Food, war, and chaos--finding comfort in bad times

 

 

You know it’s a slow week whenthe highlight of the day is going to the doctor’s office for blood work. The nicething about that is that Jordan and I both had appointments. And the brdy partwas that it got me out in the fresh air.

But that’s sort of how my weekhas been, so tonight this is a non-blog. I just don’t have much to say. My weekhas been consumed mostly by my dive into the food we ate in the 1950s. I can’tfigure out if I’m working on a cookbook, a memoir, a narrative about culinaryhistory or some weird combination of all those. I’m loving some of the factsthat I turn up, along with the stories friends tell me. One friend remembersher grandmother making biscuits in an old enamel pan, adding a pinch of thisand a glop of lard—no measuring. Still another remember the time the flour fromthe store had little black specks in it—not knowing any better, she dumped itinto the barrel where her mom kept fresh flour. Of course, the whole thing hadto be thrown out, and her mother was angry. She had lived through theDepression, as had my mother, and she was terrified of waste.

Two other things consume me,and my thoughts frequently go to the Middle East, grieving over the Israelidead and those held hostage and equally over the Palestinian civilians caughtbetween two warring armies—and two ideologies. But at the same time I amriveted to the chaos in our House of Representatives, or as Hakeen Jeffriescalls it, “the Peope’s House.” I am relieved beyond measure that Gym Jordan’shopes for the speakership seem doomed, but I am still a bit afraid to count on hisdefeat. To think of that man wielding political power, let alone being third inline for the presidency, is a horror beyond imagining. I should think that thisclown show has the Republican party hemorrhaging votes, but I know that mine isa simplistic attitude. At this point, there’s no explaining die-hardRepublicans.

I have also done some menuplanning this week—I will be entertaining a small group next week one evening,some book ladies, and a longtime friend another. So I was thumbing through oldrecipe files, something I like to do. For the small group I will fix pigs in ablanket and onion soup biscuits—where you quarter refrigerator biscuits androll the pieces in butter and onion soup. Remember how many things we fixedwith that soup back in the day? Today most people still use the classic dipwith sour cream—it’s so addictive. But I am trying to stick to finger food, sono dip. One friend is bringing deviled eggs—yum!—and another Parmesan crisps.The night my friend comes I’ll do a stuffed eggplant (it’s okay—she doesn’tread on Facebook) because I know she loves eggplant, and my family won’t eatit.

And then there are someeat-alone nights. I’m still in search of a can of corned beef hash so I can fixit like my mom did—refrigerated, then took both ends off the can and pushed themeat through in one big cylinder, which she sliced and fried. She got a good,crisp crust on it, something I have yet to duplicate, but I’ll keep trying. Speakingof such retro dishes, I did fix creamed chipped beef (commonly known as SOS orshit on a shingle) for someone last week, and we both raved about how good itwas.

As I look back at the week, orhalf week, I realize that I find comfort in reading, writing, and talking aboutfood. It draws my mind from the chaos of our world and somehow reassures methat the normal world is still there for many of us. That normal world is so fragile,and we are so fortunate, that it sometimes scares me a lot. But I am an optimist.I pray for peace abroad, and for tolerance here at home so that we may truly loveour neighbor—and let our kids read whatever books they want.

I’ll quit and read a goodmystery. Watch for Gourmet on a Hot Plate tomorrow—hint, the recipe of the weekis something from the fifties (no surprise there), and it involves chicken andlinguini.

‘Night all. Sweet dreams.