Kitchen Memoirs - My Mom, Viki - So Happy You Liked It

Kitchen Memoirs are a collection of stories about the people and dishes who have inspired me most in the kitchen. Each month I will share a new story about one of these people accompanied by one or more recipes. This month’s story is about my Mom, Viki.

Late Nights and Early Mornings

The day my Mom and I planned to spend in the kitchen together wasn’t off to the greatest start. Let me explain.

First off, we made elaborate plans for me to arrive at her house by 8:30 in the morning, with an ambitious list of recipes to create together. We had moved our original date up in order to accommodate other plans she had, which I was happy to do (I am her daughter after all, and the desire to “make it all work” is something I’m very familiar with).

So far, just sounds like a normal day for Jamie, right? Wrong. You see, I had stayed up far too late the previous evening, and had imbibed my fair share of adult beverages. Suffice to say, I was feeling incomprehensibly terrible. My only saving grace in this predicament? I was up so late the previous night…with my Mother. She and my Dad had come over to our house to celebrate Father’s Day, and as with most times we’re together, we had far too much fun and simply couldn’t call it quits at a reasonable time on a weeknight (yes, a weeknight). This very clearly articulated by my grabbing a bottle of red wine, Prosecco, AND Limoncello when they were hinting that they should “really get going”. “But maybe you’d want to stay for one last nightcap?!”, I say with desperation in my voice, “I have options!”. Naturally, they oblige, and the fate of my hangover was set in stone.

All of this said, when I was able to finally, with steel determination, get in to my car and drive over to her house, we were quickly approaching 11:00 a.m. The second I walked in the door, already anxious that I had ruined our beautiful morning together, the first words out of her mouth were, “Don’t even think it. Don’t even say it! I’m so glad you’re here, and figured you wouldn’t be feeling well. Can I get you coffee? Water? Crackers?”.

Everyone, meet my overwhelmingly positive Mother: Viki.

My Mom

When the idea for my Kitchen Memoirs series came to me, naturally my Mom and Dad were the first people on my list. As I’ve articulated before, my Mother has countless stories about the recipes she would make for my siblings and I over the years. As a stay-at-home Mom to 3 children, she found joy in creating: and encouraged us to do the same. Whether it was “Make Your Own Pizza” night with everyone’s personal crust serving as a canvas to design however we pleased, to making caprese “ladybug” bites, with a halved cherry tomato garnishing a slice of mozzarella cheese, adorned with basil wings and balsamic glaze spots, or any time our meal necessitated the use of ketchup or mustard, and she would still be designing her plate with sour yellow and sweet red confetti as everyone else was just finishing their last bites, one thing was certain: food was not meant to just be eaten..it was meant to be enjoyed with all the senses. Food was art, and art could be food.

“I always think of color on the plate. I want a variety of color: green, yellow, orange. If the main dish is a very bland color, I won’t do a similarly colored side, like potatoes. But if you have a dark meat like steak, than potatoes are just fine.”

Her eye for balance, be it color, structure, or size, is not just a fluke. My Mother is an artist. She’s a painter, a potter, a drawer, a calligrapher, and a designer. These titles not coming with a simple class or a loose hobby: she’s been honing these skills since she was a child.

My Mother, The Artist

When young Viki was in grade school, her love of art was no secret. Her teachers were well aware of her passion, and continued to foster it. “One time the art teacher put on classical music in our classroom, and we were all supposed to draw what the music represented. I drew a field with mountains in the background, with a fence and a road getting smaller in the distance. I was one of three people who’s pieces were selected to be on display at the capital.”

This recognition only bolstered her desire to learn and create more. In just 7th grade she made the below sculpture of a man’s face, her first piece of ceramic art. In 10th grade she did the below sculpture of her own hand. College brought print making, design, and more drawing, although her experiences became more broadened in a college setting. “There would be nude models that would come in for us to draw. It was quite the education”, she shyly says. When asked why she hadn’t shown us any of this work, she laughs,“Well, because they were nudes! What would I have said, ‘Look what mom does!’?”

As time went on, priorities shifted and family duties required more from her. While she didn’t get to practice her art in the traditional sense, she still brought creativity and beauty to all things she did. It wasn’t until 2006, when she took a ceramics class with a friend, that she found that fervor that had lied dormant for so long. It didn’t take long for her to enroll in a class and throw an entire collection of dishware to outfit the cabin and to give away as gifts. Fast forward to today, where her gorgeous pieces furnish the homes of friends, family, and strangers alike (in addition to the pages of this website).

Art doesn’t just belong on a page, a wall, or in a book: art can be on your plate, too. “I encouraged you kids to play with your food. It should be a competition, ‘Who can make it the prettiest’!” This encouragement wasn’t just verbal – she practiced what she preached: red dye in our mashed potatoes for Valentine’s Day, perfectly balanced veggie trays with complimentary colors opposite one another, entirely green meals for St. Patrick’s Day. She always made food fun.

“Everything has to be balanced for me: gardening, food, decorating, color schemes in the house. It all has to work together.”

This creative freedom she gave us only transformed as my siblings and I have gotten older. “You all have your artistic outlet: yours is food, Stacy’s is music, and Andy’s is building. And I just love it all!”

All In The Family

My Mom was the second to youngest in a family of 12 children. In explaining the enormity of her family, I like to explain to people that when she was born, her oldest sister had just had her first born, making her an aunt from birth. While she recalls her Mom, my Grandma Avis, doing the majority of the cooking for their large crew, she reflects on the time she spent with her in the kitchen fondly, much of which included baking. “Baking was one of my favorite things to do. I would sit and watch Grandma make all sorts of food: crumb cake in particular, which was my favorite, and my Grandma Inga’s recipe. When we were old enough to express interest in cooking, she would have us help.”

Having 12 children meant that my Grandma stayed home, and my Grandpa worked… a lot. He would help with meals when he could, most times handling the grilling. Growing up on a farm, my Grandpa was the one who introduced my Mom to gardening. Having a huge garden of his own, his children were excellent helpers. “I’d help plant, weed, and pick. He was very particular about the yard. He kept it very well manicured. When he got the garden cleaned out, he put stakes up with string to measure so he could hoe perfect lines.” Quite the perfectionist. She inherited that, too.

These educational beginnings were planted years ago and have now flourished in to an absolute talent. My parents have the most beautiful yard and garden. They plant it all, including kiwi vine, unique trees, fruit, herbs, lettuces, poppies, root vegetables, flowers, tomatoes, and countless other plants. Naturally, the hobby of growing your own food was passed along to me, with us comparing notes each year on how our crop yielded.

When my Mom met my Dad on a sunny summer afternoon at George Green Park (Dad always thought Mary Frank’s younger sister was cute, but he had never spoken to her before), little did they both know that they had found their forever. After a coy, “Maybe I’ll call you sometime and we could go out”, my Mother responded instantly with, “When?”. The next day they were target shooting with a 22 rifle.

As high school came to an end for my Dad, they were still going strong. In his Freshman year at Moorhead State, my Mom talks about how she would pack up her blender and get all the ingredients for Grasshoppers. “You know, the drinking age was 18 then”.

The years continued on and soon enough they were married and making their own home. Mom remembers making what they both grew up with and enjoyed. “Your Dad loved to grill, but we made what we liked: tuna salad, goulash, Swiss steak, turkey, fried chicken…Your Great Grandmother’s fried chicken was excellent. When I started making fried chicken he told me that it rivaled hers, which was kind of hard to hear.” Though you can hear the strain in her modest voice admitting something like this, there is a small sliver of pride that she tries to keep hidden.

Muffins, Cookies, and Pie, Oh My

In my younger years, I remember baked goods being a constant in the kitchen. “I always wanted to have something warm out the oven for you when you got home from school”, she says. Whether it was banana bread, Choc-Oat Chip Cookies (my favorite!), brownies, or muffins, there was always something freshly baked in the house. While so many recipes under each of these categories stick out, one of her recipes in particular holds a very tender crumb in my heart: her Rhubarb Muffins. A recipe I’ve come to learn belonged to my Dad’s Mom, Grandma Rose, these muffins are but a moment in my Mother’s baking journey.

When asked what her favorite food to make is, she says, “Cookies or pie. But I don’t necessarily bake so I can eat it: I like to bake and then give it away.” The iron will of this woman! While I certainly inherited the baking gene from her, I think my sweet tooth has has hers beat. Even as she tops each cup of Rhubarb Muffin batter with the cinnamon-brown sugar topping, she’s conservative with her sprinkling. I whine in disapproval, declaring how I like when the sugar melts in to the top. “Ok then, you do that batch, and I’ll do mine!”

Sandwiches: The Ultimate Lunch

It’s 1:00. After a morning of me dangerously resembling a cartoon character, hunched over even while standing, clutching my head, stomach, or back in desperation, I was starting to turn a corner. It was time for lunch.

Lunchtime with my Mom always makes me feel like a kid. It’s always well rounded, with fruit or cold vegetables served as a side, and more times than not, we’re eating sandwiches. One of the first things she recalls making in the kitchen with her siblings, sandwiches continued to be a mainstay when she had her own family. “Growing up we would have tuna salad or bologna with miracle whip and lettuce. When I was in college I discovered Tuna Hawaiians. I couldn’t get enough of them! I ended up asking for the recipe from the cafeteria, I loved them that much!” Tuna Hawaiians are one of those recipes that once mentioned to someone who knows, there’s a long, drawn out, “Tuuuuuna Hawaaaiiiiaaaaaans!”. Tuna salad is spread on a hamburger bun, topped with pineapple, and covered with American cheese. Left open faced, they’re broiled and quickly devoured. Pure joy.

Other sandwiches that we’ve enjoyed over the years include pita sandwiches with turkey and sprouts, Reubens with crispy Swiss cheese (“That’s the best part!”), chicken salad on croissants, BLTs with tomatoes from the garden, and roast beef on rye with dill dip. So simple. So delicious. So reviving.

A Tale of Two Potato Salads

Potato Salad is always a staple on the summer table. Most families have a secret recipe that they religiously stick to, not straying from it to try something different or new. The only difference in my family is that we don’t have just one recipe, we have two.

Charlie’s Cafe (aka Plant Family) Potato Salad

This is the Potato Salad that I remember most from my childhood. It has crunch, it’s light, it’s tangy: it’s perfect in my opinion. This recipe comes from the well-known Charlie’s Cafe in Minneapolis, which was open for 49 years before permanently closing in 1982. As my Mom shared, my Grandpa’s wife, Lori, had somehow convinced the fine establishment to give her their recipe. Knowing that this potato salad was truly one of the restaurant’s claims to fame, it’s pretty incredible to have it in our family.

Great Grandma Inga’s Potato Salad

The next potato salad hails from my Mom’s Grandmother, Inga. Though her version varies in ingredients and cooking method from the Charlie’s Cafe version, this one is just as good if not better, in her and her siblings’ opinion!

“Last summer all the brothers and sisters got together for a picnic, and I was in charge of the potato salad. I brought both! I wanted everyone to try them and vote which one they liked best”. The winner? No contest. “Mom’s”, she states matter-of-factly.

Rather than mayonnaise and sour cream serving as the base, this one gets its tang from a cooked sauce including egg, dry mustard, and sugar, which once cooled is combined with whipped cream. The sauce has a pudding-like texture, which is fluffy, tart, and incredibly light.

The other main difference in this potato salad is that the recipe is presented as a “guide”. There are suggestions for additions to offer the salad its crunch, including green pepper, radish, and cucumber. When I question how much of each goes in, given that the recipe simply mentions the ingredients, she waves her hand in polite dismissal in a, “oh just a little bit of this, and a little bit of that” kind of way. Intuition, at its finest.

Mom’s Chicken Ziti

Every year in the Fall, the women on my Mom’s side of the family escape the normality of life for a little ladies’ weekend away. 2020 will mark the 37th year in a row that the women in my family (over the age of 21!) are invited to attend this wonderful tradition. Each year someone new plans the weekend and picks the location and activities, although two things always remain the same each trip: Friday night we order pizza in, and Saturday is a nice dinner out.

Years ago, on a trip in Stillwater, the ladies were out for their Saturday dinner when my Mom experienced something akin to this Chicken Ziti. “It was at the old restaurant that used to be a train station. I got a dish similar to this, and asked what the ingredients were in the sauce because it was so delicious. I ended up just making up my own recipe!”

This Chicken Ziti is forever my favorite comfort food. It’s creamy and salty, yet fresh and light. The pea pods offer green crunch which is a welcome addition amidst the luscious Alfredo sauce. A recipe that truly knows no season: this Chicken Ziti is one for the books.

The Only Dessert You’ll Ever Need

When I think of dessert recipes that make me swoon, few come to mind as quickly as this one. Amaretto Creams were always a treat reserved for special occasions such as birthdays (requested frequently!), holidays, or dinner parties: this was not something that was made often. That’s what gave it its treasured status: when Amaretto Creams were on the table, you knew the moment was special.

“This recipe came from Lisa, who worked for Tastefully Simple as a food designer.” As I drool over the idea of being a food designer, she reflects on the year that Lisa made these for a group of friends who were celebrating New Year’s Eve together. “We used to get together with the Eks, Andersons, Sebestas, and Heinrichs to celebrate New Year’s Eve. One year we stayed at the Ek’s house, and Lisa made these for dessert! I had to have the recipe. I’ve been making it ever since!”

It’s difficult to find the words that could accurately represent just how delicious these Amaretto Creams are. They’re fluffy, dense little clouds of amaretto nirvana, topped with macerated fresh berries. They’re chilled, and have a texture that is similar to ice cream. They surpass any and all desserts on the delicious scale: I promise you, they’ll change your life.

One Word: Messy

My Mother is a very neat person. She keeps a very clean home, washing her floor – on her hands and knees – every single night. All of that said, there’s something very well-known about her: she’s messy in the kitchen.

She doesn’t miss a beat when I ask her to describe her cooking style in one word. “Messy”, she says firmly as we laugh. “And your Dad would say the same! He gets so mad when I leave cupboards open or leave stuff out”. I conclude that I inherited my clean kitchen tendencies and habits from him, saying that when I’m cooking I like to clean as I go, putting dishes in the sink when I’m done. “Well, I do that too most of time”, she says as she looks at me seriously. It takes two seconds before we’re both laughing at the fact that she actually does not. “Pffff, well I tried!”, she laughs, resembling her own Mother more than I think she realizes.

If I could even attempt to sufficiently conclude a story about the woman who has truly made me who I am today, it would be with this: life is messy. Life has up’s and down’s and dirty dishes and crappy days and disappointments. But the beauty is in the journey. In the everyday. In licking the spoon, playing with your food, and screwing up the recipe (or rather knowing that cornflakes are an ok substitute in some cases). In creating.

Mom, thank you for being a story teller.

Thank you for sharing your passion with the world.

Thank you for always making things fun and light hearted.

Thank you for sacrificing so much to make our family what it is.

Thank you for encouraging me to love hard, fail often, and learn from my mistakes.

Grandma Avis smiles every time you kiss those measuring spoons: thank you for teaching me to love you just as hard as you loved her…I hope someday I’ll be half the Mother you are.

I love you.