Sauerkraut,Sausage and Dumplings! Oh My!

Sauerkraut, with sausage and dumplings was a staple at every evening meal at our house while I was growing up. Not just any sauerkraut, but kraut made according to my Dad's family recipe brought over from Germany in the 1800's.

My sister and I have often joked that in order to survive in our family, the babies had to be born with lead stomachs. We had to watch Dad pretty closely whenever we brought home a new arrival, because the first chance he got, he would slip them a taste of "kraut juice".

I kid you not! We'd turn around and he'd have a teaspoon up to their mouths and they'd be smacking their lips in delight! We could only assume our children liked the taste because we'd both eaten plenty of kraut throughout our pregnancies.

Of the seven grandchildren in the family, there's only one I know of who doesn't love sauerkraut, and that's my youngest son. What can I say? I suppose sooner or later a finicky one would have to come along.

I never understood why most of my friends turned their noses up at sauerkraut until I figured out that not everyone was privileged to have the same kind we had. Our kraut was totally different than the store bought stuff. Ours started out as cabbage in our own garden. When the time (which was determined by the phase of the moon) came, we'd pick the huge heads of cabbage and gather the kraut cutter, mason jars, canning salt and the garden hose together on the back porch.

Dad would methodically slide each head of cabbage back and forth over the blades of the kraut cutter, producing mounds of shavings, which my sister, mother and I would scoop up and put into mason jars one after another.

Picture an 10' x 20' concrete porch covered with mason jars full of shredded cabbage! We had to have enough kraut to get us through the whole year, and for our family, that was a LOT!

After the cabbage was in the jars, we'd put a handful of canning salt on top. Then came the garden hose, (which was my favorite part of the process). The jars would be topped off with water right out of the hose, and lids would be applied loosely. Dad explained that if the lids were tightened right away, the jars would explode from the gases that developed as the cabbage turned to kraut.

We'd carry the finished jars into the basement where they'd sit for several weeks (also determined by the phase of the moon) Only then could we tighten the lids.

Once the allotted time had passed, the kraut would be declared "ready"by the kraut-master himself, and the feasting would begin!

I remember so well, Dad leaning over the stove with smoked sausage sizzling in an iron skillet and sauerkraut simmering in a separate pan. After frying, he would mix the sausage into the kraut.

Next came dumplings, made simply from eggs and flour. He'd form a stiff mixture from the two ingredients and pinch off pieces the size of a quarter, dropping them one by one into the bubbling pot of kraut and sausage.

After the dumplings were added, he'd take the skillet with the meat drippings still in it and add flour to make "gravy". The gravy was apparently a very important step, as Dad explained to me more than once, that in order to be done correctly, it had to be poured over the top and allowed to seep slowly down through the rest of the mixture.

Ahhh! The aroma flooded the house and made our mouths water! There's nothing much better than a meal of sauerkraut, sausage and dumplings with a side of mashed potatoes (also home grown and made) and a tall glass of sweet tea!

When I visited my family in Ohio over New Years, I managed to swipe a couple quart jars of kraut from my sister. Today, I finally decided to prepare the dish I grew up on. This is a real treat! Since neither my husband or son care for sauerkraut sausage and dumplings, I get the whole pan to myself!

I'm not sure I did everything exactly right. I couldn't resist the urge to stir the gravy into the rest of the mix before it had time to "seep" in ... and my dumplings came out a bit more spongy than I would have liked. Over all, I think I did ok though. I know Dad would be proud to know I at least made the effort.

Tonight, I will feast on the wondrous delight as I reminisce the days of making kraut on the back porch with my parents and sister on those hot summer evenings forty years ago.

Oooooo! It's going to be wunderbar!


Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
http://www.boldnewday.com

Hurles Blood

My father says our family has something he refers to as "Hurles blood".

"Hurles" was my paternal grand-mother's maiden name. Her family was known for it's boisterous behavior. They were a fun bunch, always laughing and joking around. There was never a dull moment when they were together. They were fiercely loyal to the people they loved and didn't take much flack from anybody.

So, whenever my sister Connie or I complained about something hurtful someone had said or done to us, Dad would always say, "What's the matter? Don't you have any Hurles blood?"

That, of course meant we were supposed to either get up, shake it off and laugh about it ... or go kick some butt.

You know, act like a "Hurles".

Of course, even though being born with "Hurles blood" brings with it some responsibility,(like you've got to know how to control it) it is overall a good thing. Although our family members have more than our fair share of sassiness, we also have more fun than most. We can find humor in just about anything.

At 89 years old, Dad's "Hurles blood" still flows strongly thru his veins. His mind comes and goes at times though, and we've noticed lately that the line between real and imaginary has gotten slightly blurred for him.

For instance, last week Dad started asking my sister where his black car was.

A fair question of course, since there was no black car in his garage.

The problem is that as far as we know, Dad does not now, nor has he ever owned a black car. We still can't figure out where the idea of a black car came from, yet Dad has been insistant that he indeed DOES own a black car and now it is missing. He is quite distraught that no one seems interested in helping him find it.

Finally, after almost a week of questioning, Dad was talking on the phone to my sister about it from my niece, Stacia's house.

"I think I loaned my black car to Jug", he commented. ("Jug" is the nickname he gave my nephew Chad)

Connie, jumping on the notion that this could be an opportunity to put the issue to rest once and for all, said. "Yes, that's right Dad. You loaned it to him."

So, Dad asked, "Well why hasn't he brought it back?"

Ugh!

That question sparked the "Hurles blood" in my sister and she replied, "DAD! O.K.! YES! Chad borrowed your black car and wrecked it! It's gone!"

And Dad responded, "Well, where is it?"

"It's in the junk yard ... totalled!"

Dad again: "Which junk yard?."

My sister, "DAD! I don't even know, but it's GONE!"

Dad: "Well then, we need to find out, because I should at least get some insurance money out of it."

Frustrated, Connie gave Dad a straight talk about the condition of his memory. "Remember what I told you before about the black car, Dad?" she asked.

"Yes"

"What did I say about it?."

You said I am only imagining that I had a black car and it never really existed."

"OK Dad, so tell me. Do you have a black car?"

"No. I don't" he said, obviously disappointed at the admission.

"Now give the phone back to Stacia" Connie instructed him.

Doing as he was told, Dad handed the receiver to Stacia, muttering something inaudible in the process.

Stacia's laughter erupted over the line.

"What did he say?" Connie asked her daughter.

"He said to see if I could find out anything about his black car for him."

That's "Hurles blood" for you. Once we've set our minds to something, we don't give in easily.

"Hurles blood" keeps us witty and at times a force to be reckoned with.

Having "Hurles blood" gives us the determination it takes to get what we want out of life ... most of the time.

It's "Hurles blood" that has kept every member of Dad's family very much alive and robust right up to the end of their natural life on earth.

When I look at my own grandchildren, I can see that the "Hurles blood" has not lost an ounce of momentum as it's made it's way through the many generations of Hurles offspring.

My grandparents on Dad's side of the family all passed away before I was born. I never had the privilege of meeting them. But yet I know them just the same.

I grew to love them through knowing my Dad and his sisters. They were a lot like me and my sister, our kids, and now our grandchildren. All fun loving, loud, happy boisterous, strong willed, perserverant. (Alright, yes ..maybe even slightly stubborn ... sometimes downright mule-headed)

We're all good people. We all have Hurles blood. We've surely made Dad very proud!

That should be some consolation to him, considering we never did manage to locate his little black car.