The Talbergs (and Giant Creatures)

This is Jake's 2nd of 4 articles (so far) on the topic of family memories created around food. Again, he may have exaggerated a detail or two.

Excerpts from the mind and memory of a chef (installation #2):

My maternal grandparents lived in Foley, MN.  They had an old farmhouse replete with a dilapidated red barn in which we had our unsupervised childhood fun (mostly hassling the “polydactylated” barn cats).  When my family would gather, feeding everyone was quite a task.  To understand the volume of food that would be required to feed a gathering of my family, consider that on my mom’s side of the family, there are 43 grandchildren.  Some of those grandkids had kids, include aunts, uncles, friends and you’ve got a healthy sized group.  Now, rest assured that every get-together did not include everyone for any number of reasons.  But what my grandma produced out of her farmhouse kitchen was nothing short of extraordinary. 

My grandma worked in Wayzata when my mother was young, tending to the children of the Whitney family.  As I progressed in the culinary world, she was always inquisitive of how the operations worked, what we did, how did it compare to when she was in the “industry”.  Her interest in my work, as well as that of my youngest brother always brought her a smile.  Conversely, the first time I beat her in cribbage was the last time she ever played with me (that, I suppose was the German in her).  My grandpa did tree work and worked construction, worked on the Alaskan pipeline where he witnessed men drink antifreeze to keep warm (they were drunk, then dead) and in Guam where he lost the lower half of his leg in a pile-driver accident. But what they cultivated on their property is still talked about in my family.

My grandpa planted a fruit tree for every grandkid, mine was apricot.  He had two gardens where ALL of their fruits and vegetables were produced.  They canned and froze everything.  Sauerkraut was made in clay pots and buried in the ground to be exhumed the following spring.  Rows and rows of the best corn I have eaten in my life, potatoes both Russet and sweet, peas, beans, beets, red currants for jelly, strawberries, raspberries and cucumbers for pickles to name just a few things.  The cellar shelves were loaded with year’s worth of supplies.  It was a true cellar, one light bulb, a wringer dryer and a toilet.  But try getting a kid to use it with all the spiders and other creepy crawlies down there.  No thanks.

Meal times were chaos.  Adults ate first.  If kids entered prior, they would be chased out of the kitchen with the fly-swatter.  It hung on the wall and I have no idea how my grandma commandeered it so quickly.  The kids ate in the stairway, no room in the kitchen, dining area or living room.  Oldest cousins sat at the top and the youngest at the bottom.  There was great pride in rising to the top of the stairs.  Reason was, if you were on the top and someone spilled milk (which happened every time), you were safe and thus could eat uninterrupted. 

Once my grandparents passed, my mom and her remaining siblings were tasked with cleaning out the house.  She asked if there was anything I wanted from the house.  Without hesitation I replied, “the jelly jar that’s shaped like an apple and the little plaque with the dinner bell that read ‘Good bread, good meat, good gosh, let’s eat.’”  She told me later that 25 of my cousins had requested the plaque.  We were fond of the food, the visits and the company.  When gathering with family now, we still talk about the food.  It came from nowhere and it came from everywhere.  Thanks Ruth & George!

See you at the Club, Jake