Some folks eat to live, other live to eat. I was raised in the "live to eat" family.
My mom still equates every big event in our lives by the food. "Remember how soft the rolls were?" "Best cookie table EVER at a wedding." "He made the best anti-pasta that evening" and on and on.
There were a few things in my life that my palate has never experienced, boxed or frozen mashed potatoes and frozen pie. The dominate females cooked and baked everything. The only store bought cookie my mom ever bought was a fig newton. I used to look lovingly at my friend, Cheryl and her fudge striped cookie at lunch. We were in elementary school and she would have three Keebler fudge striped cookies in her baggie. Every day I admired those Keebler cookies. Later she confessed she was admiring my homemade cookies.
If you are a family that lives to eat, you best be spending time in the kitchen.
As luck would have it, my Great-Grandmother, Emma, my mamaw, my Aunt Judy and my mom were great cooks and even better bakers. We all loved sweets.
They all baked with pride. My great grandmother did not have recipes, she baked from memory and my mamaw never measured anything, she just threw it in there and my mom never left an event without getting a new recipe. My Aunt Judy was a combination of the three.
Somewhere in my childhood, my mamaw attended an event and someone brought homemade GOBS. I think it was my uncle's sister-in-law. Doesn't matter. Our lives changed forever.
I can see my cousin Stephen sliding an extra GOB in his pocket for the ride home like it was yesterday. There were five grandkids and I cannot tell you if there was of the five who loved GOBS more, we all did.
As my mamaw aged, we all tried to make the GOBS just like she did. Nobody has ever come close. But we have tried. Because she didn't measure and "just threw stuff in there", I think our throwing technique is off.
This year, in addition to cookies, I decided to make some GOBS.
First, I can still hear my mamaw saying, "These are a bitch to bake you know." Her GOB recipe makes a significant amount of little GOBS that need to be iced and then wrapped. It is time consuming.
And after all is baked, iced and wrapped, you need to find the perfect hiding spot.
When I was wrapping GOBS, I started to cry. I missed my mamaw. I missed my cousins or my brother saying, "She brought GOBS". I missed those family outings. I can still see my uncle at the grill, with a green glass with a G on it, cooking hotdogs, sliced down the middle with American cheese in them, as an appetizer. I missed hours of kickball and then sitting on a bench eating a GOB. I missed moms yelling at us to throw the saran wrap in the trash and not just "letting it sit there for someone else to pick up."
As we got older and could drive, I swear my mamaw would tell us she made GOBS just so we would come over and visit. I am certain that was her tactic.
``
Franklin was leaving and he saw there was one GOB sitting on the shelf in the fridge. He asked about it. I said, "it is for you." Test run.
Later, I asked, "did you eat the GOB?"
"Oh yes, it was delicious."
So, they are packed and ready for the big family vacation. I bag of old family sweetness and new family memories all in one. GOBS. Giddy for GOBS.
As luck would have it, my Great-Grandmother, Emma, my mamaw, my Aunt Judy and my mom were great cooks and even better bakers. We all loved sweets.
They all baked with pride. My great grandmother did not have recipes, she baked from memory and my mamaw never measured anything, she just threw it in there and my mom never left an event without getting a new recipe. My Aunt Judy was a combination of the three.
One of the greatest childhood memories my brother and my three cousins would ever have came from my mamaw's oven, GOBS. In western Pennsylvania, GOBS are a common treat. Usually, they were in the baked good isle of the store, individually wrapped like a Little Debbie Oatmeal snack. GOBS are a chocolate sandwich with butter cream icing. They are delicious.
My mamaw mastered this recipe better than anyone on the planet. She would bake these, wrap them indviaully with saran wrap and keep them in her freezer. She had a freezer that pulled out from the bottom of the refridgerator. The GOBS were always placed in a bag, on the left hand side of the freezer. Opening the freezer and seeing this bag of GOBS was like finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the golden ticket in the candy bar and a snow day all in one. GOBS, when eaten properly, make your teeth black and most definetly taste better with a cold glass of milk.
I can see my cousin Stephen sliding an extra GOB in his pocket for the ride home like it was yesterday. There were five grandkids and I cannot tell you if there was of the five who loved GOBS more, we all did.
Our annual family vacation is approaching. Thirteen hours in the car. `Cookies make the ride go faster. They do. A chocolate chip cookie after you enter a new state makes the trip go faster. Period.
This year, in addition to cookies, I decided to make some GOBS.
First, I can still hear my mamaw saying, "These are a bitch to bake you know." Her GOB recipe makes a significant amount of little GOBS that need to be iced and then wrapped. It is time consuming.
And after all is baked, iced and wrapped, you need to find the perfect hiding spot.
When I was wrapping GOBS, I started to cry. I missed my mamaw. I missed my cousins or my brother saying, "She brought GOBS". I missed those family outings. I can still see my uncle at the grill, with a green glass with a G on it, cooking hotdogs, sliced down the middle with American cheese in them, as an appetizer. I missed hours of kickball and then sitting on a bench eating a GOB. I missed moms yelling at us to throw the saran wrap in the trash and not just "letting it sit there for someone else to pick up."
I am guessing that every family has a "food memory" like this...Christmas eve lasagna, chicken parm, coconut cake, whatever the choice, there is a warm memory that accompanies.
As we got older and could drive, I swear my mamaw would tell us she made GOBS just so we would come over and visit. I am certain that was her tactic.
``
Franklin was leaving and he saw there was one GOB sitting on the shelf in the fridge. He asked about it. I said, "it is for you." Test run.
Later, I asked, "did you eat the GOB?"
"Oh yes, it was delicious."
So, they are packed and ready for the big family vacation. I bag of old family sweetness and new family memories all in one. GOBS. Giddy for GOBS.
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