Aunt Mary's Golumpkis Final

One of my earliest childhood memories of a food that appeared over and over at family get togethers is my Aunt Mary's Gulompkies, or cabbage rolls as some people call them. My mom's side of the family is Polish, and golumpkies are from Polish culture. Her grandparents came over on the boat many years ago. My Aunt always made a huge casserole pan of golumpkies when we went to visit her and my Uncle Bob. Our family of six usually went to their house on Sunday afternoons, or we would go with our grandma. As soon as the door was opened, the delightful smell of which is now comfort food would make our mouths water. My aunt was a cook at a local middle school and she always made very large quantities of food that covered her whole dining room table, like she was cooking for the school kids.

Autumn in the Midwest was my favorite time of year as a child. The evenings and mornings were cool and crisp, and the days would be filled with robin egg blue skies and bright sunshine. The humidity would be low and the air dry, as the days would warm to an almost perfect seventy something degrees. My brother and sisters and I would look forward to the weekends off from school to hang out with our friends in the colorful yards of our neighborhood, play flag football, ride our bikes, or watch TV. Michigan's beautiful trees in the fall are something to behold. Orange, red, purple, brown, yellow, black, crispy leaves fall to the ground like a rain shower. Back in the 60's people would burn the leaves in their yards after sometimes hours of raking their lawns in preparation of the long cold winter to come. This was the time of year we went to my Aunt Mary and Uncle Bob's house more frequently.

The trip out to Ackerson Lake to see my aunt and uncle was worth every minute of the ride, especially when my grandma drove us. She had a dark blue 65 Pontiac Grand Prix. It was a huge old boat of a car, and she always drove with a heavy foot. This classic car had a big engine, was a four door, and seated six people easily. The saying "Put the pedal to the metal" was surely made for the way my grandma drove. We didn't use seat belts back then, even thought they were standard equipment in cars and all four of us kids would pile into the back seat. On the way to their house we would play "Beetle" a game where the first person to spot a Volkswagen Bug would yell out "Beetle" and the adult driver would keep score. My older brother and I were usually the winners. It took at least 30 minutes to get to my aunt and uncle's house on the two lane highways. The final stretch of the trip was about five miles long, and the road was full of rolling hills. The cottages on the right side of the road whizzed by. The fields full of cat tails and red winged black birds were a blur of gold, brown, black, red. My grandma would gun the gas as we approached each hill, and it felt like we were flying through the air. Squealing voices of joy would come from the back seats as our stomachs flipped, and our heads would hit the ceiling of the car like we were on a roller coaster. My grandma would laugh at us, and before our voices would fall silent we would be approaching another hill, and grandma would gun the gas. Thinking back on those trips out to Ackerson Lake, there were probably only six hills we went over, but it seemed like a lot more when I was little. Even as a teenager, the driver, be it my mom, dad, or grandma, each would gun the gas on the hills, and my stomach would flip like I was a little girl again. I'll never forget the trips out there because the ride was so much care free fun.

We would take a right turn onto a dirt road surprisingly called Ackerson Lake Road. My aunt and uncles house was the forth house on the left. My Uncle Bob's mother lived next door to them, but we rarely ever saw her. Thinking back, maybe she didn't like kids. We would turn left onto the dirt driveway that circled around the back of the house like a crescent moon. You could drive in one way and keep going behind the house and drive out the other side. Their house was old and small, painted a funny shade of yellow gold. It wasn't quite yellow, nor was it gold. They had a big front yard covered with weeds and grass, and it was always mowed short. The lawn wasn't green like our lawn in town, it was more of a burnt dry lawn. We learned at an early age not to walk through their lawn without our shoes on because the short stumps of weeds hurt our feet. They had a huge back yard, also, that was filled with the same sort of weeds and grass that the front yard had, but in the back hard there were oodles of grass hoppers, bees, and other annoying flying insects. They never let us explore the back yard, and never really knew why. We just tried to do as we were told.

There was a walnut tree in the yard close to the side door of their house. In the fall, we would pick up the walnuts that were laying on the ground, placing them in brown lunch bags to take home for snacks. Fresh walnuts are crunchy and delicious, and we would crack them open with nut crackers and eat them while watching TV at night, instead of the usual night time snack of popcorn, which was the usual after dinner treat.

When we knocked on their door (they already knew we were there) Cubbie, their short fat overstuffed black Pug mix dog would start barking, and run to the door as fast as he could, followed by my Aunt Mary who always had a smile on her face, for at least a few minutes anyway. Her house was being invaded by four children.

The kitchen was small, with old cupboards painted a military looking green. The refrigerator was old, too. It was a Kenmore, was white, and had the rounded door on it with the big handle that pulled the door open. There was a window over the sink that looked out upon the lake across the dusty dirt road. There was also a black horse named Midnight in the field across the road, and I always wanted to ride him, but was only allowed to pet him, year after year. There was a small kitchen table sitting next to a window that faced the driveway and the walnut tree. The table was always covered with some sort of plastic table cloth, had a salt and pepper shaker and sugar bowl on it. I would sit at the table with my aunt and grandma, or my aunt and mom, and drink coffee loaded with sugar cubes. My aunt was the only one that served me coffee, and it made me feel special. My brother and two sisters never wanted coffee, so I was able to sit in on grown up talk. The coffee was served in tan plastic cups with a saucer. My Aunt Mary's coffee was and still is the best tasting coffee that I have ever had. I think the well water that was used in their home was the reason it tasted so good. What else could it have been?

The smell in the kitchen was intoxicating when Aunt Mary had been cooking all day. It's hard to explain exactly how it smelled, though. Warm, welcoming, familiar, cozy, and the smell would make my stomach growl. The dining room table would have a huge spread of food on it, like I mentioned before, and it looked like there were a lot more people coming over than just us. But there were no other people coming over. All of this food was for us to eat, and we were encouraged to have second or third helpings. This was something that never happened in our house! Mom made just enough food for six people, probably because that was all her budget allowed.

The huge roasting pan with the golumpkies in it was always the center of my attention. The golumpkies were covered in tomato sauce. The cabbage leaves were soft and folded around the burger mixture inside. I would take at least three of them to start off with, and some of the other dishes like salad, mashed potatoes and gravy, and rolls. I know that I used to stuff myself at the dinners that we ate there, and always wanted to go to Aunt Mary's house whenever someone was going to visit. It was always a disappointment if there weren't any golumpkies.

Aunt Mary's recipe for golumpkies is pretty basic, using a couple pounds of ground beef, minute rice, onions, eggs, canned cream of celery soup, canned tomato soup, a can of large tomatoes, and a couple of heads of cabbage. She must have always made triple the recipe, I think, because whenever I have made the basic recipe, there is only enough to last for two meals. Golumpkies are very time consuming, taking a couple of hours to make. After all of the ingredients are mixed together, a large spoonful of the burger mixture is set in a cabbage leaf near the core. The cabbage leaf is then rolled up, first by folding the sides in, and then rolled until it looks like a little burrito. After the bottom of the casserole dish is filled with the golumpkies touching side by side, the next row is stacked on top of the first, and so on. The tomatoes are poured over the top, and the lid is placed on the casserole dish. This recipe cooks for a couple of hours in the oven at 375 degrees.

I asked my mom for this recipe when I moved to Colorado in 1979. I wanted to bring something with me from home that I would always have. I was surprised to find that some of the ingredients were canned, basic food. How could anything that tastes so good come from canned soup? I have made golumpkies over the last 30 years, but usually only once a year because they are so time consuming.

When I make golumpkies, I am reminded of my grandma, and aunt, and how carefree life was when I was a child. I sometimes long to be in Michigan in the fall, walking through the crisp leaves, going to my aunts and picking walnuts off the ground, and especially I miss my grandma and aunt who both passed away many years ago. Maybe it's time to make another batch of golumpkies.

I have made golumpkies many times in the last thirty or so years, and the only people that don't love them are vegetarians! I find them very difficult to make, it seems that it takes a certain talent to make them! When rolling them up, the cabbage leaves tend to rip. Then it is uncertain if the ripped one should be pit into the casserole pan. I sure don't remember my aunts golumpkies ever having any rips in them. She must have been a master chef of her time! Golumpkies are so worth the time it takes to make them.