I love dreams. Even those that are based in anxiety have an extraordinary interest value to me. And full nightmares? Not a favorite; but also interesting. However, the dreams I treasure the most invariably involve visits from folks who have moved to otherwise inaccessible neighborhoods.
Such was a recent case when my Grandmother, “Mommie Sophie” interrupted my sleep. I could hear her clatter in the kitchen from our breakfast room. She called out, “Do you want apple sauce or sour cream?”
I am sure that there were other things that took place in the dream… I just can’t remember them. Nor did I see her… but hearing her question was enough to fill a lake with memories.
The question of apple sauce or sour cream could have pertained to only one thing… what did I want as an accompaniment for the latkes (potato pancakes) that she was preparing. In our home, Mommie Soph’s latkes were a highlight food… it was one of the “sacred trio”: chicken soup, gefilte fish and latkes. Mommie Soph was the Escoffier of those three dishes. Put a Jew on an deserted island with those three items alone and life would be sustainable (of course, for this Jew I would have to add Tanqueray Gin, Noilly Pratt Vermouth, several cases of white Burgundy, Gibson onions and a subscription to The New Yorker).
I don’t recall latkes as being a “seasonal food”… something to have during the eight day festival of Channukah (lame excuse, if you ask me, to enjoy such an important staff of life). But for sure, whenever we had them it was a treat… and because it was Mommie Soph who made them, there was more than enough to go ’round. And believe me, what other humans would think of as enough was about a quarter of what Mommie Soph thought was enough.
Mommie Soph did not know from food processors. She used a hand grater for the potatoes and onions… the type that would reward the chef (and sous chefs like Lynn) with scraped knuckles and reddened fingers. Mommie Soph was definitely from the no-pain-no-gain school. But the texture had to be right at the assembly stage so that the latkes would be crispy on the outside and moist on the inside. Were she here now, I think that she would still be using a grater.
It is not that I have gone without since Mommie Soph’s passing. Ellen made excellent latkes, learning the trick to using a food processor while still maintaining the crucial texture. And I have had other good examples, too.
It’s a shame that we have to be concerned about stuff like cholesterol and putting on pounds. I can assure you that these were never front and center concerns of my Grandmother… she was concerned with happiness and satisfaction. You had doctors to handle the other stuff… and if they didn’t a good enough job, there was always chicken soup.
My “dream” had a couple of inaccuracies… today, when it comes to latkes I am a confirmed “sour cream man.” I don’t think Mommie Soph would have asked me for my preference anyway. I think I was either apple sauce or plain back then. Anyhow, she wouldn’t have had to ask, she would have known. Also, I don’t think I would have been waiting in the breakfast room… I would have been in the kitchen, close to the action and would have been nibbling on the burnt scraps and maybe cadging one from the stack that was beginning to pile high.
There was that nano-second when I got up from my sleep when I thought that Mommie Soph was still there… and that felt as good as any latke that I have enjoyed. Too bad there isn’t a way to time these visits… do you think if I placed a store bought potato pancake under my pillow at night it might act as bait? No… Mommie Soph would never have approved of store bought… although a good crisp half sour pickle might do the trick!