Bubbie

Bubbie, I want to learn how to cook our family recipes. Can I make copies? These were my words to my Bubbie, my mom's mother, when I was finishing up college and planning to get married. I wanted to be able to cook all of our favorites.

Why don't you come over, and I'll show you. It was like a golden ticket to the best of the culinary arts schools in all the world. And it was mine. And it was free of charge.

A roundish woman in her 80's, with a beautiful, full head of silver hair, my Bubbie stood about five feet tall. Maybe. Though I had great love for both my grandmothers, my paternal grandmother died when I was 5 or 6 years old, and unfortunately my memories of her are few. Bubbie however, lived to be 92, and when we moved to Florida in 1987, she became an everyday part of my life. She was such a good cook. Not a gourmet by any means, there was nothing fancy about her cooking, just yummy homemade treats, and lots of traditional Jewish fare. Hands down, the. best. matzoh ball soup. Ever.

I remember the day I went to learn the recipes. I brought a notebook, but it did little good. There were no recipes! Everything she made was from her head, the way a true cook creates. No instructions, no measurements, just a little of this and pinch of that. And of course she always reminded me, The most important thing is to put in lots of love. That's what makes things taste so good.

She amazed me. I think back now about that day, and it could have very well been a cooking blog, or a story cookbook. I don't think I wrote a single thing down, I just watched her. Every time she did something, she told me a story or explained why she did it a certain way. She was a product of her generation, she grew up in the Great Depression. Everything got used, and nothing goes to waste. Only need an egg white? Find a use for the yolk. Or freeze it for use later. Thanksgiving Turkey picked clean? Use the carcass for a pot of turkey soup. Like so many others from the time, she remembered throwing whatever they had in a pot to make soup. She ate chicken parts that made my sister and me squirm.

And kitchen gadgets? She didn't have any. Her favorite tool was her hands. I remember as she poured eggs from one bowl into a mixture in a another bowl, she used the side of her hand to wipe out every drop. Not a rubber spatula, but the half inch-wide surface created from the tip of her pinky, down to the heel on the side of her tiny little hand. The most advanced kitchen gadget she had was an electric juicer. I ended up with it when we cleaned out her place. I still have it. It makes me smile when I use it to squeeze fresh orange juice.

I loved to watch Bubbie cook. I loved the smells in her kitchen, and my Zaza trying desperately to wait for the latest dish to be presented for tasting. She didn't even seem to mind when he grabbed something off the plate to taste before it was formally presented. He loved her cooking. We all did. We could taste the love in every bite.