The Big “A” Boomers Fear: Observing Alzheimer’s 1

That recurring nightmare. The one where you arrive in class only to find out a test is on the agenda. Or a term paper is due. And, once again, your scattered brain is caught unaware, even though everyone else in the class is fully prepared.

So vivid. So real.

You jerk awake, feverishly perspiring. Mercifully. It’s but a dream.

But suppose you did not wake up just in the nick of time? Suppose you could not shake the nightmare? It persisted, your new reality, throughout the day.

Or in the case of someone we love, suppose you are due in court to represent a client? You toss restlessly all night. You arise in the morning frantic to find the papers.

Those papers the client entrusted to you. Those papers of which there are no other copies. You wander looking for those papers – the ones “they” took.

No one you ask professes any knowledge of them. No one you tell seems to comprehend the importance of the missing files. You are panicked, but they all seem unconcerned.

The client is scheduled to arrive any minute to meet with you; yet, you have done nothing for him.

You watch the clock, awaiting the appointed time.

You were always so responsible. So reliable. Now caught flat-footed. Unprepared. Unable to remember any facts of the case. You put your hand to your head, as though that will force the jumbled file cabinet inside to spring open.

How is this happening? How will you face “this old guy” who put his faith in you?

2 o’clock slowly, slowly comes.

And goes.

The client doesn’t show.

Repeat.

Grandma’s rusks refuse to be rushed…

This description of a treasured recipe handed down to husband Lamar was published in the 2012 February-March issue of San Antonio Taste Magazine as part of a feature article I wrote on artisan breads:

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Grandma – my husband Lamar’s grandmother, Virginia Lamar Hornor (1895-1988) – always claimed the secret to her rusks was her ancient gas Chamberlain stove. The recipe she used was handed down through the Lamar family as they migrated from Georgia to Mexico to try to earn a living in the decades after the Civil War.

The best guess for the origins of this rustic bread is that shortages of white flour during the war led to a more creative use of graham flour, a version of whole wheat. While born out of necessity, the recipe remains a family favorite for its taste, probably boosted by a heavy dash of sentimentality.

To me, and perhaps to Lamar’s mother as well who declined to tackle it, the recipe is hardly one at all. What is “enough” graham flour? Four cups? Six cups? What kind of “sponge?” How much white flour is “sufficient?”

But Lamar gamely picked up the tradition where Grandma left off. Through the years, he has developed some rather picky (my word) rules about preparation and ingredients; although I admit they enhance the flavor.

A yeast cake yields better results than dry yeast, and we finally have been able to find the cakes in the refrigerator section of Central Market. We have switched to King Arthur Premium 100% Whole Wheat Flour because its texture and flavor more closely mimics the harder, if not impossible, to find graham than standard, more finely ground whole wheat flours. And it must be freshly purchased; no matter if the canister is already full.

The nutmeg must be freshly grated, again for texture and taste. Early efforts to grate the hard kernel almost always resulted in blood, but I recently purchased a new one at Melissa Guerra’s at Pearl that offers ample protection for the fingers.

All mixing and kneading is done by hand because the only way to determine when the proportions are correct is by feel.

Warning: Rusks refuse to rise when rushed. Even when preparing for an evening meal, they should be covered and set out the night before for the first rise.

How this banker by day, baker by night knows how much flour or water to add when defies my understanding. I’ve decided it is an inbred bread sense, similar to the way he plays the guitar by ear. I don’t have it, but should you, this recipe could become a treasured one for your family as well.

Post-Thanksgiving Thought: Why 1963 Was a Very Good Year

1963: Innovations in the kitchen, while even more helpful, begin to grow more complex. The P-7 self-cleaning oven is introduced. In developing the oven, which uses a pyrolytic system to remove food soil, GE engineers are granted some 100 patents.

While it took about another two decades for a self-cleaning oven to enter any of the houses in which we have lived, what a great invention GE brought to life.

Last night I pressed a button, and this morning I woke up to find all traces of Thanksgiving had vanished from my oven.