Our Contributors Reflect on Kindred Memories of Their Own Lisa Banu I moved to Dhaka, in Bangladesh, from Ann Arbor at age 7 without speaking a word of Bengali. That confusing day, my Bengali grandmother pointed at the trees in the garden from the veranda and back to the mango she was slicing. As far as I remember, aam (mango) was my first Bengali taste and word. It was spectacularly sun-ripened, sweet, sour and soft. I continue to learn about my “native” and other cultures through food. HungryPhilosopher.com Charity Singleton Craig Some of my earliest memories include me standing on a chair or stool helping my mom cook and bake. Over the years, the things I eat and the way I cook have changed from my growing up years. But the enduring food legacy of my parents and their parents is growing food. I don’t have a rural homestead where I can plant a large garden, but wherever I am I always plant something, even if just a tomato plant, to help feed myself. CharitySingletonCraig.com Erin and Mike Gregory We have two girls—McKinley (3) and Maggie (1)—and we cherish our family more than anything in this world. Every holiday we travel to see our parents so our children can spend time with their grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, and we rest while enjoying a homecooked meal. MGPhotoCo.com Shauna L. Nosler What I remember most about holiday meals growing up—other than the day I graduated from the designated kids table to the grown-up table—is my grandmother’s kitchen: how it would be filled with adults, all chopping and peeling and sautéing, with the precision of a Swiss watch. To this day, it amazes Christmas 1997: Shauna (in me how they could create such a masterall black); her mother, Eileen; piece of a spread, complete with everygreat-grandmother, Emily; and thing from the traditional roasted turkey grandmother, Charlotte. to my great-grandmother’s Scandinavian melt-in-your-mouth spritz cookies and ebelskiver … all made with one oven, by one family. TheFlavoredWord.com and BestFromTheMidwest.com Rachel D. Russell My family and food connection began with my Grandma Floyd. She was my maternal great-grandmother, and while my mom and stepdad worked she helped around our house, cooked and baked for us and even rolled my hair in rags she adorned with handmade crocheted hair ties. She made cherry chiffon cake that would melt your heart and dumplings 4
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with perfectly chewy centers. She loved bacon and made it each morning. She would save the grease in a coffee mug she placed in the center of the stovetop and use it later in the afternoon to make fried potatoes. To this day, if I smell bacon my mind goes right to her, and I can’t bake a cake without thinking of her hands that always seemed strong and sure as they folded the egg whites into the batter. The last years of my Grandma Floyd’s life were all hers, and she decided to give a great deal of them to her family—to me. And for that I am grateful each and every day of my life. RachelGetsIndy.com Kristen Tauer
Portrait taken by a childhood friend who has accompanied me on many food adventures; this was taken after eating kati rolls during a visit.
Great-Grandma Floyd under the dwarf crab apple tree in Rachel’s parents’ front yard in the early ’90s.
Food—catching it, growing it, eating it, writing about it—interests me because there’s always a story attached. Smelt on a restaurant menu takes me back to the streams where my father and I caught fish by the handfuls to fry. Kohlrabi in a salad reminds me of my grandmother, who raised 10 kids on a farm and always had a homegrown vegetable to slice and serve raw. And rhubarb will always be best in a pie baked by my mother, made with stems plucked straight from her backyard. The most delicious dishes always come from a familiar place, and often that place isn’t far from home. KristenTauer.com
Julie K. Yates One of my earliest memories is being in a hot, steamy kitchen while my grandmother canned bushels of produce. As a teen, I recall helping my Martha Stewart–influenced mother prepare food for ladies’ luncheons. I realize that, for me, cooking has always meant spending time with family and loved ones. Today, nothing makes me happier than hosting a celebration for my daughters and dear friends! YatesYummies.com, OrangesAndAlmonds.com
Caryn Scheving
From left to right, my dad, one of my sisters, and me in a GIANT tree we found on the camp ground.
Even before I can remember, camping was a normal part of life for my family. My parents, and eventually my sisters, would pack up for weeks at a time and live on beaches of South Carolina, North Carolina, and Georgia—don’t worry, I was homeschooled so my parents weren’t guilty of truancy! It was truly an amazing part of my childhood that taught me how to make new friends, be adventurous, and to appreciate time with family.
