![]() ![]() I don't know what else to say except - it's a must-try. At lunch, we feasted on good old-fashioned hard rolls spread generously with butter and topped with garlicky cured summer sausage.īut, one of my favorite indulgences came after dinner time when Grandpa would spoon up heaping bowls of vanilla ice cream, which were promptly drizzled with maple syrup. Post-breakfast, during moments when Grandma wasn't paying attention, we'd also sneak spoons full of that peanut butter and stuff them into our eager little mouths - and then hope that she didn't ask us any questions while we were trying to swallow that sticky mess (do you remember that old classic song, Peanut Butter, by the Marathons? yeah - kinda like that). At breakfast, we'd indulge in fantastic slices of perfectly toasted wheat bread (I am still convinced that vintage toaster made the best toast EVER) mounded with crunchy peanut butter. Some things, like the casserole made from hamburger meat and cream of mushroom soup, weren't anything to write home about. My grandmother was never what I would call a "gourmet" cook. The week was always filled with the usual adolescent high jinks - traipsing through the woods, wading our bare toes in too-cold marsh water that was left behind by the rapidly melting snow, and playing lots and lots of Canasta (a card game I learned early and played often throughout my childhood). Every year my cousins and I would spend our "spring break" with my grandparents, who lived about an hour north of the city. When I was a young girl, I always looked forward to Easter. Now, like many of the foods made at our house, this particular treat has a bit of a story. ![]()
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