Thanksgiving makes me think of food and of times past.
Growing up, my parents did a lot of things wrong, things I will not elaborate on here, but you can read my memoir, someday. One of the things they did right was food.
In the early 1960s there were 6 of us sisters, plus my parents in the house. And there were always a friend or two at the table. They would come for the food and stay for the chaos and lack of discipline.
Both my parents could cook and in those early years before the real disintegration dinner was at 6 PM.
My mother was spending about $300 a week in 1960 dollars on groceries and the quality was there. Plenty of protein in the form of roasts, fillets, and capons, which we don’t see in the stores anymore.
We also had seafood such as Scampi and Salmon, which my father pronounced Saaalmon, including the “L” while we all said Samin.
I was already fascinated by the time I was 6. And we tried everything. I attribute my palate today partially to early exposure to “grownup” food.
We also would go out to some excellent restaurants in NYC and the best our small upstate town had to offer.
A favorite was a Greek place that made the best BLTs I have ever had. They also had a secret stash of Greek yogurt, generally unknown at that time. They would bring my father a little cup of it because they knew he appreciated it. 50 years later Greek yogurt is all the rage.
We were early adopters of sushi. Back east we were already going to the type of Japanese restaurant that served Sashimi. When we first moved to Sonoma County in the late 70s there was no sushi.
At a certain point my mother became less able to deal with the day to day cooking. That is when I began to learn.
We were pasta addicts from the beginning. This was the mid-1960s. If it could be put in a box or can it was. And so my “soup base” was Lipton’s Chicken. But their noodles were sad, so I would use Penne, so much it was more of a stew. I still make Chicken Noodle Soup, but with a homemade stock.
By my early teens things had gone wrong to such a degree that I was on my own in New York City and Berkeley. This is when I learned to love what might be called Low Cuisine, or Poor People’s Food. I still do, from peasant food to Mickler’s “White Trash Cooking”.
I learned to use everything. By the mid-70s we were all together in Berkeley, at least for a time. We shopped at Ma Revolution on Telegraph. My mother had become enamored of the macrobiotic diet so Brown Rice formed the base for the Hippie Gruel we had every night. Besides the rice it consisted of veggies, and any scraps of chicken if there was any, and usually an excellent cheese such as Gruyère, which is decidedly not macrobiotic.
When we first moved to Sonoma County in the late 70s there was no sushi and no Cappuccino. The county was still rural. But we got there at the right time. Eventually both a sushi place and a real cafe opened and we were some of their first regulars.
After that the food scene exploded in Sonoma County and I was in food heaven. My mother grew produce and kept chickens almost to her death in 2000. And I always had fresh eggs and vegetables. Plus, we would often shop together and were back to the massive grocery shopping of the park early ‘60s except it was Whole Foods instead of the A&P.
I was the designated cook for the holidays. I would do all the cooking and go all out. My go-to for years, after The Joy was Thanksgiving Dinner by the Blues, and various old cookbooks with recipes for steamed puddings, Roast Goose, and hard sauce.
I still cook many of the recipes I picked up during this time.
We used to hit the restaurants too. All the great SoCo spots, mostly relinquished to memory now. One favorite was the Mandala, a casual kind of Hippie place. When the owner went to France he came back and changed the name to Matisse and the food to French. I think my parents liked it better. For all their Bohemian habits they were really creatures of their own generation, as I am of mine.
During my 40 years in Sonoma my relationship to food deepened. I went through the culinary training at SRJC but never really worked in the industry. I consider myself a serious home cook.
Now, in Northern New Mexico I am still learning. The cuisine here is unique and not simple, though it is homespun. I am also getting active in the food sovereignty movement.
Teaching children about good food how to cook it and where to get it is one of the best things you can do for them. It lasts a lifetime.
What are your food memories? Does thinking about meals from the past bring your memories into sharper focus? Maybe the faces and voices of people passed from this world, or the way the house smelled on a feast day?
Let me know in the comments.
So many surprises here as you expound on your earlier family life. How wonderful that you had the cooking experience with your mother. I had much the same and even though our relationship left much to be desired, the cooking gene is much appreciated. Today I responded to a question about baking sweet potatoes remembering my mother's instruction. Lovely.