Food

I have no idea why this morning the topic of food is on my mind but it is. I usually walk out the door with a couple of apples and a couple of bananas in my hand and that is my food for the day. I fly a desk I don’t need much. This morning I was not able to take my usual as we were out of the apples. So I grabbed the two bananas and off I went. After being at work for an hour or so I needed something. So off I go to the cafeteria and grab a bacon, egg toast sandwich. Well worth the walk, it hit the spot.
It occurred to me that there were good things in my youth, contrary to what might be inferred by my postings. God knows there were many not so good things as evident by the general attitude of the family members.
Food is one of those things that were generally done well. It was not an easy task to cook for a dozen people so meals were prepared “restraint” style. The primary cook for years was my dad. He had meals preparation down to a fine art. He was the person I learned to crack eggs with one had from. He was the one who taught me the importance about having the “right” pan for the job. He had an egg pan that was only used for eggs. It was older than dirt but a dab of butter and you could cook any egg in the world in it. He was the one who told me of the importance of cast iron for cook. The heat was more even in cast iron pans and after being “seasoned” the pans lasted forever. My dad’s meals were simple. His meals were filling. His meals were good. To this day I remember the winter breakfast meals. He would come home from delivering papers or cleaning bar rooms and get the breakfast prep going. Some mornings it would be oatmeal, others it would be cream of wheat, others it would be hot chocolate and English muffins. From my dad I learned that English muffins should be toasted on a griddle, not in a toaster. He would prepare a couple dozen at a time and put them in a big stew pot. At the bottom of the pot was a deep plate placed upside down and water about a half inch deep on the bottom. Water was heated, steam was made, English muffins were always warm and fresh. Mind you we often got “day old” English muffins but you could not tell. The hot cocoa was made from scratch. It started with the Nestle unsweetened cocoa powder, milk, a little vanilla extract and sugar.
His method of cooking was to the untrained eye untrained, low skill. To the trained eye he knew what a teaspoon of this or that looked like. He knew what a cup of this or that looked like. He knew what the right consistence of a mix was to be. He had the official “tools” but he knew well how to use the simple tools. Like a carpenter. The best saw in the hands of an unskilled operator never produces the same results as a simple saw in the hands of a master.
The meals were simple. Macaroni and cheese, from scratch. Scalloped potatoes from scratch, Swiss steak from scratch. Soups and chowders from scratch. The meals required lots of work. I remember peeling 5 then 10, then 20 pounds of potatoes at a time. I remember the big pots with used for the potato salad or the long deep pans used for the scalloped potatoes. We had good meals, often simple but good. During the summer there would be the barbeques fresh corn, on occasion steak, hot dogs and such. Again always good.
My mom did cook on occasion. Spaghetti sauce was her recipe of choice. The amount of time she spent in the kitchen was not as much as my dad’s but as we all got older her time in the kitchen increased and his time decreased. Today she does most of the cooking and has become quite skilled at it as well.
As I commented in a previous posting on this blog meal times we not like those seen on the Walton’s TV show. The issues, emotions and personalities and the food were two different things. The time, effort and genuine concern that meals we good tasting, good for you and there was a good quantity was always apparent. There were things done right in my youth, meal preparation was often one of them.

Trial by fire

It is strange how things trigger memories. This past weekend has been hot and humid and I have not felt 100%. While sitting around and just kind pushing through the plans for the weekend I deiced to tackle something that needed doing but my knowledge of the requirements were unknown. The event that triggered a memory was my of installing a replacement stove in our kitchen.

I had memories of my aunt’s kitchen. It was really small, and my aunt’s family like mine was really big. We often spent time at my aunt’s house as it was close and for the most part my mom actually got along with her sister (my aunt) and her family. I am sure you have heard the phrase “boys will be boys” well that is so true. As often occurred when our two families got together we found creative ways to occupy our time, not always in the best interest of the community. I forget how old I was but I know it was pre-teen years and as such I was all too happy to follow the “older” brothers and cousins in whatever amusement was being pursued.

There is not a boy out there that is not intrigued and amazed by fire, we were no different. We would find opportunities to “play” with matches and start “camp fires”. I think by and large we were safe about it. I have memories of some of the fires being built with a ring of rocks. Some fires were built in the top of old trash cans because they were made out of the really heavy metal, not the plastic of today.

I do not believe there were any “innocent” people attending these little fires training sessions. But as I was to find out time and again there is little difference in just looking and actually doing. Guilt by association was a very real event in my house. I am not sure of the details but I do remember my aunts stove as it was the instrument used to “teach” me a lesson. Somehow “we” the group of boys had been found out and our fire fascination was out of the bag.
I was never very good a convincing my mom I was innocent and as such I often received punishment regardless of my guilt, again guilt by association, was sufficient. We had been caught my older brothers, my twin and my cousins, one older, one younger, all caught red handed. I had not had an active role other than watching but that did not protect me from the punishment. In fact I was the point person for the punishment because I was not good at looking innocent or casting blame. That and the adults had there “favorites” who were seemingly incapable of wrongdoing.

This lesson would be like many others in my youth, harsh. We were all herded into my aunt’s kitchen and the stove burner was turned on. In what would be typical fashion my mother wanted the “guilty” person to explain why they committed the crime. The problem is I was more often than not the guilty person because of the guilt by association. As I was to find out my family was all too willing to “throw me under the bus” in order to avoid the punishment they and I knew was coming. I understand now as the punishment was often very severe in fact that kind of treatment today would be called abuse.

This crime of playing with fire could only be “cured” by fire. So I remember all of us saying it was not “my fault” then one of my older brothers stumbled upon a technique that would be my ticket for about 95% of all the punishment for the rest of my time home. My older brother was the first to accuse me and that was all that was needed because everyone else in the group agreed with him, I was guilty. My mother took my hand and placed it over the burner and held it there long enough to cause reddening and blistering on the tips of the fingers, that was one hell of a lesson in a lot of ways.

There were lots of lessons learned that day. My brothers all learned the best thing to do is be the first to accuse someone else, it did not have to be truth, it did have to be quick. My brothers also learned that it is best if they supported the “other” accusers safety in numbers applies. If everyone pointed a finger at me, then it had to be true I was guilty. I learned that the truth had no bearing on the issue; it was a numbers game, and as fate would have it I never would get in front of the numbers.

Did I play with matches as a kid, sure I did. Does playing with matches warrant first and second degree burns? I don’t think so. Was an attitude of true truth fostered in my home? Not in the least. As I would find out years later there was much done in my house and “hidden” because the response from my mother would be extreme. Fortunately for me many of those “hidden things” occurred while I was not at home for. I would also find out years later that the habit of pointing fingers at the other guy forced many in my family to play the blame game. The blame game would be the ruler of their lives. And many have found it a challenge to accept responsibility for their actions and work through the consequences.

Except for a small scratch on my thumb the stove installation went fine, all burners work and it looks nice in the kitchen. It is my hope to only cook food on it. Oh and the small scratch on my thumb is my fault, not my families.