tiltjlp
PN co-founder
- Joined
- Jun 9, 2003
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- 3,403
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- Favorite Pinball Machine
- Flying Trapeze 1934
With the full-schedule lifestyles of today, and all the quick-fix microwave snacks and meals available, modern day children would find it hard to believe that families once ate made-from-scratch meals while seated together around a table. For some of us, it was a dining room table, for others it was in the kitchen, but it was a tradition that brought families together. The advent of TV trays, frozen TV meals, and TV sets ended a custom that once was the backbone of family life.
Although my mother was a school teacher, she also was a housewife who prepared delicious, wholesome meals seven days a week. Some of my favorites were her fried chicken, Spanish rice, Cottage ham and green beans, and her pride and joy, chili soup. Made with a pound of crumbled hamburger, green peppers, onions, both tomato juice and tomato sauce, it really was a soup, although she called it chili.
As the mid-fifties dawned, my mother’s meal time offerings grew in variety. We enjoyed Beef Stroganoff, green peppers stuffed with hamburger and rice, meatloaf, salmon croquettes, and even a Hot and Hearty Sandwich Bake of her own creation. She sliced a large loaf of French bread lengthwise, layering upon it browned hamburger, tomatoes, onions, homemade brown gravy, and slices of Velveeta and Swiss cheese. After baking everything open faced for a while, she would put the two halves together, letting it bake just long enough to meld all the flavors into a symphony of delightful tastes.
Even with the onslaught of upscale Delis, I have never tasted anything as wonderful as Mom’s Hot and Hearty Sandwich Bake. I still fix it a few times every fall, always to rave reviews from friends lucky enough to sample her creation.
As filling and tasty as the food really was, the real attraction of mealtime was hearing what the other members of the family had done during the day. My brother and me were always asked what we had learned in school that day, and “nothing” wasn’t acceptable as an answer. We also occasionally discussed headlines from the local newspaper, with us boys encouraged to voice opinions. Dad usually had a new joke or story to tell, and mom would brag about one or more of her second grader’s. And yes, my brother and me were admonished to clean our plates, reminded of all the starving children in China.
The best mealtimes of all were on Holidays, when we gathered with aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents to share both friendship and good food. I’ll never forget my pride when, for that first time, I was permitted to sit at the adult table, rather than the children’s card table. I don’t remember which occasion it was, but I do know I was too afraid to utter a word. We even had an uncle who was a penny pincher, doling out after dinner mints two per person.
Even now, as I wait for my microwave pizza to finish cooking, I fondly wish I could share one more meal with my mother, father, and older brother. As much as I enjoyed the nourishing fare, it was the companionship that warmed my heart.
Although my mother was a school teacher, she also was a housewife who prepared delicious, wholesome meals seven days a week. Some of my favorites were her fried chicken, Spanish rice, Cottage ham and green beans, and her pride and joy, chili soup. Made with a pound of crumbled hamburger, green peppers, onions, both tomato juice and tomato sauce, it really was a soup, although she called it chili.
As the mid-fifties dawned, my mother’s meal time offerings grew in variety. We enjoyed Beef Stroganoff, green peppers stuffed with hamburger and rice, meatloaf, salmon croquettes, and even a Hot and Hearty Sandwich Bake of her own creation. She sliced a large loaf of French bread lengthwise, layering upon it browned hamburger, tomatoes, onions, homemade brown gravy, and slices of Velveeta and Swiss cheese. After baking everything open faced for a while, she would put the two halves together, letting it bake just long enough to meld all the flavors into a symphony of delightful tastes.
Even with the onslaught of upscale Delis, I have never tasted anything as wonderful as Mom’s Hot and Hearty Sandwich Bake. I still fix it a few times every fall, always to rave reviews from friends lucky enough to sample her creation.
As filling and tasty as the food really was, the real attraction of mealtime was hearing what the other members of the family had done during the day. My brother and me were always asked what we had learned in school that day, and “nothing” wasn’t acceptable as an answer. We also occasionally discussed headlines from the local newspaper, with us boys encouraged to voice opinions. Dad usually had a new joke or story to tell, and mom would brag about one or more of her second grader’s. And yes, my brother and me were admonished to clean our plates, reminded of all the starving children in China.
The best mealtimes of all were on Holidays, when we gathered with aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents to share both friendship and good food. I’ll never forget my pride when, for that first time, I was permitted to sit at the adult table, rather than the children’s card table. I don’t remember which occasion it was, but I do know I was too afraid to utter a word. We even had an uncle who was a penny pincher, doling out after dinner mints two per person.
Even now, as I wait for my microwave pizza to finish cooking, I fondly wish I could share one more meal with my mother, father, and older brother. As much as I enjoyed the nourishing fare, it was the companionship that warmed my heart.
