Born of the grain like all good riddles

I’m making stuffed peppers for the girls for dinner tonight. I don’t really like stuffed peppers, but last week I happened to cook a pepper. One of my daughters, Theresa said she really liked the taste.

This might surprise you: I really like cooking and I’m good at it.

This shouldn’t surprise you: I am a keeper of historic, family recipes and I like to recreate meals from my past (my mother’s eggnog recipe will knock you flat on your ass).

So… stuffed peppers, that’s what my dad’s grandmother made. The rice was always intermixed with some annoying spice or vegetable matter… something I hated then but suspect I would enjoy now. But I figure my kids would hate these morsel interruptions, so I’m going with just peppers with plain white rice tonight.

The same grandparents also had this freezer out in the garage – can you remember the extravagance back then of someone actually owning two refrigerators! There they kept – among the layered stacks of rump roasts, chickens and loaves of bread (’cause you never knew when the next crash would hit) – a stash of Good Humor treats… Strawberry Shortcake Bars, Nutty-Buddies. My brother now has a similar freezer in his garage minus the goodies.

Recently I reconnected with a cousin who I hadn’t seen in 30 years. This was on Facebook. He commented that the last time he remembered seeing me was at our grandparents. We were all flying kites he said. “Theresa’s wake”, I replied. “I’m not sure,” he said, “If you say so.”

Theresa’s wake. I’m sure.

My grandparents lived in a farm house outside Stirling, Ontario. They had well-water. One day I’m going to go back to that house, knock on that door, and ask for a glass of water.


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