The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

If you saw my scrawny ninety-seven pound frame you would most likely not think to yourself, ‘hey, that gal must really love to eat.’ Little could you guess that I’ve spent my life obsessively daydreaming about food and cooking, both memorable repasts and meals to come. And boy, have I been cooking up a storm.

As a young child, I would squat in the backyard on the edge of a huge circle of dirt left after the removal of a three-foot-tall swimming pool into which we rarely ventured. Surrounding me were Dixie cups, measuring implements, mini-loaf pans, spatulas and spoons. A battered metal beach pail held water for moistening the dirt into a “batter” with which I’d fill my little receptacles.

My mother popped her head out the back door and called, “What are you working on, sweet potato?” “Cupcakes and two kinds of bread,” I called without looking up. She walked across the back porch, into the yard, and knelt next to me, rubbing her hand affectionately through my tousled hair. “I want the Easy Bake Oven,” I said pointedly, as I had every day for the past couple of months. “I know you do, Juju,” she responded wearily as she stood and headed back to the kitchen.

It was the early sixties and Sunday mornings, while the family slept, I watched cartoons, eagerly awaiting the commercial advertisements for the Easy Bake Oven. Young girls in starched pinafores over stiff crinolines stood at a table mixing and spooning batter into teeny cake pans. Their creations magically solidified under a small white light bulb while riding along a conveyer belt. Out came delicacies to be decorated with icing and brightly colored sprinkles. Everyone ate and laughed, and they were clearly so proud of what they’d created.

Whenever I begged for the Easy Bake Oven my mother responded that I was lucky and special enough to be allowed to use the real oven and stove like a grown-up. And so one weekend morning, instead of sitting in the den glued to the television, I decided to prepare my very first unsupervised meal — breakfast for my parents. I was seven years old.

I dragged a kitchen chair over to the stove and diligently rolled up my pajama sleeves. I scooped Chock Full O’ Nuts coffee directly from the can into two cups and let the water from the tap get really hot. I filled the cups and set them on the large, ornate brass tray we used for special occasions. Recalling that my mother never ate eggs, I toasted two slices of bread, buttered them liberally, and placed them next to the coffee cups. Then I lightly scrambled two eggs in a blackened cast iron skillet for my father and made him a couple of pieces of toast and slathered them with jelly.

I slowly and shakily proceeded up the two flights of stairs to my parents’ bedroom while the food slid precariously around the tray. I kicked their door repeatedly with my slippered foot until the dull thud woke my mother and she came to the door to find me proudly standing there with my un-percolated, tepid coffee and cold, congealed food. She made a big fuss, then mumbled something about mommy and daddy liking to brush their teeth before eating so why didn’t I just run downstairs and watch cartoons while they enjoyed breakfast.

I never did get the Easy Bake Oven, but I immediately began an education, guided by my mother, on how to properly prepare food and not shy away from experimentation and creativity. I embarked on a love of all things culinary. Into my teens and adulthood this passion grew and evolved. It colored and informed my every waking day.

Eventually, I began writing a personal, anecdotal weekly column for a Catskill’s newspaper called the Towne Crier. For seven years I relayed how cooking has impacted my life. Each piece ended with a recipe I either invented or adapted and tested.

For over a dozen years I have shared a weekend house in Sullivan County with my sister, Janet, for whom I devotedly cook three innovative meals a day. My writing focuses predominantly on country living and I have written about upstate New York and New York city restaurants; the garden’s bounty; picnicking in the backyard; cocktails and hors d’oeuvres with friends by a pond; the local farmer’s market; dishes I’ve made from food grown locally and afar, and sharing meals both simple and extraordinary with my sister. I may be scrawny, but I’m a heavyweight when it comes to the kitchen. I would like to share this colorful, passion-filled world with you.

One of the first things my mother and I prepared together, which became a favorite, was date nut bread. This is the same recipe we used over four decades ago, and it is truly delicious. Sometimes, if I have a couple of over-ripe bananas around, I mash them with a fork and add them to the batter. This results in a moister and slightly sweeter bread.

Date Nut Bread

Makes 1 loaf

¾ cup chopped walnuts

1 cup chopped dates

1 ½ teaspoons baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

½ cup sugar

¼ cup butter

¾ cup boiling water

2 eggs

½ teaspoon vanilla extract

1 ½ cups sifted flour

Combine nuts, dates, baking soda, and salt in a bowl. Add butter and boiling water. Let stand 10 minutes. Stir to blend (if you want to add bananas, do so now, after mashing them well). In another bowl, beat eggs slightly, then add vanilla extract. Stir in flour and sugar. Add this to the date mixture. Mix once, gently. Place in a greased 9”x 5”x 3” loaf pan. Bake 50 to 60 minutes at 350 degrees. Cool before removing from the pan. Remove from pan when cool and let it sit on a rack for about 15 minutes before slicing.