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My paternal grandmother always brings up lovely memories. My grandmother was my cooking inspiration. She was my role model as a child and young adult. She was funny, naughty, full of knowledge, and great company. My grandparents lived with us so every day I wasn’t at school, I spent my time shadowing my Nana.
She had a wicked sense of humour and was always getting me into trouble with my parents or grandfather but I loved that she fostered that adventurous part of me.
Nana loved her garden and would spend hours in it every day. Our vegetable garden was her pride and joy but her favourite place in the garden was at her Iris garden. Our extensive garden was filled with vegetables, flowers, and fruit trees – mostly edible. Everything was planted for a reason except the iris and daffodils that popped up under the trees every spring.
She was the best cook. I would spend hours in our large kitchen standing on a stool beside her, just soaking in all that she told me. No recipes were written down, it was all remembered from what she had been taught and repetition. Just a pinch of this, a drop of that, a dollop of this, and a handful of that. Nothing was measured, just mixed together with love and it always tasted delicious. Of course, the bonus was to lick a spoon or taste some biscuit dough to check it was ready to cook. Nana would often leave something out to see if I picked what was wrong with the mixture. You had to pay attention to what she was doing to learn all the tricks of the trade. She inspired my imagination and taught me about how food works, what it goes with, and how to get the best out of it.
Our kitchen serviced our family, with a smokey, old wood-fueled stove at the end. It went 24 hours a day with a big pot of water on the back of it and a camelback to give us hot water for the bath and the kitchen sink. Nana always had a pot of tea on the boil, freshly made each morning and topped up with water as the day got on. Often a stew bubbled away in a pot. The kitchen was a busy place. A large drying rack was suspended from the roof containing bunches of herbs to dry, the odd tea towel, or a sting or two of onions.
I loved her and listened to all she told me. Her knowledge, about plants, herbs, mushrooms, and foraging was amazing. She would head off every morning into the bush and across the fields collecting mushrooms, fungi, native herbs, and berries. I would trail behind with a basket to collect all the goodies she found. We would head back to the kitchen and Nana would explain what we had found and what they were used for. The mushrooms got cooked up with lashings of homemade butter for breakfast. The herbs were put into a teapot to make a medicinal brew for someone in our village who needed it. Bunches of herbs were hung up to dry and after a leisurely breakfast, the real work in the kitchen began. Nana was renowned in the district for her herbal tinctures, remedies, teas, and midwifery skills. She delivered most of the local children when their mothers were due.
Nothing in the kitchen was wasted. Everything we grew was either eaten immediately or preserved for a later time of the year. Spring and summer were the busiest times when Nana would be making jams, pickles and preserving all our food for the rest of the year. We had an underground cellar with shelves filled with all our preserves, large vats filled with root vegetables, and of course the homebrew to keep the men happy.
Nana taught me to cook. No recipes were used, just experience and knowledge passed down from her mother. She was my cooking inspiration but it took years to perfect what she would throw together in minutes. She was a prize-winning cook and always came home with trophies and ribbons from the local annual show. She made the best scones, sponge cakes, and biscuits.
She had several rules in the kitchen that she enforced:
No wastage – if we can’t eat it or feed it to the animals on the farm, then the worms get it.
Eat seasonal – take advantage of the fresh food while we can and preserve the rest for later in the year.
The wood stove must not go out.
Take the time to sit down, enjoy, and rejoice in the abundant food we have available.
Grow your own food and pick only what you need fresh from the garden every day.
Leave enough on the plants to feed the birds and the bees.
Don’t cook it until you have tasted it first.
Fruit must be left on the bench to ripen.
Eat what is on your plate with no complaints. There are lots of starving children in the world who would love it instead.
No pudding until your dinner plate is empty.
Be grateful for the goodness on your plates and in your bellies. It nourishes the soul.
Practice makes perfect when it comes to cooking.
An apple a day keeps the doctor away.
Cook with love – it shows up in your food.
Many hands make light work especially when there is lots of food to preserve.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Use your napkins and manners at the table. No elbows allowed.
Nana was a working machine. Her downtime was morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, and bed at night. She was a great role model, teaching me how to spread joy, love, and laughter into a busy day. Family was so important and she took the time to teach her grandchildren all she could. Lessons that have been invaluable in my life. She wasn’t just my cooking inspiration but my world and I loved her rewarding cuddles when I had completed a task to her satisfaction.
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