…My true love gave to meeeeeee, something comparable to my youthful memoriiiieeees!
That the holidays are upon us, I find myself reminiscing and fascinate at how the best memories of my youth have much to do with food; finding it, creating it and over indulging in it. What better way to share my joy, Christmas and culinary alike, than to share 12 favorite food memories of my youth.
1. My sisters, cousin and I, would walk barefoot through the corn field with Dad. He’d show us how to clean the silk from the corn and right there, we’d devour its sweet starchy goodness, envious of the many insects that partook daily.
2. Mom’s homemade ice cream. Watching the ice and rock salt move counterclockwise would only last a bit. I’d head outside and up a tree to get my mind away from the anticipation. A method that never worked. For I’d return every ten minutes to check on its progress soon to be yelled at by Mom to “stop running in and out of the house”. I can remember the taste of fresh vanilla and strawberries as if it were yesterday.
3. Mom’s homemade teacakes. To this day, I’ve no idea what went into the mouthfuls of deliciousness but the rare treat left an indelible impression. They were simple, sweet and best of all quick! Mom would whip up a batch on rare occasion as we took in a weekend viewing of Creature Feature.
4. Chicago hotdogs. I can’t find one Chicagoan who’s familiar with this manner of hotdog, though my Mom swore by its title! All the same it was one of my favorite feasts. Sausages from Penn Dutch commonly replaced the hotdog. The bun, an oversized Italian hoagie roll, would then be stuffed with a sautéed combination of potatoes, onions, green and red bell peppers. I’d slather mine with both mayonnaise and ketchup. Delish!
5. Riding along the dirt paths of Statesboro, Georgia, Dad would steer the car to roads’ edge. We’d rediscover a plum tree or blackberry bush and pick wild strawberries or raspberries. Just amongst the brush Dad would share related food stories or family folklore. We’d laugh and nibble, but careful to catch the juice journeying down our wrists with our tongues.
6. Grandmother made preserves with almost everything. Peaches, plums, berries and even water melon rinds. It was one of my breakfast favorites.
7. What good are breakfast preserves without Grandmother’s homemade biscuits. While Mom’s biscuits were as good there were always traces of her efforts to be found powdering the countertops. But Grandmother: I’d scan the length of the kitchen, buttermilk biscuits melting in my mouth. There was in no way a trace of flour to be found. I was convinced that the biscuits were from a local market and once asked Mom as much. She gave me the worst ‘how dare you’ look and said nothing. In our family, the mere implications of short cuts were the equivalent of cursing and adult. You didn’t!
8. Caramel cake and jelly cake. Both were holiday treats and each of my Grandmother’s daughters (with the exception of one) could make them uniformly delectable. Watching Mom stir the sugar combination until it caramelized made my taste buds chorus! Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner are never the same without them.
9. Aunt Julia’s macaroni and cheese. Her cheese was plentiful, creamy and sharp! The flavor was the most intense of any macaroni and cheese that I’ve had since. I learned later that the crème de la crème was the added spoonfuls of cayenne pepper. Divine perfection on a plate.
10. Dad was as good in the kitchen as Mom was. Though well defined gender roles only permitted his presence there on rare occasion, he delighted in cooking up creations the most. The one up side of the divorce was the opportunity to indulge more frequently. One of my favorite things was his banana cake. The attention was in the bananas aptly ripened. A large slice and a scoop of vanilla ice-cream were a party in my mouth.
11. Every year around the fourth of July, my family would converge onto my Grandmother’s home in Statesboro, Georgia for the Graham or Dutton family reunion. Before our arrival, a trench had been carefully constructed and prepped for the pig. Special was the child chosen to accompany the elders to the farm beyond the great Georgia Pine trees to hand select a hog. His fate was a slow roast above a flamed pit, rotated patiently until the meat was falling away from the bone. Though I’ve since stopped eating all things pork, I can vividly recall the combination of the tender pork and pan fried cornbread.
12. Whenever we came to visit our grandparents in the country, life was full of chores dissimilar to city life. Then, we thought them fun and exciting for the most part. There was corn cleaning, pea snapping, canning, clear out and harvesting. My favorite of them was time spent at the peach or blueberry orchard. We’d pay for baskets full by the pound. To keep cost down, I devoured my share beneath the shade of the trees or bush. Once I became ill after consuming as many blueberries that the very site of them made me gag. My mother laughed hysterically as she placed before me slice of blueberry pie for dessert. Though disgusted with her tactics, I overcame and ate greedily.
Happy Holiday!
Indulge.
