Advent Diary, day 4 - Meatballs Seasoned With Tears

Jutta rang last night; her mum, my cousin Helga, had died the previous afternoon. Helga was my last real connection with family in Germany, the last person with whom I could play that wonderful, heartbreaking, haunting, game “Do You Remember?” Although she was ten years older than me, we shared many memories of childhood and the old way of life.  We telephoned each other just two or three times a year; each time the link was re-established effortlessly. We spoke to each other in Low German, laughing, giggling and sighing in unison, and recalling long lost family members. Now she’s gone.

When I’m sad, cooking helps. I enjoy cooking at any time, but in times of crisis I find preparing food to be both soothing and healing, the messier the better. I found all the ingredients in freezer and store cupboard: minced pork, a roll of sausage meat and a slab of stuffing with nuts and cranberries. Add marjoram, thyme and oregano, herby French mustard, salt and pepper and get kneading with your bare hands.

When all the ingredients are well mixed, form the meat dough into balls, again with bare hands, and either fry in a little olive oil or grill.

I fried mine; for one thing, fried food is comforting (I don’t very often indulge) and for another, you get these gorgeous burnt bits, which scrape into a delicious Hunter’s sauce made with wine and slivers of champignons.

We had a portion each for our dinner, toasting my dear old friend Helga and wishing her safe journey into the next world. It’s what we do in my world, food and drink are for the dead as well as the living.