diversity in your writing.