When it was developing, I never thought that I lived in “simpler times”. That would have described the days of the pioneers, or the world before the industrial revolution. Simpler times would one day be John-Boy and the rest of the Walton gang having dinner with Grandma and Grandpa. I was a 1960s kid, a Kennedy baby, fed up with a revolution that was countercultural and in full swing at the time of the Moonwalk, the “where were you?” time of my wonderful years. We saw young soldiers in bloody Technicolor and civil unrest in black and white. The world around me seemed anything but simple.

My friends and I took for granted that our mothers were stay-at-home moms, married to both their houses and the men who lived there while working 9-5 jobs. We lived in prefabricated houses, in planned suburban developments, and household responsibilities were defined as gender specific. This was not “simpler times”, just simple common knowledge. Who would have known that even this last bastion of “home security” was headed for a revolution? Ira Levin was sitting somewhere writing “The Stepford Wives,” and by the time he hit the best-seller list, our moms would realize they’d all been living in blissful denial.

That was long before satellite and cable, when the microchip and the personal computer were just science fiction, when the only reality show on TV was the 6 o’clock news, the days you eagerly awaited Saturday mornings. so you could eat a box of Captain Crunch and watch three or four hours of top-notch cartoons before heading out to play catch with the kids down the block. Ah, the world before The Cartoon Network. When the advent of cable brought 24/7 cartoons, it was a difficult concept to grasp. Do you mean that you can catch insects at any time of the day? What a concept!

It was the summer of ’69: political turmoil for some, ecstasy of the sun for others. As half a million flower children danced with Hendrix and headed back to the garden, I was at a sleepover camp and witnessed my counselors listen instead to preliminary numbers being announced over a public address system, praying So they wouldn’t hear the can, you can call your boyfriends in Vietnam. Three hundred children from Camp Wah-Nee crowded into a social room to watch Man on the Moon on a simple 24-inch TV with bunny ears. I was sucking on a Sugar Daddy and looking out the door to see if those guys were really moving around. Simple times.

I had a key, tied to a piece of thread, which hung around my neck. I would walk the seven blocks from the elementary school to our house. My sister never accompanied me. Being three years older gave him the advantage of having a plethora of girlfriends, as well as a plethora of opportunities after school. If Mom still wasn’t home from her afternoon errands, or if it was a day she was spending hours at a local linen and towel store, she’d walk in, close the door behind me, and wait for her to return.
Watching Graham Kerr – The Galloping Gourmet, a cute playboy/gourmet chef, was my chance after school. I loved being in the kitchen, and there was nothing like ending a long day of public school than hanging out with my drunk friend. Kerr was always taking “a little sip” of wine and making all kinds of innuendo while he cooked extravagantly rich dishes, laden with butter and cream. I remember he got a lot of his inspiration from himself drinking copious amounts of that white cooking wine while he was in the air.

I had all the ingredients on the counter and worked feverishly to complete the recipe steps along with the host. “Today we’re making Babka Rum,” but when we got to the step of measuring and adding the liquor to the mix, I couldn’t imagine what or where this liquid would be in my mom’s kitchen, so I called her at work. .

“Hey mom, where’s the rum?” I asked in a hurry.

“Rum…? What do you want for rum?” She answered.

“The Galloping Gourmet is making babka rum. Thought I’d give it a try.”

She proceeded to tell me where to find it at my dad’s well stocked bar. When she got home from work, the crooked thing was getting cold. Never a word was said about an eight year old using the oven without his parents being home, never a word was said about my mentor being an alcoholic. Mom felt that I was responsible and that she couldn’t get me into too much trouble if she was cooking. Those were simpler times.

Babka Rum Recipe

babka

2 cups flour

1/2 cup of sugar

1 packet of yeast

1/2 cup of milk

1/2 cup margarine

3 whole eggs at room temperature

1 can raisins – browned, soaked ½ hour, then drained

rum syrup

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup of water

1/4 cup of rum

Addresses:

1. Mix 3/4 cup of flour with the yeast.

2. Combine milk and margarine in saucepan until just HOT. Stop in a bowl.

3. Add remaining DRY ingredients and beat for 2 minutes with an electric mixer.

4. Add eggs 1 at a time and up to 1/2 cup flour to make a thick batter; then beat for 2 more minutes.

5. Cover and let rise until doubled, add the raisins and make into a 2-quart greased.
pan tube Let rise uncovered for 30 minutes.

6. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes.

7. Prepare the rum syrup by boiling all the ingredients, over moderate heat, until the sugar dissolves.

8. Before removing from the pan and while still hot from the oven; prick with a fork in several places and pour the rum syrup over the cake.