Grandma Jean's Candy Popcorn

Growing up in Arkansas, one thing that always reminded me of Christmas was Grandma Jean's candy popcorn.  She would make a batch of red and a batch of green and have it sitting on the counter in a hugantic metal bowl.  It was completely addicting!!!

Last year, as I was looking for a retro dessert for my Christmas party, I remembered the recipe and have fallen in love with it all over again.

Here is the recipe:

Grandma Jean's Candy Popcorn

4 quarts popped popcorn (popped stovetop is the best - and popping it in Coconut oil is even better)
3 cups sugar
1 cup water
1 tsp vanilla
Food Coloring (I found out that they make organic food coloring out of vegetables - made me feel better about using it and the color was actually even better than with traditional food coloring).

Put sugar and water into a pan and boil until a drop of the mixture into a glass of cold water makes a soft ball.  Just keep stirring after it starts to boil and every once in a while check to see how the mixture feels in the water.  In the beginning, it will simply dissipate and then it will make a soft drop in the bottom.  When you can turn it into a ball in the water with your fingers, it is ready.  Don't over process or it won't be as pretty.

Add vanilla and food coloring to your preference, pour it over the top of the popcorn and stir.  You will need a very large bowl to do this in or you'll make a mess (trust me, popcorn will go everywhere if the bowl is too small).

You can also add nuts to the popcorn if you want.

Grandma's Banana Puddin

No holiday would be complete without my Grandma Haley’s Banana Pudding. As a matter of fact, so family gathering would be complete without having a bowlful of this rich banana/custard/vanilla combination…..heavenly….the perfect end to a laaarrrge meal!

This holiday season, The Man and I hosted a Southern/Serbian dinner for a few of our friends. For my contribution, I made Chicken and Dumplins, Dressin, and my grandma’s Banana Puddin. Although I have a recipe that I love for Banana Pudding, I used the recipe I learned from her this summer….OMG…..perfect!

Here is the recipe:
(this is for a small batch, I doubled the recipe for my party and put it in a larger bowl)

2 cups of milk (warmed in the microwave or on the stove - prevents lumps)
1 cup sugar
Pinch of salt
½ cup flour
2 eggs beaten
Ripe Bananas
Vanilla Wafers - don’t skimp and get the generic - if you are in the south, use Jackson, otherwise any good brand will do.
Stick of Butter
Tsp vanilla

In a bowl, combine flour and sugar and a pinch of salt. Stir eggs into flour/sugar/salt until it makes a paste. Add a bit of warm milk to thin the mixture and pour into a medium saucepan. Turn on heat to somewhere between medium and low ( you have to gauge this - you don’t want lumps, but you don’t want to stand in front of the stove until your gray hairs multiply). Stir constantly (stirring with a whisk helps) to keep custard from sticking to the bottom. When the mixture is thickened, turn off the heat and add a stick of butter and vanilla. Stir until butter and vanilla are combined with the custard.

Find the prettiest bowl you own - I typically use cut glass bowls. These photos were taken at my Grandma's house and we used a square, handled white dish  For this recipe-the small batch, the bowl doesn’t have to be large….medium-sized will do perfectly. If the bowl is too big, your layers will not have a lot of custard. If it is too small, the bananas and wafers get lost in all of the custard.

Layer….vanilla wafers then custard then small slices of bananas (the important thing is that the wafers are on the bottom, otherwise it makes no difference). Layer a few times - end with a layer of custard on top and put wafers upright around the edge of the bowl, sunk halfway into the custard. I typically put a few wafers in a design on the top of the pudding.

Per my grandma’s tradition, I do not serve this dish cold (except for leftovers--which are amazing in their own right). I serve it warm or room temperature like a custard-based pie. Enjoy!!

Cooking with Grandma

Check out my guest post on http://www.recipelion.com/  Cooking with Grandma.  After reading it again, I am suddenly hungry!!! 

Here is the link.  Enjoy! http://blog.recipelion.com/guest-post-cooking-with-grandma/

Grandma's Recipe Box

I just returned from spending ten days in Arkansas, my childhood home. It’s been a few years since I have been able to spend that much time with my family and it sure felt good! Being around my family is a reminder of my roots….not just with good southern home cookin’ but a reminder of the legacy of those who came before me…..who shaped me into the creative, complicated woman that I am. I got to spend a day with my Grandma Haley cooking up a storm…..purple hull peas, fried okra, fried corn, banana pudding, and, of course, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers. My childhood home is a place where neighbors, family, and friends bring over their extra produce….simply to share. Both of my grandmas looked first to what had they in their pantry and created dinner from there. I think that is where I developed my cooking style….one of creating dinner as I go after seeing what I have on hand and adding whatever seems beautiful.

One morning after Daddy and Darlene cooked breakfast (French toast, bacon, tomatoes, eggs….no wonder my clothes are a little snug right now), we set to looking for my Grandma Jean’s pickle recipe. We pulled her recipe boxes out onto the table and went through them one by one. Seeing my grandma’s handwriting took me back to a time where I sat on the red iron stool watching her cook. She would explain the how’s and why’s of what she was doing and I would write down her instructions one by one. Sitting next to Grandma Jean making biscuits, dumplings, pies, is where I learned cooking was not science but art. One has to “feel” the dough, taste the soup, and add a little bit here and there. Cooking never seemed to be a chore for her…..it was her art…..her contribution to her family…her place to be creative.

While going through those walnut stained boxes, I found a couple of writings. Grandma Jean wrote from her heart and (in my opinion) wrote to work things out in her head (much like I do now). I didn’t realize that she was a writer until I visited her as an adult several years back. Grandma Jean was nearing the latter stages of Alzheimer’s and I felt the need to come for a visit - just the two of us. Sometimes she recognized me and sometimes she didn’t…….we would sit on the porch and wait for Grandpa to get home (he had passed away several years before) and plan our dinner. She would rail about how her kids took away her car saying she was, “gonna take a switch to them,” when she saw them…..and then told me how much her children loved her. Jean had moments of great lucidity where she told me that she thought she was going crazy….that she knew she forgot things….tears would fill her beautiful blue eyes and she would look out the window for Grandpa to come back.....lucid moment gone. She had moments of playfulness when she said we needed to go shopping and spend all of my daddy’s money - which we did - the first shopping outing she had allowed in years. My Grandma was a wise woman….wise in the ways of the heart. As I child, my feelings would get hurt and I would run into another room, find a place on the floor and cry where no one would see me. No one followed me…..and in my little girl mind, it meant that nobody cared….and I would pout. Grandma would find me there hiding between the bed and the wall and tell me how much I was loved….that my daddy loved me and my aunts and uncles loved me…and that God loved me. She never once told me to stop crying…..to stop feeling….she just directed my thoughts to the true nature of things. I loved my Grandma!

Jean was the refuge for many a “problem” child. She would have distant cousins come live with her because (quite honestly) the parents (or the grandparents who were raising them) needed a break. Grandma Jean was firm...she would grab a flyswatter or a switch in a flash or even a glass of cold well water if needed - she could throw a shoe at a misbehaving dog and hit him from 20 yards away...but she would “love those kids like the dickens,” (as she used to say).

Sitting at that table with my Daddy last week, I came across this writing:

Why Fish bite the Worm on Your Fishing Hook


Father like mother loves their little children and little children loves father as well as mother.


Who? has the right to say no you can’t have them.


Both mother and father loves their children. If they, mother and father don’t, they are no parent at all.


But confusion can and will destroy a child’s faith in both mother and father if they are kept away from one or the other. Hate comes in. So in the end what you have is they grow up loving no one, believing in no one, believing that both parents did not care about them. So there, why bother? Sooner or later they will end up like mother and father, caring for no one, just about themselves. Maybe they will get a good job and maybe [meet] a nice person and learn to care about them. And maybe they will marry him or her. But take care and open your eyes and want & will to learn about love and caring-not only about the one you found, but about the mother and father and especially about the little children because they will be grown soon and need to learn to love and care for other people. We are all God’s children and He cares about you and me and every person.


Open your eyes and heart. You are needed. Open your arms.

Grandma had seen so many hurting people using their children as weapons - not allowing them to spend time with their X - not allowing their children to know that their X loves them. She saw the damage it did to the children…..how it shaped their ability to love and to care about anything. Children need to learn to love and learn to care about other people…..even when it is not easy….for us or for them.

Growing Up Southern

My book club is full of wonderful women….wonderful, strong women who love to discuss and really “dig-in” to books --- finding the lessons……the struggles….and even the beauty that evolves in a character or through circumstances. I love book club! I live for book club!!

This week, we discussed The Help by Kathryn Stockett. The Help tells the stories of fictional African-American women who worked in southern homes in the 60’s. It’s about relationships between women- the good, the bad, and the ugly. One of the characters, Abileen, made it her job…..even her mission…..to influence the children she took care of….to influence them to know they are wonderful and beautiful……to love and not hate…..and to see the commonalities not just the differences. Her goal was to change the destiny of one child and by that child eventually change the world.

The Help is now one of my favorite books. It got me thinkin’--thinkin’ about the women who shaped my life……who invested in me……who collectively showed me the path that I am on now. These women have impacted me…..my children….and eventually even my grandchildren. Because of their investment in my heart, my soul and my outlook on life, they have even impacted YOU…..my readers…my friends….my circle of influence….and that is a beautiful thing!

Today’s blog is an homage to The Women who shaped me, who inspired me, who cared for me, and who challenged me. These women demonstrated to me the grace and the beauty of being a strong, southern woman.

Growing up in central Arkansas in an era of black and white tv’s, window air conditioners, rotary telephones and cars without seat belts, I learned an appreciation of the simple things:

Water hose fights on a hot summer day
Popsicles with ice cream in the middle
Lying in front of a fan reading a book
Singing into that fan-listening to how it changed my voice
Casual conversation on the porch swing
Spitting watermelon seeds at my cousins
Bologna sandwiches with mustard and cheese
Bare feet feeling the cold floor in the refrigeration section at the Piggly Wiggly
Icees at Kmart
Riding in the back of the pickup truck
Lying on a raft in the stillness of the lake
Bluegrass music

My Momma and Daddy had two distinct and very different family dynamics. Momma’s family had the quiet intellectual types…..the ones who could quote poetry at the drop of a hat….the ones who invented new ways to do old things. Religion and Politics were never discussed (although Grandpa was a preacher) and voices always carried a civilized tone.

Daddy’s family was lively and full of debate, discussion, and practical jokes. Religion and politics were the favorite discussion topics at the kitchen table. One had to strategize to get the best seat at the table and the last bowlful of dumplins….AND watch over that bowl like a hawk because if you turned your back, the bowl would disappear into thin air and you would never find it.  The house was always loud and full of people.  As a matter of fact, that kitchen would get so loud that we kids had to turn the tv all the way up to hear it......that is....until the inevitable pause in the conversation exposed the loud tv and we would hear...."You kids turn that tv down!"

Both families were full of strong, beautiful, intriguing women of all types.  These women taught me:

That the worst thing you could ever do was be ugly--ugly on the inside--and say ugly things. The words, “That was ugly” brought a sense of shame in my heart and made me remember to be considerate of others……always.

Being strong doesn’t mean that you can’t be soft as well. Being strong isn’t about being hard……it’s about being resilient…like Scarlet O’Hara.

My opinions matter……..but giving my opinion should never be at the expense of someone else’s feelings…..it’s all about the delivery.

Family is very, very, very important. If someone is family, they are a part of your life….period. It doesn’t mean we always like them…….but we always cheer for them to do well. It’s important to spend time with your family and get to know them as people.

You can get away with murder with a smile and a coy look.

That looking nice isn’t about false appearances, it’s about self-respect.

It is important to tell those around you that you love them….and tell them often.

Laughter is a wonderful binding agent.

Respect is given not earned….and where respect is given, respect is gotten. When disrespect is given, disrespect is gotten.

These women, the aunts, cousins, grandmothers, family friends, and, of course, my mother embodied such beauty, such knowledge, such southern wonderfulness…… They made me who I am today…..and I am eternally grateful.

Jean and Red

In the months following my divorce, I asked myself, “Do I really want to get married again?” The answer was always, “I don’t really know……” It’s not because I don’t believe in marriage (I do) - I’m just not sure that I was really “good” at it. I’m not sure if I want to “go there” again……

Then I remember Jean and Red…. Jean and Red were my grandparents. Red never met a stranger and Jean just loved everyone. As I kid, I can remember staying at the lake, following grandpa around talking to everyone in that entire campground. Red was a magnet for people. Jean would tell everyone to call her grandma - she would take in every problem child in the family for the summer…..no matter if they were the fifth cousin twice removed. She would cook for you…she would tell you stories…and when life got just too boring, she would turn up the radio…clap her hands….and make all the kids get up and dance with her. Jean and Red loved life.

On the weekends, we would go to their house….sleep on the couch, the floor, on cots, in beds….wherever we could find a place to lay our head. In the morning, we would wake to the sound and smell of bacon and coffee. Jean would have her apron on….cooking up a storm. Grandpa Red would walk by her and smack her bottom - she would fuss at him…all in a tizzy….and Red would exclaim adoringly, “that’s my bride!!” They were quite a pair - Jean and Red - full of joy, spontaneity, and love for their family.

They traveled together all over the country in their camper. It had a sign in the back window that read, “If this trailer is rockin’ don’t come knockin’ ” and I think they meant it, too!! I am sure their marriage was not perfect, but it is one I aspire to - a relationship where there is life and passion…..joy and peace - a relationship where you dance a jig to bluegrass music one day….and sit for hours on the porch swing the next. A relationship where life is savored together…living on purpose….kissing under the oak tree when you are 60…..floating down the river on an inner tube…holding hands….smiling….laughing. A partnership of life.

When Red died, Jean missed him terribly. She developed Alzheimers. At sundown, she would start looking for Red to drive up the hill and come home to her. She would grow agitated that Red was late getting home and would become inconsolable……sometimes she would remember that he was not going to come home…..and sometimes she would just worry and ask every five minutes what time it was… A few years after Grandpa died, I came home to spend a week with her. It was the last time that I really spent time with my Grandma. While at her house, I found a letter she wrote to Red after he died….

My Dearest Darling Red,

I loved you most of all in the world. And now you are gone and my life is cold. My love for you still holds on and on. It cannot let go. If I did I would be gone, too. If only we could talk to one another, but my voice is as silent as yours. You are always beside me.

I don’t grieve as I should, but there is an empty space there always. You did not tell me how bad you were, but I knew it anyway. God showed me.

I can’t seem to do the things I should. People ask me to come see them. I can’t. I have to be at home. As if I’m waiting for you. But I know I’m not. You aren’t here anymore. You are in Arizona and that is far away.

I wear your shirt to bed so I might be close to you. But that doesn’t help. I can’t get my feet warm close to you anymore. It’s a very big bed.

Spring is here. It is more beautiful and the storm we expected to come this way went around us. Our grandkids are here, Amy and Holly. I sure enjoy them. They are my everyday sparkle.

How can I ever be me anymore without you? We’ve always been Red & Jean or Jean & Red. Now it is just Jean. No Red. Maybe soon I’ll get settled and be more myself, but for now I sure don’t know who I am.

Everyone is so helpful and understanding and loving, but me. I’m someone else. I don’t know who. I guess Jesus is the only one who knows me or who I am.

I think I will take the camper and go on the lake. Will you visit me there? No, I guess not. But I will think of you so much as I do now. Maybe the terrible hurt will go away and a beautiful memory will take its place. I pray so. With God’s help because it’s terrible to be lost by yourself with no hugs or kisses and no arms around you and you saying, “I love you.”

I love you, too.

Jean

Until I read this letter, I had no idea that my grandma wrote. Her beautiful candor moves me every time I read it. I know what it feels like to be lonely, but I was married 16 years, not 40 plus……our separation took time - hers happened in an instant. Theirs was a beautiful love story….an enduring love story…a story that grew to touch the lives of countless friends and family…..

So back to the question……..Do I want to get married??? Looking at Jean and Red’s love story gives me hope - gives me a dream……If I can find my very own Red, then yes I definitely do…..someday…..someday.