My cousin's partner has asked that friends and family write a blurb for my cousin's upcoming 50th birthday bash about how much he means to us. We're also meant to include pictures. I have some old photos stored on the computer, and, while looking for cousin snaps, I stumbled over one of me from 1970ish. I put the more current pic up just below it for contrast. :D
In the Kodak picture, I'm on my Grandma's lap at the house in Little Hollywood. Grandma Irene was a lovely woman and I adored her. Irene had four siblings: Alice, Bobby Rose (I couldn't tell you her given name) May and Margaret. I think they all might have been born here, save for one girl, Alice, who died on the boat journey over, to Irish immigrants escaping destitution back home at the turn of the last century. By the time I came around, Bobby Rose was both a widow and a drunk; she was nice yet sad. May I knew rather peripherally as she no longer lived locally & Margaret I knew not at all save for the time she came down for a visit & smacked me across the face for interrupting her while she was talking to Grandma. I was 7. Oops.
After May died, Grandma inherited her dogs: Mr. Chips & the one that had had its larynx removed. Back in the 70s, it was fairly common for barky dogs to undergo this procedure in order to remove their ability to bark. It sort of worked. The barky dog just sounded like it was dry heaving all the time instead. Mr. Chips was lovely, however. Chiquita, Grandma's chihuahua, didn't much like the arrangement, but she, of course, had no say.
The only time I really understood that Grandma had had a slightly different cultural history than me was when she referred to where her family was from. She'd say what sounded like: County KAHRK. In American English, the county name preceeds the word 'county'. In Ireland, it was apparently the other way 'round. I had no idea where this magical-sounding place could have been. It took me until the early 90s on a trip to Ireland to realize that 'KAHRK' was, indeed, Cork. I have to tell you that when I saw the word 'Cork' for the first time written in Irish (Corcaigh), it sort of all made sense.
Grandma was Irish Catholic. She never much mentioned her faith, but there was a massive portrait of Jesus in Grandma's house. Jesus' eyes would follow you everywhere you went in the room. As a girl, I sometimes would purposely walk bath and forth while looking at him directly in the eye just to test this theory out. It never failed. This Jesus was of the bloody, thorn-crown variety. He was in agony. I found him very unsettling.
Grandma also made a sort of stew she called Slumgullion. I can't remember all what was in it, but it was hearty and filling (and inexpensive to prepare). I sort of made it up that Slumgullion was an Irish thing (read: poor folk cuisine), but, maybe it was simply an immigrant dish brought over by those hailing from both Ireland and Great Britain. Anyone else grow up eating Slumgullion?
-off to look for pics of my cousin now.
Jealous thoughts. I never knew any family other than immediate family.
ReplyDeleteSlumgullion is new to me - though I certainly grew up eating similar dishes.
Yeah, I'm glad that they were around. I was also thinking as I wrote about Grandma Irene was how lucky I was that my grandparents were decent people (who also didn't smoke!).
DeleteMy father was pure Irish, my mother German and English. But mom was the cook. My dad's culinary input was to never eat liver. And, we had slumgullion. My mother said it was a depression dish, and she was a depression child.
ReplyDeleteMy grandparents were adults during the Depression, so I guess that tracks. My favorite dish as a child was liver and onions. :)
DeleteYikes, I would not have liked getting slapped in the face by a random relative. She sounds harsh. No, I've never heard of that dish.
ReplyDeleteI think having been born in, like, 1899 might have had something to do with it. Children were def seen and not heard! :D
DeleteThey came over right around the time when my paternal grandmother's parents immigrated from Ireland. My great-grandfather had been planning to emigrate to Australia, where he had relatives. He got to the US, ended up in San Fransico just in time for the earthquake and was conscripted into a labor camp, he was a stonemason, where he was paid for his help in the reconstruction effort. He decided to go back east to New York, where he also had relatives, where he met my great-grandmother.
ReplyDeleteSlumgullion is Irish-American poverty food, like corned beef and cabbage. We used to call it 'suicide stew', we'd clean out the fridge and cabinets, and throw everything into a pot... despite the name, it was invariably delicious.
I'm with you on liver and onions... sauteed with bacon and served with mashed potatoes, it's one of my favorite dishes.
That's some really great information on your family.
DeleteThat Slumgullion was an Irish-American, working-class dish makes sense. -a sort of everything-but-the-kitchen-sink affair. Perhaps, that is why I have no set family recipe for it.
With the spuds, you've got a perfect meal there.
My grandmother was of basic Irish descent also. I grew up hearing the word "slumgullion" used as a gentle term of rebuke, as in "you little slumgullion!" Did not know it referred to a type of Irish poor man's stew.
ReplyDeleteOh, that's interesting!
DeleteSlumgullion a word I had forgotten. I don’t know that I was ever served any — was just a slang word we threw around.
ReplyDeleteInteresting recollections of your Grandma’s sister’s. Only grandparent sibling still living that I was able to meet was on the paternal side of my family — that grandmother’s sister we called “Aunt” .....
I called Bobby Rose 'Great Aunt...'
Delete-seems the word, if not the dish, was widely distributed.
I wish I knew more about my family history. It was nice reading about yours. I am not familiar with Slumgullion but we had SOS growing up aka Shit on a Shingle.
ReplyDeleteI've heard of SOS, but have never had the, ahem, pleasure!
DeleteIhad not heard of slumgullion but just "googled" it and found several similar recipes.
ReplyDeleteYes, it would seem the recipe was/is quite flexible.
DeleteIn post-war Germany poor people’s food was all we ever had. The weird thing is that now, when I have any food I like, I sometimes hanker after those dishes Mum cooked. I had very little in the way of family but I think my Dad would have slapped anyone who slapped me in the face. Family or not.
ReplyDeleteYes, I recall my friend Mrs. Rempfer talking about the scant resources there were in post-war Germany. She mentioned once intensely salivating at the smell of sausage eaten my a seat-mate on a train.
DeleteAlas, there were no other adults in the room save for Grandma and her sister. I don't know if I ever told my mother what had happened.