Holiday Meals
Meant A Special Treat
For dessert there was always
kuchen, the sweet bread of our prairie lives then, our own soul food,
formed by the patient, dough-covered hands of those large aunts and
my grandmother, on the flour-sprinkled countertops of my childhood.
My grandmother was cranky, but even then I knew there was something
special in her fingers, love maybe, so rarely shown in other ways
that made her kuchen always taste the best.
Done right, kuchen took an entire day
to prepare, and after my grandmother finished a batch, she'd wrap
several of the best looking ones in a clean white dish towel and,
a woman on a mission, stride along the cracked sidewalks of our little
town to the "paschtorat", the Evangelical church parsonage, where
she'd present the kuchen as a gift to our minister and his wife.
Eating kuchen was a pleasure
like no other, and at one of our holiday gatherings one of my hearty-eating
uncles, when he saw us kids eyeing the last piece of kuchen, asked
quickly, "Say, do you kids know what is better than a piece of kucha?"
That comment drew our attention,
and as we gazed at each other, wondering what in the world could be
better than a piece of kuchen, in our moment of hesitation, my uncle
snatched that last piece for himself, announcing as he lifted it to
his mouth: "What's better than one piece of kucha? Why, two pieces."
Author
Ron Vossler