Mincemeat and Ribbon...a short story

 "I want you to write in my album, something both bright and true, so that in the misty future my thoughts will come back to you..."
               --Nessie McConachie, (1936 wedding album)

 My mother loved Christmas. Loved baking for it. Loved having people sit by the fire. Even long after my father died in 1967. She still did it.As she got older it got harder for her. But she made everyone feel welcome and wanted. 

 They were married on Nov 21, 1936. On a rainy windy day. She sewed her own dress out of cream satin,made her own veil, and picked up a bouquet of mums and roses ..........

 She told me , years later, everything cost about  $6.72 . A great cost then.  The net ribbon for the flowers was special. Wide, gauzy fabric remnant.  My father  was handsome.  Desi Arnaz handsome. For years to come when I watched "I Love Lucy" I would imagine Desi Arnaz to be my dad.....

Davey and Nessie Nov 21, 1936

In 1988 , when I was going through things in the house, I found an old chest in the basement. My Mother's hope chest. It was kind of damp.  I found her autograph books,  remnants of once was a  wedding dress, now stained with mould and rust. Part of a crumbling veil. A few pressed roses. Paper thin. Dust unto dust. A muffin tin. Also rusted.  My mother never made muffins. She used them for  Mincemeat Tarts at Christmas. 

 And  that Net Ribbon. In a ball.Ripped, rusted, mostly ruined. Some of it  survived. I threw the ribbon into a shoe box. Twenty years later I finally made a quilt . That was about six years ago. Gold pearl collars from the 1950's,part of a lace  tablecloth we made together. And the Net ribbon. Draped like angel wings. 

That old muffin tin  got me thinking about mincemeat tarts. My mother used to create tarts with thick pastry shells.So thick you needed a knife and fork. Three times the size of regular ones....

 Filled with homemade mincemeat. Hers was rather dry and chewy. Lots of suet sticking out, like so many meal worms. Not a pretty sight. Eventually she used mincemeat from the store. She'd slog in a good glop of whiskey into the mincemeat, before ladling it into shells.

They could walk on water, she often said as she covered them with pastry "hats" and bake them to scalding .

 She served them to everyone who came calling. Whether they wanted one or not. She always kept a few, without pastry tops,  for my dad, I remember.A gentle man. He thought she was the living end. Many years later,when he was gone,  I saw her light a candle for him every Christmas, and put it in the window,  while she sat by it.Silent. Quiet.

 One Christmas, when I was a teenager,  we had a night with  company . My mother made  those mincemeat tarts. The kitchen smelled like a pub. Sherry soaked fruitcake and whiskey sodden tarts. She'd seal  them in Christmas tins, outside on the porch , in the cold. Mincemeat tarts were usually served hot with thick hot cream ladled over. Whether you wanted one or not......you got one.

  That night, warm mincemeat tarts had been taken out of the oven, and set  on the counter. Ready for later. Roast chicken sat beside the tarts. It was set to be carved. My Mother went back in to the living room to  visit a tad more.It was a jolly night. Everyone in good spirits.

 She  returned to the kitchen to start filling up plates. There was  our tabby cat, Mincemeat, sitting on the tray of warm tarts. Squishing them. Cat paw prints here and there. Shoved into the tarts. Pastry flicked off his tail.Mincemeat ( the cat) looked pleased.

 My mother was not.  She saw the golden brown roast chicken. A hunk taken out. And Mincemeat, the cat,  smiling. Happy. He licked the chicken. My mother  froze. Took a deep breath.......

 And came sailing back into the living room, Christmas tree glittering away. Friends laughing and happy. More Sherry? She filled glasses. That night they had had eggs, scones and fruitcake for dinner. It was as if they'd had a ten course meal in a fancy restaurant.Mincemeat, ( the cat) had chicken.

It took a few days before my mother remembered there were untouched mincemeat tarts in a tin,  on the porch, in the cold. 

 I think I understand my mother better now.  My dad I always understood. That net ribbon almost symbolic, the two of them being one. ...........and yes, the cat really did sit in the tarts and eat roast chicken 
( true story). He did it again a few years later, only then it was apple pie and turkey.......

 "The moon shines east. the moon shines West. But count on me. He makes the home brew best...."
-Davey McConachie (Sept 30 1930. S.S. Princess Norah)

Red Tin

 "Christmas is doing a little some extra for someone..." -Charles M. Schulz

 Mr. and Mrs. Bee lived across the road from us. Many moons ago. They had a   Gigantic German Shepherd called Athena.   They let her sit at the open front door to watch people come and go. There was a screen.  I always wondered if it was strong enough. Mr. Bee used to take her for walks. Well, that is, Athena would drag  him around the block twice a day. Mr. Bee would mop his brow after the walks . 

One day,  in the summer, Mr. Bee died......

At Halloween,  Mrs. Bee made her usual assortment of treats for the neighbourhood kids.  Chocolate AND butterscotch fudge, hand dipped Taffy apples, popcorn balls dipped in caramel that ooozed and dripped. Suckers of hard candy in red and green. Salt water taffy tinted various shades of pastels. 

At Christmas, Athena  accompanied Mrs. Bee across the road to our house. She brought over a red tin full of  sweets. Athena kept her nose tightly close to that tin. She wimpered when Mrs. Bee handed it to my mother.

Leftover sweets from Halloween. My mother   always thanked her.  Over Christmas we nibbled at the contents. Dried up. crumbling. An odd taste about them.....  
                    
                
   Most of the time, we would throw away the contents. Mrs. Bee always wanted the red tin back. They had known each other for something like twenty years already, at that time. They were good friends. "It doesn't matter", my mother would say. "She remembers us, that's what counts...."

It was my task, around New Year's, to take the red tin back across the street to Mrs. Bee. Next Christmas, the same tin would be sent back to us. Always filled with  old funny tasting sweets.Year in. Year out. 

  My mother always said one should not return a container empty. So she'd plunk in one of her loaf fruitcakes. Doused with sherry. It could light up the sky.

  New Years Eve found me sitting in Mrs. Bee's parlour. Fruitcake in said red tin. On the coffee table. Mrs. Bee had already toddled off to get me a glass of Tang.

 That's when Athena would come sidling in. She'd circle. And circle.Ears up. Eyes on that fruitcake sitting in the red tin....

  Glistening with sloshing sherry. Cherries popping thru.  Like so many oozing pimples. That cake was asking for it.

   BAM! Athena launched herself at the cake.  BAM! Table rattled.

Fruitcake flew. Cherries soared.  Athena ran off. In the other room,Mrs. Bee shrieked and shrieked.  I sat giggling at the mess. I never told my mother. Just like my mother never told Mrs. Bee. 

  Every year it was the same. Mrs. Bee would send over sweets that we were rather sure Athena had licked. And my mother would send back a the yearly  fruitcake. Like clockwork. Turned out, it wasn't the cake that Athena was gunning for, but the red tin........ 

 One year I was home to visit, I saw Mrs. Bee. it was many years later. Athena was long gone. Mrs. Bee was very elderly, and was moving in with her daughter. She handed me a red tin. Same tin we'd shared. "You might find it will come in handy someday. Like I did", she said. "I used to keep Athena's dog treats in there. She loved that tin......."
                      

Photographs 2018

CIVIL WAR CHRISTMAS SHORTBREAD (1864)

CIVIL WAR CHRISTMAS SHORTBREAD
COST of Food 1862 Christmas: "Apples for the dessert were 10 cents a piece, the oranges 30 and 40 cents, the icing of a pound cake $1.50, The baked and boiled turkey would alone have cost $8." -Burr ( 1990)

 The actual recipe I read for shortbread in the civil war is fascinating. Not a detailed recipe, more going by sight and experience. It asks for a goodly amount of flour, some butter, and eggs, with powdered sugar. Combine all into a stiff paste. Roll into  flats, cut into squares, dot with caraway seed or peel, and bake in a warm oven. Nothing more. A warm oven on iron plates. 

 Most shortbread does not include eggs. Eggs usually give it a nice colour ( I have used eggs before and a golden hue happens when eggs are added. So I've adapted my own recipe and the civil war recipe to come up with my own version. No iron plates needed. Preheat to a 325 oven.....

 1 pound of butter, softened slightly. push your finger into the butter to see if it is soft.

 1 cup  white sugar  (you can use powdered sugar but  I substitute brown sometimes)

 Mix together.

 At this point you can add 4 egg yolks into the mix. But you don't need to.

Add  4-4 ½ cups flour 

Have a 1/2- 3/4 cup flour on the side, as the dough but resemble pastry,not mixed together like paste

 The pastry like concoction should be loose. like when you make pastry for pies. Though in civil war shortbread you would combine it tightly and roll out like piecrust.

 At this point the civil war shortbread would be flattened and made into rounds.

 But to make it easier pile into parchment lined cookie sheet.

 Start pressing down all over into the parchment.Pat Mixture  into  parchment lined  13 x 9 inch pan, using the heel of your hand.

Prick all over with fork. Sprinkle with a tablespoon or two of sugar.

 Then you can add citrus peel, or caraway, if you wish. Or leave it plain.

 Bake at 325 degrees till lightly browned. (This is the part where in civil war times they ask for merely a "warm " oven.) About 20 minutes. Add time if needed. The baked sheet  should feel fairly dry to the touch. And the edges ever so slightly browned a bit.  All over should be cream coloured for the most part.

 Take out from oven and immediately cut into rectangles

 You can even cut them into larger squares or cut circles. But do it while the whole thing is HOT.

 If doing rectangles or squares, like I did here,  cut again.

 "In the 1860's Godey's Lady's Book was at its zenith It existed from 1830-1898..."-John Spaulding

 Background info for Civil War recipes taken from "Civil War Recipes Receipts from the Pages of Godey's Lady's Book."Lily may and John Spaulding 1999

Photographs 2018