Foodie Friday: Gobs

It's Foodie Friday, dear reader, and also the 20th anniversary of my dad's passing. I don't usually acknowledge today. Why would I want to acknowledge one of the absolute worst days of my life? Instead, I celebrate his birthday in February with a shot of Crown Royal, his favorite whisky. However, because it is Foodie Friday, I thought I would share my gob recipe with you because my dad liked gobs and I have a lovely memory surrounding him and this recipe. 

My dad was not one to hand out compliments easily. You knew that if he complimented you on a job well done, the way you look, or a recipe, it was a genuine compliment, and you had achieved something. I remember it was the first Christmas on my own. I was living in Marienville, PA, teaching at a juvenile treatment facility in the middle of the Alleghany National Forest. I hated living in Marienville. I was almost two hours from home; it was in the middle of the snow belt; it was isolated, and I had no friends in the area. I spent a lot of lonely evenings with nothing to do. I didn't have cable or even a television. My evenings were long, lonely, and very quiet. To pass the time, I read a lot and cooked, mostly baking. 

Finally, I was on Christmas break from school. I had a long weekend. Because it was a residential facility, we did not get the time off between Christmas and the New Year. The night before I went on break, I made gobs to take home for Christmas. I followed the recipe in the Grange Cook Book to a T. I carefully packaged them in a holiday tin and packed them in my car along with my dirty laundry, Christmas gifts, and luggage for the weekend. I always packed my car on Thursday night so I could leave for home as soon as school let out on Friday. 

I made it home, unpacked my car, and placed my gobs on the kitchen counter. When my dad came home from work, we sat down and ate as a family. My dad always had a funny comment to make or a funny way of asking for something. He clapped his hands together and said, "Good meal, Ma! What's for dessert?" I got my tin of gobs and placed them on the table. My dad smiled really big and said, "Ohhh, for me? You shouldn't have, but I'm glad you did!" He ate one of my gobs and gave me a funny, inquisitive look. Then he reached for another one, took a bite, and said, "Weiner, did you make these?" I said, "Yeah, I made them last night." He looked at me like he didn't believe me and said, "Where did you get these?" I replied, exasperated, "I really did make those! For real!" He smiled and said, "Where did you learn to make something like this?" I told him I just followed the recipe in the Grange Cook Book. He jostled my head and said. "Good job, Weiner!"

Nobody really calls me Weiner anymore. A few of my uncles still call me Weinie Girl on occasion, but that part of me and who I was with my dad is long gone. I miss that part of me. I miss him and his rare but genuine compliments. When you were given his praise, it was like a beacon of light shone upon you. It felt good. I hold this memory close. 

So, today, dear reader, I share with you the gob recipe that got me a smile and praise from my dad. It's from the old Grange Cook Book with the red binding. It's an oldie, but a goodie. 

 

Gobs

2 Cups Sugar

1 Cup Shortening

2 Eggs

8 tsp. Cocoa

1 1/2 Cups Milk

4 Cups Flour

2 tsp. Soda

2 tsp. Vanilla

Filling

1 Cup Shortening

1 Box Powdered Sugar (Which is 3.5 to 4 cups; I told you it was an old recipe.)

4 tbls. Flour

4 tbls. Butter

4 tbls. Milk 

2 tsp. Vanilla

Cream the shortening and sugar; add well-beaten eggs; add cocoa. Sift flour and soda. Add alternately with milk and add vanilla. Drop by teaspoonsful onto a greased cookie sheet and bake for 10-12 minutes at 375. Mix the ingredients for the filling and beat until nice and fluffy. Spread the filling on the bottom of the cookie and place another on top—yields 2.5 dozen. 

So, dear reader, on this final Friday in July, stay safe, be smart, enjoy simple and delicious food that makes people smile, savor the memories, and keep washing your hands.