I thought I would throw at you some oldies from the files. A lot of newer readers here so you folks who've been with me awhile - go read something else because you've seen this.
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TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16, 2012
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There was a dish I grew up with that I found out later in life that was endemic to my hometown.
I have never lived anywhere that had this on a menu or if I mentioned it, no one had ever heard of it.
There are four things you need to know before I tell you about my meltdown.
One, my parents made us eat everything on our plate. We didn't get to have a mom who was a short order cook.
I have never lived anywhere that had this on a menu or if I mentioned it, no one had ever heard of it.
There are four things you need to know before I tell you about my meltdown.
One, my parents made us eat everything on our plate. We didn't get to have a mom who was a short order cook.
The words "Peggy won't eat that so I'll make her chicken nuggets" were never uttered in our home.
If mom made it we had to eat it or not eat anything at all.
Never was there an exception to the rule.
If mom made it we had to eat it or not eat anything at all.
Never was there an exception to the rule.
A tablespoon of everything was the only rule at mealtime. But a tablespoon of lima beans or beets can seem HUGE when you hate them.
I hate beets and by God she always made beets.
I hate beets and by God she always made beets.
Why when you know I don't like them?" was my standard question to her.
I was always told I wasn't the only person in the house.
I hated that damn answer. I get it as an adult but as a kid, I hated that answer.
Oh, there was plenty of drama about food at my house.
My younger sister, Pam, hated peas and carrots.
Another one of those things my mom made all the time.
Canned peas and carrots no less. Yuck.
I like peas and I like carrots but canned? Yuck!
I was always told I wasn't the only person in the house.
I hated that damn answer. I get it as an adult but as a kid, I hated that answer.
Oh, there was plenty of drama about food at my house.
My younger sister, Pam, hated peas and carrots.
Another one of those things my mom made all the time.
Canned peas and carrots no less. Yuck.
I like peas and I like carrots but canned? Yuck!
But I ate them.
My sister being the drama queen would give an Oscar winning performance and gag and then vomit them up on her plate. She would gag with the dramatic flair of noises and then heave her body against the table and then the chewed up food would be on her plate. Gross. How did they not see through her tricks? They never made her finish them or give her more. I was in awe of her talent. I could never do that trick. And my goodness she could make Meryl Streep proud! Then she would look over at me and smirk. How did she get away with this. I knew I couldn't.
When it was lima beans I would torture myself and play with them until I was yelled at. Then I would hold my nose and shove them down and chug my milk. I would make a face and of course be yelled at for being so dramatic. ME? What about Pam who regurgitates them on her plate?
Oh if only I could have done that I wouldn't have to eat these awful things. I think this is why I could never be bulimic. Besides the fact that I love food I just can't make myself throw up. I think it's a skill that I don't possess.
The 2nd thing you need to know is what I did when I made the mistake of refusing to eat eggplant once. My father was so angry he began his "there are children in India, Africia...name the country" speech.
You know the one where they have no food so I should be thankful and eat what is on my plate.
Well, this one night after my father went on his tangent of poor kids in India I told my father to, "Name one" after he said his, "there are children......."
OH. MY.GOD.
If you want to see your father's face turn beet red and his head explode then just tell him to name one of those kids in India that would eat your awful eggplant.
I was slapped across the face and sent to my room with no dinner.
I cried but I was so okay with not eating what I thought at the time was horrible eggplant parmesan. Now I would love it!
The 3rd thing you need to know is that dish I referred to earlier as something only found in my hometown was the final straw for me.
It's called, "City Chicken" right there on the label in the store it reads, City Chicken.
City Chicken is veal and pork cubes on a wooden skewer.
My mom rolled them in egg then breaded them and put them on a wooden stick like a kabob. She then fried them to get crispy on the outside, turning all sides and then baked them in cream of mushroom soup in the oven to finish cooking. This was then put over egg noodles.
One of the few things we ate that were what I called "American" and not Italian food.
The 4th thing you need to know is I HATED CHICKEN.
Gnawing on a chicken thigh/leg creeped me out as a kid.
My sister being the drama queen would give an Oscar winning performance and gag and then vomit them up on her plate. She would gag with the dramatic flair of noises and then heave her body against the table and then the chewed up food would be on her plate. Gross. How did they not see through her tricks? They never made her finish them or give her more. I was in awe of her talent. I could never do that trick. And my goodness she could make Meryl Streep proud! Then she would look over at me and smirk. How did she get away with this. I knew I couldn't.
When it was lima beans I would torture myself and play with them until I was yelled at. Then I would hold my nose and shove them down and chug my milk. I would make a face and of course be yelled at for being so dramatic. ME? What about Pam who regurgitates them on her plate?
Oh if only I could have done that I wouldn't have to eat these awful things. I think this is why I could never be bulimic. Besides the fact that I love food I just can't make myself throw up. I think it's a skill that I don't possess.
The 2nd thing you need to know is what I did when I made the mistake of refusing to eat eggplant once. My father was so angry he began his "there are children in India, Africia...name the country" speech.
You know the one where they have no food so I should be thankful and eat what is on my plate.
Well, this one night after my father went on his tangent of poor kids in India I told my father to, "Name one" after he said his, "there are children......."
OH. MY.GOD.
If you want to see your father's face turn beet red and his head explode then just tell him to name one of those kids in India that would eat your awful eggplant.
I was slapped across the face and sent to my room with no dinner.
I cried but I was so okay with not eating what I thought at the time was horrible eggplant parmesan. Now I would love it!
The 3rd thing you need to know is that dish I referred to earlier as something only found in my hometown was the final straw for me.
It's called, "City Chicken" right there on the label in the store it reads, City Chicken.
City Chicken is veal and pork cubes on a wooden skewer.
My mom rolled them in egg then breaded them and put them on a wooden stick like a kabob. She then fried them to get crispy on the outside, turning all sides and then baked them in cream of mushroom soup in the oven to finish cooking. This was then put over egg noodles.
One of the few things we ate that were what I called "American" and not Italian food.
The 4th thing you need to know is I HATED CHICKEN.
Gnawing on a chicken thigh/leg creeped me out as a kid.
I would not eat chicken. Period.
(still, not chickens biggest fan but will eat it)
Thankfully my father wasn't a big fan of chicken so we didn't eat it much so I didn't have to deal with the angst of chicken for dinner. (He worked on a chicken farm as a kid and that is what turned him off to chicken.)
On this particular night of my meltdown my mom made city chicken.
I was convinced this was chicken.
I sat at that table refusing to eat it.
Oh I ate the noodles and I drank my milk but that city chicken wasn't being eaten by me if I could help it.
Thankfully my father wasn't a big fan of chicken so we didn't eat it much so I didn't have to deal with the angst of chicken for dinner. (He worked on a chicken farm as a kid and that is what turned him off to chicken.)
On this particular night of my meltdown my mom made city chicken.
I was convinced this was chicken.
I sat at that table refusing to eat it.
Oh I ate the noodles and I drank my milk but that city chicken wasn't being eaten by me if I could help it.
It just sat there on my plate.
My father said I was not getting up from this table until I ate my dinner.
I got the lecture that he works hard for the food on our table and damn it I was going to eat it.
We ate dinner between 5-5:30p. I sat there until after it turned dark.
The table was cleaned off and mom was doing dishes.
I was still sitting at the table staring at my 'chicken'.
My mom was bustling around the kitchen with dishes etc.
She kept telling me over and over again that it was veal and pork and not chicken. "Just eat it, she'd say, you'll like it Peggy"
I just kept saying,"Then why do they call it chicken if it's not chicken?"
She tried to explain because it was on these skewers it looked like a chicken leg.
I was more inclined to believe my mom than my dad but I was still buying none of this.
I began crying and having a wailing meltdown about this whole thing.
Not good. That just made my father come into the kitchen.
He yelled at me. That made it worse.
He gave me 30 more minutes or I was going to bed hungry.
I told him I wasn't hungry under my breath very quietly.
He yelled, "What did you say?"
I had visions of what happened when I told him to name a starving kid in India.
I was smart enough at 8 to know to shut the hell up now.
He left the kitchen.
I sat there staring at the friggin' city chicken wanting it to just get up off my plate and walk away. I was convinced it was a leg of a chicken anyway.
My mom sat down next to me. She calmly tried to tell me again how this wasn't chicken. How I loved veal and this was veal. That I was making Daddy really angry and did I really want to go to bed without eating? I knew my mom was frustrated and she didn't seem to be lying but I was not completely convinced this wasn't chicken. My mom was then summoned into the living room by my father.
My father said I was not getting up from this table until I ate my dinner.
I got the lecture that he works hard for the food on our table and damn it I was going to eat it.
We ate dinner between 5-5:30p. I sat there until after it turned dark.
The table was cleaned off and mom was doing dishes.
I was still sitting at the table staring at my 'chicken'.
My mom was bustling around the kitchen with dishes etc.
She kept telling me over and over again that it was veal and pork and not chicken. "Just eat it, she'd say, you'll like it Peggy"
I just kept saying,"Then why do they call it chicken if it's not chicken?"
She tried to explain because it was on these skewers it looked like a chicken leg.
I was more inclined to believe my mom than my dad but I was still buying none of this.
I began crying and having a wailing meltdown about this whole thing.
Not good. That just made my father come into the kitchen.
He yelled at me. That made it worse.
He gave me 30 more minutes or I was going to bed hungry.
I told him I wasn't hungry under my breath very quietly.
He yelled, "What did you say?"
I had visions of what happened when I told him to name a starving kid in India.
I was smart enough at 8 to know to shut the hell up now.
He left the kitchen.
I sat there staring at the friggin' city chicken wanting it to just get up off my plate and walk away. I was convinced it was a leg of a chicken anyway.
My mom sat down next to me. She calmly tried to tell me again how this wasn't chicken. How I loved veal and this was veal. That I was making Daddy really angry and did I really want to go to bed without eating? I knew my mom was frustrated and she didn't seem to be lying but I was not completely convinced this wasn't chicken. My mom was then summoned into the living room by my father.
I assume she was talking to the enemy and had to go into the living room with my dad. She kissed the side of my head and ran her hand over my hair and said, "Peggy just eat it baby please." (I remember that vividly.)
At 5 minutes before my time was up I held my nose and took a bite.
Oh my goodness this was so damn good! Even cold.
I wolfed it down. This wasn't stinky chicken this really was pork and veal.
I inhaled it.
I put my plate in the sink and went into the living room and told my parents that I ate it.
My father just said, "good. now go get ready for bed."
My mom came into my bedroom and said, " Thank you Peggy. Now wasn't that good?"
I didn't want to tell her it was good because she'd tell my father but I adored my mom so I did anyway. "yep it was really good. It tasted like the veal cutlets you make."
She laughed and hugged me and said, "Thank God"
My grandmother used to love to tell that story of me asking my father to "name one" when we kids were all adults.
At 5 minutes before my time was up I held my nose and took a bite.
Oh my goodness this was so damn good! Even cold.
I wolfed it down. This wasn't stinky chicken this really was pork and veal.
I inhaled it.
I put my plate in the sink and went into the living room and told my parents that I ate it.
My father just said, "good. now go get ready for bed."
My mom came into my bedroom and said, " Thank you Peggy. Now wasn't that good?"
I didn't want to tell her it was good because she'd tell my father but I adored my mom so I did anyway. "yep it was really good. It tasted like the veal cutlets you make."
She laughed and hugged me and said, "Thank God"
My grandmother used to love to tell that story of me asking my father to "name one" when we kids were all adults.
My niece's heard that story one day and all collectively gasped when it got to that point - they know their Grandpa. They turned to look at him and of course, he is laughing about it all now. He knows it's funny.
Today I would love to have some city chicken made like that over egg noodles!!
5 comments:
Oh God, I can relate on so many levels, except how could you not like eggplant parmesan? Ha! To me it was the dreadful chunky soup aka minestrone, I never eat it even now, creamy soup yes, any time.
Alessandra, oh I LOVE it now, but not as a kid. I love minestrone too.
I'm so glad I didn't have to clean my plate when I was a kid. Although most of what my mom cooked I liked. Canned spinach though, disgusting.
I swear we lived in the same neighborhood growing up! The only difference at our house was we were told about the poor starving kids in Tennessee or Arkansas or something.
My brothers response? "Send it to them!"
Not a wise choice. Funny as hell, but not wise.
My wife's uncle is a farmer and he won't eat chicken.
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