Blue View - Yooper Soul Food
/Yoopers seem proud of the name
My mother was born in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, making her a Yooper. When I was young, I thought “Yooper” was a derogatory term, but if it was then, it certainly isn’t now. We’ve been traveling through the U.P. for several days now, and the people we’ve met that live in the U.P., aka Yoopers, seem to be quite proud of the title.
Some self-deprecating Yooper humor
My mother would, on special occasions, fix a traditional U.P. comfort food called pasties - which is pronounced “pass-tee” or “pass-tees”. (BTW - pronouncing the word “paste-ee” will get a smirk from a Yooper, as this refers to a certain part of an exotic dancer’s costume). My mom’s recipe was to mix chopped beef, potatoes, carrots, onions, and either turnips or rutabagas together and bake them in a pie crust. It would take her quite awhile to make them, and each time she did, she’d tell us the story that went with them…
Yooper Soul food - the pasty
“In the mid 1800’s, huge copper and iron deposits were discovered in the U.P., and before long there were hundreds of mines operating to extract the ore. Around 1850, large numbers of Cornish miners, known “Cousin Jacks” (and their wives as “Cousin Jennys”) began immigrating to the area to work the mines, and with them, they brought the pasty. It was a very hearty, handheld meal they could take down into the mines with them. The miners would tuck them into their shirts to keep them warm until their lunch break, and the pasties would provide enough nutrition and energy to get them through the second half of the shift.”
Unfortunately, the story of the pasty was better than the actual pasties. Mom was generally a pretty good cook, but her pasties were just not that great. They were on the heavy, doughy and dry side, and it would take copious amounts of catsup to make them palatable. Neither dad nor any of us kids liked them, but we all knew how hard she worked to make them and how much she wanted us to like them, so we’d eat what we could and say something like “wow - great as usual mom, but, man, am I stuffed. I can see how one of these would get those Cornish miners through a shift”. When, as an adult, I’d come with the family to visit her, she would have slaved in the kitchen for two days making enough pasties to feed an entire village of Cornish miners, and she’d greet us with “I know how much you all love pasties and I know you probably haven’t had them since the last time you were here, so I made enough that you can eat as many as you like during your stay. Take the rest home with you… they freeze really well”.
So, it was with more than a little amazement that I noticed that there are a lot of pasty shops in the U.P. - in fact, more than a lot… they are everywhere. One place even referred to their pasties as “Yooper Soul Food”. Was this an acquired taste like Vegemite in Australia? If you grew up eating pasties and had them all the time, would you eventually begin to actually like them? Was pasty eating an accomplishment Yoopers were proud of, like enduring the brutal winters they have up here? We thought we’d stop at one of the shops and find out.
We chose Dobber’s Pasties which has been around since 1975. The clientele looked to be half tourist and half local, so no clues there. The menu was the first surprise, however. In addition to a beef pasty, we could have a chicken, a pizza, a ham and cheese, a veggie, or even a breakfast pasty with scrambled eggs, sausage, cheese and onions. We ordered two, a veggie and a chicken pasty, planning to split them and try both. The hot, nicely wrapped pasties were presented on a tray; I nabbed a bottle of catsup from the condiments station and we headed to a table.
The pasties turned out to be quite good. The crust was light and flaky and the filling was moist and flavorful. We didn’t touch the catsup - they were fine without. We liked both, but gave a slight edge to the veggie pasty.
I mentioned to the young lady at the counter that my mom was born not far from there, but that her pasties weren’t nearly this good. She said her grandmother’s pasties weren’t all that great either, but there are lots of recipes. So, I have a theory. I think my mom’s recipe, which was handed down from her paternal grandmother, BTW, was the traditional Cornish miner recipe. Those miners couldn’t stick one of these modern, flaky crusted pasties in their shirts and expect them to be intact after a long morning’s work in an iron mine. They needed heavy, thick crusted pasties. And if that thick pasty inside their shirt did split, they wouldn’t want all that tasty juice running down their chests and into their pants. No, they’d want their pasties to be as dry as possible. Mom’s pasties would have been perfect for them. For the rest of us non-miners… well, we kinda like the newer recipes.
Thanks mom, for all the love you put into those pasties and for the great stories that went with them.
For Becky, 1917-2016