Domestic goddess for death

This morning while slicing up cucumber to put on a rather delicious slice of seeded sourdough bread with cheese and tomato, I was reminded of things in the past relating to cooking, eating, grandparents, etc.

No, not cooking and eating your grandparents.

Although that might be perfectly acceptable in some cultures, this is Australia and I am a vegetarian. Not that omnivores would probably eat their relatives here, but you never know... Cheeseburger one day, leg of neighbour the next.

But back to the matter at hand.

The cucumbers from the deli were exactly the same as the ones my Pappa used to grow back on the farm. He died in 2000, and we never really continued on with the vegetable garden and the thin-skinned, pale green crisp cucumbers. Three slices of cucumber went onto the slice of bread and the rest was turned into the sentimental favourite of cucumber salad.

Which in turn reminded me of tomato spread. There were a whole lot of tomatoes to be used up due to being ultra-ripe, so I decided to try to make some. My Nanna, who died in 2005, made it regularly and wonderfully. But my skills with it are very hit and miss. Today was unfortunately a miss (the breadcrumbs had too strong a taste). C'est la vie.

Also dug out the recipe book of my Nanna's, which Mum gave me. I looked at Grandma Graetz's recipe for honey biscuits, which in my memory makes enough to last for about 30 Christmases and my Pappa used to make, rolling out on a marble slab with his strong, thick fingers. Too challenging. If one thing from the past didn't turn out today, best not to risk others.

But they must be attempted one day.

Strange how foods are so reflective for memories, people and places. Somehow with some things, it's almost like posthumous feasting.