I Miss Dinners at Oma’s House

Her meals brought my family together in ways we rarely get to share now

“Ew! What is that!”

I walked into Oma’s house, and the smell of something wet and possibly rotting punched me in the face. The odor reminded me of what I smelt in nursing homes as I sang Christmas carols, only much stinkier.

My Oma chuckled. “It’s just cabbage. I’m making Kassler Rippchen for your Opa tonight.”

“What’s that?”

“Sauer kraut and smoked pork chops. Sauer kraut is made from the cabbage.”

“Well, it still smells gross.”

“But it tastes delicious,” Will said.

Oma patted him on the head, and he smirked at me.

“No one asked you.”

“You’re just jealous because you think cheeseburgers are the best meal ever.”

Jealous? Of stinky old-people food? Whatever.

I shook my head and tried to ignore my brother and the smell until Mom came to get us.

Ten years later, I am sitting with my best friends and our prom dates. I have asked my Oma to make her famous Kassler Rippchen. It is my favorite, and she loves cooking for her family. My friends are down to try homemade gourmet German food. And it is gourmet.

My Oma could have opened a restaurant with her food. She cooked by sight and smell, and she never missed.

Even when her eyesight began deteriorating, her food remained as consistent as any five-star establishment I’ve ever been in.

Her Kassler Rippchen blended savory and sour so that the flavors washed over your tongue and reminded you of the comforts of home. Even though my date left a lot to be desired, my senior prom is a fond memory because of the meal I shared with friends at the hands of my Oma.

Her schnitzel, perfectly toasted breading on the outside, was so tender you could cut the pork with a fork.

And her gravy — it complimented every dish — whether potatoes or meat, with every bite, each morsel melted into your soul. To taste Oma’s cooking was to understand what love was.

I will never have a meal like hers again.

Some restaurants come close, but no chef will ever replace my Oma. Her cooking cannot be replicated.

Family members have taken many of her recipes, so we do not lose them, but we all admit that our cooking does not compare to hers.

My Oma is responsible for my willingness to try different foods and my ability to bake a mean cheesecake.

Despite how much of what she cooked made her house smell, her food was always delicious. I learned that a strange smell to one person can be home to another.

Oma grew up in Frankfurt, Germany. She left for the United States after she met my grandfather, who’d been stationed as an engineer there.

Now married, living in a foreign country, and responsible for a menu, she avoided cooking the meals from home. She felt pressure to acclimate to the “American way of life” and learned to cook traditional American fare.

I have never tasted the food my mother grew up with, but she says Oma made the “best fried chicken ever.”

If Oma’s schnitzel is half as good as the fried chicken Mom describes, then she ate like a queen.

After Oma’s father died, she began to make more German food. Mom thinks Oma missed her home very much, and cooking German food was a way to remain close to the people she’d left behind.

My family fought and forged bonds around Oma’s table. Her food still brings us together today.

Every year, Mom hosts a celebration of Oma’s life. The family — my brother and his kids, myself and mine, Mom’s brother and his wife — all gather to eat a meal Oma would be proud of.

This year, I came alone. My sons were with their dad. My brother’s wife was home with a cold. Even though we couldn’t all be together, and we were remembering the death of a loved one, I could only feel joy.

I saw the smile on Mom’s face as people shared their fondest memories of Oma. I told my nephew how much he was like his daddy, as at 8, he’d cleared an adult-sized prime rib. My brother remains the talk of our family regarding how many Thanksgiving plates one child can eat. It looks like his son may beat the record.

Grief is the strangest emotion. You can go years without feeling any sadness for the person you lost, but then a smell, a sound, an image — something triggers a memory.

I missed my Oma this year. She would have loved to see one of her nephews enjoying food so heartily. She would have been proud of my mom’s efforts.

Mom cooks Oma’s favorite American dishes — cheesy hash browns, prime rib, seven-layer salad, and chiles rellenos squares. But she saves the best for last.

Oma’s Apflekuchen or Apple Cake is Mom’s favorite. On the anniversary of Oma’s passing, she makes the dessert because it reminds her of home.

Sharing it with us is Mom’s way of remaining connected to those times we all gathered around Oma’s table.

After she finished off her last bite, my mom looked around the table — her eyes glistening. She smiled and said, “Mom would be so tickled you all are here.”

Thank you for reading my story. We celebrated my Oma’s life on Saturday, August 26th. She passed away 12 years ago.