Page Two, Ben's Favorites

For major summer holidays my parents and their friends gathered for picnics at each other’s homes, alternating the hosting duties. These were potluck affairs with picnic tables and lawn chairs set up in the copious back yards that are typical in the Midwest. The backdrop was abundant green grass and flower gardens, shaded by towering elm trees, with fire flies blinking as darkness came on.


Each family contributed to the meal and sometimes hot dogs and hamburgers were grilled over an outdoor fireplace. We children liked to watch for the occasional snake slithering out after the wood fire was lit. At home, we had long metal forks for cooking hot dogs over the open fire, adjustable in length to protect our hands from the heat. These forks came in handy for roasting marshmallows over the coals after dinner.

Potato salad was always popular fare at picnics, and our mother preferred a friend’s recipe, a woman of Danish descent named Aasta Swift. Mom was still making this potato salad when we brought our families to visit and feast on summer meals. Ben especially liked the salad, and Mom would hand him a tasting spoon as she prepared it, to be sure she got it just right for him. Have I mentioned that Ben was spoiled!

      Aasta’s Potato Salad
      3 large russet potatoes (or any firm potato)
      3 or 4 extra-large hard-boiled eggs
      One thinly sliced mild onion

Mayonnaise seasoned with lemon juice and prepared mustard (approximately one cup mayonnaise to two tablespoons lemon juice and one teaspoon mustard)

Cook potatoes in jackets in salted water. Cool, skin and slice. In a serving dish, cover the bottom with a layer of potato, spread with seasoned mayonnaise. Add a layer of onion and sliced egg. Continue with layers and end with mayonnaise and egg on top. Chill several hours; should serve 6 generously.
    
As Ben, Alan and I talked with Mom about which of her recipes to include in the cookbook, we agreed that we’d each contribute at least one of our own. All three of us liked to cook, and our mother encouraged us. She said that the food we prepared tasted as good to her as her own, a fine compliment coming from our beloved mentor.

Fresh seafood in the Midwest was a rare commodity when we were growing up. By the time Ben moved back, jet air service had changed that. He searched out the good markets in Omaha where he bought raw tuna for sashimi, oysters and other seafood delicacies he’d learned to love while living on the east and west coasts.

His recipe for stuffed shrimp seems simple, but impeccably fresh crab meat and shrimp and careful attention to cooking time make this a challenging dish to prepare. Another huge recipe, you can reduce the amounts to serve fewer people.

      Ben’s Stuffed Shrimp

8-10 pounds large shrimp (shelled and deveined, leave tails intact)
1 ½ cups crab meat, shredded
1 cup mayonnaise
1-2 ounces capers, drained
Paprika

Place shrimp on cookie sheet, curled to create space for stuffing. Mix crab meat, mayonnaise and capers; put a tablespoon of this mixture into curl of each shrimp. Sprinkle with paprika. Bake at 325 degrees. Remove from oven as soon as shrimp are done (about 6 minutes). Do not overcook.

      Mom’s Note: Ingredients can be varied according to taste.
     
From early childhood on, Ben and I had notable clashes, but we also had mutual respect and compatible interests. I admired and emulated him as my big brother, and he adored and tried to protect me, sometimes against my will, as his little sister.

He was especially watchful when I began dating, sometimes to my embarrassment. Like the time he appeared at the front door of our house in his underwear to chase off a boy he thought was lingering too long saying goodnight to me.

In my baby book, Mom wrote, “Bunny often embraces her but also teases.” This was the essence of our dynamic.

I loved it when my big brother paid attention to me and hated it when he teased or bossed me. But we both knew that our bond was solid. Love is, after all, the central emotion between siblings, even though they don’t always recognize it.

Recipes are from the collection of Anna May Cullison.

 
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