Keep family history alive through food

In 1891, my great-great-grandmother boarded a ship in Sweden bound for America and for a husband who'd left when she was pregnant seven years before for a wagon factory job in Springfield, Mo.

In tow were two children and a suitcase that carried just a few necessities, including a bread knife and a rolling pin from a country Carolina Sophia would never visit again.

Almost 120 years later, the sturdy black-handled knife with razorlike teeth and the long, smooth rolling pin are still in use in my grandmother's kitchen, less than 40 miles from where her grandmother first unpacked them after the long journey.

"You don't see anything like it this day and age," my grandmother said of the knife. "It's never been sharpened. Doesn't need it. Only thing I ever use it for is to cut angel food cake and bread, of course." She went on to explain that her mother used the knife to cut coffeecake during Scandinavian club meetings she hosted in the 1930s.

My grandmother, who turns 80 next month, is the culinary matriarch of my family. She is the keeper of not only kitchen heirlooms but also recipes and the stories behind them that say as much about my family history as the photo albums in her living room.

Texas food expert Dawn Orsak understands the importance of food history.

"Some people are after recipes, but I'm after stories," says Orsak, who specializes in recording history through food traditions. From generation to generation, we pass down food traditions, habits, recipes, cookbooks and even utensils that carry with them historical details as unique as our genetic code, but many of us don't think to record that history because, after all, what's so interesting about something as quotidian as how you fix up your cup of coffee?

For my dad, every morning that he drizzles a swirl of honey in his cream-filled coffee, he keeps alive a piece of his late great-uncle, a beekeeper who never drank a cup of coffee without a drop of the sweet stuff he collected.

Food is a great starting point to preserving family history because it's so visceral, Orsak says. "Everybody likes talking about food, and it brings up memories you wouldn't think of otherwise."

Before long, your mother isn't just talking about how, when she first got married to your dad and didn't know how to cook, they got into a fight because he didn't like big chunks of ground beef in the Hamburger Helper she made. She's painting a detailed picture of what those first weeks were like as newlyweds on an Air Force base nearly 40 years ago.

Cookbooks, old food magazines and recipe boxes are like historical time capsules, Orsak says. If you're lucky enough to flip through them with their original owners, the handwritten notes or dog-eared pages might elicit a memory of where a dish came from or a special occasion when it was served. Photo albums often hold pictures of birthday or wedding cakes, barbecues, potlucks or reunions that can give clues to your past.

Food can help answer the bigger questions about what your ancestors valued and how they viewed their place in the world, says Orsak. My grandmother's only memory of the Great Depression, for instance, is her mother bringing plates of food to hobos who would pass through on the nearby train. (In retelling the story, one detail that never slips by is that her mother would then wash the dishes in not hot, but scalding, water.)

Orsak's parents, who grew up just after World War II, still keep a fully stocked fridge, freezer and pantry. When she asked her dad why, he replied, "It makes me feel safe."

"Once you get an answer like that, it opens up a whole different conversation with your dad," Orsak says.

If you're interested in your family's ethnic heritage, food is one of the best places to start because it's often the last vestige of cultural traditions to go. Generations after Orsak's family members stopped speaking Czech or playing the accordion, they are still making kolaches and sausages at family meals.

So after you start asking questions and digging around, what do you do with the information you find? At Christmas a few years ago, my mother gave everyone in the family cookbooks she'd made out of three-ring binders and recipes slipped into plastic sleeves. On each recipe page, she included the story of why the recipe was important to her and a little bit about the person it came from. Even though I don't cook from the book often, it holds treasured details about the friends and family who meant something to my mom.