I have two favorite Christmas memories about my maternal grandmother.
Grandma made all the traditional sweets for Christmas time, but she made something really different that became my favorite. She made popcorn balls for a Christmas treat. I never made them with her because she had to prepare all those goodies before we arrived.
I found a great recipe in the Folsom Garden Club cookbook and have used it every year since. Every Christmas I make two batches of popcorn balls–a red and a green batch. I love making these sweet treats and as I munch on them, Grandma Dickerson comes to mind. I don’t have her recipe, but I have my memories.
The other memory I have is the day after Christmas, Grandma made homemade turkey and egg noodles. She would use the leftovers and the turkey carcass to create the soup. She was of the generation that did not waste a thing, so the carcass was boiled to get the good broth for the soup she was preparing.
Then she would make the homemade noodles. She never used a bowl; she poured out a mound of flour on the table, scooped out the center to make the bowl then started adding ingredients. She would roll out the noodles and cut them and leave them scattered on the table to dry for awhile.
Grandma was a short lady, so I stood at her elbow often watching the process, anticipating the finished product. She knew it was my favorite dish so she spoiled me with this treat any Christmas we were at her house.
The delicious smell of the turkey cooking and the knowledge of the dish coming had my mouth watering. The sampling of the broth, the aroma of turkey cooking and the warmth of the hot soup warmed my heart and soul.
I have never tried to make her noodles–again I don’t have her recipe. I’m not sure she had one. Maybe I should google a recipe for homemade noodles and try my hand at a batch. I’m sure all those years at her side would help me create something special.
Mom was always a part of this special time in the kitchen. Grandma was a great cook and these two Christmas memories warm me every holiday time. It was communal time in the kitchen–three generations enjoying each other around a tradition I miss today.