Michigan Crack Coffee Cake and a Storied Wedding

Weddings are something that can bring out the best and worst in people both individually and collectively. As a caterer and Event manager I have seen my share of Brides, Mothers and Fathers acting out in the most insane and inappropriate of manners. True Bride-zillas I have only seen twice but the stories are varied and amazing.

Drunks, fights and screaming matches on the dance floor are par for the course. And let's not forget just plain old bad taste taken to the extreme on someone's special day. In short I hate weddings but I am kinda drawn to them because like a train wreck you just can't take your eyes off of them. Over the course of the years I have had friends ask me to help with their weddings and with one exception I have always politely declined. I just would never want to be responsible for one of my friend's special days. Too much pressure and the possibility of ruining a friendship, no thank you.

The most amazing story is from a wedding which was designed by a fellow in NYC, who we will call Eric. He's a great guy and very lovely to work with. This story started apparently when he was designing the wedding with the family. They were spending untold amounts of money on this wedding and during the planning process it became apparent the Bride was not very engaged in the whole thing. Instead of the usual involved, hands on manner most Brides take, this one simply did not seem to care if it was, "that shade of pink" or "that flower arrangement". Her mother did of course. Spending tons of cash to ensure a spectacle deserving her status and her daughters station. But the Bride was non plussed about the whole thing and this made Eric slightly suspect.

Well the big day came. The Pierre Hotel on Fifth Avenue had never looked so grand. The flowers, the music and the decor for the ceremony alone had cost a fortune. The Parents greeted their endless guest list as they arrived and waited for the ceremony to start. Eric went upstairs to check on the Bride who had strangely asked to be alone while she prepared not wanting the company of her entourage of dressers and bridesmaids.

As he approached the hotel room he could see that the door was slightly ajar, a strange sign he thought. He knocked. No response. He called out still no response. He slowly pushed the door open revealing the rooms contents. The Bride was no where to be found but on the bed was the dress and atop it a note and her ring. He lifted up the note and read these words, " Sorry Abe, I can't go through with it. Here's your ring back, Claire". Eric's heart sank into his shoes. There were 400 people waiting downstairs and the Bride was obviously not coming down. Oh Shit!

So he went downstairs and pulling the Groom and the Father of the Bride aside informed them gently of what was going on. The Groom was livid and was whisked away to a private room by his groomsmen with a bottle of brown liquor. The Father of the Bride seemed unmoved calm even. Eric explained that he needed to inform his guests, suggesting that perhaps the verbiage should be something akin to "I regret to inform you but my daughter has a had change of heart thank you for coming etc etc.". The Father shook his heard and said " Yeah Yeah Yeah....Got it". He then mounted the stage and took the mic hitting on it..."is this thing on".  Then he addressed the crowd. "I want to thank you all for coming today, to be with us, we spent a lot of money on this wedding and you can all go to the bar since it's paid for.... but there's no ceremony happening.... because my F&*%ing daughter FLED! Thanks!"

Now that's a wedding story!

Now as I said I have only helped one friend with a wedding and that would be my roommate of many years in NYC, Cristin Hubbard. Cristin is a Broadway actor and an amazing vocalist. She was also practically family. So when she became engaged I agreed to help put the reception together for her.

The wedding was set in upstate Michigan near the Sleeping Bear national seaside on the coast of northern Michigan. A fantastic place of natural wonder. The natural beauty aside the charm of the beach houses and the towns and the lovely natives were enough to entrance. It was a whole week of wedding activities with about 30 to 50 people, mostly family, participating. Cook outs on the beach at night followed by bonfires and sing alongs. Day trips in canoes and kyaks or antiquing. And a BBQ dinner after lake swimming and sun bathing.  A Buffet dinner at the house on the first night let to mornings spent over amazing breakfasts at the Bed and Breakfast.

This of course was coupled with the fact that I had agreed to help design and run the wedding. Her friend Mark also had agreed to help so between the two of us we came up with a plan. We visited the sight for the reception which was a rustic lodge building in a Church camp nearby the beach house she had spent every summer in growing up. A very connected and emotionally grounded choice, just like Cristin. Solid and soulful it hit the mark providing the perfect backdrop for a very special person's, special day. We visited the caterer, helped tweek a few menu items and service points and offered up my help the day of.

So then Mark and I armed with 3000 dollars in cash her father had given us set out to design and decorate the old Church Camp lodge for the reception. Aside from almost killing each other in the process we did an amazing job I think. White tuille and white christmas lights, flowers from a friends garden, sea glass and candles, blue, green, white and grey linens all came together to make a wonderful picture.

But it was Cristin, walking down the aisle of the church of her summer youth,  a beautiful family quilt adorning the altar, that really was the star of this wedding. She was the most stunning of Brides. The wedding and reception in their elegant simplicity were amazing. But the love so evident for these two people filling the room was the highlight of my experience of that wedding. I was moved beyond words. Hoping in my own heart that someday I might feel how she and her husband must have felt as the center of so much loving devotion. For after all, when the pomp and superficial things are stripped away, it's the love that makes a Wedding real. No show necessary if that is present. It speaks volumes louder than any floral arrangement or buffet dinner ever could.

So what has this to do with coffee cake you might ask? Well I discovered this recipe while staying at the bed and breakfast for this wedding. It's a simple almost stupid recipe and not an unknown or uncommon one. But I think if you try it you will agree it's addictive and ridiculously good! So I offer up with memories of weddings large and small. Memories of my dear friend from Michigan and this recipe. Enjoy Ya'll!

"Bob King Cake"

2 small tubes refrigerator buttermilk biscuits OR 1 tube Pillsbury Grands buttermilk biscuits 

3 Tbsp. butter melted

1/2 cup pancake syrup not real maple!

1/3 cup packed brown sugar

1/2 tsp. cinnamon

1/2 cup chopped pecans

Place all ingredients in a pan and melt together over low heat 

Place in the bottom of a bundt pan

layer biscuits overlapping in the pan

Bake in a 375 degree oven for 20 to 30 mins or until nice and brown on top

Invert onto a plate and yum yum yum!

Blueberry Cobbler, a Memorial Day Weekend Food and Why I Remember that It's not just Summer We are Celebrating.

My parents married later in Life. I mean they were in their thirties when they married and then waited a few years before having children, namely me and my brother. As such they were older than most of my school mates parents. This was unknown to me as a child because my Mother kept her age a secret fearing that having older parents would make kids have strange ideas. Fortunately, my Mother's gene pool was such that no one would have known she was 10 years older than my classmates mothers. In fact she was ( and is) quite a looker!

This age disparagement also went the other way when it came to my Father's family and my relatives on his side. My Father was 16 years younger than his next oldest sibling! That's right, he was what they called "tail-end Charlie". Or in some families a "surprise"! My Big Mama was over 40 when she had my Dad and his oldest sister was 25! So you can imagine the age difference I had growing up with my next  oldest cousins being 14 and 16 years older than me. It was kinda fun cause you were always the young ones. Well, until everyone had kids then we were just sort of in the mix somewhere.

One thing about having relatives that were older was all of my Father's brothers served in the military during World War II. Some were in the behind the lines kinda jobs but some were in the worst fighting of the war. All my blood relatives survived. Only my Aunt Lucy's husband was killed in action. He was killed at the battle on Monte Casino where our army encountered a stronghold held by a battalion of Hitler Youth. A sad and terrible battle and one which should never have happened.

 John Gandy was his name, and growing up I only knew my Aunt Lucy as my Aunt who lived with my Big Mama in the  house Lucy owned in Walhalla, South Carolina. I had never known my Aunt as a married woman, but looking back I sense there was a deep sadness in her life. Never was spoken about, and I never asked about it, but it was something I just sensed. I think this unspoken sadness was a part of many WWII veterans experience. My uncles being no exception, I mean we won the war and being sad or depressed about it seemed sort of counterintuitive to the sense of victory. So many suffered in silence. Unable or unwilling to speak about the deep feelings of anger, loss and depression they might have.

My aunt was always very nice to me and my brother. We spent many a night at Big Mama and Lucy's house when visiting during the summers. Sleeping in the damp basement in metal twin beds with patchwork quilts and cotton sheets and listening to the hum of the air conditioner fan as it whirled around. We would pick tomatoes in the garden and eat fresh corn and ham for lunch. We would go on hikes with our cousins to waterfalls in the mountains and our Uncle Frank would put us to work in his field. We had a lot of fun as little boys will.

Lucy was an accomplished and somewhat well known regional water colorist. We still have many of her paintings gracing the walls in my Mother's as well as other relative's houses. I can just see her coming out for coffee and cereal in the mornings, her short dark hair pulled back and wearing her white robe with pink flowers on it. Then at the large dark wood dining table, lighting up a cigarette at breakfast to go with her paper and coffee and speaking in her purposeful southern drawl about the news of the day. My Aunt Lucy is gone now but I still remember her and the Uncle I never knew.

Not many of my friends growing up had relatives that were directly in WWII. They for the most part were the generation right after the war. So this family dialogue of personal history and involvement, along with the fact that I grew up in a Navy Family, made me hyper aware of what the holiday we celebrate as Memorial Day was all about. I mean growing up I was surrounded by war monuments and military memorials in my neighborhood as well as on every base we lived near or on.

Remembering sacrifice is something the military does well. I think that over the years we as a culture have ceased to look at this reality. I speak of the reality that some people before us died to enable us to live the free and enterprising lives we live today. Not to remember that is a big mistake and flies in the face of history. We may not believe that war is a good thing, and it's not, but even today we have many people in our armed forces sacrificing their lives and limbs to keep our world a safer place. And even if you don't agree with all the politics, you have to agree that sacrifice which is given freely and for the betterment of the common good deserves note. And those people sacrificing deserve some honor.

So lets not just celebrate Summer. Lets also celebrate those people who helped us celebrate life, by sacrificing theirs, so we can celebrate our lives whatever and however we want.

So here's to you Uncle John. Who I never knew except by word. And who gave your life. So my life could be the wonderful strife free life it has been. Knowing little of war and aggression during my time here on the planet. May all people everywhere come someday to know that peace. And may it come in a manner that does not exact the same sacrifice you made. All I can say today is, thank you Uncle John.
I remember you.

In the spirit of the holiday and the unofficial start of Summer it is here's a recipe that makes me think of my Father's Family. Every year I went to Walhalla my Uncle Frank would take my brother and I blueberry picking, then my Aunt would make a cobbler. I have made this recipe over the past few years in homage to that memory I hope you enjoy it!

Walhalla Blueberry Cobbler With Granola Nut crust

3 pints fresh blueberries ( fresh is better or 2 1lb. bags thawed frozen)
1/2 cup sugar
3 tablespoons lemon juice
4 cups granola cereal
1/2 cup crushed or slivered nuts ( your choice )
1 stick butter melted
1/2 cup light brown sugar
1/2 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

Mix sugar and berries and lemon juice in a bowl and pour into a 9 x13 baking dish
Mix the rest of the ingredients and top the berries with a even layer of the topping
Bake for 30 mins at 350 degrees till top is browned and the berries are juicy
Remove from oven and let cool for about 20 mins
Serve while still warm with good vanilla ice cream
Start smiling!
Enjoy ya'll