
My grandmother as a mysterious and fetching young widow in her late 20s.
When I was a little girl, my brother and I flew every summer to visit my motherâs parents, Nanny and Bompa, at their semi-rural home in Farmington, Michigan. A flight back then was thrilling, an occasion for dress-up, and we were outfitted like a pair of Waspy kids on their way to church in the âDick and Janeâ books. A stewardess (yes, thatâs what they were called) gave us pins that looked like metal wings and paid us special attention because we were, of course, awesomely adorable. Who collected us from the airport I now no longer remember. Maybe my Uncle Bob, an apelike man who exaggerated his primate affinities by swinging from the apple tree in my grandparentsâ back yard. Or perhaps my Uncle Bill, a Navy vet with an armful of exotic tattoos, including a Hawaiian hula girl who moved her hips when he flexed his bicep.

Grandfather “Bompa” around age 75
My grandmother was a bosom-y cushion-y woman whose placid and cheerful exterior hid sad secrets. She had lost her first husband to mustard-gas poisoning in World War I, and then two young daughters to the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918. It was not a subject ever broached in front of her, and my Aunt Joyce found out only after digging around among papers and photos in the attic. She confided in my mother, but I learned about the earlier family only after Nannyâs death. My grandmother must have been a woman of considerable pluck, because she remarried soon after her first two daughtersâ deaths and gave birth to my mother in 1920. Two more children followed in the next decade.
My grandparents were Christian Scientists, and the tenets of that faith were explained to me at a young age, along with some history of Mary Baker Eddy, who founded the loopy Protestant sect and was rumored to have been buried with a telephone in her coffin in case life beyond the grave proved possible and the conversation too dull. If Jesus could cure all ailments, I asked Nanny, why did she and Bompa have to wear eyeglasses? She sighed and resumed plucking the hairs on her chin. And what did Christian Scientists believe about heaven and hell? She told me they went to a âdifferent plane of existenceâ after death, and so of course I envisioned a United aircraft with angels hanging out on the wings. When she was dying, in the late 1960s, and finally consented to be hospitalized, it was discovered that she was an active carrier for TB. Everyone who had come into contact with her had to be tested.

I found this photo in an old album after my motherâs death, and believe the man in the center may have been Nannyâs first husband, who died of mustard-gas poisoning in World War I
I donât recall my grandma as an especially great cook, but the household always had corn and tomatoes from the garden and fresh eggs from the hens they kept. (Freddy, a brazen rooster, often joined us inside for Lawrence Welk on Sunday nights. And it was from this show that Nanny would pick out future husbands for me, like the young John Denver.) There was also salt-rising bread and tangy Vernorâs ginger ale, with a kick unlike any other soda, then available only in Michigan.
But the dish I remember best is Swiss Steak, a recipe thatâs probably been out of fashion for ages, and takes its name not from Switzerland, but from a technique of tenderizing known as âswissing.â Nanny used the edge of a saucer to pound the meat, as her underarms jiggled and flour jumped from the slab of beef, which was then combined with tomatoes and onions in a pressure cooker. I wanted to recreate the dish, and the first couple of times came up with an insipid and bland tomato-beef stew (and probably we loved the blandness in those days). A few more tries and I have tweaked it to a flavorful recipe to which you can add potatoes or peas or whatever. Serve with noodles. But I defy you to find salt-rising bread anywhere but a few places on the ânet. Maybe Iâll make it myself one of these days, and share the result.
SWISS STEAK FOR TWO (slow-cooker method; four-quart cooker or larger)
I have used several different cuts for this: something called âpetite sirloinâ from my local Albertsonâs; bottom or top round, cut into thick steaks; and most recently a chuck roast, which was a bit too fatty. Look for leaner cuts. The thickness will of course determine the length of cooking. If youâre adding veggies like baby carrots or small Yukon gold potatoes (quartered or halved), put them in the slow cooker about two hours before the meat is done.
INGREDIENTS
1.5 lbs cheap steak
Œ cup flour
œ tsp salt
Œ tsp black pepper
2 Tbsp cooking oil
1 cup Campbellâs beef consommĂ© or beef broth
14.5 ounces fire-roasted petite diced tomatoes (see notes)
1 small onion, diced (see notes)
1 or 2 garlic cloves, chopped
Generous squirt of tomato ketchup (about Œ cup or to taste; see notes)
INSTRUCTIONS
- Mix flour with salt and pepper on a large plate
- Dredge steak in mixture on both sides
- Heat oil until hot but not smoking; brown the steaks on both sides; no need to cook through. Add to slow cooker.
- Add a little more oil to the pan, if necessary. Cook onions until translucent, and add garlic, sautéing a minute or two; add to cooker.
- De-glaze the pan with a little beef consommé or broth, scraping up brown bits. Add to the slow cooker, along with tomatoes and ketchup.
- Add the lid to the cooker and cook on low for 6-7 hours; or high 3-4 hours. Serve with noodles or mashed potatoes.

Ta-dum.
NOTES
Tomatoes: I recently (and inadvertently) used a can of âsalsa styleâ fire-roasted tomatoes, which gave the sauce a spicy twist, perhaps too piquant for most. But give it a try if you like a Tex-Mex spin on Swiss.
Onions: My dear friend Roland Marandino, author of the excellent blog Cooking from Books, used to wear swim goggles while chopping onions (I donât know if he continues to do so). I find that popping the onion in the freezer for about 20 minutes before chopping forestalls the tears.
Ketchup: This is a not totally necessary and appears in no other recipes Iâve consulted, but I like the touch of sweetness. Iâve added ketchup to all manner of stews, including (quelle horreur!) boeuf bourguignon, as you can discover in my reminiscence about a catering business I ran with a friend in college.
Top: Pierre Bonnard, The Dining Room in the Country (1913)
12 Comments
What a wonderful memoir as well as a true “comfort-food” recipe. Shall definitely have to try it. Look forward to more of your food posts.
I love this memory bathed in the senses. I was just thinking about salt-rising bread the other day – my mother used to buy it from a grocery store in 1960 or so…. Thank you Ann!
Many thanks, Jamie. I thought I was the last person n America who knew about salt-rising bread. It is amazing!
Very pleased to see you writing for yourself. You write, we read. That’s how it works. Next step…Kindle.
Thanks, Ann, Very readable and interesting. i can’t wait to read more of your edible memoirs! My grandmother was also a Christian Scientist.
Thanks, Ann, for the warm and witty memoir (and the lovely Bonnard leading into it). You have me hooked. And I canât wait to read more about your childhood, your family and your ventures into kitchen affairs. Iâll even buy the recommended âcheap steakâ and try your swiss steak recipe in the next few daysâdespite my own motherâs and mother-in-lawâs rubbery renditions of the dish.
I hope it turns out well for you, Joan. If not, I owe you dinner at the Trading Post.
Loved this! Your sense of humor shines through and your family’s compelling story coupled with the photos are a fascinating glimpse into your background.
My grandma had those jiggling underarms too (unfortunately so do I despite exercise)…
I’m looking forward to future installments and in the meantime will copy the recipe and give it a try.
PS I haven’t given up hope that at some point you’ll start painting again.
Thanks, Barbara. I’m afraid my painting days are probably over but still appreciate your introduction to Dura-Lar. There will be more family and more recipes coming your way soon. Let me know how the Swiss steak turns out.
So happy to find this now, after we talked. I don’t know how I missed it the first time. Anyway, lots of wonderful connections between food and memory. Enjoyed the pairing of the Bonnard with your family recollection. Love that you include the recipe, and yes, to ketchup, happened to be a staple in my mother’s cooking.
Ketchup can save no end of food gone awry. I just squirted a bit in a homemade taco sauce that was was too spicy.
Ah! memories of corn and tomatoes from the garden and fresh eggs to Freddy the brazen rooster “who often joined us inside for Lawrence Welk on Sunday nights,” to Ann Landi’s future, albeit mythical, husband, “the young John Denver” –makes me nostalgic with my own, but far more prosaic, memories of growing up in 1950’s America.