There are those who would argue what I’m about to say, but a simple taste-test will bear out the truth – I am the last living Dumpling Master in my family.
Easter Eggs, Thanksgiving Turkeys and Christmas Hams for five generations all bowed to Meema, our family Dumpling Master. They knew they were worthless without her magical dumplings.
For two entirely exhausting days, at every family holiday, Meema would put forth her energies of Love, Welcome, Giving and Joy, blending and pouring these ingredients (with only 3 other material basics) into her cauldron…an antique pressure cooker.
The entire family (and I do mean entire) had no doubt – without Chicken & Dumplings, there IS no holiday.
As the years wore on, several family members stepped carefully up to try to bring the magic, the dumplings, because Meema grew more easily tired and, even with all her Love, it took so much out of her to create that particular gift for an entire extended family. Sadly, there were no raving successes.
One batch too oily, another too thick in the brew, a third became great puffs of mostly uncooked dough. We all bravely attempted digestion of their good intentions, to no avail.
Meema was born in 1917, in the days before electric stoves, self-rising flour, pre-packaged chicken, or for that matter,
neighborhood grocery stores, were common-place. To deeply understand a subject, it helps to understand its components, and her upbringing provided much to facilitate true understanding of The Way of The Dumpling.
I will spare you the details, as not everyone really gets into “How to Kill and Clean a Chicken”, so suffice it to say…she became a true Dumpling Master the old-fashioned way.
In 2006, when we laid her to rest, (our undying love and admiration still lives with her for more than I can tell you
here), absolutely no one was crass enough to say, “There go the dumplings”, but I did hear sad voices saying, “Without her there will be no more holidays,” as dark-clad heads nodded agreement in unison.
Holidays immediately became single-household affairs, afterward, rather than the beautiful collection of faces and voices of “always before”. Then, about two years ago, my mother decided to venture outside her city fortress and up my mountain to join us for Christmas, in search of Holiday Lost, once more. Entering the house, she cocked an eyebrow and asked about the aroma.
“Mama’s cooking chicken Dumplings,” cheered my youngest son, as my two older kids just glowed.
“Well! We’ll see about that!” piped mama.
She fussed about the kitchen, never going near my pressure cooker, lest it be said any failure on my part stemmed from interference on her part.
The hours rolled along, and our various Specialty Cooks produced golden turkey steaming out of the oven alongside mouth-watering dressing, perfectly deviled eggs and tables-full of holiday pies. In the background, I worked.
I was confident.
The moment came. My mother, dumpling-eater for, then, 64 years, forked poised, almost triumphantly piped, “Now. (pause to flash gleaming eyes my way)…Let’s see about these “dumplings”. (Try to understand the inflections of Southern English – it implied “if, indeed, they deserve the name and I don’t expect they will.”)
What my Mother hadn’t noticed through the busy years was that, from the age of 3 or 4, me and Meema were buddies. I was the only grandchild who regularly dragged a cane-bottom chair to the counter to eat the dumpling dough raw – a thing that amused Meema greatly. Thus, I was the only grandchild standing there during my years of puberty, who was allowed to touch the dough, cut the dough, learn the secrets.
Every happy step of the way, as long as Mother and my Aunts were otherwise occupied, Meema and I were happily chatting and playing with dough in her corner of the kitchen, as I slipped in and out among the bustle.
What Mother didn’t know before, she learned that day, as she put down her fork and, in a voice betraying both grudging envy and a whisper of Holiday Returned, said simply, “Well! I guess they are dumplings after all!”
UPDATE: Joe was initiated into The Way of the Dumpling today. We are all proud of his first dumplings.
8:17 PM 12/19/2010
December 21, 2010 – Posted by Salem Williams
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1 Comment
1. This had me laughing and crying at the same time…It’s poignant, and funny…yet raw with the (unique) raucousness of family…
It’s full of love.
…And yet, it’s supposed to be about dumplings!
Comment by Valda DeDieu | December 21, 2010
Salem Williams 