I have not thought about my Great-Aunt Gertrude in a long time. The last I ever saw her I was about seven, maybe eight. Funny how finding an old recipe will do that (this is another from my old blog). Naan bread of all things (in both bread and aunty, there was the connection). Her face popped into my head when at the store and on a whim and I picked up a packet of the bread. Story on Aunt Gertrude later, which will be written for our son as I don't think I have told him about her before. If I did it was a long time ago. And maybe you will find it interesting too. If you don't you can skip through of course.
I published this originally in 2008 and this is what I wrote:
So, here's brunch with my companion Great-Aunt Gertrude, at least in retelling the story to Gregg as we ate our lunch and repeating what my mother told me when I was young.
But first, no recipe link. I had seen enough of this type of thing online and tweaked it a bit to suit our own tastes.
I covered the bread with grated Cheddar cheese, and on top of the cheese, next came sautéed onions. These I had done in a little olive oil until transparent. I sliced tomatoes, which I didn't precook, and those went over the onions. (Next time I will add additional grated cheese over everything.) It went under the broiler until the cheese had melted and was golden, and the bread toasty.
At the same time, I cooked the poached eggs, placing them carefully into low-simmering water. The last step was to place them on the loaded naan bread. I timed everything so that they were ready at the same time.
Our naan breads were large enough for two people. I cut one in half and it made a very satisfying breakfast for both of us.
I am also adding the following since publishing my post, as I have a keen interest on the history of food. I looked it up on Google and this is what popped up.
“The term “naan” comes from Persia, and ancient bread-making on hot pebbles (sangak) in Persia likely influenced its development.
It arrived in the Indian subcontinent with the Delhi Sultans and Mughals, who introduced the tandoor door oven method.
During the Mughal era (1520s onwards), naan was a special breakfast for the elite, served with keema or kebabs.
The first recorded mention in India is from 1300 AD by Indo-Persian poet Amir Khusrau, who described light (naan-e-tunuk) and heavy (naan-e-tanuri) versions cooked in tandoors.
Through trade, conquest and migration, naan spread from Central Asia and Iran to Afghanistan, Myanmar and eventually the West, becoming a universal favorite.”
If you have a question about this, let me know in the comments and I'll do my best to answer.
Now for the story of my Great Aunt. I asked AI to put together a watercolor of a photograph I remember my mother showing me many times. The photo was very old even back then. It has long since been lost. I have no idea where it went but it gave me some comfort and another connection to recompose it in a watercolor-style. The likenesses were off obviously, but it is darned near close to what I could remember of the setting.
So, this is a story to honor my Great-Aunt Gertude and two little boys whom she grew to love as if they were her own sons.
She was my mother's aunt, her mother's sister. She passed away when I was in my early teens, and my memories of her are of a very nice lady who always had a ready smile for my sister and me, and always a kind word for my mother. Mother in fact loved her. Great-Aunt was a widow, husband long gone, who had no children of her own.
She and her husband spent many years in India. His work was something to do with the railroads. I vividly remember this fabulous old photograph of my mother's aunt. Mum pulled it out of a large box quite often when looking through old photos. Her aunt was sitting in one of those wickerwork peacock chairs, tropical palms in the background and two young Indian boys on each side of her. There was the most contented smile on her face and lovely smiles on those handsome young children. This I noticed when I was a little girl, and the thought stays with me still. The photo is long gone, and I have always wondered where it disappeared to as I would love to have it now, but my memory will be my photo. The idea for this 'watercolor' came to me as a curiosity to see what could be created more than anything.
My Mother told me a little of Great-Aunt Gertrude's story, and it was that she loved these little boys dearly, as if they were her own sons. She wanted to adopt them and bring them back to England when it was time for them to leave, but this was never meant to be and she was broken-hearted when she left them behind. I know nothing more about their time in India.
Years later, when Mum thought me old enough to know of such things, she told me that Great-Aunt Gertrude's husband, before I was born, had been murdered. I remember being very shocked and there are a few details I won't go into here, but I remember feeling sad for her all over again. They never did find the culprit.
On our visits to see my nanny (mother's mother), nanny's sister would invariably be there, ready with a piece of toffee to give me. She had a gentle touch, a quiet voice and a sweet smile. That's all I can remember about my Great Aunt Gertrude.
Thanks for 'listening' and for visiting. I hope your week is an excellent one.
