blog 23 Cooking

Life Begins at 90, Blog by Nika Fleissig

Sunday, March 8, 2015

All previous blogs were written triggered by some event that reminded me of the past. Today is no exception.

     

Yesterday I had lunch with two friends in an elegant hotel with a magnificent view, and the conversation turned to cooking and enjoying food.

The two educated, successful, retired ladies both said in unison,  “We never cook!”

Here goes what I remember vividly about arriving in the U.S. never having made a meal in my life, as I had had no opportunity to cook while growing up in my parents’ home… there was a maid who cooked.

And…during  WWII there was not much to cook!!  So here comes the end of the war and I arrive  as a total greenhorn in America, the Land of Plenty.

In Poland, a chicken was bought live and the maid, a peasant girl from the country usually, had to kill it and clean it – a big job.

Here I saw for the first time a chicken in the supermarket (there was no such thing in Krakow, Poland when I was a young girl…only small neighborhood little stores run by the families who knew what every customer ate and liked).

I see a clean, appetizing chicken wrapped in plastic ready for the oven. I could not believe my eyes.

   

Back to my married life  as a young refugee after years of war  and deprivation.

All was here in front of me and yet I had no idea what to do with it or how it is called by name -  the appetizing meat I saw.

Ladies in the neighborhood tried to teach me- and it usually ended in disaster. My husband, a metallurgical engineer who came to buy machinery in the U.S. before the War, had gotten stuck in the States with other people who had come to America  in 1939  for the Worlds Fair and could never return to their homes in Europe.  They all lost their families.  

Today I marvel at his patience.  I once wanted to make him a delicacy… I thought I was buying brains which cook up in a short time, and I bought lung instead which takes hours and hours of cooking and tenderizing.  To you this might sound like an awful dish, but truly it was a treat in Poland.  However, since I bought the wrong cut it had the consistency of rubber. The poor man said “not so bad” as he valiantly chewed this impossibly tough piece of organ meat.

Ah, but rescue came!   Fred had three assistants in the Loewy firm of heavy industry.  One of them was Howard Libby, in truth, not a great engineer but a marvelous  cook - this was a hobby he had acquired while living in Paris before the war  and taking rich ladies to the best restaurants.

One day Howard said to me, “I love and respect your husband, and this cannot continue. I offer to come every week end and teach you to become a gourmet cook.”

     

And so it was.  We started at the beginning.  When I was very good  he invited me to NY apartment (no worry, he was gay), and prepared a feast which I thoroughly enjoyed and asked for the recipe. The sauce alone took 3 days to make  -  “Poulet en Cocotte” by name.

One day when I felt I learned enough to dare inviting a senior vice president of General Electric and his wife who had been introduced to us to dinner, I decided I was going to cook the elegant and tasty chicken dish I had just learned how to make.  Every other person at the table ate it with great pleasure, but Mr.Young's plate had all the chicken still untouched.  He kind of pushed it around, but I could tell he had not really eaten any.

Usually I had something small prepared in case someone did not like what I made-but this time I was so very sure of my offering that I had nothing else prepared.

The story goes, Mr. Young told us that as a young employee of General Electric he had had to travel a lot. There was the inevitable undercooked chicken served with blood showing, and since then he had vowed that anything F.O.W.L. he would not touch.  Forget it.   

When my children Alicia and Willy were more grown up, every time something especially good tasting was served and they oohed and aahed and complimented me, I looked to heaven (as Howard had passed away) and said to myself, “Thank you Howard!”

When  I got stuck painting something very frustrating and  difficult, and needed to accomplish something, I looked in my Gourmet Magazine to find a delicious  sounding recipe.  I made it and then worried who to invite to eat it with us. In America at the time the normal dinner was steak and potatoes, but I wanted something with more taste, sauce, spices, finesse.

Cooking enriched my life.  Now as an old woman I rarely cook any more…   my daughter took over.  I am left with memories and funny stories.  

I thought this will amuse you on this day of the Purim spiel where everyone in the synagogue dressed up in costume and had a great time, as a cast of members retold the story of Esther with a British updated twist and songs adapted from Beatles and other British songwriters.  I am sure each one of you has a similar story to tell about the beginnings as a housewife.   I would appreciate your comments.   Shalom!!!!