Pass the Potatoes Please...

(Originally published 10 Oct 2014)

Food…when I was growing up, and even to this day, food was much more than something to nourish the body.  It was the key component to family gatherings; whether it be holidays, celebrations, or tragedies.  It did more than feed the corporal body, it fed the soul, it gave people a gathering place, it was a part of the center or hearth, of the home.

There were no fast food places around when I was a child, at least not like now.  We did have an A&W Root Beer a couple of miles away and it was definitely a treat when Dad said we could get takeout from there.  Usually we would get burgers and onion rings, and of course a gallon jug of their root beer.  But, outside of those rare occasions, meals were prepared at home.  Nothing packaged, nothing processed.  They were made from scratch with love.  

My mom was a fantastic cook.  We still joke to this day that she would make enough food to feed the entire fifth army.  She would say that if folks dropped by, she could offer them a hot meal and a warm place to eat.

Regular dinners were always served when Dad got home from work – usually around 4pm.  Mom always had a warm meal waiting with staples like meatloaf, mashed potatoes, chicken, pork chops, noodles, spaghetti, and on and on.  After dinner, I would do homework, Dad would go to his workshop and mom would clean up and then watch TV. Dinner was the one time each day that we spent time together as a family.

Sunday dinners were always a family affair.  The entire family, including my brother, sister and their respective spouses and children, would always make their way home on a Sunday afternoon.  Mom always had fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, corn, green beans, wilted lettuce, and a bread or roll of some kind. (No one EVER left hungry!) After dinner, the ‘men-folk’ would sprawl out in the living room and fall asleep in front of whatever sporting event was on television at the time.  The women would clean up after dinner and then sit in the kitchen talking and sharing the latest gossip.  If it was Thanksgiving, the ladies would bring out the Scrabble board and play the afternoon away.  If it was Christmas, my brother’s family would put on a foot-stomping concert in the living room with their guitars and banjos.

Thanksgiving…the ultimate feast.  The men would always go hunting and dinner was usually planned for around one.  They would come in, cold and frostbit, wash up and join everyone else at the dinner table (still dressed in camo).  Of course we had the required ‘kids table’ where all the grandchildren would sit (usually on the back porch) and it was a definite rite of passage to finally get old enough to join the grownups in the kitchen.  Mom would start dinner around 4am, so that the turkey (usually the size of a small ostrich) would be tender and juicy.  Add to that some homemade dressing, green beans, yams with marshmallows, mashed potatoes with gravy, corn and buns.  There were always 4-5 homemade pies sitting out on the washer and dryer for dessert.  In order to make sure everyone was happy with dessert, there was apple, pumpkin, pecan, strawberry-rhubarb and lemon meringue, ice cream and cake.  There were easily 15-20 people at a normal Thanksgiving, but looking back, that small house never seems crowded or cramped. There was always room for family.

If someone close to us suffered a death in the family, the first thing everyone did was to make a casserole for them.  We knew that the grieving person would not feel like cooking meals, so it was our responsibility to make sure they did not go without.  Here again, food was the mechanism to let friends and family know they weren’t alone and we were there for them if they needed us.

There are still certain foods that bring back memories.  For example, whenever we have chili for dinner, I still miss the plate of Ritz Crackers and grape jelly that would sit in the middle of the table.  It may not sound appetizing, but as a child, nothing could beat that combination.  My dad and I would always share Oreo’s and milk when mom went to Bingo on Sunday nights at St. Lawrence.  We would sit at the table and share quality time and then watch The Wonderful World of Disney.  That is time I will never get back.

Food in our family was never fancy.  It was always downhome cooking, made with ingredients found around the home and seasoned with love.  It was a reason to gather together just to be a family.  It was comforting and self-medicating when life handed you a bump in the road.  It was sweet and joyous when there was a birth, birthday, or any other cause for celebration.  It was grounding when you needed to belong.  It was much more than just nourishment for the body, it was nourishment for the soul.  The kitchen was the first place you headed when you walked in the front door, because you knew mom always had something waiting to munch on.

Food was the thread that held our family together through the good times and the bad.  It was the magnet that brought all of us home when we needed to belong.  It is food – not love – that is the universal language.