Sharing Food is Primal part II

Food is essential to our existence. Because humans have such a long postnatal development period before they can reasonably provide for themselves, but also because our culture has extended that period even further, sharing food has long been a way of life. Combine these factors with Depression parents raising children in the aftermath of a great war. Perhaps this gives a clearer picture of the world of the 1950s. Hardship and war always serve to bring out the best and worst in us. There was plenty of the worst in the decade of the 1940s. These columns will usually look toward the better parts of our history along with what we can learn and pass on from them to nurture the better parts of our natures.

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Frugal living came naturally to all of us

Sharing Food is Primal—Part I Sharing Food is Primal—Part II To be perfectly honest, the folks probably didn’t give much thought to our daily routines and lessons. They had been raised in particular ways by parents who didn’t give it much thought, either. Because they grew up in and incorporated the best parts of a 19th Century American culture, they didn’t need to do so. Certain features of the culture were known to all, especially hard work, frugal living, faith, and family. Hard work was essential. We lived in an industrial world. Both my grandfathers spent nearly their entire working lives in factories, first with Briscoe-Maxwell, with Hoosier Cabinet, and then with the mighty Chrysler Corporation. They had come north after the Great War seeking steady employment and dependable diets. They found both in the Corn Belt of the industrial Midwest. Everyone understood that dad worked to provide for the family and mom raised the kids, were they blessed with some. Even as kids we could see this all around us. The neighbors were much like us, and our grandparents had done the same thing, raising our parents through thick and thin and still going strong. Those industrial jobs put food on our tables. Frugal living came naturally to all of us. Grandparents and great-grandparents learned to avoid waste and profligate living long before the Depression came along. They worked hard and knew where their food came from. They wasted nothing and taught our parents and us that it was just wrong to waste food. We sometimes saw kids we knew wasting food, and shook our heads in pity and near-disbelief. We also understood that one day we would have to provide these things for our own families, and that we would be judged in part on how well we did it. It was a sobering thought.

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Central to all of our cultural norms was food

Faith came to us by example every day of the week, with an exclamation point on Sundays. The importance of family had its daily reinforcement around the supper table with a special lesson at Sunday dinner. We learned quickly to respect our parents and grandparents. Believe me, just like the ‘terrible 2s,’ that spell of smart-mouth toward our mother didn’t last very long. Central to all of our cultural norms was food. The food came from hard work. We extended and shared it through frugal living. Faith taught us we could depend on divine assistance if we lived right, and we learned all of these things in a family setting. Food became a bond and a source of family belonging. Food was enjoyable. I never saw anyone enjoy the evening meal as much as my dad. There were jokes about having a hollow leg. We were allowed, even encouraged, to name our favorite meals. Our mother prepared these favorites as part of the regular suppertime rotation. She was good at all of them. We were also taught to appreciate and thank her for the work she did preparing all those meals. Pop taught us to thank her, and to do it every day. We did, and we meant it. For a small boy, this made for culinary delights on almost a daily basis. Even a short list of these must include real macaroni and cheese, pork chops, Kentucky Wonder green beans, mashed potatoes, fried potatoes, baked potatoes, boiled potatoes, sweet corn, fried chicken, mustard greens, beef and noodles, fresh fruit of every kind, pork tenderloin sandwiches, and, of course, pies. There’s a much longer list, but I don’t wish to test your patience, dear reader. I was the youngest, so I went to the grocery with my mother every week for years, first to the neighborhood grocery and then to the supermarket. She was a Thursday shopper because the coupons came out in Wednesday’s paper. This weekly journey to the land of plenty became a comforting ritual for me. Food came from even further away than I ever suspected, it turned out. The white grapes I loved came from California, as did raisins. Pineapples came from Hawaii. Apples came from nearby orchards or from Michigan and Washington. Bread, cookies, and tomatoes might come from our own garden or kitchen, or from our hometown bakeries and greenhouses. By about 1960 I was allowed some choices of my own, so long as it didn’t interfere with the weekly grocery budget of $20 for the five of us. If my wishes meant a breach of the budget restrictions, the answer would be ‘maybe next week.’ To this day I enjoy every visit to a grocery store, and it’s a great honor to be trusted with the shopping. Whenever I travel, visiting grocery stores is a required part of the experience.

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Every part of our family shared food as the primary activity at every gathering

We kids began to notice things. Supper preparation took time, we learned. The work often started before 2 p.m. and occasionally even started before noon. In my grandmother’s day there were few quick meal preparation choices. The green beans we consumed in large quantities came out of the garden and then out of quart jars in the basement. These beans simmered with salt pork or ham bones for three hours or more before they were ready. My dad and my older brothers loved bean soup made from Great Northern beans or navy beans. Those beans had to be soaked overnight the night before, then simmered with ham for two or three hours to be ready. The cornbread served with the bean soup took an hour to mix and bake in the cast iron skillet or the cast iron corn stick pan. When my grandmother passed away, Pop became the corn bread specialist. Corn bread is made with white corn meal, buttermilk, and a little soda. The pan must be preheated with enough bacon grease in it to help make the bottom golden brown. Note: real corn bread does not have sugar in it! Ahh, bean soup with ham and cornbread. . . I can smell that kitchen now. Every part of our family shared food as the primary activity at every gathering. If we were going to visit family, we were going to eat while we were there. I had eleven cousins, nine boys and two girls, and the more of them who attended, the bigger the feast. My grandmothers were great cooks, and my aunts had kitchen reputations, too. These gatherings came to resemble church suppers with their bounty-burdened tables. We boys kept eating until we could hold no more. Then there was pie. To my way of thinking, food and family are one and the same. With family or just with friends, the ritual of sharing food can be passed on to each new generation. I wonder what the poor folks are having tonight?

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