[The Skitter v. Wind post will have to wait until tomorrow. Here’s a repeat of a Mom post from a couple of years back. The soon-to-be Birthday Dame could cook up a storm.]
Entwined hearts Bow Tie o’ the Day is perfect for Mom. I have been told she’s having an extremely tough time missing Dad recently. Even though he’s gone, their love lives. It’s a time-space continuum thing.
This photo was taken almost 20 years ago. I think Mom is in the kitchen at the Palomar. Most likely, this was a Thanksgiving bash. Check out Mom’s attack face. She is darn well gonna conquer those two loaves of cheesebread. And note the oven burns on the back of Mom’s hand. You’ve heard of rug burn. Well, this is cheesebread burn. She burned her hands on the oven coils every time she made cheesebread. Every time, I tell you. Mom never met an oven glove she’d use.
In our house, the electric knife was used for cutting only two things: carving turkey and slicing cheesebread. It was basically used only on Thanksgiving and Christmas. And then the gadget was put back in its little 70’s original box, and into the kitchen cupboard where Mom and Dad kept the checkbook. The knife la in its skinny box all alone for 363 days a year. Poor thing. I should have put a bow tie in with it for company.
Mom’s cheesebread is a sacred food. Many of you have had the privilege of tasting Mom’s confections over the years, and you know she was an excellent all-around cook. But Mom’s cheesebread was something she made almost exclusively for family holiday dinners. It was a rare gem. And it was the key food item of those dinners. Dinner did not happen without the cheesebread. Kinds of salads changed. Different versions of potatoes joined the basic mashed potatoes. You’d think the turkey would be the star, but it was always about the cheesebread.
And it was war. The most desired slices of cheesebread are the ends, where the cheese-to-bread ratio is the highest. If you managed to score one of the ends, it was only because you managed to steal one before someone else stole it.
At some point after dinner, there was what I’ll refer to as The Semi-Annual Battle Over the Tinfoil On Which the Cheesebread Was Baked. The tinfoil was like the cherry on top. It was like the prize in the cereal box. It was covered in baked-on, cheesebread drippings. Dad usually won that war. And then he would sit at the head of the table, picking carmelized blobs of cheese off the tinfoil– obnoxiously, so we couldn’t help but watch it happen. And we drooled through the torture of witnessing the results of our defeat.
I have made this cheesebread for parties and dinners and potlucks in three states in this U.S. of A., and I can attest to its lusciousness. A couple of enemies became my friends because of this cheesebread. Its powers know no bounds. Hell, Mom’s cheesebread could probably find a way to balance the federal budget AND create world peace.