Stories Collected While Living in France

French la Vie

Saturday Art Saves: A Culinary Legacy From Escoffier to Today.

 

A Culinary Legacy From Escoffier to Today.
  

Every Saturday I focus on a different artist that I admire. From potters to painters, chefs to collectors, seamstress to songwriters, lifestyle to lovers… anyone who set the paintbrush, pastry brush, hands and heart on fire to create.

Those who inspire art to flow where it may.

 

Recently my friend Karen published a new cookbook titled:

 A Culinary Legacy From Escoffier to Today.

 

 

 

John and Karen Stoeckley

Photo via John Stoeckely

"Karen's cookbook is more than just a book with French recipes; it is a story of an 18-year old girl who found her passion for the culinary arts through her grandfather’s old handmade, wooden chest."One day Karen decided to go through her grandparent’s attic and found an old handmade chest. While she was shifting through the chest she found a ledger full of old recipes prepared by her grandfather while he studied under the famous Auguste Escoffier in Paris. Karen made a promise to herself that one day she would take all of those old recipes and translate them into modern English. Through this journey Karen found her own passion for the culinary arts."

 

 

Stoeckley

"Nearly fifty years after finding that old ledger Karen has gotten all of those recipes translated and published. I had the pleasure of meeting Karen when she came to France for six months to translate, to create the recipes, photograph and work on the details of the beautiful ledger her grandfather left behind."

"While in the village, Karen met restaurant owner and chef Max Callegari, and they decided to collaborate on the book. Callegari helped Stoeckley with the translation and interpretation of the recipes, and the two tested many of the dishes in his restaurant."

Callegari recognized the influence of renowned 19th century chef Auguste Escoffier in many of the recipes, and at his urging, Stoeckley visited the Escoffier Foundation. From there they discovered that her grandfather likely was trained by Escoffier. Stoeckley's project so fascinated Auguste Escoffier's great-grandson Michel Escoffier, that he offered to write the forward of her book."

Via Karen's Publisher and Saint Louis Public Radio

 A Culinary Legacy From Escoffier to Today.

Karen has kindly offered one of her books to be given away on my blog. If you would like a chance to win, please leave a comment in the comment section. I will randomly pick a winner by Monday. 

"Tell me one of your treasured memories from your childhood?"

 

Comments

51 responses to “Saturday Art Saves: A Culinary Legacy From Escoffier to Today.”

  1. pjeanfarmer@yahoo.com

    I love your blog. I have a French Canadian heritage and even though I rarely leave a comment today, I will do so for a chance with your book prize! I know I will never win one of your guessing games. Jeanne

    Reply
  2. Tara Dillard

    Almost taste a movie to be made from this.
    My mother-in-law, much loved/missed/gone too long, trained with James Beard AND Marion Cunningham.
    While she lived the family ate together about 3x/week. There was a family lake house gathering us, and sometimes a dozen or more labradors, with incredible evening meals.
    Almost 2 decades gone, these memories still hurt, this time of joy still desired. Her daughter, my sister-in-law committed suicide last year. Buried next to her mom I finally gathered the courage to visit the cemetery this month.
    Time to read A River Runs Through It again, ““Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time…”
    All of my joys, and sorrows, are in every garden I design. Meals at that lake house especially, woven into the texture of all I do.
    Garden & Be Well, XO Tara

    Reply
  3. Cynthia Rieth

    I learned to cook from both my grandmothers and it is where I started my passion for the culinary arts!

    Reply
  4. Linda R.

    Treasured childhood memory ~ I come from a Montana farm background and have many memories of visiting my grandparents, picking strawberries and raspberries with my grandmother when I was little, finding tadpoles with my brother, rounding up the cows toward evening with my grandfather. One memory stands out – pulling a cow’s tail while my grandmother was milking her – that was a not a good idea! The happiest memory is watching my grandfather always bring the first rose of summer to my grandmother. When my grandfather died in a farm accident, my grandmother came to live with us and I learned how to bake the best cinnamon rolls in the world.

    Reply
  5. Toni

    My treasured memory is my mother making me eggs on Saturday morning (she worked during the week so Saturdays and Sundays were special). She would make me soft boiled eggs and toast to dip. I was very young.
    I also remember kaiser rolls with butter and jam while reading the Sunday funnies (comics).

    Reply
  6. Ed in Willows

    The first thing I remember cooking, as a child, was Cinnamon Rolls from a small Betty Crocker cookbook. My son caught the cooking bug when he was very young. As a young adult, he attended the Western Culinary School (a division of Le Courdon Blue) in Portland, Oregon. Today, he is a chef in Washington state. He loves trying new recipes from his collection of cookbooks. I would love to give him this book if I was to receive it.

    Reply
  7. KAMFreeman

    My cooking began with time spent in the kitchen of my maternal grandmother; to this day I have some of her recipes scratched on bit of paper. This book sound like a delicious addition for a cooks library. I would love to have my name put in for the drawing. The story you presented about the book today was delightful. Kristin

    Reply
  8. g

    I love this…and a childhood memory I will share involving food is something my mom wouldn’t like…my mom was a good cook – I thought so-not a fancy cook but a good basic cook-she was of polish decent and every so often would make things her mother, but more so her grandmother,had made-again not fancy dishes–but “hearty peasant” dishes and almost every time I was in the kitchen- watching her hand grate potatoes, or standing over the stove for hours making the potato pancakes-she never served them to our family, the ethnic dishes, which is so sad- I ALWAYS wanted a taste-one particular favorite was her red beet soup-I just adored that dish with bread-YUM YUM- one afternoon as a pre-teen, I was enjoying the soup with her in the kitchen and she told me to not tell anyone about the soup – I never did- but later in my 20’s I asked her why-it was out of embarrassment-a poor man’s dish- my aunt (her sister) and I recently talked about it- how sad she took that recipe along with so many others with her when she left us-her stuffed peppers, potato salad, cole slaw, pulled pork chow mein, her “Spanish” rice, eggplant parm-this is to name just a few-I was her companion in the kitchen-always willing to try whatever she made-her grandparents were from Poland and the entire family lived in a 2 block area-she spoke polish even in grade school as most of the children did-but wanted assimilation I suppose this is the reason for the SECRET RED BEET SOUP!

    Reply
  9. Marilyn

    One of my favorite memories is of sitting on my grandfather’s lap at the kitchen table, dunking my sugar cookie into his coffee before eating it. He loved sweets and he didn’t mind a bit having cookie crumbs in the bottom of his cup. Last year my mother found an old letter from my grandmother to her cousin. In it my grandmother wrote about what a good baby I was, and on the back of her letter was her recipe for those sugar cookies. Both my grandparents have been gone for 50 years, and I still miss them.

    Reply
  10. Lorrie

    My earliest memory is of sitting on the kitchen countertop in my pajamas watching my father slice oranges for breakfast. I was not quite 3 my mother tells me. My youngest sister, barely walking toddled into the room and my father and I laughed at her sleepy blue, blue eyes and fuzzy golden hair. Laughter, oranges and love.
    What a treasure of a cookbook. So much family history is found in the recipes we share from generation to generation.

    Reply
  11. martina

    My father’s best friend was the executive chef at a famous and fancy local restaurant. The kind of place that parents don’t take their children to until the kids are over 10. One afternoon when I was about four, Dad and I went to visit his friend in the kitchen while the staff was doing dinner prep. I remember the beautiful view (the restaurant was on the water)and being given a crab shell to admire. When I looked up there were about four chefs looking at me and smiling. With their white uniforms and very tall hats they all looked about seven feet tall!

    Reply
  12. Laurie

    Oh Corey,
    How wonderful and what a wonderful post. I have so many of the recipes from both of my grandmothers. It’s such a joy to have them and remember the times spent with both women. One of my fondest memories is that my Grandma Hartley would make custard for us when we were sick, as did my mother. I made it for our children and just recently for my mother when she was unable to care for herself. I guess you could call it a family tradition that has come full circle. Wonderful memories-not the being sick part, but the comfort continues.

    Reply
  13. Janet with Eiffel

    In my pre-kindergarten years I had “coffee”
    and toast with Grandma’s homemade jams
    each morning with my Grandpa.
    Grandma thought the coffee was a terrible idea…
    she said it would stunt my growth.
    My coffee was a cup of warm milk with
    about a tablespoon full of coffee
    just enough to give it coffee color.
    All these years later, I think of my Grandparents
    every morning as I drink my creamy coffee.
    By the way…….I was 5ft. 9in. by seventh grade

    Reply
  14. jeannine

    I learned to cook from my maternal grandmother and what a fabulous cook she was! She was a farm girl and could take anything and make it delicious. Our family often joked she could probably have taken an old leather boot and made it edible. Everyone for miles around always looked forward to community functions, because it was a given that grandmama would bring her signature dish of chicken and dressing. I wanted to keep the recipe in the family and stood beside her several times as she prepared the chicken and dressing, carefully writing down every single ingredient and step she took. But, yet whenever I try to recreate the same dish, it never quite tastes the way grandmama’s did. It undoubtedly has to be the LOVE that came from her hands as she put it all together. Everyone tells me my version of the same dish is just as good as hers, but I know better and what I wouldn’t give for just ONE more serving of her chicken and dressing!

    Reply
  15. jackie

    Hot Butter Poppin Eggs
    One of my best girlfriends, Roberta had a big family just like us (11 kids in hers and 8 in ours). Her Dad built a windmill on the edge of pond and Roberta and I would have “sleep outs” there on summer nights. It was probably a mile or two on foot from our houses to the pond. We’d trudge up the hill, hauling those big, unwieldy sleeping bags in the hot summer sun. Rather than go all the way around to the road that went into windmill pond, we’d climb a fence and make our way down the other side of the hill through the bushes and prickers. By the time we got to the pond we were a dusty, dirty mess with bloody scratches crisscrossing our scrawny legs and our hair (mine dirty blond, hers chestnut brown) plastered to the sides of our sweaty heads. Heaving the sleeping bags up onto the porch, we’d run down and throw ourselves off the end of the dock into the fresh, cool water. I was always careful not to touch bottom-it was muddy and silty and I’d heard snapping turtles would take your toe off if you weren’t really careful. I remember watching the sun set and then the moon rise over the windmill. Listening to the wind in the trees I lay on my back and looked up at the inky black sky littered with thousands of glittery diamond-shaped stars before falling into a deep sleep. On very special mornings we would wake up to popping sounds and find Roberta’s mom squatting by the side of a campfire, frying eggs-hot butter popping-in a dented and battered skillet.

    Reply
  16. Kathy

    One of my most treasured memories is of my Dad cooking for us. I am one of 5 children and grew up in England (now live in Australia). To give my Mum a break from cooking Dad would offer to make omelettes for us (that was all he could cook). He would make each one individually and I would watch him make 7 omelettes. It took him ages, but each one would be as beautiful as the previous one.
    Kathy

    Reply
  17. Patricia

    As a child, visiting a neighbor and having fresh bread, toasted, with cinnamon and sugar and a drizzle of honey. Sometimes a sprinkle of chopped walnuts. A real treat!

    Reply
  18. Kathie B

    My maternal grandparents lived on a subsistence farm in the Redwoods region of far Northern California, and when I was little and we’d go visit them several times a year. In summer my grandmother would take me out berry-picking in the early AM — mainly for black raspberries, then blackberries, which they had in abundance (also occasionally wild huckleberries, which were sparse). We’d return to their cabin, she’d light the wood fire she’d laid in her kitchen range (still no electricity back then) and we’d cook the berries till soft in a bit of water, mash them, strain a few cups at a time in cloth sugar sacks (remember those?!?), then mix the resultant juice with sugar and cook over the heat till drops falling from the spoon indicated it was ready to “jell.” While the jelly was cooking my grandmother was also sterilizing enough jars and glasses from her collection for the batch in enamel-painted dishpans of boiling water on the stovetop. We’d pour the jelly into the glasses within 1/4″ of the rim, top the surface with a loop of string that hung over the side, then pour on melted paraffin to seal. Once the wax had set and the glassware cooled, the jelly was stored in an outbuilding with a door that served as a storeroom. BTW, the string loop made it easier to remove the paraffin seal when it was time to open the jar of jelly! For many years as an adult I made jelly for my dad (his favorite was black raspberry), and many different kinds of fruit jelly for Farmboy Husband.

    Reply
  19. Merisi

    What a wonderful tales this project brought to the fore!
    My parents had a large vegetable garden and an orchard and my mom was a wonderful cook who knew how to cook and preserve everything that grew around our house. I remember a summer afternoon, when she decided the days were too hot now for the cucumbers and they all needed to be harvested. We picked a tin laundry tub full of cukes and then sat in the shade and we children peeled them. My mom cut them into spears and would spend the rest of the afternoon stacking them into Mason jars and preserving them. I can still recall the scent of cucumbers in the tub and later the fragrance of dill, mustard seeds, and vinegar coming from the kitchen.

    Reply
  20. Carolyn Cotterill

    Wow what a find. Woulda love to peruse the cookbook and drool. Thanks for publishing your memories.

    Reply
  21. Molly Mansker

    What a wonderful post! I grew up in the High Desert area of Central Oregon. It was desolate and flat, dotted with sage brush and juniper trees. But in the summer, thanks to widespread irrigation, the barren landscape turned into Oz, broad fields of peppermint rolling out in every direction. My father sold tires for a living, and occasionally had to visit the farms to change a tractor or truck tire. One Sunday, the boys having long grown tired of these visits, I was chosen to accompany him. There were four children in five years, and he worked six days a week, so even the chance to ride alone with him in the truck cab made the day stand out. I was always competing with my brothers for a little of his attention. This meant I usually wound of gutting all the fish or plucking all the birds, my brothers’ conditions for letting me come along. I don’t remember what we talked about on the ride to the farm, maybe we noticed the emerald fields or the pools of melting tar on the blacktop. I don’t remember much about the farmer either, except that he spoke directly to me. I knew if one of my brothers had been along I would have tagged along behind, unnoticed. But this day the farmer spoke to me, and when he found out how much I loved peppermint, he went into the barn and came back out with a pharmacy bottle full of fresh peppermint oil. For years the sharp sweet smell of the oil triggered the memory of having been noticed.

    Reply
  22. Marilyn

    What an amazing sounding cookbook. I would love winning this book.
    Memory from childhood is feeling the fine warm dirt squish between my toes when I walked through my grandfather’s apple orchard in Sebastopol and found just the right apple to pick from the tree, biting into the warm juicy apple and savoring the juice as it ran down my arms.

    Reply
  23. Evelyn

    My favorite food memory from childhood is my Mom’s fried chicken. She was from the South and could fry chicken like nobody’s business. No matter how many times I watched her do it or how many times I wrote down her exact instructions, my fried chicken NEVER tasted the same. I think her secret ingredient was love! Thanks for the opportunity to win this book…it looks amazing!

    Reply
  24. Dd

    My grandparents were French, my grandfather born in Paris. I loved being in their kitchen on Thanksgiving, it smelled wonderful. Pepere would carve the turkey and I could always count on a taste. I treasure any recipes in Memere’s handwriting.

    Reply
  25. Marlis

    I love this story! What a treasure was found and then so amazing the doors that were opened because of it. Thank you for a chance at the book.
    Of course my favorite food memories are about my grandparents and my mom. But instead, I’ll share one that is funny, we’ll it is now. I was a strong willed child, ok stubborn. I might have been four at the time. We lived in a gorgeous home on rue de sandillon in Orleans, France. I can still picture the kitchen perfectly in my mind. My mother made lentil soup of which I wanted no part. For two days, I was offered lentil soup for breakfast , lunch and dinner. Did I eat it? No. My father made the best egg sandwiches and so I didn’t go hungry. Today, I love lentil soup and I taste everything. And I still think a good egg sandwich is pure comfort food.

    Reply
  26. Ardi

    How precious to have found this chest and it’s treasure. And what a wonderful adventure to have gone to France, had help from a renowned chef to translate and try the recipes. I think I’ll have to order a copy…if I don’t win the one you are offering. Thanks for sharing her story.

    Reply
  27. Deb

    I love that she took the old recipes and did a cook book! I have an old spiral notebook with handwritten recipes that belonged to me grandmother. She died over 40 yrs ago. A favorite memory of mine involves breakfast on Saturday mornings. My parents had five children. On Saturdays my Dad would let Mom sleep in while he fixed breakfast for the kids. The great thing was that as each of us got up we could give a breakfast order to Dad – of anything we wanted – and he would fix the special order just for you! Dad passed last summer and I miss him terribly. I would be thrilled to have Karen’s cookbook – how special it is.

    Reply
  28. SusieQ

    What a wonderful story and what a treasure Karen found in that attic those many years ago. How wonderful that she has kept her promise to herself and what a wonderful collaboration with Chef Callagari.
    I have many childhood memories, but one that is food related is about lemon meringue pie. My grandmother, on my Dad’s side, was a great baker, and I remember visiting her in North Dakota and helping her roll out the crust for this wonderful treat. My Dad, now 91 years old, is a retired fireman who was quite well known in the Los Angeles County Fire Dept for his lemon meringue pie. He wrote out the recipe for us, and my favorite part is his description of the meringue: “beat the egg whites until they are stiff, or looking much like calf slobber”.

    Reply
  29. Sue

    This is a great story. It reminded me of Lauren, my 14 year old granddaughter. She is a fantastic cook and I am steering her toward Johnson and Wales with a year during college in France. Recently she asked for a macaroon pan for her birthday! Love her.

    Reply
  30. Jillayne

    I grew up with three brothers and whenever our parents would go out we would bake something, always taking turns on who would decide what was on the menu… We killed yeast whilst trying to make bread, thought if milk and lemonade were marvelous on their own they must be even more delicious together, changed the order of mixing for cakes so we could watch the eggs roll on the flour, but my favourite memory was the night we made pancakes… We made four batches so we could make them all different colours, dividing the batter and combining the food colouring to see what we could get – it was the most colourful dinner I’ve ever had! We used cookbooks as guidelines and experimented endlessly and I learned more about what not to do than anything, but it was fun!

    Reply
  31. Erin

    Hi! I love your blog! I read it all the time but this is my first comment! My favorite childhood memory was making gingerbread cookies with my mom. Gingerbread was my childhood absolute favorite and I loved decorating them. Now that I look back I realize what a mess I made when I baked; from cookie dough ground into the carpet, all over the countertops, and stuck on the table cloth (without mentioning that I used to dirty every dish imaginable!) My poor mom wanted to encourage me in the kitchen so she silently was behind me cleaning up as I destroyed her kitchen! Well, her encouragement worked, cooking is one of my passions and I believe there is nothing more special than family sitting around a homemade meal.

    Reply
  32. La Contessa

    What a beautiful story!
    I will buy the book just for the story!
    Where does KAREN come from………..the STATES I assume.
    I would ADORE to WIN the BOOK!!!
    XX

    Reply
  33. Nancy

    Such a wonderful story! Would certainly delight in winning a copy of the book! My childhood memory is of the very first chocolate cake that I baked and frosted all by myself. I wish there was a picture of this masterpiece…. the cake was very lopsided, the frosting dripping with uneven patches of icing was full of crumbs… but how proud I was of this first endeavor! My mother was happy to turn her kitchen over to a budding culinary artist!

    Reply
  34. Ann

    Growing up, mom did all the cooking and what a gourmet feast it was every day. I wasn’t allowed to help with the cooking (older sisters could), and since I was a Girl Scout and learned this skill, I would set the table very correctly with lovely linens, spoons, forks, and knives in their right place, water glasses positioned just right.

    Reply
  35. Angela Vular

    Corey, this cookbook sounds wonderful! My treasured childhood memory took place each fall during apple picking time. My grandmother would get out a huge copper pot and we would all gather and make homemade apple butter. It was and still is the best I have ever eaten. Unfortunately everyone is gone now and I miss that special gathering of aunts, uncles, cousins and the outdoor fire with the copper pot and the constant stirring. I can smell the apples, cinnamon, and fire as I write this!

    Reply
  36. Teddee Grace

    My mother started training me to cook early, before I started school. I think I was five when she tasked me with making some Jello for our lunch. This was before Jello came sweetened. Unsupervised and unable to read, I opted to sweeten the gelatin with a white granular substance from a bag lettered with a word that began with “S.” We only had an old-fashioned ice box so when it was cold, we often used the outdoors as an extra refrigerator. I set the jello on the back porch to set. My mother had the pleasure of taking the first bite of our dessert and immediately ran out the back door and spit it out. I’d used pickling salt, not sugar. She came back laughing, realizing she’d assumed a little too much cooking wisdom on my part.

    Reply
  37. Gail

    Every summer my parents would leave us kids with our grandparents who were dairy farmers. Grandpa would get up at dawn to milk the cows and would be finished with his chores and ready for breakfast by the time we got up. Since we didn’t know how to work the old toaster in the kitchen we oftened burned our toast. Grandpa insisted that he would eat this burned toast as it was a special delicacy. The essential ingredient of graveyard stew which included burnt toast, coffee, sugar and milk. I don’t recall the exact reason it was called graveyard stew, but I can picture him eating it with a big table spoon out of a bowl with relish.

    Reply
  38. Bonnie Schulte

    Your story of finding the recipes is wonderful, and even more so, that a book is published. I would so love to have a treasure such as this, and want to thank you for the chance to win..

    Reply
  39. dede

    One of my best food memories:
    In 1996, I took an intensive weekend of Master Classes taught by Julia Child and Jacques Pepin (another obsession). There were demos and tastings and hands-on experience, too. At the end of the first day, the chefs made time for some chat and book signing. As I nervously waited my turn, my new In Julia’s Kitchen with Master Chefs in hand, I thought of what I could say to this person. I wanted to impress upon her how important she had been to me. I bought Mastering the Art of French Cooking when I was 14 years old, and when it was my turn, I told her this. And then, most uncharacteristically, tears were filling up in my eyes. Realize, I don’t cry often, and I really didn’t want to stand there, blubbering at Julia. But alas, I did. I choked out my thanks and praise to her, told her she was right up there with my Grandma and my Dad influencing and teaching me, sniff, choke, blubber, blubber, sigh, sniff… she let me finish, looked at me smiling and said, “isn’t it fun?” I was a goner. I smiled and nodded yes, ‘cuz it really is so much fun. Then she signed my book and spelled my name wrong. No worries, that’s OK.

    Reply
  40. Carole Prinz

    I learned to cook from my Grandmother, Mother, couple of Aunts. We have Mama D’s (GM) salad at Thanksgiving and my Aunt Iva’s pumpkin pies and my Mother’s stuffing. All my kids use these same recipes and it makes me feel blessed to have been able to pass the recipes to them. After I got married I read every cookbook I could find like a novel and experimented. What a stroke of fate that Karen was able to find the treasures her Grandfather left behind and what a memorial to him that she was able to have it published.

    Reply
  41. Leslie in Oregon

    One of my most cherished childhood (teenagerhood) memories is of spending an afternoon canning spiced peaches with my Grandmother Elin, who lived alone about 200 miles north of us. We used her recipe from her Swedish mother. As it turned out, that was the last canning my grandmother did, as she had to leave her home for assisted living soon thereafter. It was many years before I could bear to open the last jar of the spiced peaches she had sent home with me that afternoon.
    I love the story of Karen discovering and putting to use again her Grandfather’s treasures. I am a lifelong Francophile on the cusp of becoming the mother-in-law of a Frenchman!

    Reply
  42. Chico Sue

    So many fabulous stories about memories of good food and cooking with grandparents. I have too many beautiful past head pictures of cooking with both a Polish and Hungarian Grandmother. The only words I remember of both languages, all these years later, are food related!
    Congratulations, Karen, on your determined and remarkable effort!

    Reply
  43. Katherine Miller

    Hello Corey – This book sounds terrific. I truly feel the french culinary traditions are in a class by themselves. It’s always a pleasure to read your blog. take care, Kathy Miller

    Reply
  44. Darlene Schueler

    Treasured family memory: My Aunt Sarah used to make the thinnest, most tasty sugar cookies. Each one carefully rolled out, cut with her ancient cookie cutters, and then painstakingly she centered a bit of beaten egg white and a piece of walnut prior to baking. When she was 96, her fingers crippled with arthritis, I asked her to teach me how to make them. Lucky for me, I now possess the recipe and her original tools for making them. She is many years passed, but memory of her still brings smiles.

    Reply
  45. Amylia

    A favorite meal from childhood is my grandmother’s “Chicken a la King” meal with a side of her delicious peas, which I found out were canned Leseur peas. Still love them. 😉

    Reply
  46. Shannon Marie

    Wait! Wait! Don’t pick it yet!! 😛 This looks like my kinda project. I hope to one day do something similar that unites people in story and legacy, history…I love it!!

    Reply
  47. Barbara Kelley

    I love this blog. I read it every day but today is special. Why? Because I live in France 6 months a year and in St. Louis the other 6 months. I would dearly love to win the Escoffier book.

    Reply
  48. Rosemary

    What a wonderful story and journey into the past. I would love to have a copy of the book.

    Reply
  49. Helene

    When I was a freckle faced kid my family used to join my cousin’s family at a camping place near Richardson’s Grove in Northern California. We would set up our camp together for two weeks during the month of August and very often the same families would be there from the year before. At this camping location was a large barn in which there were real square dances in the evenings with a caller and everything. Everyone, young and old, joined in with the yelling, hollering, stomping and laughing. We “city kids” love it.
    Every afternoon we would join up with other kids from the camp and hike down to a swimming hole on the Eel River. The swimming hole was bordered on one side by a steep cliff and hanging from a big oak tree was a rope swing. The rope swung high over the swimming hole and it was necessary to let go of the rope at just the right moment and splash down in the cool water. There was no chance of “chickening out” because on the return swing you would crash into the cliff. It was so exciting and fun. I remember it clearly 60 years later.

    Reply
  50. Melody

    Hope I’m not too late to post.
    Two memories of so many of my grandmother cooking: She was a wonderful cook, but I loved it when she made Apricot fried pies (they were fabulous!). Another is of her slicing/cutting cabbage for slaw and how she would always offer me a bite of the sliced cabbage.

    Reply
  51. Karen Mitcham-Stoeckley

    Thank you to each of you who wrote to Corey about your memories of cooking with grandparents, aunts or mom & dad. These memories are what make all of us who we are today and how we influence the meals in our homes around the world. “A Culinary Legacy” was a life long ambition of mine and at 67 it finally was published. Which goes to show if you have a dream it can be accomplished no matter age. I hope you et the time to reach your own life dreams and goals.
    Bon Appetit,
    Karen Mitcham-Stoeckley
    livininprovence@yahoo.com

    Reply

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