In the kitchen

My daughters and I have spent so much time in the kitchen of late.  I wonder why we never did this before.

Tonight we’re making knefflies.  It’s a German food like a cross between a spaetzle and a dumpling and drowned in butter…not margarine…butter.  Butter!

I first fell in love with knefflies as a child when my mom made them for me from a recipe from her mom who fed them to her as a child.  ”It’s a German food,” I’d always been told.  And while I’ve never seen them in Germany (yet), I’m game to keep going back to try.

Tonight, I’m teaching my youngest—Meg—how to make this noodly side dish.

We put the thick-cut, organic pork chops from the farm up the road into a simmering stock (they had been browned the night before).  Then we filled the large pot with water and began the boiling process.

Out came the flour and the measuring cups and eggs and salt…and butter.  REAL butter made by a grass-fed cow farm within 20 miles of my house.  I’ve never thought I could eat just butter (though Meg assures me she’s thought of it lots and is convinced she absolutely could), I contemplate it now.

Mixing ensued.  Then came the kneading.  Oh, I love kneading!  It’s why I make homemade bread every weekend.  Well, that and I truly take great delight in seeing the dough come to life as it rises, gets punched down, then rises again.

Life seems somehow better, simpler, clearer when your sleeves are rolled up  and your fingers are covered in bits of flour and water and egg pushing a lump of dough around on a lightly floured counter.  Once the ingredients were mixed together into a ball of smooth elasticity, we head for the boiling pot of salted water.

Pinch by pinch the dough goes into the water, sinking to the bottom of the pot.  Oblong pinches, round pinches, long pinches, fat pinches, the more character the knefffly has, the better!  Our fingers are getting stickier and stickier.  The dough, a little more pliable and gooey as we pinch more and more morsels into the bubbling pot.

Slowly they start rising and gathering on top where the water and steam meet.  A foam is forming around them, the bubbling is so fierce. Are there knefflies hiding in that foam? For certain!

We wait until the pot is full of floating mounds of dough before scooping them with the metal colander into a glass pot where a full stick of butter waits to transform into a liquid cream that thus transforms the steaming lumps of part-noodle-part-dumpling dough into delectable morsels of heavenly goodness.

I’d sneak a bite, but my tongue is already burnt from testing the pork gravy and my hands are far too messy from the dough.  Still, I contemplate it while my oldest daughter hands me a glass of white wine saying “you can wipe off the glass easy enough.”

Meg is stirring the second round to make sure they don’t stick to the bottom, or each other.  ”Do we have to eat the pork and green beans?  Can’t we just eat knefflies?” she asks hopefully.  She’s not a fan of most green vegetables, unfortunately, but GOSH! they smell divine!  They smell like summer and grass and freshness all wrapped up in one.  I test those instead of the knefflies.

Meg shakes her head at me ruefully and asks if she should begin setting the table.   My daughters often fight about who’s going to set the table.  I admit, I like to do so myself.  There’s just something wonderful about eyeing the food—shape, texture, color and ethnic origin and matching it with our collection of mismatched fine china to determine which plates would best display the food.  It’s an art form all in its own right.

The same with glasses based on whatever they’re drinking.  I admit, Gentle Penguin, it was a little odd to watch them drink milk from stemmed water tumblers once, but tonight they opt for glass steins from various German festivals filled to the brim with our homemade iced tea.

Only the napkins remain a battle.

Cloth only!  ”There’s no use wasting paper on napkins when cloth napkins are far more functional, protective and useful…not to mention ecologically and economically sound,” I say exasperated.

Paper napkins!  ”Who cares about ‘-ically’ stuff,’” shouts my youngest with a wild and dramatic flourish of her hands.  ”Paper napkins clean up spills and are healthier,”

I doubt that, but we settle on cloth napkins easily as they size up the argument and acquiesce.

It’s time to settle in for a heaping portion of knefflies in melted butter.  And pork with pork gravy (a little lumpy as I realize too late you can’t stir in the flour mixture with a wooden spoon).

I don’t know if it’s the food—certainly it was heavenly!—But the easy laughter, the dim lights of the candles, the design of fine china, glasses, food textures and colors and the smells mixed with news of what matters to my daughters, what they think about, what they’re up to and what they have on their minds make the experience the perfect way to wrap up my day.  I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.

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