My Father was a Master Baker n I m a Master Baker

My father was raised above a Candy Shoppe when he was younger. His mother was a cook and ran a restaurant for a while. I guess you can say we got it from his mother, whose claim to fame was that she made the best Apple Pie ever. That means a lot in a life where your livelihood is taking care of Truckers in your house as well. That was another lifetime when women would not share their recipes even with their own family.

My father never had that problem if anything dad loved talking food and it was one of the things that made him a good salesman. He had his own set of cookies especially for Christmas, back then it was the most wonderful time of the year. Even having my birthday on Christmas did not equal the cookies and other odd things children do not eat. In my family it was not eaten because of the fruit, it was because the fruit was soaked in Brandy or Rum for I cannot tell you how long or how many changes. Then the final touch pour more Alcohol over and wrapped tight before serving. One year somehow my dad's dog Duke snaked his tongued under the wrap over the delights and ate all the Fruit Cake. I do not know how much alcohol that dog had but it was a mellow Christmas for him and a good conversation for the rest of the night.

One year after cooking for so long the both of us because he would visit what was called back then a Nursing Home. When he and what ever committee went to see the residents at Christmas people would bring snacks my dad would bring all kinds of cookies that older people could eat. So one year when I helped him make these special cookies I found out why the Walnuts were always ground so fine, but it did make the cookies yummy not having to chew to much for the reward. There were all kinds of cookies to be made because it was not just for family. This one year my dad kept complimenting me on how good the cookies were tasting and what a good baker I had become. Then it dawned on me and I told him I would help but he was not going to get me to do this every year for him. I knew my cookies were good but there were only so many times my cookies were better than his.

I always felt a little sorry when I find out that parents don't let their kids make there own Grilled Cheese when the child is twelve. The excuse of being clumsy is just that an excuse. Show me a Baker who hasn't been burned and I will show you a first timer. People who bake know that pans go flying in and out and sometimes there winds up being a blister we knew would show up eventually.

Up until taking care of my mom I would show people how to make cookies without recipes. Just give me the ingredients and I will make cookies. I have a special cookie that never comes out the same way twice. They are called Garbage Cookies, leftovers had already been used. What ever I have left over in chocolate chips and caramel or butter brickle and how much real butter verses margarine. One day as I was munching on these cookies with friends one looked at me and said "I bet you didn't write the recipe down this time either." I had to laugh when is the next time I would have those ingredients again and if they were a hit I had a general idea of what was used and could have produced them again, but no one did. Now that I am taking care of mom baking is not what it use to be, I am not cooking a batch of cookies for us. I have done half batches but some days that is just too tiring.

So my father was a master baker and I am a master baker as well and would not have it any other way. I also learned how to do everyday cooking from my mom and somewhere in between created my very own way of cooking. Left handed of course but absolutely delicious I can almost smell the vanilla.