Cooking as Remembrance

As a culture, we have developed a very elaborate, and frequently lovely, and heartfelt, system to remember people we love who are no longer with us. Even the way I wrote that, instead of "we have ways to remember people who died," is part of that system. If you're critical of this kind of thing, you will say, rightfully, that it's all a way of softening what is ultimately not a very pleasant time. Death and dying is ugly. No matter what anyone says, it's UGLY. There is no other way to describe it. And I think almost universally, painful. Everyone tries to avoid the truly painful and truly ugly.

So we do things like adorn remembrances with flowers, or we write music. We have elaborate pictures of our loved ones, showing them when they were "good." Dressed in their best clothes, smiling, hugging the kids (when, probably , ten minutes later, those kids were getting a good smack, desesrved or not). It's who we are.

One way we remember is with food related "events." The open house after the service, where people bring a "covered dish," or the wake, where there IS food as well as drink, the banquet I went to when my mentor Oscar died, and so forth. Somehow, food factors into what we do at those times.

I have a bit of a unique way of trying to remember those I love who have gone on. It was inspired by reading an essay that a woman who's hobby was baking wrote in one of my food magazines. She wrote about having to speak at her aunt's funeral. She had prepared her remarks for weeks. Her aunt was the person who had taught her how to cook and how to bake. And when she stood up to speak, she looked at her hands and "realized that every bit of skill that was in them had come from my aunt, and I just couldn't use what I wrote, and through tears, I talked about how much she had taught me about what I love to do."

Good for her. I had her in mind when I started doing what I do: when someone I love dies, I develop a recipe. If I love them, I know what they liked to eat the best, and I try as hard as I can to do something that I can repeat when I REALLY need them. Sometimes it is NOT easy. Every holiday season I make a type of cookie that I developed after my big tomcat, Sasha, died. I can feel him prowling around the kitchen, with his throaty purr going at full volume, when I make them. All the emotions of the holidays come up as well.

The first one I ever developed was for Nana. When I look at my big hands, I remember Tati for their size. And when I watch how, sometimes, without even knowing HOW I know how to do something in the kitchen, I remember Nana. It's over ten years that she's gone, but her touch is in every pot of red sauce, every fried eggplant slice, and everything else that comes out of that kitchen.

For someone who cooked as much as Nana did, her favorite food was something she never made: bread. We used to see Nana, after she had cooked POUNDS of food for all of us, sitting in the kitchen, slicing semolina bread, or Italian bread, and eating slice after slice of it (that's not really what she did. She would rip hunks off and eat them, and then even it off, the way I do). We all thought it was Nana just making sure everyone had enough to eat. It was only later that I realized that she really preferred this. More than her wonderful veal cutlets or her meatballs, she loved to take bread, dip it into that sauce or the remains of a salad, and just eat that. So, there was no question that a bread was in order.

Nana also loved strong flavors. If it was salty, spicy and strong, that's what she ate. She wouldn't cook corned beef and cabbage, but she loved sauerkraut. She loved spicy Chinese food, and especially the condiments. She had no patience for the "French" cheeses we were getting in the sixties, but roquefort was always on her plate if we had it. So it had to be something strong and cheesy. And I thought, and thought and thought, and finally, after about three weeks, I came up with provolone and black pepper bread.

What I'm going to give you is a modification of the original recipe. Nana had no problem with picking her teeth, during a meal, to take out seeds, bits of stem, etc, but most people do. So instead of cracked pepper, which is what the original called for, I used coarse ground here. If you can't find semolina flour, use all unbleached white flour. She loved both kinds of bread. And finall, if you're going to use cold cut provolone, don't bother. Get the good stuff. The older, and stinkier, and most brittle you can find.

How would Nana have reacted to this bread? She wasn't a good gift recipient, to be honest. She'd probably taste a slice in front of me and then put it away. The next day it would be gone and she'd shrug her shoulder and complain about the mice in the house.

The hardest part of this recipe is cutting the provolone into small chunks. You realy don't want them much bigger than about 1/4 of an inch cubes. Bigger than that and they'll melt into the bread and you'll get big holes when it's finished. Grated is fine, but you will lose the "feel" of the thing that so says "Nana," but if you can't handle the cubing, grate a cup of the stuff nice and fine. If you can cube, use two cups of the cubes.

For the bread itself, you need 2 teaspoons of yeast (you can use a tablespoon, which will get the job done faster, but it won't taste as good), and 1.5 cups of water. Use stuff that's cold, or that doesn't make you feel at all like it's "warm" when you touch it. Mix those together, and then add 1.5 teaspoons of salt, and if you feel bold about 3/4 teaspoons of freshly grated pepper (this is the interesting part: I don't think it makes much of an impact, but other people take a bit and recognize pepper, first of all. If you like the tastt of pepper, go up to a teaspoon or drop it to half a teaspoon if you're just trying it out). Then add 2 tablespoons of olive oil. You will also need four cups of flour. Either use all unbleached white, or a mix of 3 cups with one of semolina (this is best for beginners, because semolina is hard to mix), or 2 and 2. If you're using the two flours, mix them together, and then add two cups of it to the liquid and stir. You'll get a very soft mass. Then add all of the cheese chunks, and finally, the rest of the flour.

If you feel up to being old fashioned, do this all by hand, and be advised you're in for ten minutes of hand kneading. You can break this up just as long as you give it those ten minutes of work. You can find pictures and illustrations of how to do the "envelope fold" technique for kneading by hand on the web. Me? I got the arthritis in my fingers the way Nana did, so I cheat and use the mixer.

When you have something nice and smooth (don't worry about the cheese chunks sticking through the bread), put the lump into a bowl, and cover it, and go away for 1.5 to 2 hours. That time depends on how much yeast you use. The lesser amount of yeast means the higher length of time. When it's done, punch it down, divide it in two and shape two loaves. For "traditional"
"pane della Nana" you shape these into fat torpedos, about 10 inches long . If you prefer round loaves, by all means, use that shape. It doesn't matter. Put the loaves on a parchment covered baking sheet, and leave them alone, covered, to rise for thirty minutes. During that thirty minutes , preheat your oven to 375.

Now, Nana would never approve of the 'waste' here, but it's pretty. You can take an egg white, mix it with two teaspoons of water, and then brush it over the top. Your loaves will come out shiny instead of a duller, rougher color and texture, but that's up to you. I don't do it.

Slide the pan into the oven and bake for about 30 minutes. During this time, the cheese will melt, and some will carmelize and you will get a smell like something is burning. That's just fine. Nana loved BURNED grilled cheeses. When it's done, after those thirty minutes, let it cool on a rack.

Again, Nana would rip right into hot bread, sometimes when it was SO hot I couldn't imagine how her mouth could handle it (I got that kind of asbestos palette from her, too), but it's best if you let it cool awhile.

So, that's one way I remember Nana. I have others. This one takes a lot out of me, so I don't make it as often as I like.

Dinners and wakes and remembrance parties come and go, but a recipe is forever. Try to keep your loved ones with you forever. And also try to make sure that the next "generation" remembers them too. A recipe is a good way to do it.