My Grandmother’s Cookbook Ch. 01

Please forgive the spelling and the grammar. I am not a writer and do not pretend to be one. I do this for my own fun.

Thank you for reading my stories.

Like every other kid growing up in the Midwest, I had fond memories of my grandparents, especially grandma. She was a kind and generous woman that always had time for her family or one of her numerous friends. She always to made everyone she met feel like they were at home. She told me it was the way she was brought up, and she didn't know any other way.

Her heritage was German and a little Dutch. However, her blond hair led me to think there was a bit of Norwegian somewhere in the mix.

My grandfather, on the other hand, was born in northern Germany. His demeanor was that of someone from Prussia, stern, strict, and he came across cold to some people. But he had a soft side for his grandchildren, always having a bag of smoked jerky for us or letting us have a few of his prized nightcrawlers so we could go fishing.

My grandparents lived on 50 acres of land. Twenty of it was a Christmas tree farm. The rest was a mix of open areas and forest. Behind their land was state forest land. As a young boy, you can only imagine having so some land to explore, hunting, fishing, and running around.

Their cabin was 20 miles outside of a one blinking light town. To get to their place, you had to drive Hwy 131, 15 miles, then turn right just after the "Cat's Paw Bar" on county road 59. Then 5 miles down the two-lane road, turn right on a dirt trail before the Christmas trees on your right. It was hard to find if you had never been there before. The dirt trail wandered between the oaks and maple trees and Christmas trees on the other. Eventually, you would come to a fork in the trail. To get to their cabin, you had to go right at the fork. You continue thru more trees till you came to their place. If you stayed on the main trail, 5 miles further, you would end up at the dead end. A short walk would take you to a small stream that fed a river further downstream.

They had a small cabin surrounded by giant oak trees. It has five rooms plus the front porch, the kitchen where my grandmother was always cooking something or canning some preserves. The back bedroom where they slept, I wasn't supposed to go in there. The family room off the kitchen. In the center of the room was a big stone fireplace. In the winter, it was the cabin's primary heat source. Finally, there was a small bathroom off the family room, behind the kitchen. It seemed to be an add-on. Probably because the cabin had been built many years ago and still had an outhouse in the back.

We would visit them every chance we could, making the 3-1/2-hour drive to see them.

Typically we would visit them in the spring after the streams had thawed. While we were visiting, we would try our luck fishing for brook trout. If we caught any, we would bring them back so my grandma would make fresh fish for dinner. Sometimes I would go with her to pick wild mushrooms for some delicious soup.

In summer, we would visit to escape the heat of the city. We would sneak out and go cool off in the stream that ran thru their property. Many times she would take me to pick fresh blue or blackberries for her famous pie.

The fall was always rabbit hunting. She had a way of cooking up rabbits, so they tasted great. Then, for dessert, she would bring out her famous apple strudel.

We never missed a Thanksgiving at my grandparents' house. She always had more home-cooked food than you could eat in a week. One of Thanksgiving traditions was to pick out our Christmas tree during our visit. We would wander thru the rows and rows of trees to find the perfect tree that would be ours for Christmas. Then, my grandmother would have the harvesters cut it down and set it aside. She would bring it to our house the week before Christmas.

Visting them in wintertime was one of my favorites. They would bring out the snowmobiles. My brothers and I raced up and down between the trees and trails. My grandfather would plow the drive piling the snow at the end of the drive. We would use it as a ramp to get airborne. It might have been 3 feet high, but it was like jumping off the edge of a mountain to my brothers and I.

I remember spending a few weeks with my grandparents one particular summer after going to a local summer camp. The camp was next to a lake and with cabins for the campers and counselors. I had a great time with my brothers and my cousin. After the week at camp, we spent three weeks at my grandparents' house. My grandfather made arrangements to borrow a couple of horses from a nearby neighbor. It was like a dream, riding horses all day, fishing in the streams, or exploring the forest.

One day my grandmother asked if we would like to berry picking with her. It was one of her favorite things to do. My brothers said they were more interested in riding the horses, so I went with her. We picked wild blueberries and blackberries, and we came across the patch of mushrooms. These were a particular type that my grandmother loved. When I was a child, I loved wild blackberries. So I ate some of the berries as we picked them. Well, I probably ate a little too much and became sick to my stomach.

When we got back, my grandmother, said I have something to settle your stomach. she pulled out the cookbook, looked up a recipe, through together some stuff. I was not sure exactly what was in it, and it did look funky. She handed it to me and told me to drink it. I did, and almost immediately, I felt better, like it was magic. My grandmother called it her magic stomach recipe.

She always had some sort of recipe when you felt sick or something wrong. So out came the book. Even if you had a broken arm, there was a recipe for that. She told me that she had a recipe that would even fix a broken heart, then she laughed.

Most of her recipes were original, or ones passed down from her mother. They were handwritten on the pages or scribbled notes on pieces of scrap paper. There were some even on index cards. All kept in a black leather-bound book she called her cookbook. That she kept on the top shelf in the upper cabinet, she only brought it out if she couldn't remember a part of the recipe, pulling it out to double-check, then putting it back. Sometimes she would try something new in the recipe, and if it worked, she would bring out her book and adjust the recipe.

I only saw it, maybe half a dozen times or so. Once I asked if I could look at it. She said, "No, it's just a bunch of scribblings that I keep for myself. There is nothing that would interest you, darling." Then she gave me a cookie and a big hug.

I remember many afternoons playing canasta with her. She was a master card shark. When I knew I was going to win, she would play all her cards and go out, leaving me holding a hand of cards that counted against me. I don't think I did ever win, but we always had fun trying.

I don't know if my grandmother ever slept. She'd be up in the morning making breakfast or doing a crossword puzzle. When I was going to bed, she would be playing canasta or solitaire in the evening.

As I grew older, it became harder and harder to see my grandma. My parents moved to another state further away. I became busy with my own life. I found a girl, finished school, and started to work. I did not see my grandmother but only a few times a year.

When I got married, she came to the wedding. We all had a great time. At the reception, I was not able to spend much time with her to catch up. But I did get to talk with her a little bit and promised to come to visit her soon.

My grandparents had a small place on the other side of this state, where she and my grandfather would spend the winters to get away from the cold.

My wife, Kim, and I would visit them as often as we could. On one trip, Kim saw a little thrift store off the highway and wanted to stop to see what they had. Kim found this tiny light blue baby shirt. She loved it, so we bought it. When we got to my grandmother's, Kim showed it to her. She looked at it, then said," Oh, that's magical. It's a sign that you're going to have a little baby boy."

We looked at each other and shrugged it off. On the way home, Kim told me she wasn't feeling right and to stop at the drug store and get a pregnancy test. At home, she used the test, and it came back positive.

"How did your grandmother know I was pregnant?"

"I have no idea!" I called her to tell her that Kim was pregnant and asked her how she knew. She congratulated us and said that a little bird told her.

Six months later, at her house in the woods, she quietly passed in her sleep.

I went to the funeral to pay my respects and say a final goodbye to a great lady. After the service, we went back to her house for some food and drinks. We all talked about the good times, the food she cooked, and the special memories we shared with her.

Since my grandfather had passed away a month before my grandmother, my mother stayed to clean out the cabin and sort out her parent's affairs. I stayed a few extra days to help her go through the papers and stuff. We set aside things other people ask if they could keep to remind them of her.

While I was in the kitchen, I remembered the cookbook. It was on the top shelf of the upper cabinets where my grandmother always kept it. I asked my mother if I could have the book, and she said that she knew that her mother would want me to have it. So I packed it away for later when I got home.

A few months passed, and one afternoon, I remembered the book. I picked it up and started scrolling through the pages. I found the recipe for her famous apple strudel, rabbit stew, venison, and beef jerky, how to cook wild turkey, and the best places to find wild mushrooms. At the very back of the book, I found her healing recipes. I found the one to use for my stomach ache as a child, one for broken bones, and even for a broken heart. She wasn't kidding; it was a dash of peppermint, a bit of brown chocolate, a splash of elderberry juice, a little lemoncello, a shot of blackberry brandy. I kept scrolling through the pages and came across a recipe on how to find true love. I was not familiar with many of the items and spices; I assumed they were from around the world.

There were some recipes in the last couple of pages that you would typically not think an older woman would need. There was a love potion, one for sex positions, how to make a woman aroused, how to get a man's cock hard. Seeing the recipes written in my grandmother's handwriting set me back. It was hard for me to imagine my grandmother in this fashion.

On the last page, there was a recipe labeled how to get anybody to do anything sexually for you. This one interested me. I looked further into the recipe had lots of ingredients that were very foreign, and I would have to order them online. I figured there was nothing to lose, so I ordered the ingredients. A few weeks later, they all showed up. I got the book out and mixed the ingredients.

The recommended dosage was four drops to make somebody a little submissive, eight drops to do anything you want. At the very end of the recipe in my grandmother's handwriting, there was a reminder to herself. I believe it was more of a warning that this potion was very strong and not to be taken likely, and only use small portions.

Knowing my grandmother, I knew there would be no health issues related to this recipe. It was basic herbs, spices, and other miscellaneous things. I wasn't worried about permanently injuring anyone.

Then I put it in the cabinet to ferment. I became busy with some projects and forgot about it. The weeks passed, then I remembered I had the potion fermenting and looked at the calendar. I realize that it had actually fermented an extra couple of weeks. I didn't think it would make a difference. I haven't even thought about who I was going to try it out on.

I always wanted my wife Kim to be a little bit more daring and expose a little more skin. So I concocted a plan to take her out to a restaurant outside our normal area. I bought her a new summer dress that I knew she would never purchase herself. It was cut low in the front with a free-flowing skirt down to her knees. The material was semi-transparent, and if the light showed behind her, you could make out her silhouette and more. We made plans to go out the following Friday night.

The evening came. I made Kim a drink and added two drops of the potion and gave it to her before she took her bath. The recipe said that it took half an hour for the effects to take hold. After Kim dried off, I asked, "What are you going to wear?"

"I don't know; I sure wish I had something new to wear."

Here was my chance for the first test.

"I bought you something I thought you might like to wear." Handing her the new dress, she held out the dress then looked back at me.

"I don't know, Tim. It looks pretty sheer."

"I want you to wear it."

She looked back at me and said." I will do whatever you want me to do."

She put the dress on and then looked at herself in the mirror. "I love these clothes, Tim."

I could make out her nipples poking through the material, and when the light was behind her, I could see her pubic mound. The true test would be later on, and how far she would be willing to expose herself to other people.

We finished getting ready and headed off to the restaurant. Other than being willing to do as I asked, Kim seemed normal. She talked like there was nothing different, acting the same way, laughing, and enjoying herself. It didn't even bother her that people could make out her breasts through the material of the dress. After dinner, we took a little walk along the street. The lights were dim. Most of the people were too busy to notice Kim.

She felt comfortable and at ease, not knowing what I had given her. We walked along to a small little city park with a few benches. "Would you like to sit on the bench?" I asked.

Smiling, as she sat down, "Anything you want."

"Kim, open your legs." Kim spread her knees about a foot apart.

"Open them further." Kim complied and spread them wide.

"Kim, pull up your skirt and show me your pussy."

"I think that's a little more than I want to do."

"OK, do you want to go home?"

"Yes," she said in a frisky tone. As we drove along, Kim looked over to me, "I'm horny," She pulled her dress down over her shoulders, squeezed her tits, then pushed them toward me. "Do you like them?"

" I've always loved your tits, Kim."

"How about my pussy?" she raised the hem of the dress, spread her legs. Then she slipped her fingers between her lips and spread them apart.

"I've always loved that too; that's why I married you." Then she moved her hand down, sliding her fingers deep into her little honeypot and rubbing her clit.

"Oh, you need to get home, soon. I need the real thing." We pulled into the garage, and before I could get the car in park, Kim was out of the car and had stripped out of her dress. She walked over to me and began taking off my clothes. She was so turned on and horny. She jumped up, putting her arms around my neck and her legs wraped around my waist, and was about to fuck me infront of the garage door. Not that I am a prude, but I didn't want the neighbors watching, so I walked her inside.

We made love three times that night, the most we've ever had.

The next morning Kim looked over at me in bed, "That was pretty wild, I don't know what got into me, but it was fun. I don't know if we'll do it again."

Thinking to myself, oh, we're going to do it again.

I didn't want to push her too far too fast, so I let the recipe set a little while and began to work on a plan for next time.