Tea In a Tin Cup
Page 1
Jo A. Hiestand Books
Mysteries steeped in tea and tartan!
The McLaren Mysteries
Cold Revenge
Last Seen
Shadow in the Smoke
Brushed With Injustice
An Unfolding Trap
No Known Address
An Unwilling Suspect
Arrested Flight
Photo Shoot
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The Peak District Mysteries
A Staged Murder
A Recipe For Murder
In A Wintry Wood
A Touch of Murder
The Stone Hex
Searching Shadows
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Cider, Swords & Straw: Celebrating British Customs (cookbook with customs information and Peak District Mystery book synopses)
Carols for Groundhog’s Day
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Writing as Jessie McAlan
The Linn House Mysteries
The House on Devil’s Bar
A Hasty Grave
A Whisper of Water
Tea In a Tin Cup
Jo A. Hiestand
Cousins House
St. Louis, Missouri
Cover and Interior Design by Cousins House
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Copyright 2019 Jo A. Hiestand. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations used in a review.
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Photos by the author, except: Jo and her mom baking, by Douglas Hiestand; the Girl Scout Troop, by Carol Hiestand; Fiddlecreek waterfront by Carol Hiestand; The Six Pack by anonymous; Grandma and Grandpa Nagel by Edward Willie; apartment fronts by Bethany Opler on Unsplash.com; Rivington Pike by Dave Bolton on Unsplash.com, Sir Walter Scott Monument by Oleg Albinsky on Unsplash.com. Cover photo by Shablon.
ISBN:
Published by Cousins House
Printed in the United States of America
Visit the author at: http://www.johiestand.com
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Everything Starts Somewhere
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Those Fun Years
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Fame, Fortune, Friends
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Creating My Own Way
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
From Here To There
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
From There to Here
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Since Then
Jo A. Hiestand Books
About the Author
For Kathy, who inspired me by “the other book.” And to my great aunt Ann and my mother: both knew their way around the kitchen.
Acknowledgments
‘Thank you’ goes to my mother, my relatives, and my friends who supplied the memories. Some people gave me their recipes, for which I’m grateful, as they have become part of my life. Some people taught me to cook a particular dish. I’m thankful for this, too, because I cherish that cooking event.
However it came about, warm wishes to everyone who contributed recipes or the occasion for the food. It’s been a lot of fun.
Jo A. Hiestand
St. Louis
February 2019
Introduction
When I was a child, still in grade school, I wanted to cook. Most times I’d watch my mother in the kitchen as she concocted soups and stews and cakes. They smelled so good! To be able to put together such heavenly aromas that were linked to wonderfully tasting food was really magic. Some days I’d try to ‘help’ her. I told her to “give me your spoon.”
I write in the introduction to my book Cider, Swords and Straw about traditions and how important I think they are. They tie us together, providing a link to previous generations, giving us an anchor, a sense of belonging to them, to history and to time.
I think food and cooking do the same thing.
In this book I relate some events in my life that are connected to food and cooking. Some events are funny, some are endearing, and some are strange. All stories, I hope, will be worth your reading time, but above all they serve as an illustration of how food has brought me closer to people. I hope your own cooking brings you joy, and you create your own warm memories with your family and friends. Whether they cook beside you, or are the recipients of your creation, you’ve indeed lent them your spoon.
Everything Starts Somewhere
Chapter 1
Delving into Creating
I don’t recall what started my interest in cooking. Perhaps it was just mimicking my mother’s actions in the kitchen, or—as is widespread in many children—a desire to be grown up. Obviously, I’ll never remember the reason for this attraction, but I do recall my first cookbook.
It was spiral-bound, easy for little fingers to manipulate. And it opened flat and stayed flat on the countertop, which was very helpful. I do remember that. The recipes were simple, as befit a children’s book, but how it intrigued me and fired my lifelong desire to cook and unearth the stories behind recipes—who thought of them, what induced the inspiration, were those men wearing the white chef hats and buttoned-up white tunics, the only people who thought up recipes... After all, recipes had to come from somewhere. I doubted if they sprung, as Athena did from Zeus’ head, onto a dinner table. Though, I could be wrong. I don’t know any professional chefs who might tell me.
The title of this first cookbook has long escaped me, but I do remember some of the recipes. Boston Cooler ties for the first dish I ever made. I don’t know if it was that or the Candle Salad. It doesn’t matter. I was proud serving something I’d made for supper.
It’s highly questionable if Boston Cooler originated in or is eaten in Boston (whether the recipe refers to the city in the United States or in England is still a mystery to me). But it was good. A scoop of vanilla ice cream atop a large slice of ripe cantaloupe. That was it. Mom must’ve cut the slices of the fruit, for I wouldn’t have had the skill to wield a knife in grade school. But I set the canoe-shaped cantaloupe wedge on the plate and crowned each with the ice cream, and brought the great achievement to the table. I think I smiled.
The Candle Salad appealed to my imagination. There was a bit more to this concoction than the afore-named cantaloupe delight, so the salad might’ve been the second recipe I made (more ingredients equals more thinking). It consisted of a ring of pineapple on a leaf of lettuce. Into the pineapple ring, half of a peeled banana was inserted, standing upright. Plop a tablespoon of mayonnaise on the tip of the banana and balance a maraschino cherry on the tip. Voila! The thing actually looked like a lit candle sitting in a candleholder.
Talk about pride! I’d actually put together something that required several ingredients and steps. And it was fun!
Around this time, I’m told, I was ‘helping’ my mom in the kitchen. I don’t remember it at all, other than we were living in Falls Church, Virginia, while my dad was serving in the U.S. Army, stationed in the Pentagon during the Korean War. From the photograph of that long ago session, mom and I must’ve been baking. I’d guess it was
cut out cookies. Maybe for Christmas. Anyway, the spirit must’ve been with me, for I uttered the memorable words that I would cook, and that “Mommy go sew.” To this day I prefer cooking to sewing, though I do enjoy both activities.
I wonder if these early creations in the kitchen led decades later to my desire to create my own recipes. If this is normal with cooks—making something up that’s really yours and not cooked by thousands of others—I don’t know. But the need nagged me until I finally did something about it.
In my twenties, the first recipe I concocted was a cheesecake that went by the original name Surprise Cheesecake. Actually, it’s a good cheesecake, even if the name is goofy (I can always change it, but I’ve never been able to think of anything.) It has a nut-laden shortbread crust. The filling is about your average cheesecake thing, but the idea is that as you scrape the filling onto the crust you bank it so that the filling sits around the outer edge. You then pour a cup of reserved filling that’s mixed with chocolate chips, orange zest and orange juice into the center (and remove the aluminum foil wall). Sounds good. I think I’ll resurrect it…
Then a friend and I invented a sour cream cake baked in a ring pan. Our idea was to write a cookbook featuring brand new recipes of our own creation. It would be a huge bestseller and launch us into a career as creative recipe writers. I wonder whatever happened to our idea? Anyway, the cake batter was half chocolate and half white. Between these two contrasting flavors was a line of candy-coated chocolate candy bits. It was quite a surprise and dramatically colorful when the cake was sliced.
Later, I created Streusel Lemon Muffins. They’re good, but you’ll have to plan ahead to make them if you don’t usually have lemon curd in your refrigerator. Lemon curd tastes like the filling for Lemon Meringue pie. You can buy it in most grocery stores—usually shelved with the jellies and jams. Or purchase it online. Lovely stuff.
I really love these muffins, and I think you’ll like them, too, especially if lemon pie is one of your favorites. The muffin center is like a small bite of that delicious lemon filling. I created this recipe on May 7, 1979. Amazing that it’s forty years old, give or take a month.
Oh, and be careful biting into the warm muffin—the lemon filling will be hot!
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Streusel Lemon Muffins
1 egg
½ cup milk
¼ cup vegetable oil
1 ½ cups flour
½ cup sugar
2 tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
Lemon curd, 6 oz should be enough
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Streusel Topping
2 tbsp butter, softened
¼ cup brown sugar, packed
¼ cup flour
¼ cup oats
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Preheat oven to 400°F. Grease bottoms of 12 medium-sized muffin cups or insert paper muffin/cupcake papers into muffin cups.
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For muffin batter: In a bowl, beat the egg, then stir in the milk and the oil.
Add the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Mix only until the flour is moistened—batter should be lumpy.
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For Streusel Topping: In a small bowl, cream the butter and brown sugar. Add the flour and oats, mixing all thoroughly.
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Fill the muffin cups half full with the batter. Drop a rounded tablespoon of lemon curd into the center of each and then add more batter to cover the curd.
Top each muffin with a tablespoon of the streusel topping.
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Bake 20-25 minutes at 400°F or until the streusel topping shows a hint of turning golden brown. Cool in muffin pan one minute, then carefully remove muffins from the pan. (You may need to insert the tines of a fork along the sides of the muffins to loosen them if they stick.) Best served warm.
Other recipes of my own design followed: brownies, baked lunch sandwiches, supper main dish pies, cookies, breads… But the bulk of my repertoire consisted of cakes and cheesecakes. Sometimes I’d bake with my friend, she of the career cookbook bestseller; sometimes I’d cook for my family and other friends. Sometimes I cooked for myself. But it was always fun. I still don’t know which I like best, the creation or the cooking.
Chapter 2
With Love
My great aunt Ann lived with her husband (my great uncle Gus) in a large house in St. Charles, Missouri. The house was an old brick two-story, with huge shuttered windows that looked down to the Missouri River or onto the tree-shaded lawn, depending on where you were in the house. The Boone’s Lick Road (named for Daniel Boone, who settled near St. Charles, in Defiance, Missouri, in his later years) ran west from the riverfront, toward the ‘frontier’, and in its passing caressed the foot of the hill on which the house stood.
The house’s upper floor was the living quarters and consisted of just five rooms: the living room, dining room, two bedrooms, and the kitchen. A sizable, roofed porch came off the kitchen and sat on the side of the building, nearest the driveway. It was the main entrance, at least to my family, and was at once warm and welcoming. We climbed the wooden steps (at least a dozen, if I remember correctly) that seemed to be always painted gray. A three-person white, wooden swing hung by two chains from the ceiling of the roof, and faced toward the front of the house and, thus, toward the street. It was always a treat to sit on that swing and sing songs or listen to stories my aunt would tell of ‘the old days’. Sometimes she and my mother would talk about family matters, but I was too young to understand what they said. I was just content to sit with the grownups and swing.
Occasionally, if the summer day was hot, my great aunt would make us Brown Cows, or ice cream sodas made with orange or red soda. What a treat that was! I don’t recall my mother ever making those, which seems strange now, because she was a great cook. Maybe she saved that treat for my great aunt. After all, it wouldn’t be anything special if we had those at home.
Home was in University City in the early years of my childhood. Then, in the summer that I was about to begin sixth grade, we moved to Creve Coeur. Both are suburbs of St. Louis, Missouri. The drive to St. Charles was closer from Creve Coeur, but none of the adventure was taken from the trip. We still crossed the Missouri River on the old two-lane steel bridge. We still entered the city in the heart of downtown (or so it seemed) and drove up the steep hill to my great aunt and uncle’s house. The buildings downtown were all old and brick, and the street was cobblestoned. Traffic moved slowly over the road surface, and the car bounced. I always wondered what it would’ve felt like in a horse-drawn carriage. I’d sit in the back seat, my gaze on the aged brick edifices, and listen to the strange sound of the tires on the bricks.
St. Charles was settled around 1769, predominantly by French Canadians. The adventurers Lewis and Clark used the town as a jumping off spot on their westward expedition in 1804, and called the municipality the last civilized place before the frontier took over. St. Charles served as the state’s first capital, from 1821 to 1826, so a lot of history clings to it. And this history shone from the cobblestones and old brick buildings.
Aunt Ann and Uncle Gus’ house was built in the French style, around 1836, by a Mr. Buehler, and it was part of a wedding dowry, along with the nearly three acres on which the home sat. It was constructed of handmade bricks and features ten-foot tall ceilings. My great uncle’s father bought the house in 1891, and it passed to my great uncle years later. He and my great aunt kept it in wonderful condition.
Dad would drive most of the length of Main Street, turn right onto Boone’s Lick, and then turn onto Second Street, up a very steep hill. In fact, St. Charles was originally named Les Petites Côtes, or "The Little Hills." And it was on one of these little hills—or so it seemed in my childhood—that the house sat.
Boone’s Lick Road was far below the house, out of sight. The road was a main thoroughfare in the 1800s for freight and westward expansion. Daniel Boone’s sons originally marked out the trail, the terminus at a salt lick in Howard County.
I had no knowledge of the road’s history as a child. I just knew the house was fascinating…and spooky.
The house, still standing, is a large rectangle, the upstairs, as I said, having five rooms. The eighteen-foot long hallway divides the living room from the front bedroom and runs into the dining room. Opposite the hall entrance, two tall windows seemed to consumer the wall. Lace curtains framed them, giving the room an early 1900s look. On bright days, the sun would backlight them and throw delicate flowery shadows on the table and carpet. Most of the space in the room was taken up by the table and chairs. They were dark and sturdy, mirroring the German sense of durability and practicality. Crowded around the walls were an upholstered chair, a breakfront, and an armless sofa. When my sister and I were in grade school, we’d have our dinner at a card table set up beside the sofa while the rest of the family ate at the dining table. I felt special, having my own spot, yet being close to the grownups. My great uncle sat at the head of the table, but my great aunt sat on the side, near the foot. She said it was easier to get up and go into the kitchen if someone needed something. When I got my own apartment, and then house, and hosted dinners, I discovered what she meant.