Steamed freshly dug potatoes, garden fresh green beans,  3 small onions, with some bacon bits sprinkled over the top.  Smothered in butter, salt and peppered.  Dark roast coffee (black/ no sugar)  and 2 farm fresh eggs (over easy.)  The freshness of these eggs can be measured in minutes. (minutes from when they were laid until making it to my plate).

That’s what’s on my breakfast menu again this morning, and has been the past month, while the garden is growing.


One of my strongest memories growing up,  related to my grandma (my dad’s mom) was her asking me in her German accent, was “Doggie, do you suppose you can bring me a few new potatoes when they are ready from your garden?” 

She liked to steam them with the skin still on, along with onions and green beans

I was her favorite grandchild she said.  Found out later, she said the same thing to my cousin Carol. 🙂

Several of my favorite memories of her are tied to food and drink.

When I was  about 17, after the Christmas eve church service, I got a flat tire.  Biting subzero temperatures,  no gloves or hat.  I remember feeling like my fingers were on fire while I tried to undo the nuts on the tire.  By the time I got to the family Christmas party at grandma’s my head felt like it was about to explode.   She took one look at me, took me over to her kitchen cupboard, said she had something that would fix me right up.  Poured me a little shot of Rock and Rye.

Never had it in my life.

Heck, up until that time in my life, I’d never tasted a drop of alcohol..period.

Let’s just say it worked. 🙂


Do you have any strong memories growing up with a grandparent, or an older person who’s now gone that are tied to food?

Would love to hear them!

Remember, I love details.   DM



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16 Responses to Breakfast

  1. My mother remarried just a few months after my dad died and moved us from LA to San Diego. I was a year old and my brother was six. We moved away from grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins. The biggest loss was my maternal grandmother (Grannyma) who I only saw once or twice a year after that. But I have vivid memories of some of those visits. The cookies in the special drawer, the half-pint of ice cream from a cardboard box sliced diagonally on a plate, and the mouth watering figs growing on the backyard tree. She called me sugar and hugged me to her when I saw her. I didn’t see her hardly at all after I grew up…too busy with my own life. She died when I was 24. I have always missed her.

    • DM says:

      Powerful memories Martha. Your dad was so, so young…thank you for taking the time to tell me a little bit about your Grannyma, XXX DM

  2. Deb says:

    Delightful breakfast Doug! I think I’ve shared some stories with you about my grandma’s. One never cooked. I literally only had one meal with her that she ever cooked herself, although she did make Divinity at Christmas…which I never liked! Grandma F, the Danish farm wife was the cooking grandma. Pies and cookies and huge breakfasts when she knew anyone was coming to visit. We forget a lot as we age, but I can still picture her little house, her homemade afghans that covered everything, her kitchen and her “back room” with shelf upon shelf lined with canned fruits and veg from her garden…

    • DM says:

      Isn’t it funny how that works? Was your grandma that didn’t cook, working full time? Even so, makes me curious as to what made her tick 🙂 Your other grandma (the Danish one) reminds me of my German Oma…she too had afghan’s on the couch/ was who taught me how to bake bread, etc. thanks for taking the time to tell me a little more about your roots growing up Deb! DM

  3. Lovely breakfast, and sponge cakes made with fresh eggs are terrific.
    Great Grandparents were a wonderful couple and would visit us for holidays. Gram would make us new dresses and our dollies were the best dressed in town. She fell off the roundabout trying to collect stones like us kids were doing and Gramps told her to act her age. Visit to their house in London was a novelty. outside loo, but it was all connected, not a dunny, but no bathroom inside, so we used a commode. I found the sugar lumps in the blue glass dish with the silver lid in the sideboard and got told off on more than one occasion. That was in the front parlour together with my great aunt’s piano. It was of the darkest wood ever, embossed with delicate gold leaves and candlestick holders. I was never allowed to touch it, let alone play it.

  4. emjayandthem says:

    Yummo! That sounds like a grand breakfast, indeed!

    Yes I do ~ my Paternal Grandparents lived on the family homestead about 1/4 mile to the SW of our farm, within a bike or pony ride, or even a walk.

    ALL of my memories with Grandma Pearl (Sarah Pearl) involved food ~ her fresh baking, butter on everything, handwritten recipes (some of which I have), pan fried burgers in carmelized onions, fresh Angel Food cake that was 8″ high and garden raspberries with fresh whipped cream, being handed a plate to head down to the “baking” freezer to assemble a plate of delights that would thaw while we ate lunch. She showed her love for us by cooking – it took her several days to arrange her Christmas tables, and they glistened with decorations and groaned at the bountiful amounts of home-made goodness.

    When I picture Heaven, I picture her Kitchen table, the two of them sitting there, quietly welcoming me in …


    • DM says:

      Good, good memories MJ! What a gift to have grown up that close. (for her, as much as for you) Farm wives from that era, must have all been cut out of the same cloth. She definitely sounds like my paternal grandma, (who was also a farmer’s wife) Thanks for taking the time to be a part of this conversation MJ! DM

      • emjayandthem says:

        yes, indeed. So incredibly lucky! She was a gem, a very hard-worker. But she also loved to dress up nicely and look pretty, and enjoyed sparkly jewelry and coming to all of our “things” – 4-H, etc. A very strong woman whom I loved deeply and influenced me greatly. Thanks DM! I knew you’d “get it.” MJ

  5. paulsprepping says:

    No parents, no relatives, and the only older person than God who ever cooked for me was in deepest darkest Europe.

    Her speciality was Čobanac, aka stew.
    Meat? Anything. Veg often unidentifiable, stock always contained a large amount of garlic and hooch.

    Funny thing about it?
    It always tasted BRILLIANT.
    Only in six weeks I never saw the pot washed once, only added too.
    I’d describe as ‘well seasoned.

    It fed our group of 6 and mati (mother),
    Cooked on a wood burning range.

    • DM says:

      Good to hear about that lady Paul. She sounds like someone I would love to meet. That stew in the pot sounds like something right out of history. Good to hear from you Paul! DM

      • paulsprepping says:

        Doug, I offer you some food for thought.

        With the ”Western” world going to hell in a hand basket both politically and socially.

        Perhaps selling up and going back to what was, living the old ways, where TV and the Internet are still probably unknown, would be way preferable to the state we find ourselves now.

      • DM says:

        you are closer to the truth than you might suspect in terms of life here on the farm. Yes we do have the internet (obviously) 🙂 and yes we have indoor plumbing, but in terms of my interests/ passions/ hobbies…..

      • paulsprepping says:


  6. LA says:

    My family is really obsessed with food, it’s how they show love. My mom still thinks we should have lasagna on Christmas, and thanksgiving without two stuffings, and two potatoes is just wrong…

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