two young potatoes on wooden table with blooming field and blue sky on the background

In the Hanover township census of 1875, my great-great grandfather, Frederick Brautigam, who immigrated from either Saxony, or Bavaria (census reports vary) in 1848 (just as the continent-wide revolutions were met with a reactionary tide), posted up a crop report. He had found his way to Chautauqua in 1853, age 32 when he arrived, his wife Amelia also 32, already with a growing brood of children, son Frederick born in Bavaria (or Saxony — I should find out).

He was a cabinet maker — working with the fine Chautauqua woods, the walnut, cherry and bird’s eye maple. I think several pieces remained until my day — the one I remember best was a deep dark black walnut wood bureau, deeply oiled with Lemon Pledge once a month, the brass pulls cleaned with Brasso. It had many dings and dents but the wood kept its beauty, as though it still lived so long as people cared for it.

Everyone farmed back then, including master craftsmen. Forestville had such rich loamy soil — pockets of flint here and there, occasional seams of clay, even the prized kaolin clay, but mostly the soil was dark and crumbly with organic matter and everything grew so fast you could practically hear it.

Frederick worked 16 acres, of which 3 was plowed. He had 9 acres of pasture, 4 acres of meadow, 4 tons of hay, and a half acre planted with Indian corn, that yielded for the market some 25 bushels. It was the two acres of potatoes that we continued to farm well into the 1970s, another 100 years. The yield that long-ago year was 100 bushels. He also had 150 apple trees, of which he sold 10 bushels, five milk cows from which he sold 600 pounds of butter, two horses and two pigs which butchered out to a respectable 300 pounds of pork. The township census also reported $3 worth of poultry. That was not an insignificant amount for those days; a cowboy on the Chisholm Trail in the same era would make $30 for a month of endless toil.

He and Amelia were both naturalized citizens. They eventually had seven children as reported in the 1865 census: Frederick Jr., 17; William, 14, who lived in Erie County oddly; Henry, 13, Amelia, 11; Mary, 8; Frank, 6, Lewis, 2.

That was not an exceptionally sized family for those days. Children were your source of labor. I’m sure Mary and Frank had a full range of chores, while Lewis would not be far behind. Lewis died in 1911, shrouded in mystery. The lore I heard from my dad was that he was killed by a grizzly bear in a mining camp in Montana. The Dunkirk Observer article from 1911 reported that he was killed when he was struck by a car in Wyoming. Imagine, a car in Wyoming in 1911 that killed a man. That was probably a much more rare occurrence than a grizzly attack. There was a scandal; a mysterious woman who showed up after his death claiming to be his wife, and seeking a stake in his $10,000 fortune. He was already married to a Chautauqua woman.

My cousin Andy and I, bored and curious, heard about a ritual to commune with the spirit of the dead. Great-uncle Lewis’ grave was a fine one of dark marble with a plinth of five or six feet. It was said that if you walked backward around the grave three times while chanting the deceased’s name, they would appear and you could communicate with them. We wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery of his death, and life. It didn’t work — otherwise we could have had a Candyman situation on our hands.

I can’t blame him for wanting to get out into the world. Farming in Forestville would have been endless routines, a very small and lustre-less world. I remember the old family farm — situated along both sides of Ryder Road. The Ryder’s were also related through my grandmother’s family. Her and Ruby Ryder were cousins and best friends. It extended over to Bradigan Road, named after the many branches of our family that spread out from that original 16 acres like ivy.

The sugar bush, an eighth-section of second-growth maples, 80 acres, was the adjacent property, bought up sometime in the late 1890s, then the expansion took a northward turn, toward the crest of the first ridge south of the Chautauqua Ridge, a northernmost outcropping of the Alleghenies, marking the boundary between the southern Tier and the Niagara country.

It was not very high but higher than Sheridan Hill’s 1,200 feet. On a clear day you see the plumes of mist from Niagara Falls 90 miles away. That was the stretch that eventually became Bradigan Road. It wasn’t still in the Bradigan family when I came along, and I am vague on when it passed to the Degoliers and others. Probably about the 1920s, as that second generation of Bradigans were aging out of the farm life, and those redoubtable Italians, mostly farmers from the south, Puglia and Abruzze and Naples, found their way to Chautauqua.

I do know that my great-great grandfather lived well into his 80s. Bradigan men either live to a ripe old age or are felled by the family curse — heart disease — in their 40s and 50s. If you survive your first myocardial infarction, you are likely to live another 30 to 40 years. That’s what I tell myself anyway. I was age 50 when I had mine.

Truth is, I have no old family recipes, handed down in tin boxes on 3×5 cards spattered with grease. Those went to my sister Betsy and she’s passed on, taking those recipes with her. But I have a pretty good memory — good meals are memorable. One I was always enjoyed was sauerbraten — which my mom would make for Sunday dinner when my grandparents came over. It was a chance for her to show off her kitchen skills for her mother-in-law, and to connect with her father-in-law’s German heritage, (Grandma was Dutch). It was not old family recipe handed down through the years. There’s plenty of those in this project.

And it had the added benefit of being cut from the rump — the cheapest roast on the beef. It’s basically a pot roast, German style, traditionally made with horsemeat, but a cheap cut of rump is a better choice, at least for the horse if not the cow.

Whenever I’d get home from school and my mom was basting and marinating a big old rump roast, I knew Grandma and Grandpa were coming over for Sunday supper. It was thrilling, as Grandpa loved to carry quarters in the pockets of his jangly old work trousers, which were all he ever wore. He’d hand them out almost conspiratorially, like he’d get in trouble with his grown children for spoiling their kids. At the time you could buy five Mallo Mars or Snickers bars for a quarter.

This was often after my mom started working, when my sister and I entered school. The deal was, in order for my dad to allow my mom to get a job outside the home and abnegate her daily duties to cook up the wondrous fruits of his garden, she had to go hog wild on the weekends with lavish dinners. So come Thursday or Friday, when I’d see trays or bags of that meat marinating for Saturday or Sunday dinners, it made it all worthwhile. Sauerbraten — German for the unappetizing name of sour meat — was much prized. I remember the anticipation when I’d open the refrigerator door to see those roasting pans with the marinade. Anticipation, as much or more than hunger, is an excellent seasoning.

Start with the low rump roast, half a pound per serving. So the standard 3-4 pound roast will serve 6 to eight people. With grandparents coming over for dinner, and my dad’s love of leftovers, mom would make two roasts. She’d double up most recipes. We’ll start with enough for four hungry or six modestly hungry people.

Ingredients:

3-4 proud pounds beef rump roast

2 large onions, chopped

1 cup red wine vinegar, or to taste

1 cup water

1 tablespoon salt

1 tablespoon ground black pepper

1 tablespoon white sugar

10-12 whole cloves

2 bay leaves at least, make sure they are not too dried out.

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

Salt and ground black pepper to taste, don’t be stingy

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

10 gingersnap cookies, crumbled

Place the roast, onions, vinegar, water, 1 tablespoon salt, 1 tablespoon black pepper, sugar, cloves, and bay leaves in a large pot. Cover and refrigerate for 2 to 3 days, turning meat daily. Take out the meat from marinade, pat it dry with paper towels, then save that flavorful marinade.

Then, for the old standby, seasoned flour. Use generous amounts — 1 teaspoon each at least, of salt and pepper. Roll the roast in a bowl with flour mixture. Get it well coated.

Heat vegetable oil in a large Dutch oven or pot over high heat; sear the roast beef until brown on all sides, about 8-10 minutes. Use tongs or a couple of big forks. Pour the marinade over the roast, cover tightly, and reduce the heat to medium-low. Let it simmer slowly, checking only occasionally out of impatience more than anything else. Simmer until beef is tender, 3 1/2 to 4 hours. Remove beef to a platter and slice into generous portions.

Then the fun part. Strain the solids from remaining liquid with a large sieve and continue cooking the marinade over medium heat. Crumble up the gingersnap cookies thoroughly into the consistency of bread crumbs (big chunks will throw off the flavor and feel — my mom would put the cookies into a gallon plastic bag and hammer with a wooden mallet) then simmer until the gravy thickens up, about 10 minutes. For an extra to make the gravy velvety smooth, run it through a sieve a second time. Serve that gravy over the sliced beef.

It is excellent with potatoes, mashed or roasted, especially those you grow yourself on fields where they’ve been dug up for a 150 or more years.

Even with my mom’s skill and her desire to impress my grandmother, it was hit or miss (more hit) and occasionally, the strands of beef would be tough and dry, even if it was fork tender. I think you have to inspect the roast beforehand, check for tough tendons and the silverskin membranes. Is the meat marbled at all? Chances it will be good. Is it very lean? Then you’ve been warned. As much as I love the sauerbraten gravy, I don’t like it when it’s used to compensate for a dry roast. It’s meant to complement, not cover up.

You can try poking the roast all over with a fork when you first put it into the marinade, to help it penetrate the meat fibers. I don’t know if it actually works, but every roast I’ve made this way turned out moist and tender. It could be some other factor, or just good luck in choosing the roast in the first place. Bottom round is the cheapest cut for a reason.

An easy way to break down the muscle fibers is to lower the ph with more vinegar, but don’t go overboard. Don’t put too much sauer in the braten.