Thursday, July 15, 2010

Grandma Browning's Rolls




















I know surprisingly little about my great great grandmother, Sophronia Louise Browning. But what I do know, what I have always known, is that these are Grandma Browning's rolls. Ever since I was a small child, that is what they have been called. Never dinner or yeast rolls, never simply bread, her name was always attached to this dough, like the recipe itself was consubstantial with her very being. For all I know she, too, learned this recipe from her grandmother, there is no telling how far it goes back. Maybe the Snow family brought it here with them from Europe on the Mayflower itself. There is no way of knowing. But what there is to know, is that there has never been a holiday dinner or important family gathering in the last one hundred fifty years which did not include these light, feathery rolls.

My grandmother Iris (or Grandma I, as we always called her) is the one who taught me the recipe. She would use this dough for everything. It was her all purpose dough. Cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning, pizza crust, dough nuts, loaves of bread, bagels, anything was possible, nothing was out of the reach of its magic. About ten or twelve years ago, when her health began to deteriorate and she was no longer able to make the rolls for our gatherings, she passed the torch on to me, as it had been passed to her, and I have been making them for our family ever since. I, of course, have put my own modern spin on the recipe, as she no doubt did hers. In this way, it is a collection of all of us. All of our secrets, our tricks, our special touches, our memories, our happiness, our holidays.

My Kitchen Aid mixer now makes easy work of the kneading process. But as a child, standing on a stool, my hands on her cutting board, squishing the dough between my tiny fingers, I remember Grandma I smiling down at me, telling me that this was very special bread, that this bread had to be kneaded for exactly twenty-five minutes. No more. No less. And to this day, whether in the mixer, or by hand, I ensure that it kneads for exactly that long. If I close my eyes I can still remember the smell of her kitchen, the sound of her gentile, contented humming, the way she seemed to glide from counter to counter, as if in some elaborately choreographed food ballet.

Sadly, there will be no more carefree summer days spent baking bread with either of my grandmothers. But as I knead this dough, and stir my own batch of my grandmother's jam, I can feel myself stretch my hands back through our history. It is so tangible. I can feel them around me, these generations of women. And for the briefest moments I can feel that I am apart of them, and they of me.

We don't have inheritances in my family. We don't have trust funds, war bonds, stock market portfolios, or priceless antique furniture to leave behind. But we do have this dough: our own little yeasty legacy. This dough that has spanned at least five generations. This dough that has been with us all along. Delicious.

Jacob B.
Jacob's Kitchen

11 comments:

  1. What a lovely post. Cooking from family recipes is wonderful and allows us to be part of something very old and precious. I think handing down recipes might be one of the most important and basic things humans have done...these are the foods that are good and safe to eat, this is how we prepare them.

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  2. aw. what a thoughtful, touching story. and what a great legacy. i'm glad you are carrying it on into the future. thanks for sharing!

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  3. Looks delicious. Beautiful photo! That stirred up all kinds of great memories of my own grandmother. Food is such a great legacy to pass along!

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  4. I can just smell the yeasty, doughy, goodness! What a great story, so well told, and with a great picture too! Reading this makes me miss my grandmother. It's so nice that you took the torch and ran with it! What a wonderful legacy!

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  5. Coming from a working class family, and always struggling for money, I relate all to well to the legacy of love that comes to me in the form of food and recipe. Reading Jacob's story about Grandma I's rolls struck a cord with me. Its makes me incredibly grateful to have bought a recipe card box and sat down with my own mom as was dying from cancer to make notes about a few of her recipes. I always feel like her blessings are with me when I pull out one of the cards. I also haven't had in me yet to change any of the labels on her spice jars. I feel like her hand is their guiding mine when I pick up her spice jars to make one of the recipes she shared with me.

    Thanks for the touching post. It's helped me remember and appreciate all the ways in which we receive and pass forward love.

    W&W

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  6. These rolls are imbued with love and memories. Nothing could taste better.

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  7. That picture is mouthwatering! My family also has some special heirloom recipes that we hold near and dear. Sometimes you forget how important they are. Thanks for the reminder. Nicely written!

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  8. You have inspired me to spend some quality time in my grandmother's kitchen. I would love to be able to pass along a treasured family recipe. Thanks for posting such a touching and vivid story :)

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  9. Great post! I can almost taste the rolls looking at that picture. Makes me miss my grandma. Thanks for sharing!

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  10. My family has never been the type to bake and bond over food which has created a mysterious dreamy wonder towards the families that do. This is EXACTLY the kind of stories that are missing from my life. What is NOT missing, however, is my passionate LOVE for dinner rolls. Mmmmmm...

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  11. Great story. Breaking bread with friends and family is certainly the best way to create a meaningful, lasting legacy, yeasty or otherwise. Looks scrumptious!

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