“She’ll never be able to cook anything.”
So declared my grandfather as his 16-year-old daughter Connie, now my mom, made her first cake. She’d shut herself in the pantry, refusing all help as she mixed the angel food ingredients. Eventually she emerged and slid the pans into the hot oven. To everyone’s surprise, the creation came out perfectly. Seventy-eight years later, she’s proved her skill thousands of times, cooking a lot of things well, and a few things spectacularly.
“I’ll make squash rolls,” she says. “Okay.” She’s the only one of us who’s ever made them. And that’s as it should be. As long as we have her, and as long as she can pull it off, Mom will make the squash rolls.
A century of squash rolls
As did her mother. My grandmother Alberta made squash rolls for decades, since before her family moved from Lewiston, Maine, to a tall brown New Englander in Penacook, New Hampshire, where my mother grew up and baked that first cake.
“I loved watching my mother cook,” says my mom. And no one ever questioned my grandmother’s talents. Roasts with a bounty of vegetables harvested from my grandfather’s enormous garden, where he handed me the only green peas I ever liked – raw. Grammy baked picture-perfect pies and once every few years conjured my favorite food, her chicken cacciatore. Two generations of moms, two great cooks. Both made squash rolls and made them famous, in our family at least.
A few years after nailing that first cake (circa 1945), my mom would marry a good-looking young teacher and WWII Navy vet with four sisters, from the next town over, Concord. Though generous with a barb like my grandfather, he admitted to loving the squash rolls.
We had them at Thanksgiving 2023. We’ve had them on nearly every major holiday of our lives. We’re hoping to have them for Christmas.



