By Ezra Dark
Cooking has been an element of my life ever since I could remember. When I was very young, I had been cautiously taught to work the stove. I could peer over the countertop, and I would try not to burn my hands from grabbing a pastry coming from the oven too soon, or lick the spoons from the sugary sweet desserts made by my Nana, Mum and Dad. Cooking has been intertwined with my life like networks of stories, never really having a definitive beginning or end, because recipes are always changing and evolving and being passed down to one another.
One of my favorite recipes, which has also been around the longest, is soup. Not really any particular type of soup, since it’s always different depending on what ingredients you have or had to craft it that day. It can be chicken or turkey, with noodles or dumplings, beans or potatoes. It’s about using what you have and using everything to the most of its ability, since it’s not always forever you’ll have those ingredients to work with. Each one plays a role, a story and life behind them, like the tomato seeds planted in our garden in the brisk early mornings of summers and springs. Digging in the soil. Watching for sprouts. Watching them bloom. Watching them fruit. Savory and serrated leaves, cracked and crisp and scents of earth and rain. Symphony of seasons and flavor.
I only learned how to make the recipe recently. Although I’ve been watching my family make it ever since I was little, hazel eyes set on the creation and chapters of cooking beyond me. My Nana used to make the best soup I’ve probably ever had, brought together in this crimson pot sitting high on the stove, bright but forever aging in time. Mouth watering smells filling the kitchen and bringing people into the room to see what is being created.
Time. Time in wait, time in history, time in passing. Times to come.
How when I was younger I watched my Nana cooking, from bones in broth boiled and seasoned, vegetables saved, chopped and split, fast, rhythmic, metallic sound of sharpening glittering knives. Practiced ease from years of experience, lifetimes ago. Lives growing up on a farm, gathering vegetables from weeded gardens and learning from her own mother how to use the scarce ingredients offered to them, precious gold but from dark and rich soil. A life before hers, and hers as well, through smiles and tears and stories both told and untold. Child laughter, child fear, from the cellar underneath the farm house where the potatoes sat in the dust and webs of ghosts and spiders. Tiny feet bare, walking the garden rows. Listening to leaves rustling, birds calling, a mother’s voice carried from the house.
Words carrying the voices of those generations, echoes and features carved from faces familiar, teaching the next.
Cooking has been an element of my life ever since I could remember. When I was very young, I had been cautiously taught to work the stove. I could peer over the countertop, and I would try not to burn my hands from grabbing a pastry coming from the oven too soon, or lick the spoons from the sugary sweet desserts made by my Nana, Mum and Dad. Cooking has been intertwined with my life like networks of stories, never really having a definitive beginning or end, because recipes are always changing and evolving and being passed down to one another.
One of my favorite recipes, which has also been around the longest, is soup. Not really any particular type of soup, since it’s always different depending on what ingredients you have or had to craft it that day. It can be chicken or turkey, with noodles or dumplings, beans or potatoes. It’s about using what you have and using everything to the most of its ability, since it’s not always forever you’ll have those ingredients to work with. Each one plays a role, a story and life behind them, like the tomato seeds planted in our garden in the brisk early mornings of summers and springs. Digging in the soil. Watching for sprouts. Watching them bloom. Watching them fruit. Savory and serrated leaves, cracked and crisp and scents of earth and rain. Symphony of seasons and flavor.
I only learned how to make the recipe recently. Although I’ve been watching my family make it ever since I was little, hazel eyes set on the creation and chapters of cooking beyond me. My Nana used to make the best soup I’ve probably ever had, brought together in this crimson pot sitting high on the stove, bright but forever aging in time. Mouth watering smells filling the kitchen and bringing people into the room to see what is being created.
Time. Time in wait, time in history, time in passing. Times to come.
How when I was younger I watched my Nana cooking, from bones in broth boiled and seasoned, vegetables saved, chopped and split, fast, rhythmic, metallic sound of sharpening glittering knives. Practiced ease from years of experience, lifetimes ago. Lives growing up on a farm, gathering vegetables from weeded gardens and learning from her own mother how to use the scarce ingredients offered to them, precious gold but from dark and rich soil. A life before hers, and hers as well, through smiles and tears and stories both told and untold. Child laughter, child fear, from the cellar underneath the farm house where the potatoes sat in the dust and webs of ghosts and spiders. Tiny feet bare, walking the garden rows. Listening to leaves rustling, birds calling, a mother’s voice carried from the house.
Words carrying the voices of those generations, echoes and features carved from faces familiar, teaching the next.
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Ingredients:
(Broth) - Lots of water - Bones (one whole turkey or several chickens) - Couple handfuls of either swiss chard, kale, spinach or any other rich leafy greens - 2 bay leaves - Half of an onion - Vegetable scraps (celery leaves and stalks, carrots ends, frozen vegetables, - leftover scraps, etc) - A couple handfuls of tomato leaves - Various seasonings (salt, pepper, margaron, savory, basil, sage, oregano, poultry seasoning, Italian seasoning, garlic powder, onion powder, etc.) - Feel free to use other preserved vegetable scraps / leftovers to add more nutrients to the soup (soup) - 1 cup of noodles - 1 cup of carrots (finely chopped / sliced) - 1 cup of celery (finely chopped / sliced) - Half or one full onion (finely chopped / sliced) - Chopped chicken / turkey (leftover from the bones) - Two small potatoes (finely chopped) or drained beans (or both) - Anything else you want to add, such as vegetables, lentils, dumplings, etc.
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Instructions:
Step one: Find a very large pot and set it on the stove. Gently place the bones inside, and add the leafy greens, carrots, celery, onion, tomato leaves, and vegetable scraps on top of it. Pour water until there’s about 1 ½ an inch of space between the water and the rim of the pot. Add the bay leaves and seasonings. (there’s no typical amount of seasoning, just how much you feel like adding / have) Step two: Bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer/boil. Set a lid on top and leave to simmer/boil for 3-4 hours, checking on occasionally. Step 3: Let cool, and place the pot in the fridge overnight. Step 4: Take out of the fridge, and reheat on the stove. Using a strainer / spoon, scoop out the bones, vegetable scraps, and everything else until nothing but broth is left. (make sure to remove the bay leaves, otherwise it’s a choking hazard) You can freeze some of the broth for future use. Step 5: Fill a separate pot of water and bring to a boil. Add a pinch of salt. Add and boil noodles until they are fully cooked. Step 6: To the broth, add in carrots, celery, onion, chopped turkey/chicken, potatoes, along with anything else you wish to add. Step 7: Let simmer until the potatoes are soft all the way through, or the onions have become slightly transparent. Once the noodles are fully cooked, add them in as well. Step 8: Take off the stove, serve and enjoy. (or freeze some for later.) |
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The Generations:
Fanny Hurditch Sarah Jane (Hurdytch) Storey Sarah (Storey) Tripp Mary-Anne (Tripp) Wilson Frances (Wilson) Munro Gertrude (Munro)Dolan Stella (Dolan) Findlay Shirley (Findlay)Heise Chris Rutherford Ezra Dark |
Me and my Nana
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