Carole Bumpus

Fiction and Non-fiction Travel and Food Writer

Tag: traditional foods

A SNIPPET OF FOOD & TRAVEL ADVICE

July 27, 2015 / / 0 Comments

TIP:  While visiting abroad, if you are searching for a sure-fire recipe to open up a topic of culinary conversation, simply ask your host to tell you about his or her favorite foods as a child.

This was advice I was given about fifteen years ago. Shortly thereafter, I began to put this tip into practice. It was like magic!  This should be easy, I thought. Everyone has a favorite food or a favorite story to share. But early on, I realized the necessity of preparing myself for this ‘event’, for an event it often became.

First, I settled into a comfortable chair and accepted the almost-always proffered glass of wine. I would take a sip and then breathe deeply, for I knew with almost giddy delight that once I asked the recipe question I would be in for a most passionate journey.

Immediately, I would notice eyes taking on a faraway look, and even before speaking, a smile would envelop her face. Within seconds, the fondest of memories would rise to the surface—moments of delight of holidays past . . . favorite family foods…cherished traditions…beloved family stories! Before I could even take another sip, my host would leap out of her seat, eyes now bright with excitement as she rushed off to the kitchen. “Here it is!” she’d exclaim as she clamored back to my side. And, she was right. There it was! Still clutched tightly in her hands—all smudged with past effort and spattered with conviction—was proof of a specialty worthy of sharing: her favorite recipe card.

Immediately, her arms would begin flailing, as mixing motions would sweep the air. Within moments, a family treasure would be rattled off and, fortunately, I was prepared. I had put my wine glass down, taken up my note pad, and proceeded to capture her piece of cherished culinary history.

Ah, but every once in a while this process took a different turn. Like peeling the leaves from an artichoke, I found the heart of the matter was sometimes still nestled deeply inside. Maybe it was my abiding interest in food and family, but I was most privileged to hear some of the most intimate stories of generations past recounted.

Last October, having been given permission to bring some of these stories to light, I published my debut novel, A Cup of Redemption, based on some of the stories, recipes and musings of one elderly Frenchwoman, Marcelle Zabel. Now, less than a year later, on August 15, 2015, my second book, Recipes for Redemption: A Companion Cookbook to A Cup of Redemption, will be published. You will find it is filled with the promised recipes from the novel, along with tidbits and banter shared not only by Marcelle, but also her daughter, Sophie and friend, Kate. Yes, they are all back and anxious to have you join them in a rollicking good time as they traverse the French countryside sampling regional foods once again and gathering even more recipes. Share in their fun!

Grandma Neustrom’s Swedish Rye Bread

February 19, 2015 / / 0 Comments

Riffling through the dog-eared recipes from my past, I ran across one of my family favorites: my grandmother’s Swedish rye bread recipe. For me, the very words conjured up memories of early childhood redolent with the aromas of baking bread filled with the goodness of dark molasses and the tantalizing smells from my tiny cup of coffee. You see, following World War II, my father was released from the Army and he moved our then-small family—that was my mother, older sister, Melody, and a six-week-old me—from a Texas Army base back to my father’s hometown in Nebraska. Until he could get on his feet financially, we lived in the basement apartment of my Swedish grandparent’s home for my first six years of life.

Morning after morning, I remember hearing my Grandmother shuffle across the kitchen floor above our apartment, singing a happy little tune, as she busily prepared and baked her ‘famous’ bread. I would whine to encourage my mother to dress me more quickly as I would impatiently wait to hear my Grandmother’s call, “Yoo-hoo, Yoo–hoo, my Carole. Are you awake down there?” Quickly, I would trundle to the staircase and climb those twelve red linoleum steps to the first floor to be swept up into her full-bosomed embrace. She would kiss me from head to toe with wet, sticky kisses, then pass me over to my grandfather, who would place me on a stack of books (no thick phone books, though, as the town was much too small) onto a kitchen chair. And there at the table awaiting my arrival was one tiny cup filled with tantalizing Swedish coffee (no milk or cream added—no, no) and a thick slab of hot-from-the-oven Swedish rye bread, already oozing with a pat of butter and pooling into my own special plate. Picking up the slice with my chubby fingers, I would bite into that rich dark bread and butter would leak out of the corners of my mouth and drip down my chin. Then, my Grandma’s high pitched giggle would erupt and my Grandpa would smile from ear to ear, as his glasses slipped down his bulbous nose. Coffee and Swedish rye bread! Ah! I can’t think of a better way to start a day! This experience of sharing good food, along with rich coffee, and the warmth of a grandparents’ love led me to equate the importance of bringing families and friends together at the table. This also culminated in my writing an historical novel, A Cup of Redemption, which is the story of women building a friendship by sharing food, recipes and family stories. [Novel published October, 2014]

My new book, of which I’m most excited about, is Recipes for Redemption: A Companion Cookbook for A Cup of Redemption. It will provide the promised recipes—all traditional French—which were culled from the pages, the times, and the regional influences found in the historical novel A Cup of Redemption. Told through the voices of the three main characters—Marcelle, Sophie and Kate—the recipes shared are the very ones these women learned at the knees of their mothers and grandmothers. Whether “cuisine pauvre” (or peasant cooking), “war food” from WWII, or simply a family favorite, each recipe is carefully described and footnoted with interesting, often amusing culinary notes. Flavored with witty repartee and slathered with common sense, this cookbook is filled with heart, soul, humor, and delectable delight. I’m certain you will love it!

A GIFT FROM THE ARDENNES

May 22, 2012 / / 0 Comments

As a going-away gift after my stay in her Beine-Nauroy home (about one hundred miles east of Paris), Martine Zabée handed me a ream of paper on which she had copied some pages from a favorite cookbook she enjoyed from the Ardennes region.

“This is a region just north of where we live,” she said. She was out of breath as she had rushed off early that morning to make the copies for me and then returned right before we were to head out of town.

“This may not be precisely from our Champagne Region, but I thought you might appreciate these recipes. We all live so close to each other as neighbors and these recipes are ones I use quite often. These pages are written in the dialect of the Ardennais but if you can get these pages translated, I think you will find a richness of culture bound into every one of these pages. We are not so very different, you see,” she said as she pressed the pages into my arms.

It was almost a year later when my friend and translator, Josiane Selvage, had time to translate the pages Martine had given me, so I had no idea what a gift this truly was. I think you, too, will appreciate them. As an amuse bouche, or a short excerpt to my book, Savoring the Olde Ways, I will begin with this most delightful introduction to the cookbook:

CUISINE DES ARDENNES
By Monique Esquerré-Anciaux

This book comes to you from our marvelous grandmother, who was named Marie-Louise, but was known affectionately by her nickname, Loulou. From all of her kindness, her tenderness, and her skill, she reigned over the old family house…a large house which, with all of its size easily accommodated her fifteen grandchildren. She loved to invite us to gather together for theater or for marionettes, with parts which we played on stilts, in and around the large and small tables, flower stands and vases. And, with the plays, always a “gouters” or an afternoon snack which could only animate her spirited cheerfulness.

How could I ever forget this generous and tender heart? I remember her, small and fine, with her clear blue eyes, as light as her heart, and of her humor, which contrasted surprisingly with her somber figure (the fashion of her time was with discrete colors but my grandmother chose to decorate her neckline with white pearls or with a jet black necklace, which was the only apparent sign of her coquettery). How could I have forgotten her style of a natural quality and her treasures of fantasy, which became the small salt of life?

I also remember her faithful servant, Berthe, with which fell the enormous responsibility of the ovens. As children, we contemplated the beating of the pastry dough with her strong white arms, covered in flour, while taking out of the smoking wood fires the moist cakes, the white rolls fried in butter called ‘lost bread’, the crotté bread or golden brown bread, without ever forgetting the moist cake of Saint Nicolas’s Day! Ah, what a tender evocation!

It was on December 6th, Saint Nicolas’ Day that our grandmother chose to spoil us most. Because of her, Christmas was always a holy, religious holiday, and New Year’s Day was that of the New Year’s gifts, but Saint Nicolas’ Day was especially for the children. That day, Loulou covered the fireplace mantle with a show of toys, delicacies, small animals made with red sugar and figurines made out of gingerbread or chocolate; and when it was all ready, she sat down in her large armchair, close to the hearth, and Berthe, out in the hall, gave the three knocks just as is done in the opera as the curtain begins to rise.

With great emotion, we came down the stairs and lined up, one behind the other, and by row of size. We then crossed the salon to join our grandmother with whom Saint Nicolas had left a large envelope. With a tender but somewhat malicious voice, she read to us from this celestial courier. She transmitted to us congratulations and the small reproaches for unquestionable small misdeeds. We listened to her, most attentive, to her little impressions, but never to homilies. Our turn passed, and with relief, we gave ourselves up, all in a chorus, with the greatest insane laughter. Then, finally, the distribution came of the toys and the little snacks which were quite useful to enervate us which Berthe had prepared.

Thursday after Thursday, holiday after holidays, my grandmother wove the weft of precious and intense moments, into the memories of our childhood. But, will you say, we were talking about the Ardennes, right? Where are they located then? And, invariably, with your hand you will vaguely point out toward an area between the Vosges and the Somme. However, they simply are located in the North-East of France, between the Marne River and Belgium, not at the end of the world.

And, for the recipe? I’m still working on translating the some 300 items in the book. Stay tuned . . . Carole

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