Eternal Love or My Admiration of the Kolachky Lady's Legacy

I have been reading the obituaries daily since I was 10-years-old. It was a habit I picked up living with my Grandmother for six months. She would receive the Chicago Tribune in the morning and Chicago Today in the afternoon; so I had lots of interesting reading material. I especially liked reading the obit's, I was always keen what people did with their lives. One man's clever idea of allowing carts in the store was the birth of the modern supermarket. Another guy invented the cellophane wrapper, which encloses cigarette packages to keep them fresh. A homemaker was praised for making the best kolachkys in the neighborhood. Of the countless obit's I've read, I have only kept the one about the kolachky lady, because it was a path to greatness I could long admire and hopefully achieve.

I'm a rather lucky person to meet interesting people as I go about my life. One gentleman I know has long been researching the origins of pecan pie for many years. A year ago, the earliest found published referenced was 1915, though I learned recently he has detected an earlier reference from 1898. I love talking to him and learning how he goes about his research and his driving tours of the south to learn regional variances. He recently gave me his personal favorite recipe for Pecan Pie, which is brown sugar-only, no corn syrup, and a whisper of rum to highlight the flavors.

I had no real intentions of making any Pecan Pies until sometime this fall. When there are so many fresh fruits available, why bother with nut pies until at least harvest time. However, I offered to bring pies to an event and it was suggested I inquire with the co-host what they may like. I learned they preferred pecan pie because their deceased Mother used to make a Pecan Pie, which the town still talks about today. Of course, I immediately thought of my favorite kolachky lady obituary. I also understood I was treading on powerful emotional and food sensory memories, which may not be the best territory for the hapless stranger.

This weekend I was visiting friends, one who prides himself in pecan pie sensitivity. I made two variations of pecan pie, where the only difference was 1/4 cup of brown sugar. I took half-pieces to people for side-by-side comparisons. Most favored the less sweet version and a few the sweeter version, which is known to be favored by Southerners. The person who especially prides himself in pecan pie knowledge thought the sweeter version had a pronounced molasses taste, which he did not find present in the less sweet pie. He suggested making the next Pecan Pie with only 1/4 cup increase over the less sweet version to tweak this pie to perfection in his opinion. All this was valuable feedback, which could not be achieved if I made one variant alone.

As for the kin of the deceased Pecan Pie maker, well, "It's not like my Mother's," which is no surprise. I then asked one question too many as to how it differed. "My Mother made it with love and affection." Love. Affection. The intangible qualities, which the kin of the Pecan Pie maker and my ghost friend the Kolachky lady, share with their loved ones. Memories are so ethereal.

Certainly, I would love my obituary to highlight my cooking skills, as they are demonstrative of my love and affection for my family and friends. It's a tight circle, though strangers may never fully understand my value outside of my sphere of influence. However, I comfort myself believing if it is good enough for the Pecan Pie maker and the Kolachky Lady, then it is good enough for me.

Cathy2 wrote:Certainly, I would love my obituary to highlight my cooking skills, as they are demonstrative of my love and affection for my family and friends. Its a tight circle, though strangers may never fully understand my value outside of my sphere of influence.

C2,

You wrote a lot here, so please pardon me if I focus on just this one point.

We do circulate in a relatively tight (though, fortunately, widening) circle, and it's unlikely that most of my regular friends, and highly unlikely that any of my business contacts, know that I have a somewhat hidden life as a food enthusiast.

As you broach the topic of obits, few will think I take a morbid tack if I suggest that perhaps we should plan our funerals now. As food is such a major part of our lives, wouldn't we want our last rites to include a truly memorable meal?

This is something about which I have given some thought.

In the past year, I've written an obit, organized a funeral ritual, said words over ashes (twice), and so the topic has been somewhat on my mind.

I feel a final feast, over my dead body, should be reflective of who I was. This isn't the place to discuss it - though be assured, you will be invited, and mushrooms will be served.

Hammond

We do circulate in a relatively tight (though, fortunately, widening) circle, and it's unlikely that most of my regular friends, and highly unlikely that any of my business contacts, know that I have a somewhat hidden life as a food enthusiast.

You do realize, I have a full life beyond LTHforum. I could walk away from this subset of friends and still have a very full life.

As food is such a major part of our lives, wouldn't we want our last rites to include a truly memorable meal?

I am disinclined to ask you to feast on my flesh since you harbor cannibalistic fantasies. If I have an advance warning of my death, then rest assured suitable food would be arranged. Otherwise, it is greasy fried chicken and over-cooked roast beef at one of the restaurants which cater to post funeral crowds.

I also wrote my obit once while suffering badly from the flu. In my really sick state I sure thought I was going to die and worried it wouldn't be done right. It resides in my old computer which won't boot up so it is lost to the ages.

I've planned funerals, written obits and done a few eulogies. If you live long enough, you get to do it all.

Cathy2,

Reading your story hits close to home with me. For most of my life at holiday functions with my mother's family my paternal Grandmother would bring platters upon platters of her homemade kolachky. Two years ago after suffering a fairly moderate stroke she was unable to attend the holiday festivities. Several attendees inquired about the "Polish Grandma cookies", and if the recipe was going to be lost. Hurridly, the next week I visited my Grandmother's house with two purposes. First I needed to learn the recipe for the kolachky, second, her recipe for chicken soup.

Letting family recipes die with the owner is a travesty. If these recipes are truly adored we should make the effort to keep them alive. With some time spent with loved ones learning their skill the "love and affection" certainly comes with. In fact, with her increasing disabilities I am often called upon to recreate the recipes which she has always been known for.

Thank you, Cathy, for reminding me of the importance of remembering the foods of my youth before it's too late to learn how to prepare them myself.

Flip

Flip,

Thank you for your appreciating my point of view. It means a lot to me.