The strange realization that I couldn’t call her anymore to ask about something we had done on vacation, to ask her about people we knew from when I was a kid in a different country, to learn more about our family’s past, or to doublecheck how to make a family recipe, that bothers me the most now. 

Not that I could bother her much the last couple of years anyhow, she had trouble holding the iPad because of her rheumatism. It hurt her hands to hold it. And it didn’t matter that you tried to explain how it works with a stand, it was simply not going to go into her brain and take hold. She didn’t want to understand technology anymore, it was too much trouble. 

Now, a part of my past that has been is completely gone with that particular knowledge of her times, her memories and recollections, interesting or faulty or correct as they may be.

My mother came to the Netherlands after the war, in the early fifties, just as eager as the Dutch were, busy rebuilding Holland at the quickest pace they could. Massive, supposedly brutalist (but incredibly boring) apartment and office buildings were built to house the new generations and corporations. 

People were starting to discover fun again, and the freedom to say and do and be.

Not my mother, though. She hailed from New York State, her father was the mayor of a medium-sized town. She graduated cum laude from her university and got the proverbial European tour at the end of her studies. Her picture had been in the newspaper with her debutante ball, she proudly shared this with me when I was growing up. They featured her engagement and marriage as well; my parents had met on the boat crossing to New York City, where my father was going to study insurance underwriting. I wasn’t sure what to do with that published information, it wasn’t happening to me or around me, so it seemed really, really far away from me. My generation was one of equality for all, the end of the flower power with big bell bottom jeans, why do we need to wear bras, and peace and love for all.

My mother did not experience the real war, the hunger, the fear, the unknown. She didn’t have to cultivate the ability to have to think on your feet and act quickly in the face of intimidation. She did see how hard people worked, how they never stopped trying to fix buildings, things, stuff, work on projects — rebuild society. She empathized, and personalized it into her story. I could feel my Dutch grandmother, and her mother-in-law, showing us that you could also choose to ‘keep calm and carry on’. It functions as a source of strength to know you can overcome challenges in life. 

My mother was at the center of our family, maybe of the small village I grew up. She brought American glamour to Holland, her feminist views of women’s right to work, abortion and autonomy. She taught us how to swim, a novelty at the time. But my parents would fight about the weirdest things, I remember as a kid thinking, and now I don’t know if that was because of my mom’s strong views. I am sure her ideas were very different from the Dutch at the time, not only socially but also culturally. The differences between America and the Netherlands are small but oh-so-important, I have discovered. 

Why I am sharing all this? Actually to put her recipe for chocolate paste out there.

My mother was already making her version of ‘chocopasta’, as we call it in Holland, back in the sixties. She would take a slice of bread (boterham in Dutch), butter it and put chocolate jimmies (chocolade hagelslag) on there. Then she would roast these and add more butter (yes, not a cholesterol-friendly food), which you then spread out to create a type of chocolatey paste on your wonderfully toasted bread.

And the Dutch make some awesome types of bread! Unheard of in the States but very delicious.

Here in Holland we have bread made with regular yeast and you can also choose hearty, heartier with cracked nuts and wheat, and heartiest with whole nuts, seeds and grains. The types of grains vary from wheat to spelt to sunflower to pumpkin. Sourdough is rising in popularity in Holland as well, and comes in regular, wheat, spelt, and also in a covered with pumpkin seeds variety. Lovely.

Butter your slice of bread. Add the chocolate jimmies and a pat of butter (see picture above). Yes, I re-use my aluminum foil as you can see — sustainability is a high priority in my household.

Roast at 240 degrees Celsius (450 Fahrenheit), top heat only, for 3 minutes. Your oven might be slower or quicker so do check after about 2 minutes, you don’t want to burn the chocolate.

The photo below is the finished product.

Enjoy!