I was just reading an article written by an old chef from
Paris. He wrote about his memories, about
food, and about the relationship between the two. He wrote about mushroom hunting in France as
a child. He wrote about special meals
prepared by different family members, and about the first time he tasted milk
straight from the cow. His memories were
strong, and every smell pulled him back to some evening with friends, or a
morning in the forest with his brothers.
This chef had grown up in kitchens, peeling potatoes at first and then
working his way up to preparing the meals.
I enjoyed reading his memories, and I loved how one sense would pull on
another to bring the memories to the front of his mind.
I began to wonder about the memories I could write about
when I am in my 80’s. Or, an even
scarier thought, what memories will my children cherish when they are in old
age. For many people a good meal is a
fast one, burgers and fries, or perhaps pizza and soft drinks. Maybe their memories will settle on the many
restaurants they have experienced over time, eating with family but in a busy
room filled with others. How many people
will remember drinking warm foamy milk from the cow, or hunting for
mushrooms? I can’t, having never done
either of those things.
It is true we all have to pull on our own histories, and
each life is different, but an authentic and real childhood will give deep and
meaningful memories in our old age.
Children that grow up in suburbs, eating fast food before rushing to the
weekly activities, playing video games, what kind of memories will they
have? I can’t even imagine.
I am not trying to be a food snob; I have a couple of good
memories of fast food dinners. My grandmother often would pick my brother and I
up for lunch, and take us to the local Hardee’s. I can still smell the hamburgers cooking, and
I am sure they smelled better than they do now.
We sat at the plastic tables, ate our burgers and fries, and enjoyed the
time with our grandmother. She was
always interested in our stories, and really wanted to know how our day had
been.
We attended a
Wednesday afternoon youth club at my grandparent’s church. After school we gathered in the churchyard
and parking lot to play ball games. We
then went inside to practice singing hymns, or to learn how to play the bells,
my favorite. We had Bible classes and a
meal, and often the meal included tater tots.
I have no idea why that mass produced food is so strongly related to this
good memory, but it is. When I eat tater
tots I remember sitting at the table with the other kids, laughing and enjoying
each other’s company. We were in the
church fellowship hall, the same place my Girl Scout troop met. The walls were covered with mod styled
banners, doves flying up and words like Peace and Love in blocky bright colors.
My parents loved to back pack, and we had many one pot
dinners cooked on the little stove, eaten from tin cups while sitting on a rock
or a log. The food would be hot, and I
would be so hungry I would take a huge hot bite. I can pull up the image of me sitting on a
log, chilly near the end of the day, surrounded by trees and mountains, and
holding my full mouth open trying to cool the food by breathing in the
air. We usually had dry French bread, a
hot pot of noodles with canned meat, and water to drink. Those meals were the best. I never ate as good as when we had hiked many
miles to our campsite. There is no
better food than camping food. I
remember wanting to spend my 16th birthday at Shining Rock
Wilderness Area. We hiked the 5 miles up
and down to the camping spot, set up our tent and cooked the dinner. I don’t remember what we ate, but I do
remember having cake afterwards. My mom
had snuck a small cake into her cook kit and carried it all the way to our campsite,
just to surprise me.
Maybe I do have good food memories, even though I grew up in
the 70’s. My mom often decorated our
birthday cakes in creative ways. One
cake was made to look like a large music record, complete with label. We had a huge garden, and ate fresh tomatoes,
cucumbers, silver queen corn, and many other vegetables that are just not as
good from stores. I grew up thinking
vegetables came from the ground, not cans.
I want my kids to think the same, but that hasn’t worked out as I
hoped. For several years we had a good
productive garden, with corn, peas, and the usual vegetables. We froze and canned. I cooked home made bread and lots of
soups. And then, the kids got older, and
busier. Slowly we moved into faster
meals, store bought bread and hot dogs.
We moved to another home, and the garden ended. Even so, the garden time made for good
memories, and I am glad we had a few years working the soil.
We homeschooled the children, and one year we used food as a
passport to study other countries and cultures.
The memories of that “food travel year” are good ones. We would pick a country and pretend to travel
there. We drew maps, recreated the flag
and studied history, culture and customs.
We looked at photographs and listened to music, but we ended every study
with a large family cooked meal of typical food. Sometimes one of us will say, “Do you
remember the Indian food we made,” and the rest of us will nod and smile.
