Museum Foodies: The Lynchburg Museum System Shares Our Favorite Food Traditions
We think the holidays are a good time to reflect on something that connects people from all walks of life -- food. Read this series to discover a grandmother’s biscuit recipe, a dog’s favorite treat, and other food memories we treasure.
History is not just stories from long ago. We believe traditions are a kind of present-day history, so we would love to hear your favorite food traditions, too. Comment below or tag us on social media. How are you making local history?
On the Search for “Olio” and Other Mysterious Ingredients
By Melissa Vandiver, Museum Guide
“… 1 can Milnot, ½ lb olio, 1 large Hershey bar, 2 packages chocolate chips, one jar marshmallow crème…” These, among other things, are ingredients to the fudge I used to (help) make with my grandmother, lovingly known as Gmom to most.
A young Melissa V. and her Gmom
Looking through her old recipes now requires a lot of research! Particularly now, when large is good and bulk is better among packaging, it’s difficult to figure out exact measurements. A package of chocolate chips can range from 8 oz. to 34 oz. and everywhere in between, and did they even have the jumbo chocolate bars when my Gmom began compiling her recipes?
A jar of marshmallow crème (called fluff now) comes in at least three sizes, and just what does “olio” mean, anyway? After some digging, I found that Milnot is a brand of evaporated milk original to the Midwest; the company opened in 1912 in Illinois, and eventually a factory opened in Warsaw, Indiana in 1947, around ten years before Gmom married my grandpa and the recipe box started. That was easy enough to find with a brand name, but my Gmom had a very pervasive habit of making up words, loved to use strange spellings, and had notoriously illegible handwriting. It turns out that “olio” is a misspelled version of “oleo,” short for oleomargarine that we know as just margarine today.
Other grandmas and grandpas of the world may have known, but as we did not go through the recipes before she passed, it took my family a while to translate Gmom’s recipes. We still make peanut butter fudge every December, just hoping we’ve got the recipe true to the original.
Queen of the Candy Cane Cookies
By Laura A. Macaluso, Ph.D., Public History Specialist and Grant Writer
Recently while driving to work I saw bunches of bittersweet growing on twisted vines along fencing by the side of the road. Whenever I see these bright red berries with their little yellow leaves I think of my mother, who likes to make decorations for the holidays by hand—including table decorations and lots of cookies, which can be both Christmas ornaments for the tree and something to devour with once-a-year freewheeling gluttony. One cookie in particular is the most coveted: the candy cane cookie which she liberally douses with peppermint oil. She makes two colors of dough (red and green, although the red inevitably turns pink when baking) and twists them into fat candy canes. They always turn out lumpy and misshapen, but, the taste—pure heaven! Even as an adult I will elbow my brothers out of the way if I see a candy cane cookie made by Sandy Macaluso.
Mama Cattie’s Biscuits
By Catherine Cecile Goewey Dalton, Museum Guide
Mama Cattie’s bread bowl and rolling pin
I was named for my grandmothers. Catherine Christian Cameron Smith gave me my first name. Grace Cecile Bradt Goewey gave me my middle name. One of my earliest memories was sitting on the kitchen counter watching Mama Cattie make biscuits that were served at every meal. She lived with her bachelor son on the family farm she had come to as a young bride. Her husband John William Smith had inherited the farm from his father, who had inherited it from his father, who had inherited it from his father, who had received a land grant from the king, who wanted the pesky Presbyterians to leave Scotland.
I loved Mama Cattie’s biscuits! Flour flew everywhere and the morning light from the window lit up the flour like snow. I was allowed to run the knife across the measuring cup. I watched, fascinated, as she kneaded the dough, rolled it out and cut the dough with a biscuit cutter. She let me eat the little scraps left behind. I could tell you the recipe forty years later, even though it was never written down. I still have Mama Cattie’s bread bowl and handmade rolling pin. The fresh warm biscuits were the last item placed on the table. I never bothered with the homemade strawberry preserves or molasses.