By Debbi K. Levy

My grandmother Anne could lovingly be categorized as nurturing and frugal, with both traits uniquely occurring in tandem.

Being dropped off at Anne’s home on a leisurely Sunday afternoon meant that I would be served up something delicious, yet not in a wasteful proportion, for she was intentional in the art of feeding her family with care so as not to squander kitchen ingredients. Crafting meals within a proper budget — to the penny, really — was one of her hallmarks and a nod to the societal Jewish norms of her youth. Food was surely not going to waste in this matriarch’s home, circa 1978.

Following pleasantries that were short and sweet, a small saucepan was brought out and readily filled with fresh Dallas tap water. One unwrapped Telma chicken stock cube was plopped in the water like it was an Alka-Seltzer, and the click of the gas stove began instantly heating the water to a boiling point. A second pot was procured from under the stove, and it, too, was filled with the same tap water to boil a heaping fistful of Manischewitz wide egg noodles — all while the two of us shared pleasant grandparent/grandchild predictable conversation. Slow and easy, we chatted amid the boiling pots doing the work for us. There might have been just a few small pieces of cut celery in the chicken stock broth. I’ve tried so many times to recall the details for my own reflective pleasure.

The noodles were drained and added to the broth as our conversation came to a natural pause. Anne placed the salt and pepper on the small table, already set for us in the narrow galley kitchen. A few saltine crackers became a treat as they were molded in their little row around our bowls, and we sat. Our voices were soft, and our napkins were laid neatly in our laps. The kitchen phone on the wall did not happen to ring, and we had no cell phones. That simple soup and simple conversation bring me great joy today. Hod — the Hebrew word for simplicity. Simple food for me, I learned from my grandmother Anne, could be the most nourishing for both body and soul.

My maternal grandmother, Elsie Pearle, had a new and very modern kitchen. It even boasted a red tiled floor! There were light wood butcher block counters for prepping and cutting. Her kitchen was always in the flow of a working rhythm, and I was glad to have driven over on a summer day just to say hi to Nana. She was just beginning to prepare her lunch, and I was delighted with my timing. Nana’s cooking was a bigger production than my grandmother Anne’s. Standing rib roasts on Shabbat, finely rolled-out strudel dough baked to a perfect crisp, abundant side dishes and even an Ashkenazic recipe for chopped liver. Her meals reminded us that Shabbat was every bit a joyous holiday. But this weekday was only her lunch in preparation — and now, mine too. In remembrance of Nana, I am going to share Elsie Pearle’s secret lunch recipe here and now.

Nana loved to describe her cooking techniques as she prepared, and I often wrote them down on index cards. I knew I would want these treasures for my own family one day. I still have my note cards for her secret best-tasting tuna salad ever.

Nana began by opening two cans of chunk white tuna and then draining away the packed water. Three eggs were set to boil on the stove. She chopped a couple stalks of celery (not too fine) and did the same with about one quarter of a white onion. A good-size dollop of Hellmann’s mayonnaise plopped on top of the tuna, and the mixing began. Nana did not leave big chunks intact; she really did mix the concoction very well.

Here come the secrets. Surprisingly, she gave a good squeeze of Heinz ketchup because Nana said it cuts the fish taste, and then she squeezed the juice of about half a lemon to do more of the same. The eggs were then peeled and chopped, but not too fine. The salt and pepper were added to taste.

The breakfast room table was pre-set, as was the habit of so many of my grandparents’ generation — and certainly not with paper plates. That generation typically had three different kinds of dish patterns: everyday, fine bone china and Pesach dishes. I poured myself a Coca-Cola over ice from the fancy built-in ice machine (thrill!). Nana put the saltine crackers for our tuna salad on the sides of our plates. Her house telephone line, and even the Watts line, did not happen to ring. We had no cell phones. Hod, I now think to myself during reflection. Simplicity once again. Predictable grandparent/grandchild table discussion ensued. I try to make my tuna salad just the way hers tasted on that summer day, around 1980.

I do my best with my busy yoga teaching schedule to have a quiet lunch, mostly by myself on the weekdays. Sometimes Barry joins me at our kitchen table. My grandmothers taught me to value simplicity, and it is in these simple midday meals that I refresh myself and boost my energy. Calm, quiet and simple food invite me into a space I am eager to dwell in on a busy day. I gather my thoughts and defrag my system. Although it is lovely to enjoy a lunch out with friends, if given a choice, I almost always circle back to my grandmothers’ way of having a little soup or tuna salad — in simplicity — feeling these two familial mentors in my heart and in my hands as I prepare my lunch.

May they know how much the simplicity they taught me decades ago still nourishes me today.

With love, Nana and Grandmother Anne. Amen.

Kohenet Debbi K. Levy looks forward to your feedback that she often reads during her lunchtime. Write her at debbiklevy@gmail.com.