Woah Nellie!

Stand back, Dad’s bringing in his ‘Kielbasa and Sauerkraut’!

by Mary Jo David

As many readers know, I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled for a Nellie Maxwell main dish recipe from 1924—one that doesn’t involve cow’s tongue, calves’ liver, or codfish gravy. This month I still didn’t have any luck when perusing the September 1924 issues of the Stockbridge Brief-Sun. I found “Braised Tongue,” “Peanut Butter Potatoes,” and something called “Rinktumditty of Cheese,” none of which tickled my fancy.

I decided, instead, to honor my dad’s legacy with this column, as he would have turned 100 years old on Aug. 9 of this year.

My dad was a hard worker, raising seven kids by often putting in extra hours and extra days in his job as a maintenance welder at the Ford Rouge Plant. Those long hours at work never dulled his patience and sense of humor. If anything, it was us kids who may have tried his patience, but he rarely let that show.

When he wasn’t fixing broken appliances, making car repairs, or trying to get the lawn to grow, he spent his evenings reading the newspaper or visiting with whatever drop-in company we had on a given day, usually mixing them one of the Manhattans he was known for.

In general, household stuff was not his bag, unless it was fixing something that was broken. Another thing I recall is that he never answered the phone when it rang. Why would he when seven of us kids would dive for it any time someone called; remember, those were the days before caller ID. And it was comical to watch on those rare occasions he had to make a phone call. He’d perch his reading glasses on the end of his nose, take the pencil that he usually kept over his ear, and very slowly and methodically use the eraser end to spin the rotary dial on the phone. Even as I type this, the memory is making me chuckle.

But enough with the sentimental stuff and back to the point of this column. Our dad didn’t start out as much of a cook. Mom relied on him to provide the muscle when it was time to mix the giant roaster pan full of pork for the Christmas pork pies or the huge bowl of dried fruit for the plum puddings. But that was about it. Except for when it came to his “Kielbasa and Sauerkraut.” Although he didn’t have a German or Polish bone in his body, this was the one dish we could count on my dad to make, but only for special occasions.

Those occasions became more frequent after he retired, when he was more than happy to make his specialty for family baptisms and/or First Communions—the bigger the quantity required, the better. And he always made it a day before the party to allow the flavors to mingle.

Our memories are made even sweeter when we recall how he transported the finished dish to our homes. The giant, silver Magnalite roaster, filled almost to the top, was cinched with a belt to keep the contents from spilling in the family station wagon. (Some men loved sleek red race cars; Ed David preferred solid, wood-paneled station wagons!)

Less trusting folks would take one look at him coming through the door with that roaster and suspect he was carting a bomb into the house!

Admittedly, I never made my dad’s recipe for “Kielbasa and Sauerkraut” until now. I think I preferred to keep the memory tucked away where I couldn’t spoil it by messing up the recipe. I wish I’d had him here this time to coach me on whether to buy regular or smoked kielbasa (I bought smoked); whether to bake the sauerkraut mixture covered or uncovered (I covered it); and what to do after adding the cut-up kielbasa. (I put the covered roaster back in the oven for another hour.)

But as I share his special recipe with all of you, I know, without a doubt, that he’d be just as happy as we were with the result. And if he could, he’d be calling me from heaven (on a rotary-dial phone, of course), to tell me to be sure to save him some!