She didn’t cook, but she sure did fill a lot of bellies

In memory of my grandmother, Matilda Reber

By ERIN REBER HOWEY

When I was little, I thought that everyone’s grandmother lived on top of a restaurant. I didn’t know I was a VIP. Walking into my grandma’s house, we always got the best table—and we never needed a reservation.

We dined at the red leather corner booth with the big brass buttons, right below the oil painting that looked a lot like Santa Claus—you know the one.

Around the corner was Foxy, the stuffed fox wearing his feathered Bavarian hat and bowtie, holding a tray of shiny red matches, guarding a banquet table loaded with black forest cake, pastries and apfelstrudel.

At grandma’s, I got spoiled. I sat underneath a blue-and-white checkered flag at the bar, surrounded by words like “späten” and “München.” The Lowenbräu lion smiled at me while I drank Shirley Temples, filled with drowning cherries and spun a mini-ferris wheel carrying a load of salty pretzels.

Then, after I was drunk with sugar, I would watch an army of women garbed in dirndls march out in soldier formation with steaming trays of sauerbraten over their heads—how I wanted to have that job and those breasts someday!

Any day of the week I could taste-test a loaf of pumpernickel bread on my own private cutting board if I wanted to. I could go into the kitchen to visit my dad or overdose on fruit cocktail or ice cream sundaes smothered in chocolate syrup. At seven, I developed a craving for chicken liver paté, and even though I didn’t know what a schnitzel was, I always ordered it. Still do.

My sister Herm and I would hide under the white linen tables in the dining room and drive my great-grandma insane. We would spend hours practicing how to fold the napkins on the tables and pretend to wait on each other. We loved when my parents went away—because we got to stay upstairs and eat all of my grandma’s hard candy. She had a major sweet tooth. In the summer, we would jump in the fountain in the backyard, or play in the brook behind the restaurant. But the absolute best game was with those marbled lions out front that we rode like horses. I wonder how many people have a picture of themselves sitting on them? We could do whatever we wanted. We were untouchables.

During the afternoons, my grandma would always be sitting at “her” table propped against the partition of the bar (the last table to be set for the night) inspecting wait staff attire, counting the reservations, with my Uncle Frank eagerly waiting behind the bar. They were always ready, my grandma with her pumps and pin, anxious to seat the guests.

What I admired most about my grandma was her work ethic and her pride in her family and their business. The restaurant was her life. It was where she lived, where she raised her children and where she socialized. People would travel from New York City, New Jersey and Philadelphia just to share a meal in my grandma’s house. She guaranteed service, atmosphere and quality cuisine. She kept the Reber’s tradition alive after my grandfather’s untimely death and entertained and fed thousands. She was involved in the community, was dedicated to her family and eventually retired five miles away from the restaurant in her “hometown” of 60 years. She was always herself—and believe me, you knew if she loved you or if she hated you. We use to joke and call her an “old battleaxe.” Some people were even afraid of her, but she was always generous to the people she loved and cared about.

She never did actually cook a meal—ask my mom or dad—but she made so many people full: full of life with celebration, cheer and great food in her home, the restaurant.

So nowadays, when I drive over the Barryville Bridge to visit my “hometown” of over 30 years, the first thing I see is her restaurant still standing, a true testament to her strong will and determination. She had an active and remarkable 91 years and I am proud of all of her accomplishments. She will be greatly missed.

And I know if there are restaurants in heaven, she’ll be heading a five-star, alongside her family.

(Rebers is now the Carriage House in Barryville, NY)