Topanga Dailey

Growing up, I didn’t have that food culture or history others did.

My mom grew up in a dairy farm family where she and her siblings fended for themselves, making meals out of cans. Despite the strong Italian heritage in her family, she didn’t see her mom dive much into cooking until she left home to start her own family.

My dad lost his parents when I was a baby. A much more traditional Kansas family that transplanted to Arizona, his mom made what you would expect – casseroles, with a side of strict table manners. My dad was mortified when he first went to my mom’s house in high school for dinner, where he was served steak with no utensils.

My parents moved us from Arizona to Colorado when I was 3. We had no family connections in the state. It was the right move for our family, and I’m thankful for it. But with that move, my sister and I lost touch with any family legacies.

My mom taught herself to cook and made her own recipe book. She did her best to save any family recipes from my dad’s mother that she could. We were fortunate to raise our own cattle, so we had a freezer full of beef at all times. And my mom let us in the kitchen at a very young age, making cookies from the back of a Tollhouse bag.

That young exposure turned into participating in baking in 4-H, checking out cookbooks at the library, and watching Food Network on the weekdays (because only educational TV was allowed on a school night). As I got older, my mom would leave a pound of ground beef on the counter to thaw and a recipe to follow, and I’d make dinner for the family after school.

Cooking and baking was one of the few places I felt free as a kid. While my parents were very strict on me, cooking was the one place there were no expectations. Maybe that’s one benefit of not knowing my family’s cooking history – there was nothing to live up to. I started practicing crepes on the weekends, something I’d only seen on the screen. I tried new pies every Thanksgiving, with the encouragement and excitement of my mom. When I raised pigs for the first time, I cooked up a pound of bacon from what we raised to share with kids at school to make friends.

My parents worked hard to make sure I pursued a “useful” degree, so agriculture communications was as close as I could find to a degree in food that wasn’t too science-heavy. This moved me to Kansas, where my dad’s family history remained but with few relatives left in the state. While college was a rough time on me, Kansas quickly became home – like some part of me belonged here all along. Eventually, I would settle down in Kansas with my now husband so we could stay close to his family’s farm.

When remote work became much more viable after 2019, I convinced my boss at the marketing agency to let me work remote so I could get my culinary arts degree at Butler Community College in Wichita. I had the privilege of working in the kitchen at Elderslie for the summer, a farm-to-table fine dining restaurant. The work was hard but rewarding and enjoyable. And if I had pursued culinary from the start, I’d likely still be in restaurants today.

But instead, I have the privilege of raising a family. As I write this, my 11-month-old son sleeps on my chest. Thanks to remote work, we can raise our family and still be involved on the farm. And while I hope one day to have a more culinary-focused job, today I get to help the agriculture and food industry speak the language of cooking to the people who really love food.

Without a connection to my own culinary history, I’ve learned a lot through my husband’s family legacy. Unlike my family, he has a strong understanding of where his family comes from and the traditions and skills they’ve passed along. His family has grown wheat and other crops on the same ground since they immigrated generation ago like many other Russian-German Mennonites. He grew up learning not only how to grow wheat but also how to bake bread and make the most of the garden produce his mom and grandfather grew. His sister was able to pull together a strong family recipe book, filled with dishes you can find at Duerksen family gatherings.

Through all of these experiences, I’ve grown to establish my own culinary base in Great Plains cuisine. While appreciation for Midwest cuisine has grown in recent years, it’s focused largely on the Great Lakes region where food and culture hubs exist in areas like Chicago and Minneapolis.

The Great Lakes has a strong food point of view, and while much of it overlaps with the Great Plains, there are distinctions between the two. This largely is due to differences in climate and agriculture, with those up North having more access to freshwater fish, berries, dairy products like specialty cheeses, and more. In addition, immigration from other cultures has left a stamp on food up north.

Here in the Great Plains, especially in Kansas, we are true meat, potato and bread country. Kansas ranks 50th in tourism, and that’s part of the charm of the state – it’s a place you go to settle down and enjoy the pace of life (though the tourism board has done amazing work with their campaigns the last few years). The same goes for the food – while unassuming and simple, it’s reliable, comforting food that makes the most of what we have when we have it. Theres is a quiet artistry to making a good Great Plains meal.

In this blog, I plan to explore Great Plains cuisine and food culture as a whole, with my own personal culinary touch. Great Plains food provides a great canvas for innovation and personal exploration, and I hope this can inspire others to do the same in reverence for the food of these flyover states.