Banana Bread and Pickled Watermelon Rinds: How One Shef’s Grandmother Inspired Her Love of Cooking
Mary Eva Beamon Wilkins. Everybody called her Eva. My grandmother was always smiling. She used to cruise down the streets of Manhattan and Harlem in her bright red Cadillac. It had to be a ’68 or ’69. That car always smelled like new leather. There were 13 kids in my family. At a time, we could fit 6 of us in the back of that Cadillac. It had a bench seat in the front and little seats that flipped out the back. No seatbelts. The minute we hopped into the car, she would hand us warm packages wrapped up in wax paper, with their edges twisted like tootsie rolls.
Inside would be a warm slice of banana bread or carrot cake, a muffin, a danish, or crispy lemony tart. My grandmother always said, if you are fed — if your belly is warm and your tummy is full, then you are ok. No matter what is going on in the world around you, you are ok.
My grandfather, Bernard, had a fruit cart in Harlem. I spent lots of weekends at my grandmother’s house — that is pretty much where I fell into the world — where I learned how to cook and how I fell in love with cooking. Whatever my grandfather didn’t sell, we would eat or pickle and can. My grandmother taught me how to preserve fruit and vegetables. Zucchini, squash, lemons, cucumbers, fuzzy peaches, purple and yellow plums, blueberries, blackberries. I remember cutting up the juicy insides of watermelons and then pickling the rind. That was my favorite. Her house was always lined up with jars of all shapes and sizes, and baskets of vegetables and fruit. Neighbors and friends would buy the preserves right from her home.
Boy did that house smell amazing. It’s so funny, at times in the kitchen, the smell of cloves, ginger, and cinnamon simmering on the stove makes me stop in my tracks and brings me back to my grandmother. I smell the warmth, the sweetness and I think of her.
My grandmother was a patient woman, but as well as being patient, she was very strict and diligent. She would teach us something once or twice, and she would expect us to get it.”What would you like to eat? Do you know how to make it? No? Well, we are going to learn how to make it together.”
When I turned 9, I began recreating her recipes on my own. I learned how to brown the butter, and caramelize the onions till they were golden and soft; when to add the warm herbs, and spices. My grandmother always made sure that I understood. She would say: “Do you understand? Do you have questions? She would hold me close and say, “Maryam, in life, you have to open your mouth and speak. That’s how you are going to get things in life. Nobody is going to do it for you.”
I am not classically trained, but my food is good. It is real good. It’s the kind of food you want to take your time on. I promise if you give it a try, you will enjoy it.
