Growing up with my two sisters in a small apartment by the sea in Pacific Grove, CA frozen french toast was considered a special breakfast and for some reason completely beyond me the combination of frozen pizza and french fries was a go-to dinner if my dad stopped by the store on the way home from work. Vegetables were always around but they were almost always frozen and overcooked to an ambiguous green-orange mess since that was the way my dad liked them, having grown up on mushy canned stuff as a kid in Philly. Sometimes my mom would take us on the bus to the Farmers’ Market where we’d treat ourselves to berries in the summer. My mom made most meals, would score us mangoes into “hedgehogs,” would draw or paint elaborate scenes on our brown paper lunch bags, and would never get us Gushers or Fruit Roll-ups like we wanted, but it’s the meals my dad cooked that I remember most.
Typically traditional, my dad cooks three times a year- it used to be four until I took over Thanksgiving in a Food Network-inspired tirade- and occasionally bakes an incredibly elaborate cake. Every year for as long as I can remember he’s cooked a traditional Polish meal for Christmas Eve, roast “beast” (a la The Grinch) for Christmas dinner, and a lasagna or two for New Years. He grew up in a working-class Irish/Polish household and, despite having his Polish grandmother and all her recipes around, would have Mrs. T’s pierogies, kielbasa, Manischewitz latkes, and frozen lima beans- with sour cream, apple sauce, and a wafer from the National Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa. Tradition on a budget. And so this is the tradition he wanted to instill in us, and we’ve had it every year of my entire life. If we didn’t, I think the world would end. The meal hasn’t deviated at all, not with a change in family income, not with knowledge or incentive to make these dishes from scratch, not with dietary restrictions (though one year I made vegan latkes for myself, and this year we fried the pierogies in olive oil instead of butter).
My Nana keeps a box of Mrs. T’s pierogies in her fridge year-round, but at my house they’re saved for Christmas Eve and Christmas Eve only. And I still refuse to eat frozen lima beans, and my dad still makes so. many.
-Ariel
I’ve been a vegetarian since I was born. When I tell people this I invariably get asked “so wait…never?” to which I could tell them about various sauces I didn’t realize had chicken stock in them or ramen that had pork broth but those are pretty boring. Usually I tell the story of how when I was 3 or 4 we were visiting my Aunt overseas.
I’m a vegetarian because my mother chose to raise me that way but her family was never really on board. Cooking has always been very important to them and the sorts of foods they cooked tended to contain meat.
Anyway, this time we were visiting we went to a meal where there was roast chicken. I was too young to know what that was. I don’t think I even knew that I was a vegetarian. My aunt capitalized on this and offered me some without telling my mom. Since this memory is very hazy I like to imagine my mom seeing this from across the room, the realization slowly spreading across her face as she begins a slow motion sprint knocking over family members and tables alike.
The end of the story is what you’d expect, I liked the chicken. From what I gather, everyone likes chicken. My mom was upset and my aunt said something like “but look he likes it!” and I never had chicken (knowingly) again.
Every few years my family would pile into our car and leave our crowded New Jersey suburb to visit cousins in the majestic, rural land of Vermont. One such trip, a few years ago, I finally understood what had made these trips so magical—the food!
Pasta with home grown tomatoes and squash. A bowl of fresh raspberries for dessert. Crisp, sweet peas for afternoon snacks. My cousins grew all of these things in their garden. Food was not just a collection of foreign substances they put into their bodies to survive, but something that grew alongside them. I could taste the love and nourishment in every bite.
Now I live in a city with a very tiny yard space, it’s not exactly rural Vermont. But the wonderful freshness of my cousin’s homegrown vegetables gives me a sense of what food can be and gives me the motivation to find healthy food to eat. It makes me sad and angry that so many people do not have access to (or know about) mineral-rich, nutrient rich, sustainably grown food. We are who we are today because of the nourishing foods our ancestors ate and it is not okay that marketers and large commercial enterprises have replaced these rich foods with waxy apples and processed sugary snacks. The loving way my cousins grow delicious food in Vermont has strengthened my own relationship with food and the integral role it plays in loving my body and my community.
-Hannah PP
I took a trip out to Pittsburg Pennsylvania to visit my cousins. My uncle owned a corner store there, and that was what I was really excited to get to! Over the next month that I was there the corner store became my life! I tried new things that my mom had never let me eat before! Not realizing that I was gaining weight by every bag of chips and soda that I consumed. By the time I left I had gained over 8 pounds!! This was a learning experience I will never forget. Now that I am older and wiser I take time to take into consideration what I put in my body before I just go “way too far”. :)
I looked forward to the 4 hours drive between Washington D.C. and Raleigh, North Carolina that me and my Dad took when I was a little girl. I had my favorite stops along the way…Waffle House and fast foods we didn’t have in D.C. I would take a small nap, wake up to ask “where are we?” It didn’t matter really because as long as we were just outside of Richmond Va or passing Richmond - I knew that a Waffle House wouldn’t be far! My dad liked to drive fast which was only problematic when he wanted to make time and didn’t want to stop! So, my secret was to have to go to the bathroom - of course near a eating place as opposed to stopping at the rest stops, that never had food. Driving fast was usually alright because the final destination of course was Grandma’s house.The sooner we got there the better. Before leaving our house we would call her and let her know we were getting on the road. That triggered her beginning to cook and timing things just so everything would be ready, when I came running through the screen door! Big hug and kiss for grandma and grandpa - and next “What’s to eat?!”
