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When I was young, my family used to go to my Amma’s house for dinner on Sundays. “Amma” is the word for grandma in Icelandic, for anyone who may be wondering. I can’t remember if it was every Sunday, or once a month, or even once every couple of months. It seemed like a regular occurrence, and I remember it as such.
We would pile into the car and make our way to her building on Sargent Avenue. She’d buzz us into the building and as we waited for the elevator, my sisters and I would always try to guess which of the elevator doors would open first. Funny enough, the kids and I still do that.
When we got to her floor, we would run down the hallway to greet our Amma, who would be standing in her doorway waiting for us. I always think about that now when I see my own kids running down the hallway of my parents’ condo building to greet them.
Shelley with her Amma in the 1990s. (Suppplied)
The table would be set with her best china — the plates with the yellow roses and gold trim, and the silverware with clusters of flowers on the stems. She always used the special dishes when we went to her place for dinner. The menu was always roast beef, perfectly cooked from what I remember, with some kind of jelly or ambrosia salad, and roasted vegetables. We’d feast. Everything tasted nice… even the jelly salads.
Then, after supper, my sisters and I would go into the den to watch The Wonderful World of Disney until it was time to go home.
These memories of Sundays at Amma’s house are all clumped together in my brain. I couldn’t for the life of me pick out a particular time that was more special or memorable than the other, or even tell you when this tradition started or when it ended. But it’s there, in my memory and in my heart. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have that tradition back.
It’s funny how the simple things like family dinners can evoke so many warm feelings.
Shelley with her Amma before her death in 2015. (Supplied)
The reason I was thinking about these Sunday dinners is because I was talking to my colleague Eva Wasney yesterday about the community cookbook project she’s working on in celebration of the Winnipeg Free Press’ 150th Anniversary. The book is called Homemade, and she’s asking people to submit recipes and the stories behind them. The recipes can be anything from a cherished family favourite to an easy weeknight staple. A food or recipe that, in some way, is important to you.
I’m still thinking about which recipes (if any) I have to share for this project. I only have a handful of recipes from my Amma, though sadly none of them are for roast beef or any of the fixings. If she used recipes for those Sunday night dinners, they are long gone.
If you have a recipe that you’d like to submit—whether it’s special to you, or just darn delicious and you think everyone should try it, you can submit it here.
Shelley Cook, Columnist
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