Some read —no onion— no celery, no salad dressing, substitute sweet pickle relish...
All are little clues to our family's likes and dislikes. Some of the likes have waned over the years while some of the dislikes are tolerated now.
So, it's said that our taste buds change every seven years. Well— every seven years since I was 12, mine still say hell no to a particular dish. A deep south dish that may even be a delicacy now. Who would have thought pig belly and Scrapple would be served as delicacies‘? Anyway, my throw up a little in my mouth dish is Rutabagas’ and Pig Tails Perlous. A one pot combo of curly pig tails and bega's amidst a steaming bed of rice.
Seriously doesn't a rutabaga sound like something that you'd grab a stick to fight off?
We probably all have a bad food memory. Even the most adventurous foodie will throw their hands in the air, tighten their lips like a vise and shudder when offered their offender again.
Then — there are those dishes that require counseling to get over. I don't know the story and I won't press, but Corned Beef and Cabbage has been introduced every seven years for the duration of our marriage, always resulting with the push it around the plate while feigning fullness act. I retired it officially last year when Don literally prayed out loud "Lord, if you see fit, will you please banish Corned Beef and Cabbage from this earth."
Sometimes we can work through those early palate scars. As is the case with Don's favorite ~Not So Red Meatloaf~ closely followed by the other favorite ~Not So Red Rice.~ Apparently his mother was heavy on the Heinz. A prodigal of the 50's one pot dinner, his mother's meatloaf recipe mirrored every cook's on the block — 3 day old bread, eggs, a little hamburger and a bottle of ketchup with more squirted on top.
Let me tell you how it was in the good ole days. No, I didn't walk ten miles to school in five feet of snow in the one pair of shoes but — in my early days – there was one meal cooked and you either liked it or you asked to be excused with beef liver secretly cupped in your hand to throw out the back door to the dog.
There were 13 years between myself and my baby brother. Times had relaxed somewhat, but my siblings and I still shook our heads in disbelief when his request of washing the red off of his Spagettio's was honored. Not to mention his hot dog skin getting peeled off.
Our taste and little idiosyncrasies are spared the public most of the time, Thank God.
So, it's said that our taste buds change every seven years. Well— every seven years since I was 12, mine still say hell no to a particular dish. A deep south dish that may even be a delicacy now. Who would have thought pig belly and Scrapple would be served as delicacies‘? Anyway, my throw up a little in my mouth dish is Rutabagas’ and Pig Tails Perlous. A one pot combo of curly pig tails and bega's amidst a steaming bed of rice.
Seriously doesn't a rutabaga sound like something that you'd grab a stick to fight off?
We probably all have a bad food memory. Even the most adventurous foodie will throw their hands in the air, tighten their lips like a vise and shudder when offered their offender again.
Then — there are those dishes that require counseling to get over. I don't know the story and I won't press, but Corned Beef and Cabbage has been introduced every seven years for the duration of our marriage, always resulting with the push it around the plate while feigning fullness act. I retired it officially last year when Don literally prayed out loud "Lord, if you see fit, will you please banish Corned Beef and Cabbage from this earth."
Sometimes we can work through those early palate scars. As is the case with Don's favorite ~Not So Red Meatloaf~ closely followed by the other favorite ~Not So Red Rice.~ Apparently his mother was heavy on the Heinz. A prodigal of the 50's one pot dinner, his mother's meatloaf recipe mirrored every cook's on the block — 3 day old bread, eggs, a little hamburger and a bottle of ketchup with more squirted on top.
Let me tell you how it was in the good ole days. No, I didn't walk ten miles to school in five feet of snow in the one pair of shoes but — in my early days – there was one meal cooked and you either liked it or you asked to be excused with beef liver secretly cupped in your hand to throw out the back door to the dog.
There were 13 years between myself and my baby brother. Times had relaxed somewhat, but my siblings and I still shook our heads in disbelief when his request of washing the red off of his Spagettio's was honored. Not to mention his hot dog skin getting peeled off.
Our taste and little idiosyncrasies are spared the public most of the time, Thank God.
Myself, I am the precise food surgeon. For example —Ravioli. I lift the Ravioli from the pan with a slotted spoon so that I don't get a lot of juice — then for the next half hour– with only the tongs of the fork, I surgically remove the top off of each ravioli and eat it. next the square of mystery meat and finally the bottom Ravioli shell. Lasagna can be a eating marathon. I am also a vocal eater the one that sounds like Meg Ryan in "Harry Met Sally" over dinner.
Sometimes our little food peculiarities are habitually inherited. i.e., My sister and I like to roll up fresh loaf bread in our hands into small balls of dough and eat them. Our grandmother did the same thing.
Don, he is a sleep walking forager. He has no memories later of what he ate most of the time. I can't count the times I have checked him for a heart beat after finding the alarming orange striped ~Cheetos~ pillow at daybreak.
Our oldest daughter could sniff out an onion in a manure factory. She ate like a bird, the other three kids loved her at dinner because she could pass off what she didn't want most discreetly.
Our oldest son had a broad base of food likes, like his daddy. But if he didn't like it? He could cause quite a standoff at the table. May I be excused? ...No... May I be excused? No.....May I be excused? Yesssssss! Go!!!
Our youngest son and daughter, as it usually goes were the food guppies. Our youngest son's logic if he didn't particularly care for the meal line up was to kill it with ketchup. And our youngest daughter was usually the last at at the table to see if anything else would come her way. Hence the nickname her grand-daddy gave her "Billy Goat."
On Thanksgiving, there was always a dish that was most favored by each. I can see each of their faces as they stand over their favorite fork in hand and ready for the Amen.
Sometimes our little food peculiarities are habitually inherited. i.e., My sister and I like to roll up fresh loaf bread in our hands into small balls of dough and eat them. Our grandmother did the same thing.
Don, he is a sleep walking forager. He has no memories later of what he ate most of the time. I can't count the times I have checked him for a heart beat after finding the alarming orange striped ~Cheetos~ pillow at daybreak.
Our oldest daughter could sniff out an onion in a manure factory. She ate like a bird, the other three kids loved her at dinner because she could pass off what she didn't want most discreetly.
Our oldest son had a broad base of food likes, like his daddy. But if he didn't like it? He could cause quite a standoff at the table. May I be excused? ...No... May I be excused? No.....May I be excused? Yesssssss! Go!!!
Our youngest son and daughter, as it usually goes were the food guppies. Our youngest son's logic if he didn't particularly care for the meal line up was to kill it with ketchup. And our youngest daughter was usually the last at at the table to see if anything else would come her way. Hence the nickname her grand-daddy gave her "Billy Goat."
On Thanksgiving, there was always a dish that was most favored by each. I can see each of their faces as they stand over their favorite fork in hand and ready for the Amen.
Turkey/Giblet Gravy
Oyster Dressing
Green Bean Casserole
Baked Macaroni and Cheese Pie
Baked Ham
Green Bean Casserole
Baked Macaroni and Cheese Pie
Baked Ham
Deviled Eggs
Cherry Cheesecake
Cranberry Sauce
Cherry Cheesecake
Cranberry Sauce
Pumpkin Pie
Whether they make it to our table or share their traditions elsewhere, their dish is always part of the menu lineup.
I put the cards back in the recipe box. Whether you gather with friends or stay at home, look over your food choices at the Thanksgiving table and you'll see a cook who tried to make something special for everyone. Bless the cook, or cooks.
Whether they make it to our table or share their traditions elsewhere, their dish is always part of the menu lineup.
I put the cards back in the recipe box. Whether you gather with friends or stay at home, look over your food choices at the Thanksgiving table and you'll see a cook who tried to make something special for everyone. Bless the cook, or cooks.
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