On Sunday morning we had the usual business of eating, bathing, dressing, driving off to church, surviving sacrament meeting and finally I sat down in Relief Society, eager for my favorite meeting of the week. Perhaps it's because it's smaller and more intimate than my other church meetings. Perhaps being only women opens a level of connection and direct "just what I need" messages. Or likely, because they are finally no kids climbing on me to distract. Being as cute as they are (and often mischievous), they tend to take my focus.
But I digress. It was in the moments before the meeting started that I let the date roll around in my head. March 1st. I know that date. Is it someone's birthday? And anniversary? And then, with perfect clarity, it was St. David's Day.
Most Americans wouldn't even know that. But as my husband and his family lived in Wales for a few years in his childhood, we have celebrated it with a family dinner every year. Immediately, I could only think "If mom were here". She would have planned dinner with traditional Welsh and British foods, made Welsh cakes and probably have a little token gift tucked away for the girls.
It's not that I felt obligated to take up some torch or anything. I just suddenly wanted so badly to have that dinner. As it turned out, Grandpa was busy that night so we postponed to the next day.
I scrolled through websites for recipes and suggestions and talked at length with an English friend. I even tried calling my sister in law to ask for the recipes she uses but she was at work and didn't answer. In a last half hearted attempt, I pulled my own favorite cookbook off the shelf, a collection of family recipes my mom gave me for my wedding. Inside the binder is a sleeve where I have tucked numerous photocopies and handwritten notes or recipes I wanted to save. And then I found exactly what I needed.
How could I have forgotten? On my longish list of "wish I could have"s is that I wanted family recipes. I wanted to do our favorite recipes one more time, and have copies of those recipes in her handwriting. I wanted to make Swiss bread one more time, learn how to make the Christmas bagels and perhaps most of all, I really wanted to learn to make blushing peach pie. It was the dessert she made for Grandpa the night he knew he would marry her. I asked her to teach me once, but she teased me that I would need to find my own blushing peach pie. While I know what she meant, I still wish she had. (and now I have the recipe, but it's still not quite the same.)
But in that binder sleeve I found a thin stack of brightly colored index cards, each bearing a recipe, in her own handwriting. We were still newlyweds, maybe only a few weeks, and I asked for favorite family recipes. She wrote out a few to give me then and said she would send more later. She included recipes for her famous "perfect apple pie", homemade waffles, caramel fingers, Gram's Gingerbread, her own gingerbread house dough, banana bread and the two that made me most excited: welsh cakes and her roll recipe.
Her rolls are legendary. I don't know if it's an original recipe but I know they are heavenly. That was her contribution to every family gathering. Even my side of the family is hooked on them. All the aunties make them, but it seems that the recipe has always been attributed to her. However, the first time I tried to make this particular recipe, it didn't go so well. I mixed the dough and knew it wasn't right. I called, explaining and asking. I told her everything I did and she laughed when she pointed out I skipped the flour. To my credit, I knew that was the problem but confessed to her that the handwritten card didn't include flour! And still today, the bright blue card bearing my favorite "Momma" recipe, does not include flour.
I held these cards and cried for probably half an hour, reading them over and over. The children were remarkably well behaved, sitting upstairs for their "quiet time movie", letting me run through this sudden emotion. I miss her SO much.
I took a picture of the cards, posted it to the family facebook page and throughout the day, was flooded with comments from family members wanting copies. Each message was a soothing balm, someone who was sharing all I felt in that moment. Likely they'll never know how much their messages meant but just in case they someday read this, thank you.
That night we had our St. David's Day dinner. We had bangers and roasties (sausages and roasted potatoes) and roasted brussel sprouts. The bangers weren't really authentic, since these were spiced elk sausages from our butcher but truthfully, taste better. The roasties need a little finessing but not bad for a first try. And the brussel sprouts surprisingly good. But the best part was making Welsh cakes for dessert, with mom's own recipe at hand and a quick phone call to kid sister for advice.
Happy St. David's Day.
