Several weeks ago my Aunt Connie called me unexpectedly while I was eating dinner. It was unexpected because I rarely get phone calls, and especially not from family unless it’s my mom. Some of you might know my Aunt Connie, and if you haven’t met her and you happen to live around the Mokane area, I’m sure you’ve at least heard of her or just plain heard her. She has an unmistakable voice that carries itself over crowds, she laughs often, and she’s spent years calling bingo at the Mokane World’s Fair. Her big, colorful jewelry is a mirror of her personality. Connie is the epitome of a Holzhauser: she isn’t afraid to say what’s on her mind, and she doesn’t care who hears or if they like it or not. If she loves you, she’ll fight for you. If she loves you, she’ll also probably fight with you.
So, I had all of this in mind when the phone rang again and I continued eating dinner. She left a voicemail this time, so I listened, nervous. I figured someone had died or was gravely injured, or I’d somehow upset her. I assumed the worst because I’d just published the Spaghetti Sauce piece about my grandpa (her dad). I couldn’t remember writing anything offensive or controversial, but one can never really anticipate these things. And I’ve had my share of upset relatives after reading things I’ve written. God, what did I say!? Her voicemail said, in a very loud, very stern tone, “Would you please call your aint Connie at 573(…) I’ve got something to tell you.”
I braced myself and called her back.
She was excited to tell me that she found an old cookbook for me at a yard sale somewhere around Taos. The woman she tried to buy it from felt guilty asking money for the thing, but Connie insisted she take something for it. “So, I gave her a quarter. I told her ‘I’m not just gonna take it for nothin’.” She said she thought, “I know someone who would like this” when she saw the book and she’d already given it to Mom to give to me.
I cried when we hung up. I felt guilty for assuming the worst and relieved that she wasn’t mad. I was utterly moved that she’d been reading my writing and had taken an interest in what I was doing.
So, a week or so after that, she called again to say she had some more old cookbooks for me and some pictures of my grandparents when they were younger and she just happened to be coming to town soon.
We had a bit of a clandestine meeting during working hours where she drove to my work and I sat in her car, the heat beating down on us.
She brought me pictures of my grandparents: one was their wedding dance, but most were pictures of my grandpa, or pictures he took while he was serving in Korea, or pictures of the railroad being built through Portland–something I never knew he took part in. Two were of just my grandma-in both she’s got a pack of cigarettes in front of her, and one poised between her fingers, her face half smiling but mostly annoyed the photographer interrupted the lighting-up. Connie said, “seems like she always had a cigarette.”
In the span of twenty minutes, she regaled me with stories ranging from the country way she talked growing up (e.g., saying “niller” for vanilla) to hints and bits of traumatic family secrets. As always, I tried to keep up with the rollercoaster of emotions packed into her stories but told in the same cadence and tone. All of this and trying to remember the details.
Most interestingly for you, she gave me one of her recipes from the church cookbook, handwritten and secured in a plastic sheath, and told me a little bit about the woman she got it from. She told me that my cousin loved this recipe and said it was basically an upside down pizza. I’d already planned on making this, but was stoked to get the recipe hand written with a quick backstory. You’re wondering what it is, the story about the woman who wrote the recipe, I can’t even remember now. Her name was Ms. Mosley of Mokane, MO. The details of her life were thrown in so quickly with the family secrets, that I remembered only those. And, of course, those can’t be shared so easily as a recipe.
As I gathered all of my ingredients and started putting this casserole together, I couldn’t help but think of my conversation with Aunt Connie. She lamented she had all of these pictures and no one to give them to. She remarked on the loss of information when someone didn’t write the names or the places on the pictures. We talked about how awful it is to find abandoned pictures of people in thrift stores. She knew I’d appreciate the pictures of the railroad, even if we didn’t recognize anyone in them.
I felt so much love from her that day. My family might not really understand me, but at least they know this about me: I want the old stories. I want the artifacts. I will keep them with me because I am always searching for a connection to home and family and still trying to find my place within them.
Slowly and steadily laying tracks.
I added a green pepper and a lot of mushrooms. I accidentally bought the butter flavor crescent rolls, which got a mixed review from the family.
Chef Gaby bit into this and said, “mmmmmm.” She also suggested it rest at least an hour before eating. Camila agreed it was really good. Cyrus went on and on about it, and even had seconds!
Chef Gaby rating on a scale of 0 – Grandpa’s Pasta Sauce: 8.25!
Aunt Connie’s Upside Down Pizza
about 8 servings
2 pounds of ground beef
1 chopped onion
1 chopped green pepper
8 ounces of chopped mushrooms
1 quart of homemade spaghetti sauce OR 1 package of spaghetti sauce mix +16 oz tomato sauce
8 ounces shredded mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup sour cream
8 oz crescent roll can
2 tablespoons butter
You can really add ANYTHING pizza related and it’ll be so good.
Directions: Brown the beef and onion. Don’t forget some salt and pepper. Maybe some garlic, too. Stir in the sauce and sour cream. Pour into a 9 x 13 dish. Top with the mozzarella cheese, then crescent rolls (in one big sheet), butter, and some parmesan cheese. Bake at 375 for about 18 minutes.
Let it rest for at least 30 minutes before serving; it’ll taste better and your tongue won’t be scorched.
Knife and Pen 