Her name was Catherine, although her friends called her Cac.
Being married to the town physician meant that — by matrimonial proximity, anyway — she enjoyed semifamous status in their small Mississippi River community. That's because pretty much everyone in town knew Doc David. After all, he delivered at least half the people residing within the 53806 ZIP code.
But his less-gregarious wife? Most folks probably recognized her face, but because the good doctor playfully assigned nicknames to everyone around him — including his spouse of nearly 50 years — it's a safe bet that a hefty percentage of the local populace might have been unclear about Mrs. David's real name.
They heard him refer to her — lovingly, of course — as the Boss. Old Woman. The Battle Ax. Manhattan Kate (a nod to her cocktail of choice). And my personal favorite, the Allied Supreme Commander.
To me, she was my mother-in-law, even though I never met her. I married her son Robert more than a decade after her death.
But I feel as if I know her. Well, a little. Not just through the family lore and the photographs that her children and grandchildren have shared over the years, but because of her recipes, which have become an integral part of our lives.
When Robert and I throw a dinner party, he inevitably prepares his mother's spectacular rice pilaf. Her lemon bread is a holiday standard. And should you find yourself brunching on our screen porch, chances are you'll be served her crowd-pleasing, easy-to-make sour-cream coffee cake.
That's not what Robert calls it. The first time he prepared it for me, I will admit that I was somewhat taken aback by the recipe's name: "Jewish Coffee Cake." I was immediately unclear about exactly which attributes made this particular baked good, well, Jewish.
