Mentor's Helga Stang, German cook who for years shared recipes, dies at 84 - News-Herald.com

Helga Stang died on the morning of Sept. 11, still dressed in her pajamas but her makeup carefully applied and both her eyelashes and wig in place.

A freshly made plum cake was cooling in the kitchen.

“She always got up at 5 a.m., so she probably made it early in the morning and was getting ready to go somewhere when she had the stroke,” said her daughter Heidi Fatica, who found her mother collapsed in a hallway. “There was a little slice out of the plum cake. She probably had it for her breakfast.”

Fatica drove to her mother’s Mentor home at 1 p.m. that day after Stang failed to return unanswered calls she’d made earlier. That’s when her daughter found her.

“She had a stroke last summer but told very few people about it. She told me then, ‘If it happens again, I hope it takes me,’” Fatica said.

Stang had been journaling her blood pressure for her cardiologist.

“It was very high,” Fatica said.

Stang was 84 and had lived in the same tiny house in Mentor for the past 58 years. Few people knew her true age.

She became known to local audiences more than two decades ago after her husband encouraged her to compile her German recipes into a cookbook. TV and newspaper stories followed, and Stang acquired fans for her recipes and kitchen skills.

Stang was featured numerous times in Food section stories in The News-Herald, many of which chronicled her early years in post-World War II Germany. She was 14 when she and her late husband, Hans, fell in love, and they married a few years later.

“She was just 17 when I was born,” said Fatica. “I was 3 when they came to America and settled in Willoughby.”

That was in 1956. A few years later they moved to Mentor.

Fatica’s sister, Holly, who was born eight years later, lives in Virginia.

Hans, who spoke some English when they arrived, was a cabinetmaker who established his own business, Stang Cabinets, in Willoughby. Although just in his early 20s, he was gregarious and his woodworking talents quickly became widely known. His business did well.

“Heidi learned English before I did,” Stang told The News-Herald in a story about her recipes. “I had a terrible time learning the language and felt so lonely.”

Her young husband doted on her, and she loved cooking for him. Eventually, she began teaching others how to cook.

“I never even learned how to put gas in my car,” she said. “Hans did everything for me.”

She was devastated when he died in 2009, and she carried her grief with her until she died.

The novel coronavirus pandemic and social distancing of recent months exacerbated her loneliness, Fatica said, even though she and her husband visited a few times a week.

“Her grief was getting worse,” she said.

When Hans died, Stang revealed her own last wishes, saying she wanted no services.

“She prefers being remembered for her cooking,” Fatica said.

In January, Stang was featured in a story about her potato pancakes (bit.ly/3kim8mY) in which she confided that during World War II her mother would often be paid in potatoes and make potato pancakes to feed her five children.

Stang's pastries were especially welcomed at Christmastime, when she'd share stories of the German holiday customs from her childhood. Cookies she developed from recipes passed down by her mother and mother-in-law were featured in a 2019 story (bit.ly/2FF1D4U) that was especially popular with readers.

Helga Stang \ finishes off her Bavarian Kuchen with a glaze made from the syrup of the canned mandarin orange slices on top in 2015.

News-Herald file

A 2015 story about her Bavarian Kuchen recipe (bit.ly/2H1qCzV) even told readers where to find the ingredients, which she always insisted be the best. Local stores such as Heinen’s and Barb & Patty’s Butcher Palace made new friends and boosted their business as a result.

Stang always included her phone number in stories so readers having problems with any of her recipes could get help. That resulted in many long-lasting friendships among home cooks in Lake and Geauga counties.

“I thought we’d maybe have a celebration of life since so many people remember her,” said Fatica. “But then I realized we can’t even do that with this pandemic.”