D
I'm American, therefore I think our eating habits are boring. But as I've read this thread, I'm truly amazed at how eating is different across the world. And, since I grew up differently, then I am now, it's kind of cool to remember we're not quite as boring as we seem.
Growing up, our family ate dinner at the same table every night of the week. BUT on weekends it was time to visit the grandparents. Both sides of the family, and they were totally different people. (Dad's Dad was a firefighter in Syracuse, NY. His mom made transistor boards in a factory. She had no fingerprints left because of using a soldering iron for so long. Mom's Dad was a VP for the Pennsylvania Railroad and her mother had a degree in Interior Design, but mostly she was part of the socialite set, and didn't work outside of the big job -- raising six kids. They lived in Maryland, until PopPop died.)
We were Catholic, so guaranteed fish on Friday nights. Mom was deathly allergic to seafood, but Dad is OCD, so couldn't let it go. Mom's doctors told her that even smelling fish could kill her, but it didn't. It also meant Dad cooked Friday night's dinner. (Mom ate a peanut butter and jam sandwich or grilled cheese.) Dad was also a fryer. He fried almost everything, so Friday night dinner was fried fish -- smelts in the winter, and freshwater fish during fishing season. (Our freshwater fish were sunfish, smallmouth and largemouth bass, and pike from Canada. Rumor has it there are pike in New Jersey -- where we lived -- but never caught any. We did go to Canada for vacation every year, and brought back our limit on the freshwater fish. Sunnies? Anyone can catch them anywhere. They're a level up on carp.) Also French fries. AND one can of vegetables for a family of five... and then six. (Dad has never been big on veggies.)
Also during the week, it was guaranteed we'd have homemade meatballs in spaghetti sauce with spaghettis and 2-3 canned olives. We'd have meatloaf another night. The rest of the nights were whatever Dad bagged when he hunted. Usually squirrels, rabbits, and geese, sometimes froglegs, rarely pheasant, quail, deer, and ducks. One of my favorite appetizers was snapper soup. Snapper -- as in snapping turtles, not the fish. A big deal in the neighborhood when Dad (or brothers later on) bagged a 25-30 pound snapper, because that meant all the neighborhood kids got to watch Dad chop the head off.
But weekends was a different story. On Dad's side, although both of his parents were Irish (second and longer generation Americans, but the Old Country wasn't dropped much yet), my grandmother -- the family cook -- was taught how to cook by her grandmother. A German woman. Therefore red cabbage in vinegar or sauerkraut was THE vegetable, and whatever the best deal was at the butcher's shop was the meat. Knockwurst, hamhock, ham butt, cornbeef -- all standard issue for dinner. The great part was their neighbor came from the northern part of Europe (still had the accent), Finland? The Netherlands? Denmark? Somewhere around there. Close enough that she made danishes for us. Or pastries that were guaranteed to be full of butter, topped with cheese and filled with fruits of some kind. And if she couldn't that week, Gram made keeglies. (I don't know if that's spelled right. Never could learn their history on the Internet.) They look and taste like donuts-- complete with chocolate or vanilla icing, OR sugar -- but they're baked, not fried. They're also smaller than an American donut. But she made up for that. She had to cook 144 of them for 8-14 people to eat, and the rule was we had to eat them all that day, or they go bad. (I wonder why my teeth went bad? lol)
But my Mom's parents were entirely different. Rich! So Francina served us there. Francina was the maid, cook, and babysitter all in one person. (She was The Boss! This we knew. lol) And sometimes all of Gram and PopPop's children visited during the weekend, so there were between 9-13 grandkids all under the age of six rioting around the place, while Francina brought over her husband to help. (Forgot his name. But he was cool. He was missing a fingernail.) Francina wasn't afraid to put us to work. I've snapped many a green bean under her watchful eye, and then sliced them through the peeler without cutting myself. I've peeled bags of potatoes out back with my other cousins. And, in the summertime, she'd let us know early in the morning crabs were dinner that night and it was up to us to get them. (My grandparents lived along the Chesapeake Bay, so not a problem. lol) By the time dinner came into the dining room all the grandchildren were squeezed into a child-sized table near the window and the adults sat at The Grownups Table. Crisp linen tablecloth (ironed by Francina), candles, wine glasses (even for us, but they had milk in them), water glasses (not for us, because we had to drink the milk), we all knew which fork and knife to use (outside in, until they're all used), and when it was crowned roast, we even got the "butcher's hats" (decorations for each rib) as part of the presentation. And Francina's husband, (I really wish I remembered his name. I think George. He was such a nice guy) wore the butler suit. (All day he's in regular clothes. I'd love to know where he hid those clothes. But he had to hide them or 9-13 grandkids all under the age of six would have been touching it all day. lol) Sharp suit! I'm still impressed.
50 some years later, hubby and I just go for what we want for breakfast and lunch. Dinner is a special event. He used to do all the cooking, but he was away for seven months, so I started cooking for myself, and now want to show him I can cook. Therefore we share who is cooking.
No more fried food. (Well, occasionally we order in, so I get my much-loved French fries and onion rings then.) Four ounces of meat -- usually ground turkey or boneless, skinless chicken thighs, but tonight we're having shrimp. (And his birthday is coming up, so now what can I make him? Hmmpph!)
He makes things like acorn squash soup, tomato soup, chicken noodle soup, and my favorite, strawberry soup.
Our idea of "smoothies" is strawberry milkshakes with Splenda, not sugar. (And, because he is still healing from a deep wound, I add two scoops of protein powder in it.)
Half our plate is veggies. The rest is a starch -- potatoes, pasta, pearled barley, or rice. And we eat while watching Jeopardy, so do not call when Jeopardy is on!
Growing up, our family ate dinner at the same table every night of the week. BUT on weekends it was time to visit the grandparents. Both sides of the family, and they were totally different people. (Dad's Dad was a firefighter in Syracuse, NY. His mom made transistor boards in a factory. She had no fingerprints left because of using a soldering iron for so long. Mom's Dad was a VP for the Pennsylvania Railroad and her mother had a degree in Interior Design, but mostly she was part of the socialite set, and didn't work outside of the big job -- raising six kids. They lived in Maryland, until PopPop died.)
We were Catholic, so guaranteed fish on Friday nights. Mom was deathly allergic to seafood, but Dad is OCD, so couldn't let it go. Mom's doctors told her that even smelling fish could kill her, but it didn't. It also meant Dad cooked Friday night's dinner. (Mom ate a peanut butter and jam sandwich or grilled cheese.) Dad was also a fryer. He fried almost everything, so Friday night dinner was fried fish -- smelts in the winter, and freshwater fish during fishing season. (Our freshwater fish were sunfish, smallmouth and largemouth bass, and pike from Canada. Rumor has it there are pike in New Jersey -- where we lived -- but never caught any. We did go to Canada for vacation every year, and brought back our limit on the freshwater fish. Sunnies? Anyone can catch them anywhere. They're a level up on carp.) Also French fries. AND one can of vegetables for a family of five... and then six. (Dad has never been big on veggies.)
Also during the week, it was guaranteed we'd have homemade meatballs in spaghetti sauce with spaghettis and 2-3 canned olives. We'd have meatloaf another night. The rest of the nights were whatever Dad bagged when he hunted. Usually squirrels, rabbits, and geese, sometimes froglegs, rarely pheasant, quail, deer, and ducks. One of my favorite appetizers was snapper soup. Snapper -- as in snapping turtles, not the fish. A big deal in the neighborhood when Dad (or brothers later on) bagged a 25-30 pound snapper, because that meant all the neighborhood kids got to watch Dad chop the head off.
But weekends was a different story. On Dad's side, although both of his parents were Irish (second and longer generation Americans, but the Old Country wasn't dropped much yet), my grandmother -- the family cook -- was taught how to cook by her grandmother. A German woman. Therefore red cabbage in vinegar or sauerkraut was THE vegetable, and whatever the best deal was at the butcher's shop was the meat. Knockwurst, hamhock, ham butt, cornbeef -- all standard issue for dinner. The great part was their neighbor came from the northern part of Europe (still had the accent), Finland? The Netherlands? Denmark? Somewhere around there. Close enough that she made danishes for us. Or pastries that were guaranteed to be full of butter, topped with cheese and filled with fruits of some kind. And if she couldn't that week, Gram made keeglies. (I don't know if that's spelled right. Never could learn their history on the Internet.) They look and taste like donuts-- complete with chocolate or vanilla icing, OR sugar -- but they're baked, not fried. They're also smaller than an American donut. But she made up for that. She had to cook 144 of them for 8-14 people to eat, and the rule was we had to eat them all that day, or they go bad. (I wonder why my teeth went bad? lol)
But my Mom's parents were entirely different. Rich! So Francina served us there. Francina was the maid, cook, and babysitter all in one person. (She was The Boss! This we knew. lol) And sometimes all of Gram and PopPop's children visited during the weekend, so there were between 9-13 grandkids all under the age of six rioting around the place, while Francina brought over her husband to help. (Forgot his name. But he was cool. He was missing a fingernail.) Francina wasn't afraid to put us to work. I've snapped many a green bean under her watchful eye, and then sliced them through the peeler without cutting myself. I've peeled bags of potatoes out back with my other cousins. And, in the summertime, she'd let us know early in the morning crabs were dinner that night and it was up to us to get them. (My grandparents lived along the Chesapeake Bay, so not a problem. lol) By the time dinner came into the dining room all the grandchildren were squeezed into a child-sized table near the window and the adults sat at The Grownups Table. Crisp linen tablecloth (ironed by Francina), candles, wine glasses (even for us, but they had milk in them), water glasses (not for us, because we had to drink the milk), we all knew which fork and knife to use (outside in, until they're all used), and when it was crowned roast, we even got the "butcher's hats" (decorations for each rib) as part of the presentation. And Francina's husband, (I really wish I remembered his name. I think George. He was such a nice guy) wore the butler suit. (All day he's in regular clothes. I'd love to know where he hid those clothes. But he had to hide them or 9-13 grandkids all under the age of six would have been touching it all day. lol) Sharp suit! I'm still impressed.
50 some years later, hubby and I just go for what we want for breakfast and lunch. Dinner is a special event. He used to do all the cooking, but he was away for seven months, so I started cooking for myself, and now want to show him I can cook. Therefore we share who is cooking.
No more fried food. (Well, occasionally we order in, so I get my much-loved French fries and onion rings then.) Four ounces of meat -- usually ground turkey or boneless, skinless chicken thighs, but tonight we're having shrimp. (And his birthday is coming up, so now what can I make him? Hmmpph!)
He makes things like acorn squash soup, tomato soup, chicken noodle soup, and my favorite, strawberry soup.
Our idea of "smoothies" is strawberry milkshakes with Splenda, not sugar. (And, because he is still healing from a deep wound, I add two scoops of protein powder in it.)
Half our plate is veggies. The rest is a starch -- potatoes, pasta, pearled barley, or rice. And we eat while watching Jeopardy, so do not call when Jeopardy is on!
