When my Mother said that, you knew you were in big trouble. The other giveaway was when she slowly uttered, "Oh. My. God," in a slow, low voice, a timber she never raised.
For some reason, my algorithm delivers delightful tales of old life in Appalachia and Ireland to my facebook feed. Although my adoptive family were decidedly Canadian English (I am genetically 100 percent Irish and it shows) from the Ottawa Valley, they used many expressions from these societies, all of which I relate to. Another favourite was, "If you don't stop whining, I'll give you something to really cry about." She would not abide whining.
I also relate to the lifestyle of my Grandmother, Mother and Aunts, who cooked like it was the Depression-era thirties. They canned everything -- even at our cottage in sweltering July, when the woodstove would be cranked up to make raspberry preserves, raspberries my Grandmother had sent us to pick in neighbouring famers' fields. Never mind half of them never made it back to the cottage, because we'd eat them, there was always enough for a few jars of her delicious nectar.
We also ate a lot of root vegetables in winter. Salad in February? Forge that. And for dessert, always canned unless in season. We also had bread pudding and fruit cobbler, two dishes I still make regularly. I also remember dandelion salad and apple crisp, the latter of which I continue to make every Fall.
Whenever my Mother prepared a turkey, she always boiled the innards, called "giblets", and we ate them for lunch with bread and butter. I loved kidney, heart and neck -- as well as head cheese (look it up, it's not cheese) and tongue. And there was nothing like turkey soup, made from boiling the carcass, picking it clean, discarding the bones, adding back the meat and throwing in whatever you had handy -- a sort of "clean out the refrigerator" soup.
I burst out laughing when I started to see expensive broth being sold in supermarkets. Really?! Broth is something you make yourself; you don't actually buy it. In fact, made a pot of chicken soup the other day. My grandchildren love mine because I add tortellinis, very exotic in their world of lentils and quinoa. One of the dumbest and wasteful sights I have ever witnessed was watching my Texas son-in-law throw out an entire turkey carcass! "You won't like this, Nancy," my step-daughter said, as I watched in horror and alarm when he tossed it in the bin. I didn't.
A big ham, bone-in, also makes delicious soup and was another favourite in our home.
Sundays were always devoted to visiting the family plot to pay respects to my Grandfather and Great grandparents. Rain or shine, we went after Church. When I lived in Ottawa as an adult, I used to pack a picnic -- including cocktails -- and the whole family would gather on our plot. Afterall, we were landlords in Beechwood Cemetery, so why not?!
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Typical of a visit with my Grandmother. She always dressed up to pay respects to her departed family.
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Grandma sewed many of our clothes and knitted some of the most beautiful sweaters I've ever owned. Yes, my family hails from strong, gentrified stock. I am very lucky they adopted me.