Read Online Cherries in Winter: My Family's Recipe for Hope in Hard Times by Suzan Colón - Free Book Online

but that first day Charlie drove up in the Model A with Matilda and Carolyn. He got out and walked over to where the men stood, noting the good, sturdy wooden boxes the carpenters had made for their tools. Charlie lookeddown at the old grain sack he was carrying his tools in, turned around, and went back to the car.
    “What’s the matter?” Matilda asked.
    “I’m never going to get hired,” he said. “Look at me.” He hoisted the sack.
    “They
are
going to pick you,” Carolyn said. “Daddy, go back.”
    Charlie sighed, but he wasn’t one to look defeated in front of his seven-year-old daughter. He went back and found a few other guys who had grain sacks, a group of Polish workers who nodded to him in greeting.
    Soon a truck drove up, and a woman got out. “I need five workers,” she said. “You, you, you two, and you.” Charlie was among them, and Matilda had to smile when she saw that the men the forewoman had chosen were the handsomest of the lot.
    Even with Charlie’s new job, a traditional Thanksgiving dinner was out of the question—money was so tight that a twenty-five-cent raffle ticket to win a twenty-pound turkey with all the trimmings was an extravagance. “But I’m feeling lucky,” Matilda said to Carolyn as they headed for the bingo hall to get their ticket.
    • • •
    “That was one of the best Thanksgivings I can remember,” Mom says. “It was us and the Garretts and Mrs. Krauser and her daughter—they were the only ones who had an oven big enough for that huge turkey. We all ate together, and then we had enough leftovers to have Thanksgiving dinner for days.”
    “You got lucky with that raffle,” I say.
    “That’s the truth,” Mom says. “We were lucky with the whole trip. When I think of it now—driving down there in that broken-down car with a hundred dollars in our pockets, not knowing where we’d live or what we’d do for money—it sounds crazy. But your grandparents had been through the Depression; what was worse than that? This seemed like a reasonable plan by comparison.
    “And you know what?” she says, smiling. “It was warm and beautiful in Miami. Nana had people to talk to, and I had kids next door to play with, and Grandpa worked during the day, came home at a normal time of night instead of at the crack of dawn, and had dinner with us. We were together, and we were so happy.”

8

ONE POTATO, TWO POTATO MASHER

Grandpa’s Mashed Potatoes
    8 or so large white potatoes
    Butter
    Buttermilk, cream, or half-and-half
    Salt
    Cut potatoes into chunks. Boil until tender. Drain. Add butter and cream and mash. Add salt to taste. Mash again. Add more butter. Mash again. If potatoes look grainy, add more cream and more butter. Keep mashing
.
    • • •
    “Your Grandpa’s recipe for mashed potatoes was simple,” Mom says. “The biggest potatoes he could find and a ton of butter. And then he basically beat them to death.”
Mom’s Mashed Potatoes
    12 medium potatoes
    Butter
    Milk or sour cream
    Salt
    Cut potatoes into small pieces and boil in water that has a pinch or two of salt in it. Drain in colander and transfer potatoes back to pot. Add some butter and begin to mash potatoes vigorously. Add a slosh of milk or a few tablespoons of sour cream and keep mashing. When your arm gets tired, add more butter and a touch more milk or sour cream, and salt to taste. Switch arms and go back to mashing until potatoes are smooth
.
    • • •
    “Oh, I don’t know exactly how much butter goes in,” Mom says. “A lot. When I think about it, it’s a wonder anyone survived our family dinners.”
Suzan’s Mashed Potatoes
    3 medium potatoes (though probably should have gotten more … darn it)
    Low-fat plain yogurt
    Olive oil or unsalted butter
    Sea salt
    Wash potatoes carefully and peel, fretting all the while about not getting organic ones because heaven only knows what these have been sprayed with. Cut into chunks; wonder if it matters that some are small and some