Corn Salad, Grilled Chicken, and Strawberry Shortcake with Charleen Fike
“I never had it figured out, I just kept trying things and trying things until they stuck.”
Hey, stranger.
Welcome back to my table. Today’s guest is someone very special to me: my Grandma. I got to see her this past week in a town called Jacksonville, Oregon just outside of Medford. It’s a small town with just over 2,000 residents, a downtown street that looks like the set of a Western, rampant poison oak and is where I spent many of my summers as a kid. My Grandma has led such a rich life, my interest in having dinner with her was an opportunity to ask her questions I never did when I was younger. That, and I love her and haven’t seen her in awhile.
This is Charleen.
She likes big band music. She grew up in Upstate New York. She left her church because they wouldn’t hire a female minister. She keeps a meticulous and beautiful garden. She used to, and still would, get mad at me for eating cookie dough before we put them in the oven. She has a cheeky sense of humor. She has a beautiful voice and has been a part of a choir most of my life. She owns a gorgeous jewelry collection that I used to love sifting and rifling through as a little kid.
This is me. And my Aunt Melinda behind me.
I loved going to see my grandparents as a kid. My mom would drive my sisters and I down to Eugene, put us in the backseat of my grandma’s Toyota Camry, and off we would go for a week of fun in the hotter, dryer parts of Oregon. I am going to refer to Charleen as Grandma from here on out because it feels weird to use her first name. She can be our Grandma for however long you read along. When I think back to those trips now, I remember Grandma Charleen taking us to the little neighborhood water park, making snickerdoodle cookies, eating lunch on her fruit themed dishes, watching Jeopardy in the evenings. My Grandpa taught us how to make homemade root beer one summer, which Grandma laughed at when I told her because “Oh, it was awful. Grandpa took one sip and you never made root beer again.” I remember it being delicious. Though, that might be a memory of store bought root beer, made better by sitting out on their deck in the afternoon sun, the soda ice cold.
In my phone, in a note written in 2017, reads “Evie, you have to write about people. People you like, don’t like. The mean ones, the funny ones, the ones that change your life. That’s when writing becomes important.” That is one of the last things my Grandpa Bill ever said to me before passing away. We had been talking about his biography he wrote for the family, a tradition Grandma Charleen has continued, and I was, as always, looking for signs that I should write. It was one of the first times I remember someone taking my interest in writing seriously. After our conversation, I pulled out my phone and tried to write down as much as I could remember. Sure that it would, some day, be important.
My Grandma said she was seeing another boy when she met my Grandpa. While we eat some of the cheese, salami, and olives my cousin has laid out for us, she tells me, “Well, it was me, Gerry Neiswander, and Bill seated next to each other in class. I was seeing Gerry at the time, and one day I asked him who the other guy was that kept hanging around us. He said, ‘oh, that’s Bill Fike.’ I thought to myself, what a funny name.” We laugh, and I’m shocked at how she can remember such small details. She’ll sometimes correct my mom when she gets a detail wrong, “no, Jenny, it was fall of 2003, not winter.” Grandma continues to tell me how she eventually broke things off with Gerry, and asked Bill Fike to the Sadie’s Hawkins dance at Miami University in Ohio. The rest, as they say, is history.
This dinner looks a bit different, as we had 13 people in the house and I didn’t want to take my Grandma away from spending time with the family. We had some family friends coming over for dinner as well, so my Aunt Becky, cousin, and cousin-in-law made most of the food but I retrieved the recipes for you, dear reader, so that you can recreate them. Whenever my mom’s side gets together we dub it the Fike Family Food Fest, as we usually spend most of our time eating, hanging around the dinner table, and cooking together in the kitchen. My absolute favorite memories with my family come from both cooking meals together and the aftermath, washing dishes in the quiet kitchen, bellies full and a group of us falling into quiet rhythm with each other. Well, some of us falling into rhythm. Usually my dad monitors my handwashing abilities and chastises me for loading the dishwasher incorrectly, but that’s my dirty little secret: if I wash them badly, he’ll step in and do them for me. Work smarter, not harder!
Tonight my cousin set up charcuterie boards for us to snack on as we sat out on the deck and drank wine. Elizabeth is very talented in the art of charcuterie, so I can’t exactly take responsibility (I did win the Charcuterie Competition of 2023… but Elizabeth was on my team). She and my aunt made watermelon and olive salad, corn salad, grilled salmon, pasta salad, and my dad contributed his world famous chicken. Don’t tell him I said that, it’ll go to his head. This is the man who has burnt like 5 or 6 Thanksgiving turkeys, but he’s a wizard on the grill.
Grandma said her favorite meal she ever has was Maine lobster that she had on a trip with my Grandpa. “Oh, Bill and I went sometime in the 1950’s. I’ve never had lobster as good as that Maine lobster, never.” I figure this is a good time to mention I haven’t had true East Coast seafood, to which she tells me I have to go to Maine, at least once in my life, and order a heaping lobster roll. Twist my arm! Although we didn’t make lobster tonight, this meal is reminiscent of the ones that decorate my childhood. Good, fresh food served family style, everyone making their own plate.
I ate 50 servings of the corn salad, so I highly recommend making it! That’s probably why I didn’t get a photo of it, sorry about that. You’ll have to take my word for it that the salad is amazing. It’s a privilege to be a part of a family that cares so much about feeding one another and enjoying the experience of a good meal together. My Grandma is an important person in my life for many reasons, one of them being that our family is her doing. She raised 3 wonderful women, who all created their own families, and somehow prioritize getting all of together under one roof every year, sometimes multiple times a year. It is not lost on me that this is an accomplishment, and it’s largely due to my Grandparents’ commitment to their family. During our week together, my Grandma commented that she “couldn’t imagine a family that wasn’t close.” I feel lucky that I’m inclined to agree. As I’ve grown up, as all stories go, I began to realize what an effort it is to gather people, especially ones who live in different states or time zones. A worthy effort, if there ever was one. What a lucky girl I am.
Aunt Becky’s Corn & Avocado Salad
For dressing:
3 tbsp white wine vinegar
1 tbsp water
1 tsp honey
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 red onion, thinly sliced
For salad:
4 ears of corn
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1 chopped heirloom tomatoes or 1/2 lb of cherry tomatoes
1 avocado, chopped
2 tbsp parsley
Salt and pepper to taste
Mix together dressing ingredients, letting onions sit in the mixture for 20 ish minutes, or as long as possible
Grill corn over medium high heat in oil until charred, then remove
While waiting for corn to cool, chop tomatoes and avocado and parsley and combine in a large serving bowl
Slice corn from the cob and combine into serving bowl with the other ingredients.
Drizzle dressing over top and mix thoroughly.
Serve and enjoy!
Having read chapters of my Grandpa’s, and now Grandma’s, biographies, my family has heard a good amount of their story. I remember reading each chapter with rapt attention, delighting in the funny stories of my mom as a little kid, and amazed by the realization that my grandparents were once my age. How put together and all knowing they’ve always seemed, even now. I asked my Grandma if she ever felt like she had it figured out. "She laughed, “No, never. Never.” I know that’s the answer everyone gives but, reader, my Grandma is one of the most composed people I’ve ever met. She is graceful, polite, and I’ve never seen her unsure. “I never had it figured out, I just kept trying things and trying things until they stuck.” She was a teacher, like my mom and Aunt Melinda, and remarked that there was a moment where she knew that teaching was what she was meant to do. “But there were a lot of bad days. Especially in the beginning. Teaching is hard, you know.” I do, from my meager days of teaching swim lessons at the community pool as a teenager. I couldn’t imagine doing it 8 hours a day, from Monday to Friday. But I’ve always been very proud to come from people who chose to spend their weeks teaching and molding the next generations. It’s resulted in the authority figures in my life being very eager to present learning opportunities to my sisters and I, of which I’m grateful. It’s also resulted in my mom talking to us in Teacher Voice and putting us in timeout when we misbehave, to my annoyance. Regardless, I like to contribute my sisters and I’s success in school to an early exposure to lessons— my mom teaching us how to wash our hair correctly, Grandma teaching us how to make cookies, my aunts teaching my sisters and I to shuck corn, my uncle teaching me how to stargaze properly, my grandparents teaching us how to pick peaches, Grandpa teaching us how to make firestarters.
Watermelon and Kalamata Salad
1/2 cup chopped red onion
3 tbsp fresh lime juice (2 limes)
4 cups seeded watermelon, cubed
1/4 kalamata olives
1/4 cup parsley, finely chopped
1/4 cup fresh mint, finely chopped
1/2 cup feta cheese, crumbled
Combine onion and juice in a medium bowl, and let stand for 10 to 15 minutes.
Add watermelon, olives, parsley, and mint. Cover and chill for 1 hour.
Sprinkle with feta and serve!
Tonight, my cousin-in-law, Jarrod, made me a whiskey sour that was delicious while Grandma drank a glass of rosé. When I was growing up, I remember my family drinking gin and tonics exclusively. Too bad I hate the taste of alcohol. My Grandma usually has a glass of Riesling white wine, or any sweeter wine, but I don’t remember her or my Grandpa ever drinking much. As I’m figuring out the person I’d like to be, I think of my grandparents and how they seemed to do everything with care. My Grandma spending hours in her garden, tending the plants and producing the most beautiful flowers. Or laboring over the Little House On The Prairie dresses she sewed for my sisters and I. My Grandpa, out in his woodshed, building Adirondack chairs for their deck. When we went camping or hiking with them, they packed delicious lunches and I remember taking the time to sit and eat, taking in the scenery. My grandma enjoys her single glass of wine, well-cooked meal, and the good company at dinner and all I can think about is that I’d like to be someone who lives with as much intention. Enjoying the painstaking work to cultivate something beautiful, whether that be food or a garden or a handmade dress. This is a bit of a lost art for my generation, but I don’t want it to be. I think there is a lot to be gained from loving the process, no matter how arduous it can be.
When I think of my Grandma, fresh summer fruit always comes to mind. She has always been a good cook, but since I spent most of my time with her in the warmer months, we always had delicious summer produce at every meal. Lots of corn, tomatoes, peaches, and strawberries. So for dessert, I made (more like assembled) strawberry shortcake, her favorite. “Oh, I love strawberry shortcake. I always have,” she tells me, “ever since I was a girl, it’s been my favorite dessert.” For this recipe, I used angel food cake, as it’s a favorite in my family, though you can use any type of shortbread, biscuit, or poundcake alternative. Also, my Grandma says it’s best with homemade whipped cream. I didn’t have a hand mixer at the house we were staying at so I got Reddiwhip… sorry, Grandma.
Strawberry Shortcake
4 angel food mini cakes, cut in half
1 lb fresh strawberries (from a local stand or farmer’s market is best!)
2 tbsp simple syrup, or white sugar
Whipped cream, homemade (or from a canister)
Cut the stems from the strawberries and slice lengthwise, however thing you prefer, into a large bowl.
Mix simple syrup or sugar in with the strawberries and combine thoroughly. I squeezed half of a lemon into the mixture, but that’s optional*. Set aside for as long as possible so the strawberry juice accumulates.
Cut your cake into desired portions, top with a heaping spoonful of strawberries (make sure you get the juice!) and a dollop of whip cream. option to powder sugar over top.
* You can always add other seasonal fruit to the recipe, such as blackberries or peaches. It’s best with strawberries, though.
Something I’ve grown to appreciate about Grandma Charleen is that she is very much a part of the generation that got dressed before leaving the house. By this I mean that I have never, ever, seen her in public without her hair done, a nice outfit on, jewelry coordinated with her clothes. She has a wonderful sense of style, favoring colorful blouses and nice fitting trousers. When I picture her in my head, I see her wearing some variation of blue, lilac, or red. Often patterned and with a set of earrings and necklace. Her mother Marie Nicholson, my great grandmother, handmade these brilliant metal pendants, usually with opal or some pretty stone, that my mom and her sisters also have a few of. Some are attached to necklaces, while others were fashioned into broaches. Marie, who I carry with me as my middle namesake, was quite the artist. Grandma’s house was always decorated with her pieces, from vintage Hitchcock-style chairs to paintings of Oregon scenery to enameled plates.
The jewelry was my favorite to look at as a little kid, pretending I was a fancy lady going to the opera or a princess in the English countryside. There was an instance when I was young, but old enough to know better, that I put one of those necklaces in my pocket and took it home with me. I am telling this story even though I’m still mortified over my kleptomania habits, because my mom made me call my Grandma and tell her I stole something from her. I remember crying and being so nervous to call, but putting the phone down at the end feeling comforted by her understanding. She didn’t yell, didn’t insult, or make me feel worse than I obviously felt. My grandparents inspired me to be a good person, down to my very toes, because they were. I am very lucky to have grown up with good examples of what it means to be a kind, gracious, and supportive person.
This is where I leave you. I hope you enjoyed catching a glimpse of what it’s like to be in Charleen’s orbit. She’s a wonderful grandmother, mother, friend, and most of all a brilliant person that I feel lucky to know. If you take anything away from tonight, let it be this: put effort into the things that matter in life, get dressed for the grocery store, drink some white wine or a gin and tonic on the porch, and if you take care of your family, they will take care of you. I’ll see you next month, don’t miss me too much!
Cheers,
Evie
this was such a lovely read :( warmed my heart up
beautiful read