So far I have had no response to genealogy so most of this will deal with the recipe portion and since some of the blogs reacted to ‘My Father Cooks too.’ I will add a precursor comment on eating and becoming lardlike.

A local friend, Wayne was in his late 70’s and we would snowshoe together. He was in fantastic shape. I was more like the gopher. Anyhow at the health spa, they did a water immersion thing that somehow measured your body fat. His turned out to be 17 percent fat, if I remember correctly, he thought that was good. I replied, Hell Wayne “that would make you good hamburger material.”

He replied, “Herb, by my estimation, your own state would translate you into grease!” I now began to think of myself as some nice Austrian Speck!  My father, loved to eat this salted granulated lard, spread over bread. Until today I had forgotten what it was called, but it was deadly stuff. Same for vinegared congealed fat with meat parts, onions and garlic floating in it. Add to this was a German version of a Schnittlauch Kim-Chi.

Another one I pinched from a Canadian cook off. This needs visualizing! A large round tray of blue jelly. Frog legs creatively placed as to fan out from the center. Synchronized swimming. The Green and blue team.  It did win some sort of prize.

Here here are some good comments to what I have posted. Other blog pages are under construction

ON RECIPES:  On Environment:  On Fireworks:  On Politics: On Community: Simply Weird:

 From Jan:

This was a very interesting read but, I have to say —did not feel like eating after reading it. My great grandmother was Swiss and she was into the head cheese and pigs feet—as I child I would not touch it and they did not force us —thank goodness. Reading this brought back those memories for me. If I feel weak as I try to diet–I will come back to this page and have a re-read and it will keep me from want to have snack. I am so glad you father did not make you eat the brain!!!!

I responded –

In the last generation this used to be standard fare. Perhaps still is, in the South and the upper Midwest. What I did not touch on, was that in those days we all knew the local farmer, butcher, or we killed the animals ourselves. Nowadays, we ACCEPT processed and genetically altered animal product from often inhuman farms. Need I add, most are terribly afflicted with overcrowded and antibiotic medicated animals. Be it pork, chicken or three legged turkeys, it is time to try tofu schnitzels. Way too late for me but I have switched to Lentils and other vegetable alternatives.

Sadly, despite the nutritional benefits, western cultures limit the use of legumes in their diets. Actually at that time ‘brains’ were better to eat than what my Dad and I probably opted for. Neither can I remember what my Mom did with it. Nor do I want to! Do return whenever your diet begins to fail you.

Jan also gave me a nice complement on my sour dough page.

This site is never a disappointment!!! This was great–I must confess I have made regular yeast breads but never sourdough and I have once again learned so much. I thought the story of Miner’s sourdough start was very enjoyable–sad that you lost the start. What a wonderful idea to make a dish to commemorate a friends passing. I laughed and laughed over the Doomsday meal on the other page—very clever you are–great sense of humor!!!

Thank you Jan,
Two reflections. We often forget to make a physical note of the ‘date’ a friend dies. I have done better with the last few friends either noting in my phone book or in posting that person as ‘unrelated’ in my family tree maker program. There you can enter many facts about the person. For some reason I did not do that for Verle and even now I am searching for the Meiner cookbook that I seem to have misplaced. Some of those old recipes were treasures. I just hope I haven’t lost that as well.

On the sourdough. Reviving the sponge on a weekly basis does NOT mean you have to make sourdough bread weekly. I added a Tbs. to pancake mixes or other breads regularly. Refreshed it with flour and let it wake up again while I was baking. At the end of the day – back to the fridge.

Life’s journey is not to  arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting “…holy sh*t … what a ride!”