Monday, September 30, 2013

This Is Why I Am Fat

My grandma Irja and my grandpa Mikko right after they were married. 

Recipe
            As long as I remember, I have either cooked or helped my mom cook. It is the way of life back home: everyone has to learn it, at least the basics. My grandma was good at this. Her bread was better than from a bakery. Her cinnamon rolls were heavenly. I could have eaten nothing but her mashed potatoes and gravy. But the best thing she ever made was what she called ‘mokko’. It is sort of a potato casserole. It is sweet, but doesn’t have sugar in it. It takes all day to make it. But it is worth every hour you have to wait.
            When I was about seven, she taught me how to make it. It was just after Christmas, and we were over there for a visit. I would ask her about the recipe. “You­­ don’t need one”, she would say, “You just need to know the right feel to it.” Over the years I followed her making it several times. Every time I would try to get her to give me the recipe. “There isn’t one", she would reply, "this is how we’ve always made it.” After some asking around, my great-grandma told me that her grandmother had taught her how to make it, and that it had been in the family longer than that.  By now, the recipe is more than 200 years old.
My great- grandmother Anna on the left. Her sisters Helena (middle) and Hilja (right) at Anna's 80th birthday party in 1981.
These ladies cooked so well that you could have eaten until you burst. They all lived well into their 90s and 100s, probably because their food made them so happy. 

            After a few years, my mom and I wrote down how to make it. You take about 7 kg yellow potatoes. Don’t use new potatoes, it just won’t work at all. You boil them with peel on until fork tender. You peel them while they are hot, and mash them, preferably with an electric mixer. Put a couple of tablespoons of wheat flour into it, and mix well. Cover with towels to keep warm. Put somewhere out of drafts and cold so that it will stay as warm as possible without cooking more, usually between 50 and 75 degrees Celsius. Let it sit for at least four hours. Up to six may be needed if you didn’t get the potatoes peeled when they were hot enough. Add whole milk until it is like pureed but still thick soup. Add salt to taste. At this point, if for some reason you weren’t skilled enough, and the concoction doesn’t taste sweet, you can add a little bit of molasses to make it sweeter. Put it into casserole dishes, but only fill them half full. Put small dabs of butter on top, bake in about 125 degrees Celsius until it is bubbly and dark golden brown, usually two to four hours. Eat with a pork butt roast, gravy made from drippings, and whatever else your heart desires.
            This is my soul food. This is who I am.  

            

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Ramble On

Picture by Aki Kaarakainen

I come from a very musical family. All of my siblings play at least two instruments. Music education was expected from me as a child, so at the ripe old age of four, I started my education. First it was just piano lessons. Then we added music theory and a children's choir. After that came the flute. Then music history. All this while I also had the regular curriculum for school. I felt a closer connection to music than I did to most people. One of the composers I became very familiar with was Jean Sibelius. He is a national hero for us Finns. His music is part of our brain cells. If you don't revere his music, you're unpatriotic. I can hum most of his works to myself, including four of his seven symphonies. One of the pieces dearest to my heart is one of his violin concertos. Even as a small child, I felt drawn to it. It calmed me down, when I felt overwhelmed and couldn't sleep. It comforted me when I was stressed out with school. It made me feel better when I was depressed. When I was in high school, I hear a version of it that was so masterfully played that it branded into my brain until I could summon it back into my mind any time I wanted. It was played by a German violinist Anne Sophie Mutter. Knowing how much effort it takes to be the best, I have a lot of admiration for her talent. She brings the notes alive so that I can almost smell the lakes and woods back home. I can see the midnight sun behind some trees and a lake while there is a fine misty fog on the water. I can hear a moose skaddumpple around in the woods, breaking everything in its path. A fish splashes the surface of the water while trying to catch insects flying in the air. I can feel the cold water around me when I go skinny dipping in the misty water. The combination of  Sibelius and Mutter is superb. It is the perfect thing to tell everyone where I came from.
Picture by Vastavalo.fi