Why do I have to eat this?
Posted: March 17th, 2010 | Author: Dave | Filed under: Coping, Family traditions, Toddlers | Tags: cooking, daddy blog, family, kids, parenting | 1 Comment »Yesterday, I tried to live blog cooking with William on Daddy Daze’s Facebook fan page (you’re a fan, right?). It didn’t really work because Facebook is a pain in the ass. But that’s not important. What’s important is why I did it: It’s our responsibility, our duty to make the dishes we grew up with, to honor the women who prepared them and to teach our own children to do the same. By eating green bean casserole, polenta and spinach and chicken with mushroom sauce we show our respect for the hard-working women who fed a hungry family on a razor thin budget.
After undergraduate school, I lived in a basement apartment about the size and shape of a phone booth. At one end was a twin bed, and at the other end was a love seat. Next to the bed was a narrow, wooden crate. I kept my alarm clock on that shelf and my TV — an appliance I received as a pity loan — balanced on top. At the foot of the bed was a closet so shallow that the corners of the hangers bumped the back of the door.
Between the bed and the love seat was what I called the kitchen. A white enamel counter top followed the wall for about five feet before bending into an “L” and extending for another two feet. In the center was a sink about the size of a large dictionary. Next to that were two electric burners — a glorified hot plate.
Beneath the stove, just before the “L,” was a small refrigerator that may have been designed by Fischer-Price. Inside was a freezer about the size of a shoebox that sealed itself closed with ice every seven to ten days. Typically, people place things into a freezer for long-term storage. If I failed to eat my frozen goods quickly, I had to free them with a hammer.
I had no phone (I used a pay phone in town) and no car.
What I did have was food.
For first time, I alone was responsible for what I ate. In college I went to the cafeteria. Before that, I lived at home. So I started cooking. Each weekend, I’d grab my backpack, climb onto my bike and ride to the small grocery store about a mile away. With my haul strapped down with bungie cord, I’d ride home.
Combine 1/4 oz. 2 lbs. cremini mushrooms (halved if small, quartered if large); 1 onion halved and sliced thin; 2 tsp. olive oil; 1/4 rinsed and dried porcini mushrooms; 1 tsp. minced fresh rosemary; 1/4 tsp. salt in a large Dutch oven. Cover and cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are softened, about 10 minutes. Uncover, increase the heat to medium-high, and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are slightly browned, 5-6 minutes longer.
At first, I prepared the simple foods I enjoy; chili, hot wings, fried chicken. The chili gave me food poisoning and the smell of greasy fried chicken was in the air for a week.
Elaborate cooking was difficult (with only two seven-inch electric burners, almost everything qualified as “elaborate”), but I still held dinner parties for my non-claustrophobic friends. One particular summer evening my girlfriend, her friend and my sister visited to eat lobsters. I bought several sticks of butter for dipping and a large bag of oyster crackers. I was very proud of the huge lobster pot I had bought just for the occasion and filled it 3/4 full of water, set it on a burner and turned up the heat.
Half an hour later, small bubbles had just started to form at the bottom of the pot, we had eaten all of the crackers (after dipping them in the melted butter) and my girlfriend suggested that we ask my landlord the caterer if we could use her “normal” stove to boil the lobsters, who had begun to show signs of hope and relief on their little faces.
Eventually, I returned to the foods I enjoyed on cozy Pennsylvania evenings: soft string beans in steaming cream of mushroom soup, topped with crunchy, fried onions; dry toast dipped in hot coffee for breakfast; elbow macaroni with butter and grated cheese; my grandmother’s creamy polenta with vegetables. With each plate I remembered not only how to prepare these dishes, but why.
Stir in 2 minced cloves of garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add 12 ounces of spinach, one handful at a time, and cook until wilted. Stir in 2 cups of halved cherry tomatoes and cook until softened, about 2 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Cover and take off the heat.
My mother made green bean casserole because her mother did, and maybe even her mother before her. The ingredients were inexpensive and could feed a hungry family. That’s all they had, and that’s what they used.
Meanwhile, bring 4 cups of water and 1/2 tsp. salt to a boil in a heavy-bottomed pan. Slowly add 1 cup coarsely ground cornmeal, whisking constantly.
Today, we eat these dishes because we ought to. We eat them to know where we came from, to acknowledge the sacrifices that our parents and our parents’ parents made to feed their children, their spouses, their friends. We dip our bread into simmering pots of pasta sauce to taste our family culture. We eat meatloaf sandwiches to remember the simple meals that nourished our forebearers. We sit at the table to honor our grandparents, our parents, ourselves and our children.
Bring to a simmer, stirring constantly. Reduce heat to low, cover and cook, stirring vigorously (be sure to stir the corners of the pot), until the polenta becomes soft and smooth, about 10-15 minutes. Off the heat, vigorously stir in 6 tbsp. of grated Parmesan cheese and 1/2 stick of butter, cut into 1/2 pieces. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Divide the polenta among 4 bowls. Cover it with the vegetable mixture and sprinkle on some additional cheese. Serve hot.
William stars at me from across the table, a steaming plate of creamy polenta with vegetables before him. “Why do I have to eat this?” he whines, crinkling his nose into a knot.
“Because that’s what we do,” I say.
If only everyone felt it was so important to pass down food traditions. I truly don’t know what the food landscape will look like in the American household in 100 years. I guess I won’t have to worry about it.
Tell me more about your macaroni dish. Sounds too simple and good to be true.