Learning to Bake

Growing up my paternal grandparents lived across the street from us.

Their kitchen was different than ours, but I didn't really think of it being different other people's kitchens. It wasn't hugely different but it had a couple cool features that our kitchen didn't have.

One favorite was a breakfast "nook" in the kitchen. It was cool because I could sit out in the kitchen while Grandma was baking. I did that a lot as a little girl. I loved sitting there watching grandma measure ingredients, roll out pie crusts, scoop cookies onto the sheet. The kitchen smelled so yummy. And, if I was lucky, when the baking was done, I might get to sample a cookie or two.

The other thing I really liked in their kitchen was the sugar and flour bins. The bins each held a 50 lb. bag. Cookies and pies were her specialty. If someone was sick, needed thanking, moved to the neighborhood, had a new baby, to celebrate a holiday, or just because, it was not surprising to see a tray of cookies or a pie get delivered from Grandma and Grandpa.

At the age of eight my Grandma started teaching me how to bake. When I say that my grandmother baked a lot, family members would say I am underestimating it. Her cookie list included Chinese chews, honey cookies, sugar cookies, dream bars and more. Sometimes she would make more than one batch at a time. And boy were they yummy! The pies she made at least 10-12 at a time. Pumpkin and cherry were her specialties.

My favorite of all of Grandma's treats? Her chocolate chip cookies. There was just something about them that had a different flavor than ours. I asked once about her recipe and she told me that it was just the recipe off the package. At this point I was getting older and wiser. There was something different – I just didn't know what. I came home and told my mom. She said we could make some chocolate chip cookies to compare them. Nope, they weren't the same.

It wasn't until years later that I found out the truth. Grandpa had passed and Grandma's health was starting to fail. It was too much for her to stay at home by herself. No matter how much time my dad spent over there and no matter how many meals my mom made for her, it was time, Grandma decided, to go to the nursing home. She also decided that it was time to sell the house and have an auction.
Before the auction we could go through the house and see if there was anything we wanted. Standing in the kitchen with my aunts and my mom, one of my aunts asked if there was something I might like from the house. Living across the street, I had spent much more time at my grandparents house than my cousins had in recent years and had helped to take care of Grandma.

Right behind one of my aunts was something in a drawer I wanted more than anything ... Grandma's recipes. Before my other aunt could protest, my aunt that was closest to the drawer spun around, opened the drawer and shoved them into my hands. My mother looked horrified. "How much?" she asked. The aunt who had handed me my treasures replied with "Well, they're books and the other books are 50¢ each so that sounds right to me." It was done. One aunt was thrilled I had them, while my other aunt was still trying to wrap her mind around what had happened and I was holding my breath.

Before anyone could say anything else, my mother said it was fine and that I could have them. She also knew the other aunt wouldn't be happy and suggested that maybe I wanted to take them home and get out of the way since we were almost done. All that was left was for my dad and uncles to move some boxes before we all went to dinner. Before leaving I told my aunts I would type all of Grandma's recipes out and all of the families – aunts, uncles and cousins – would all get a copy. This seemed to please everyone – especially Grandma.

I spent weeks typing those recipes. Partly because there were so many but also because there were, sometimes, more than one version of each recipe. Each one seemed to have another ingredient that the first one didn't seem to have. It was there, in the middle of typing, I found out the truth about the chocolate chip cookie recipe. There, in the middle of a page, was a recipe named "My Own Toll House Cookie Recipe" that made 12 dozen cookies. First thing the next morning, I hopped in my car and drove over to the nursing home with the page in question.

"You couldn't expect me to give you all my secrets," she said with a smile. "Besides, you wouldn't have liked mine best."

Later that day I told my mom what I had found. Everything became clear to her. It explained why the recipes Grandma had given her never really turned out quite right. No they weren't bad, they just didn't taste quite like what Grandma made. Eventually all the pieces were put together and everyone got copies of the recipes. There were still a few "tweaks" that needed to be made, and Grandma's recipes live on today.