Grandma Cuddy's Poor Man's Cookies
My brother sent this memory along:
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I am standing in my oversized kitchen looking through a wooden box of recipes accumulated over the years. I am looking for the recipe for "Poor Man's Cookies", as Grandma Cuddy used to make when I visited her home at 69 North Fulton Street.
These baked delights are a misnomer, in the first place. They are not cookies at all, they are baked in a brownie pan. They are, in the second place, made from scratch, something rarely, if ever, done in today's oversized kitchens.
Connor is asking me what's in them, and I tell him. Flour, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda and nuts. An egg, some water, and raisins and water boiled down. He asks why they are called Poor Man's Cookies if they are really brownies, but I can't seem to get him off the point. I tell him I don't know where the name came from, but I suspect it was named so because the ingredients were cheap and available in most kitchens during the Depression. Then we discussed what a depression was.
As I am mixing the ingredients I am transported to a little white kitchen, with a white oven, and a white porcelain sink, small table - just big enough for two, sits under a kitchen window that faces east. I entered the kitchen through a swinging green door- one that was actually two half doors- an upper and lower half. The cabinets are white too. The radio is on, tuned to WAUB 1540, and it is noon. I have to be quiet while the noon news is on, but I am helping her by chopping the walnuts in a hand grinder. The nuts are in the cabinet closest to the door, next to Grampa Cuddy's Spanish peanuts, used for sundaes only. Gram also lets me sift the flour, which delights me as the plume of flour smoke rises before me.
I don't own a nut grinder, so Connor manages to chop walnuts with a 12 inch knife. He likes that. We real men don't wear aprons, but Gram did. We don't use a mixer, I say, we mix by hand.
The whole process took half an hour, including baking. The memory of being in Cuddy's kitchen with Florence lasts a lifetime. I hope they turn out as well. I'm bringing them to you tomorrow.
Love to all.
John
___________________________________________________________________
There's some dispute about that swinging door - most of us remember it as solid, not a split Dutch door, though we all agree on the green color. Somewhere or other I have a picture of the dining room which may show the door to the kitchen.
Years ago, Grandma had a sideboard in the dining room with squared edges. She complained that every time she came through the kitchen door she'd clip her hip on the corner, ending up with bruised hips. One day she spotted a beautiful cherry sideboard, with rounded edges, just the size to hold their dishes and fit in the space where hers then sat. It was part of a parcel up for auction, so Grandpa told her if it didn't meet the reserve, he'd buy it for her. He made sure (as the auctioneer) that it didn't make the reserve, and true to his word, bought it for her. And she never bruised her hips again.
____________________________________________________________________
I am standing in my oversized kitchen looking through a wooden box of recipes accumulated over the years. I am looking for the recipe for "Poor Man's Cookies", as Grandma Cuddy used to make when I visited her home at 69 North Fulton Street.
These baked delights are a misnomer, in the first place. They are not cookies at all, they are baked in a brownie pan. They are, in the second place, made from scratch, something rarely, if ever, done in today's oversized kitchens.
Connor is asking me what's in them, and I tell him. Flour, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda and nuts. An egg, some water, and raisins and water boiled down. He asks why they are called Poor Man's Cookies if they are really brownies, but I can't seem to get him off the point. I tell him I don't know where the name came from, but I suspect it was named so because the ingredients were cheap and available in most kitchens during the Depression. Then we discussed what a depression was.
As I am mixing the ingredients I am transported to a little white kitchen, with a white oven, and a white porcelain sink, small table - just big enough for two, sits under a kitchen window that faces east. I entered the kitchen through a swinging green door- one that was actually two half doors- an upper and lower half. The cabinets are white too. The radio is on, tuned to WAUB 1540, and it is noon. I have to be quiet while the noon news is on, but I am helping her by chopping the walnuts in a hand grinder. The nuts are in the cabinet closest to the door, next to Grampa Cuddy's Spanish peanuts, used for sundaes only. Gram also lets me sift the flour, which delights me as the plume of flour smoke rises before me.
I don't own a nut grinder, so Connor manages to chop walnuts with a 12 inch knife. He likes that. We real men don't wear aprons, but Gram did. We don't use a mixer, I say, we mix by hand.
The whole process took half an hour, including baking. The memory of being in Cuddy's kitchen with Florence lasts a lifetime. I hope they turn out as well. I'm bringing them to you tomorrow.
Love to all.
John
___________________________________________________________________
There's some dispute about that swinging door - most of us remember it as solid, not a split Dutch door, though we all agree on the green color. Somewhere or other I have a picture of the dining room which may show the door to the kitchen.
Years ago, Grandma had a sideboard in the dining room with squared edges. She complained that every time she came through the kitchen door she'd clip her hip on the corner, ending up with bruised hips. One day she spotted a beautiful cherry sideboard, with rounded edges, just the size to hold their dishes and fit in the space where hers then sat. It was part of a parcel up for auction, so Grandpa told her if it didn't meet the reserve, he'd buy it for her. He made sure (as the auctioneer) that it didn't make the reserve, and true to his word, bought it for her. And she never bruised her hips again.
posted by Blue Norther | 9:22 AM
1 Comments:
I have to tell you since Cuddy is not such a common name, my maiden name is Cuddy. I just made my mother a blog and website for her Christmas surprise...it's grandma cuddy's kitchen, you can check it out. Imagine my surprise when I googled it and found your blogsite talking about your grandma Cuddy as well! Small world.
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