Kitty Knows Best

It was 1954 when Kitty Kallen's song poured out of radios and jukeboxes across the nation to remind us that "Little Things Mean A Lot". Like so many other couples of the day, my parents, who were still in high school at the time, adopted the song as "their song".

It is still their song after all these years.

Whether you are thinking of the small kindness you share with your loved one, or a kindness bestowed upon you from a friend or stranger, the effect is the same. Little things do mean a lot.

The day after my son Jack graduated from high school, Jim and I Jack embarked on a 10-day vacation to Las Vegas and Yosemite. The first stop on our trip was in Las Vegas where we visited with my cousin Michael Fecchino (he is a two C guy) and his family.

Michael and Pam Fecchino

I think it is fair to say that Las Vegas has become a real destination spot for foodies like me. In fact I will so far as to state that I had one of the best fish dishes I have ever eaten when we dined at Mon Ami Gabi at the Paris Hotel. But I am not going to write about that dish today. Instead I want to tell you about a dish I ate many, many years ago.

But first you need to know the back story.

My cousin Michael is my Dad’s brother Val’s son. My uncle Val (his real name was Valentino) was an incredibly handsome guy that everyone seemed to love.

Valentino (Val) Vincent Fecchino High School Photo

I really can’t tell you much about my uncle because I never got a chance to know him.

I do know that he was the first son born to my grandmother Rose Fecchino and my grandfather John Fecchino. His older sister Ida was adopted during my grandmother's first marriage.

After years of being suspected of not being able to bear children, it must have been all the more thrilling for my grandmother to give birth to such a healthy baby boy in 1927 and then be chosen to ride with her son on the Dover's Healthy Baby float in the parade.

Rose and Val Fecchino (center) 1927

Val joined the war effort and served in the Navy. But before and after WWII, he worked at the family business which included the production of ice cream as well as the sale of soft drinks and for a time candy as well.

Val in the Navy, WWII

Thanks to this postcard that my cousin Christine ( Val's daughter) gave me, I know that he was stationed for a time in San Francisco.

Val reading a letter. Could the letter have been from my aunt Nancy?

In June of 1945, my uncle married the beautiful Nancy Dare Gholden. They were, to say the least, a most attractive couple.

Nancy and Val Fecchino, married June 26, 1945

Val and Nancy had two children, Mary Christine ( who we all call Chris) and Michael John (who we call Michael).

What little I can tell you about Val is that he enjoyed photography. Many of the family photos I treasure most in some way or another share a connection to him. It is a passion that Val passed onto his son Michael. The photo below is presumably a self portrait that Val took.

Val Fecchino self Portrait.

Though my Dad and uncle worked together at the family bowling alley, Creamo Lanes, when I was very young, I can only recall meeting my uncle Val once when he and my aunt Nancy, along with my cousin Michael, came to visit us while we were living in Schenectady New York.

Even though I was just a kid when I last saw my aunt and uncle, I can recall how glamorous my aunt was. I also remember how dark and handsome my uncle Val was.

Val and his son-in-law Chet McPhail

My cousin Michael was (and still is) very charismatic. Because my Dad, like his brother Val, also loved photography, when Michael came to visit, my Dad gave Michael an antique camera that he had. Years later, Michael returned the favor.

Michael Fecchino in his younger days

Michael for years had been a professional photographer and even owned several photo lab operations.

While visiting with Michael and his wife Pam, it was mentioned that my son Jack was also into photography. Jack was particularly into film photography.

The photo labs are closed now and Michael found himself downsizing. He had a 4 by 5 camera and offered it to Jack. What an incredibly generous gesture! Once again, one generation passed down a camera to the next.

Sadly what I remember most about my uncle Val is the time he died. The year was 1972 and Val was just 48 years old. I was in the kitchen with my Mom when she got a call from Ohio telling her that my uncle Val had suffered a heart attack. I recall my mother calling my Dad at work telling him to come home. And I remember how devastated both my parents were.

I also remember a small but loving gesture that one of our neighbors performed to show her support. That neighbor was our next-door neighbor, Jo Middleton. But I always just called her Mrs. Middleton.

Jo Middleton

Mrs. Middleton, her husband Larry, and their three children Laurie, Leslie and Lonnie lived next door to us on Newell Road in Schenectady. As a family, we were pretty close to the Middletons. Mom and Jo were friends, Laurie and I were friends, my brother Steven and Leslie were friends and Lonnie and my brother Brian were friends.

When Mrs. Middleton learned of my uncle Val’s passing, she did the neighborly thing of sending food over to our house to show her support. I was just 10 years old at the time. I am sure Mrs. Middleton thought nothing more of it than a loving gesture. But more than 39 years later, I can still remember the dish. Isn’t it nice to think that a small gesture can be so fondly remembered after so many years?

When I started this blog, I wrote to Laurie Middleton (now Smalley) to ask if she thought her mom would be willing the share the recipe. Laurie wrote back and told me that her mom had to search for the recipe, but would be happy to share it.

When I picked up our mail after returning from vacation, I found a small turquoise envelope sent from Mrs. Middleton that included a nice note and her recipe for Ham and Broccoli Strata tucked inside. You see it was her Ham and Broccoli Strata that she made for my family way back in 1972.

Admittedly, these days it is not difficult to find a good Strata recipe on the Internet or in any recipe book for that matter. But this is the recipe for the first Strata that I ever had tasted and I still remember it fondly. I hope you like it too.

With my gratitude to Mrs. Middleton, I have the pleasure of sharing her recipe with you.

Jo Middleton’s Ham and Broccoli Strata

Start with:

18 slices of white bread

1 pound of shredded sharp cheddar cheese

1/2 pound of chopped or sliced ham

1 pound of frozen chopped broccoli pieces

1 stick of room temperature butter

Cut the crusts off of the 18 slices of white bread and then butter each slice.

Arrange 9 slices of the buttered bread in the bottom of a buttered 13 x 9 pan.

Cover the buttered slices of bread with 1/3 pound of shredded sharp cheddar cheese.

Next add a layer of 1/4 pound of chopped or sliced ham.

Next add a layer of frozen chopped broccoli (about 1/2 of the one pound bag).

Cover the broccoli layer with 9 more slices of the buttered bread.

Cover the buttered slices of bread with a 1/3 pound more of shredded sharp cheddar cheese.

Add another layer of ham.

Top the layer with the remaining frozen chopped broccoli.

Combine:

6 Eggs

2 Cups of Milk

½ Teaspoon of prepared Mustard

½ Teaspoon of Salt

Whisk together the Eggs, Milk, Mustard and Salt and then pour over the bread, cheese, ham and broccoli layers.

Top with the remaining 1/3 pound of shredded sharp cheddar cheese.

Bake in a 350-degree oven for 30 to 45 minutes depending on your oven.

While I confess that I wanted to share the recipe for the Strata that Mrs. Middleton made, that was not the sole purpose of writing this post. What I wanted acknowledge were how even after all these years, I still appreciate Mrs. Middleton’s act of kindness. For after all these years it is her acts of kindness that I will never forget. The Strata was just one example.

If she saw me outside in my yard, she would yell across the lawn, “John, quick! What is 6 time 7?” just to make sure I knew my multiplication tables.

She also knew how much I loved history. Mrs. Middleton taught me about antiques. She would call me over to her house to see the latest treasure she had found and then take the time to teach me all about it and even explain why it was special.

You see, little things really do mean a lot.

I hope that when you finish reading this post, you will be inspired to do something nice for someone else. It doesn’t even have to be a big thing. And it certainly doesn’t have to include food. Just remember, sometimes even the smallest act of kindness can make the biggest difference.

As a footnote, I an happy to report that in addition to Laurie and I getting back in touch, after an more than a 30-year absence, my Mom and Mrs. Middleton are also once again corresponding. And thanks to facebook, my brother Brian and Lonnie are also back in touch with each other.

Well Bread Neighbors

While walking around Yosemite National Park, I noticed that many of the people there shared the same body type.

Random photo of a Yosemite Hiker

It seemed as if most of the hikers were lean and tall just like my son Jack. If I were to write a story about Jack, I plan to call it “Jack, the Bean Stalk”.

My son Jack

That kid is so lean and tall. I am tall too, I just seem to have gravitated away from the lean part.

I guess the fact that the other visitors were, for the most part, also physically fit should not have surprised me. After all, most of the them were hikers and outdoor lovers who came there to hike and walk the grounds.

This observation of body types got me thinking about the different body types I learned about in biology class. As I recall, there are three basic types of builds: ectomorph, endomorph and mesomorph.

Jack is definitely an Ectomorph. Jim is a Mesomorph. Those guys don’t even need to hold in their tummys when someone is taking their photo. How freakish is that, huh? Jack and Jim are both lean and do well walking and hiking.

While quite active, this guy oddly enough does not have the normal "Hiker Build"

As for me, I would have to say I really don't see myself fitting into any of the three earlier described types. I of course hope one day to once again claim Mesomorph status (but that would take excessive exercise for me at this point and I just don’t know if I want it that badly). What I am certain of is that, denial or not, I am certainly not willing to accept Endomorph status at this point.

What I will concede to is that I am in a category of body type that everyone knows and yet are still, for some reason, reluctant to talk about. But I am going to say it. Ready? I am...I can do this... a Carbo-morph. While the Carbo-morphs might not be found in most biology books, you will find us lined up at the bakery or bread aisle of the grocery store. Think Pillsbury Doughboy, but wearing clothes.

An example of the little understood Carbo-morph

Most likely you are familiar with the old phrase " Man cannot live on bread alone." That might be true, but if you throw in a couple of pads of sweet creamery unsalted butter and a drink, I personally would be willing to try to give that myth a run for it's money.

While visiting Yosemite, the views were nothing short of stunning, the cool , crisp air was invigorating, and the walks were inspiring. But it was at dinner that I was really bowled over. You see, each time we sat down for our evening meal at the Wawona, the historic hotel where we were staying, we were presented with a loaf of warm, frangrant, fresh from the oven sourdough bread. My mouth waters as I type this, but fear not, I can type on despite the drool.

Sourdough loaves

photo courtesy of pinchmysalt.com

Like most people, I've heard about San Francisco's sourdough bread. It seems every fast food restaurant has a burger or something served on San Francisco sourdough rolls. Let me tell you, they lie. It is not real sourdough. Now that I have tasted sourdough, I know.

Before I tasted the real thing I thought, "Oh, really? What’s the big deal about sourdough anyway? How good can it be?"

I have been saved from my ignorance by the sourdough bread that they served at the Wawona Hotel in Yosemite.

The Historic Wawona Hotel in Yosemite

If their bread does not make a believer of you that sourdough bread is the bomb, nothing will. If I had not known better I would have sworn that the bread was laced with drugs because I was addicted to it's tangy flavor from the very first bite. “My God! The waterfalls this year really are spectacular!" I would say with my outside voice. But my inside voice as really saying," how many more hours until we get to eat dinner again?”

Dining at the Wawona.

In addition to noticing how lean and fit everyone was while we visited the park, we could not help but notice how friendly and neighborly everyone was. I guess it was a “bird of the same feather” type of thing that made even strangers seem like lifelong friends. There really was a sense that everyone there was looking out for everyone else. I loved the sense of community.

It reminded me of my days as a young boy living in Rotterdam New York. Rotterdam is a small town just outside the Schenectady city limits.

This was our home in Rotterdam NY. My bedroom was above the garage.

We lived on Newell Road which was a dead end street populated by some of the best neighbors anyone could hope for. We were a group of families that really looked out for each other. It was while living on Newell Road that I learned what it meant to be a good neighbor.

The kids on the street all played with each other. At lunchtime, the Moms fed the kids who were playing in their yard, regardless of whose kids they were. If the kids in the yard were making too much noise or getting out of line, they also had no problem reprimanding them. What’s more, the kids minded what we were told because if we didn’t our parents would hear about it.

A party with the neighbor kids.

I am the boy in the photo above who is facing the camera but not wearing the hat. I can't remember what is going through my mind at the time. Perhaps I am wishing that some day I will learn how to make real sourdough bread like they do at the Wawona. Hey, you never know, right??

Because as kids we were always in and out of our friends’ homes, it was while living on Newell Road that I was introduced to some of my favorite foods. I remember Mrs. Middleton making hotdogs with sauerkraut. I loved it so much that whenever she made it, she would call me over to have some. It didn't even matter if I had already eaten dinner at home.

Mrs. Jo Middleton as she looks today.

One day, after my sister Alice, our friend Margaret Blohm and I filled Mrs. Blohm’s refridgerator with our jars of earthworms that we had collected to sell, Mrs. Blohm introduced us to fried Chicken Livers and Fried Chicken hearts. I loved them. My sister Alice was less than thrilled. It seemed to me that Mrs. Blohm was always cooking something.

Mrs. Blohm in 2010

I can’t remember who it was, but one of our neighbors gave my mom some sourdough starter years ago while we were living in Rotterdam. I have a feeling it was Mrs. Blohm, but it could have just as easily been Mrs. LeGere, Mrs. Guyette, Mrs. Vincetore or Mrs. Middleton or any one of the neighbors.

Mr. and Mrs. Guyette, 2010

Making sourdough bread requires a starter which is also sometimes called a seed or a sponge. I don’t know the recipe that the Wawona used to make their sourdough bread, but I can provide you a sponge recipe courtesy of Irma Rombauer, Marion Becker and Ethan Becker’s Joy of Cooking cookbook.

If you don't already have a copy of Joy of Cooking, I urge you to get one. It is often the first place I look when I want to learn how to cook something. I have many cookbooks at home. Often I look at two or three different versions of a recipe taken from different books just to see which version appeals to me most.

This allows me to see what the common elements are to the dish. Once you know what the common elements are, it is easier to customize a recipe to your taste, For instance, once you know what makes a cheesecake a cheesecake (in other words how much cream cheese, flour and eggs do you need for a basic cheesecake), you can decide if you want to make a sweet cheesecake, a vanilla or chocolate cheesecake or a savory cheesecake). But enough about cheesecakes, I wanted to share with you a recipe for making sourdough bread.

Like I said earlier, sourdough all starts with the sponge. Making the sponge (or starter) is easy, though it does take a few days to complete. But it is worth it. It is the starter (or sponge) that is used to extend the fermentation time. This extended time allows for the development of the complex flavor and texture that make sourdough breads so appealing.

Once you have successfully created your sponge, it can last for years if it is periodically fed with additional flour and water. You will only use a portion of the sponge each time you bake; the balance of the sponge will remain to grow for next time.

Natural Sourdough Stater

(Courtesty of Joy of Cooking)

I find this is best started in the evening due to the time lapse between steps.

Stir together:

½ Cup of Bread Flour (do not use All Purpose or Self Rising Flour)

¼ Cup of lukewarm Water

Turn this out onto a clean (and unfloured) work surface and knead the dough using the heel of your hand until the dough becomes smooth and elastic.

Return the dough to the bowl and cover tightly with plastic wrap. Poke 4 or 5 holes in the plastic to allow the starter to breathe. Let this stand a room temperature or 12 to 15 hours.

Mix into the starter:

½ Cup of Bread Flour (do not use All Purpose or Self Rising Flour)

¼ Cup of lukewarm Water

Re-cover the bowl with the plastic wrap. Don’t forget the holes. Allow it to stand for another 12 to 15 hours.

Transfer the starter into a larger bowl and continue feeding it by mixing in you guessed it) :

½ Cup of Bread Flour (do not use All Purpose or Self Rising Flour)

¼ Cup of lukewarm Water

Recover the bowl again with the perforated plastic wrap, but this time let it stand at room temperature for 24 hours. After 24 hours the sponge should have started to rise and bubble. You will now need to feed the starter on a regular basis. With each feeding, the starter will become looser and the bubbling activity will increase. Many people liken the consistency to pancake batter.

Mix into the starter:

½ Cup of Bread Flour (do not use All Purpose or Self Rising Flour)

¼ Cup of lukewarm Water

This time, cover with new plastic wrap, BUT do not poke holes in it. Let it stand until it rises and the surface of the sponge has bubbles all over it. This should take about 12 hours.

Feed the starter once more with:

½ Cup of Bread Flour (do not use All Purpose or Self Rising Flour)

¼ Cup of lukewarm Water

Cover again with plastic wrap and let rise until risen and bubbly. This should take about 4 to 8 hours. By now, the sponge should begin to take on a faint sour or tangy aroma. It is now ready to use in your sourdough recipe. It is best to use the starter between 4 to 8 hours after the last feeding. If you wait too long after feeding it, the yeast will not be as active. If you use it too soon after feeding, the yeast will be diluted. Always be sure to use the starter in recipes when it is at room temperature

Starters kept at room temperature need to be fed every 12 hours. Starters used less often can be kept in the refrigerator and fed just once a week.

photo courtesy of pinchmysalt.com

Sourdough Bread

(courtesy of Joy of Cooking)

Combine in a large Mixing Bowl:

2 Cups of Sourdough Starter (or sponge)

1 ½ Cups of lukewarm Water

4 Cups of Bread Flour

Mix by hand until a sticky dough forms. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 12 to 14 hours or until the rise id just about doubled in size. I know this seems like a long time, but the slower rise results in a better texture and wonderful flavor.

Allow the dough to come to room temperature and then add in:

½ Cup of Bread Flour

4 Teaspoons of table Salt or fine Sea Salt

Knead by hand for 7 to 10 minutes until it becomes smooth and elastic and is no longer sticky to the touch. Cover loosely with plastic wrpa and allow to rise 10 more minutes.

Shape, let rise 2 to 4 hours and then bake in a preheated 450 degree oven for about 45 minutes or until golden brown.

If you think the bread in the oven smells great, just wait until you taste it. It is even better than you can imagine.

Once the bread has cooled, but still warm, cut yourself a thick slice, smear it with a pad (or two) of butter and take a bite.

Once you have tasted this bread, fresh from the oven, perhaps you will find yourself pondering whether or not you could live on bread alone.