Childhood Food Memories

[Blue Heron]

When I was a kid, when my dad had to go on a rare business trip, mom always fixed us something really special at home like broiled Australian lobster tails, Dungeness Crab w/ cocktail sauce, Batayaki or Shrimp Tempura.  I have fond memories of those special dinners with mom.  Now when my hubby has to go on a trip, I always try to make sure I treat myself to something special, too.

Other favorite food memories I have as a child:

- A & W rootbeer floats

- XXX Drive In - carhop would bring tray of burgers, corndogs, fries & shakes and hook it on our partially rolled down window, and we ate in the car- that was fun.

- Swanson's TV dinners served on a TV tray in the family room, watching something like Wizard of Oz, Superman, or Twilight Zone.

- Banana popsicles or Pushups from the Popsicle truck that would go down our street on summer evenings.

- mom's Lasagne.

- mom's popcorn made in the skillet, with lots of butter on top, for when we watched Wonderful World of Disney and Bonanza on Sunday evening.  I have to give my dad credit, he was also always in there watching along with us.

- holiday dinners at Grandma's house, with the whole family.  

- pan fried trout over the campfire on a family camping trip.

- ordering Frog's Legs when I was about 10 or 11, at a special dinner at the local Country Club.

What are some of your favorite childhood food memories?

[CindyG111]

My favorite childhood food memory is the Clambakes my family would have when we lived in Philadelphia.  My Dad would go on business to NJ and buy clams to bring home.

My Mom would cook them in giant steamer and we would eat them with butter.  Sometimes my Dad would save some to eat raw and I felt very adventurous and grown up and eat some raw too.

Later I tried raw oysters and sushi and now I'm hooked on raw fish in general.

My other favorite is the rice & raisin pudding my grandmother would make.  It was the only good thing my grandmother could cook.  I can't eat it now unfortunately as I'm lactose intolerant.

[Ruby]

Wow, clambakes and lobster tails and shrimp tempura. Yowza, when Papa Sam (Soprano) went away on business my Mom still made the same stuff: Franks & beans (also called 'specials' cause they were fat; Chef Boy-Ar-Dee beef ravioli (I loved those little bite-size suckers) and Twinkies or Hostess Cupcakes for desserts. Not that Mama was a lousy cook (she wasn't). My Bubby taught her how to make Russian Borscht (Bubby could cook!) that would put any resto to shame.

[Blue Heron]

I'd like to add that it was Jaymes beautifully written memories of meals with her grandmother that inspired me to begin this thread.  If you haven't read her bio yet, it is a real pleasure: Jaymes bio w/wonderful descriptions of food memories w/ grandma  It includes bits of Col klink's and tommy's childhood food memories, too.

[cabrales]

Members might also be interested in the "Food Memories -- Proust on Madelaines" thread in this forum.

http://forums.egullet.org/ikonboa....27;st=0

[Steve Plotnicki]

Growing up in a kosher home is a huge disadvantage for positive food memories. But I can muster up a few.

Cold pot roast sandwiches on a hot summer Saturday afternoon at Manhattan Beach in Brooklyn. Not only were the sandwiches good, but they evidence the schizophrenic behavior of American Judaism because they are the result of not being able to cook on the Sabbath. So a pot roast was cooked before sundown on Friday, and one could eat it the second day (which tasted better by the way.) But despite the no-cooking rule on Sabbath, which necessitated the bringing of leftovers to the beach, my family was perfectly happy getting into the car and driving there and spending money, all things you are not supposed to do on the Sabbath.

I wonder if this breaking of the rules made the sandwiches taste any better? I also recall my grandmother making two things really well. Fantastic garlicky spaghetti sauce which she used to claim was the result of a well-seasoned frying pan that she fried up the garlic in. And she used to make terrific cheese blintzes. My mother also had a cousin who made fantastic stuffed cabbage in the Eastern European style, sweet and sour with raisins. They used to send jars of the stuff home for me.

[La Niña]

Steve, what about cholent?

For me:  stuffed cabbage, chicken paprikasz, stuffed peppers, cold and hot borscht, schnitzel, spatzle, red cabbage, sacher torte, dobosch torte, babka, kugel...one grandmother was Austro-Hungarian, one was Russian/Lithuanian...

[Liza]

I've probably mentioned this before,  but it bears repeating: potato chip chicken. Fried chicken, with a crunchy exterior of smashed potato chips. My arteries swell at the thought of it.

[wingding]

When I was little,our next door neighbor had a beautiful grape arbor,and I remember snaking my arm over with a pair of scissors,and snipping off the forbidden fruit-nothing tasted sweeter..........the Good Humor man occasionally had a chocolate covered black raspberry ice cream bar in the spring-I waited for these.....once,in the 1960s,my father worked on a photo shoot for Esquire Magazine,and brought home a hunk of Beef Wellington,which I sampled early the next morning-it was a revelation.

[sweetpea]

My grandmother taught me songs of Rabi Thakur as she would be rolling dough to make Samosas stuffed with chicken and shingaras for our Hindu neighbors that did not eat meat.

It was most beautiful as she was so sensitive to the eating habits of the Hindus.  While they were different from us in religion, we were still one people.  She taught me our sonds and dance and folk tales that were common.

I only wish I could share that with Steven Poltnicke.  He seems so angry and bitter.  Maybe he would be happier if he had grown up with more love and postive stories.

Jaymes your bio is beautiful.  I loved reading about your grandmother.  Are we gals more into cooking with grandmas?  

I also remember hearing tales from grandma about how India saved us from our own Pakistani citizens.  We became free in 1971.  Moslems from the west of India were killing us in the east for we were culturally different from them.   She would fry fish and sing freedom songs and put me to sleep singing other such songs.  she was beautiful.

[Suvir Saran]

Thanks Sweetpea for sharing your memories.  I love Shingaras and actually always suggest to friends to eat Samosas in Nirvana.  Chicken ones.  They are grea.  How did you grandma make them?

[sweetpea]

Suvir, I will ask my father and get back to you.  I am glad you know of Nirvana.  It is very expensive so I cannot go there too often. I posted about it on the India board I think.  I find your comments on the foods from that region very encouraging.

[Suvir Saran]

Thanks, I am looking forward to hearing from you.

[Rachel Perlow]

My grandma's chicken soup, passover rolls filled with tuna salad (practically every day during Passover), kishka from a deli.

My dad's grilled chicken or lamb chops (big ones not the baby ones you get at restaurants, more like the size of pork shops), basted with "duck sauce" (kind of like loose apricot jam).

Corn on the cob that tasted like corn and not sugar.

Sunday night dinners at the local Chinese restaurant (roast pork fried rice, shrimp with lobster sauce, egg foo yung, chicken chow mein) and giggling in the back seat of the car on the ride home with my Mom and brothers, and my dad asking, "what's so funny?"

[Jason Perlow]

My grandfather making salami and eggs, the only thing he knows how to cook.

[Jaymes]

My Grandma, God love her, was a character to the end.  She made great eggnog.  I remember stealing sips of it directly from the fridge.  At first, it tasted great....sweet, rich, creamy.  Then, she'd do "something" to it, I wasn't sure what, and after that, it tasted horrible.

Now I know what the "something" was....bourbon, brandy & rum.  And I also know it's much, much better that way.  As in so many things, it turns out Grandma was right after all.

[Sandra Levine]

My fondest childhood food memories are closely bound with visits to New York City.  I loved going to Katz's even then, although as a child I would have corned beef rather pastrami and always on a "club roll," a kind of chewy, crusty roll that I haven't seen in years. Usually, on the way home, we would stop somewhere for ice cream.  My favorite flavor was raspberry sherbet (this was years before "sorbet").  I can still taste the sweet, grainy ices mingled with the, um, rich aroma of my Uncle Herman's cigar.  The lower New York skyline in those days was much spikier and, to my mind, more beautiful than it is now. It was the land of Oz, the place where all wishes came true, if you could only get there.

Also,on the LES, I remember the sweet potatoes in the winter and hot corn in the summer sold on the street.

My grandmother made all the usual Eastern European grandmotherly things, and made them well, but her soups were the best.  Hardly any dinner began without soup.  

I've never had fresh tomato soup like hers.  

My mother made two dishes:  rice krispies treats and Banana Cake from the Settlement Cookbook, with a chocolate cream cheese frosting, always in a tube pan.  She never got it quite right.  There was always a dense, soggy half-inch at the botoom -- and that, of course, was the best part.

The Trenton Farmer's Market sold strawberry milk this time of year.  Much better than chocolate milk, I thought, and prettier too.

[ngatti]

When I was a kid (9/10), my dad was out of work with an injury.  Compensation/union bennies weren't what they are today, so both money and sometimes food was scarce.

Our neighbor, a longshoreman, gifted us what must have been a large (10/20#?) wheel of Roquefort cheese.  We kids ate grilled Roquefort cheese sandwiches on wonder bread for weeks.  Sounds weird but I really liked em.

Also Horn&Hardart, I guess 3rd and deuce?  Grat Franks & beans 20 cents.  Hot chocolate out of those carved spigots (sigh)  

Nick

[cakewalk]

Borscht. Oh what memories. My grandmother used to make a huge pot of borscht, which she would then distribute to various family members and friends. She would put the borscht into empty nescafe instant coffee jars, somehow I remember them as being so big, certainly over a quart. I remember standing on a chair by her stove and eating the beets out of the pot (I would be red all over) while it was still warm. In our family we drank borscht from a glass, ice cold, and then ate the beets from the bottom of the glass with a fork.

(As an adult I "branched out" in beet experimentation and started adding yoghurt or sour cream to borscht, eaten now as soup rather than a drink. We never did that at home because our kitchen was kosher. Borscht was always with dinner, which was always meat, which ruled out any milk products. Borscht with yoghurt makes the loveliest magenta color I've ever seen anywhere.)

I still love beets in any way shape or form, and they always make me think about my grandmother and her kitchen on Southern Blvd. in the Bronx. What a great memory.

[Kim WB]

Somehow, it seems there was a lot more snow when I was a kid.  My mom would call us in from hours in the snow, and she would help us peel off our wet, fozen layers. She would have put our pajamas and sweatshirts in the dryer ,to heat them,  while we were out playing, so when we came in,we could get into "toasty" clothes.   Then, grilled cheese and cream of tomato soup with butterred ritz crackers. We would eat on a blanket on the floor of the living room, fighting to see  whose feet could be closest tot he heat register, the better to "defrost" our toes.

[Jaymes]

Somehow, it seems there was a lot more snow when I was a kid.  My mom would call us in from hours in the snow, and she would help us peel off our wet, fozen layers. She would have put our pajamas and sweatshirts in the dryer ,to heat them,  while we were out playing, so when we came in,we could get into "toasty" clothes.   Then, grilled cheese and cream of tomato soup with butterred ritz crackers. We would eat on a blanket on the floor of the living room, fighting to see  whose feet could be closest tot he heat register, the better to "defrost" our toes.

That called to mind a "childhood food memory" that I had completely forgotten....snow ice cream.

Remember scooping up snow, being very careful to avoid any dirty or yellow spots , bringing it into the house, sprinkling it with sugar, and dousing it with heavy cream?  

Yum....  wonder if it'd still taste good today?

[Sandra Levine]

On another thread about restaurants that are gone, someone mentioned Dugan's, the bakery that sold its wares from a truck that trawled throuigh the neighborhood.  I grew up in Trenton, N.J., and we had Dugan's, which was a chain, but also coming to the house were a fish truck and a vegetable truck.  Of course, milk was also delivered, in glass bottles, and the man who sharpened knives came around on his bicycle contraption twice a year or so.  The fish man came on Tuesday, so, everyone on the whole block ate fish on Tuesday.  My grandmother learned how to fry scallops for us, although she wouldn't eat them herself. The caps for the milk bottles were made of heavy waxed paper and were pleated and pressed around the outseide edge.  They were fun to undo.  Most of the milk was unhomogenzied and had to be shaken to distribute the fat globules.  There was a pale blue skim milk available, but no one I knew bought it.  

All of this was pre-school and ended in the early 50s.   I can't believe I'm old enough to have memories like this, but I'm glad I got to see a little bit of what is now a lost world, where women really did wear gingham housedresses and wiated for the milkman.

BTW, I loved the Dugan's applesauce cupcakes.

[Jaymes]

Borscht. Oh what memories. My grandmother used to make a huge pot of borscht, which she would then distribute to various family members and friends. She would put the borscht into empty Nescafe instant coffee jars..

That sounds like heaven in a Nescafe jar.

Any chance you still have her recipe?  And, if so, would you share?

[Suvir Saran]

My earliest memory of growing up is of resting in my mothers lap, as she tried to nurse my fever.  My grandmother, father, sister, brother and all the help at home had the same viral.  She had finished administering medication to each of them, and now it was my turn.  I could not have been more than 2 years old I am told.  It was this incident, of seeing my mother, probably running a fever herself and still nursing all around her, that made me realize how much a mother does for the family. I write about this image as it also had made me always think of others before self.  At least, I hope I am able to do that.  

Another thing I remember from growing up is waking up each morning, washing my face, brushing my teeth and then running into my grandfathers room where he would be sitting on a white cane chair, reading the newspaper.  I would touch his feet.  A gesture showing my respect for his place as the elder of the family I was the youngest member of.  This was a daily ritual and after which I was given a fruit or some sweet offering.  On some days even cookies.  These were always shortbread cookies, and to this day, as I see shortbread cookies in a store, I think of my grandfather, and immediately look to see if I can see the stars.  As a young boy, these little nothings seemed like jewels from the famous Peacock throne.  But, this ritual was not meant to last too long.  My grandfather died when I was very young.  

I remember a long slumber party that lasted several weeks ending with everyone leaving all of a sudden and my grandmother moving into my grandfather’s room.  My grandfather had not moved to her room either.  He was gone.  I wondered where.  In India, in yesteryears, couples often had separate rooms.  As I longed for him to come back, I would visit again and again images from the days past, of a body that had his face lying still in our home.  People had come touched it, looked at it, bowed to it and then the body was gone and was replaced by a large photograph of my grandfather, which had been decorated, with a garland of rose petals and sandalwood.  Family members would sing late into night, visitors would not seem to stop coming.  Relatives I had hardly known were making appearances.  All of this to pay respects to a much loved, respected and familial soul.  Grandmother had seemed distant and sad through all of this.  Father had cried long hours so that his eyes were puffy and red.  Mother as usual was being strong and playing the role of that general that commands strength from a force of soldiers that have embraced defeat and then with the generals own leadership see victory that seemed distant.

After a long period of much activity, mourning, familial bonding and emotional exchanges between relatives and friends, the day had come to move from a phase of mourning for the departed soul and to move on with our lives.  As a child, I did not understand why this had to happen so suddenly.  I wanted all those people back.  I wanted them to be in our home forever.  Singing songs of prayer, eating meals together and to stay up late at night.  But, I could not stop that from happening and now, no matter what I tried, Grandfather was not coming back home from his walk.  I asked mother what had happened to grandfather.  And she thought a minute and then took me out to see the night sky.  Asked for me to point to that star which I found most brilliant and compelling.  After I had chosen that which spoke with me most, she addressed it as grandfather.  I was told that grandfather had moved onto his next walk.  And that from now on, he would watch us from this heavenly perch and when I missed him, I could come look at him and tell him those thoughts I most wanted to share with him.  I was told how he would know all that we are going through as he watched all that we did, and yet, I could have my private time with him through my conversations with that brilliant star.

So now, I would spend evening doing things in our terrace.  It made me feel closer to him.  And I felt, I was the only one that knew that grandfather was up there watching me play.  I thought I was alone in having intimate conversations with him.  I was a child happy even after losing one important part of my daily routine.    In some ways, I felt celestial powerful and hoping that with time, I too would find a star that would let me call it my home.

As I became accustomed to the new routine of not running into my grandfather’s room, I also began watching keenly what my grandmother was doing at that same hour each day.  She would wake up very early in the morning.  While it was still dark outside, she would cleanse her body and then get ready to worship the gods in that hour which Hindus believe to be most auspicious and divine.  She would take a beautiful dark mulberry basket in which she would collect different kinds of jasmine blossoms that would be offered by her to the Gods to enliven their senses.  It was most beautiful to see her gently pluck only those blossoms that would have fallen onto the ground otherwise.  She would pluck them ever so gently so as to not disturb the peace of stems and make no sound at all.  It is believed that if you are rough with these gentle souls, flowers, they will never ever see spring again and will wilt just as quickly as their souls would from the abuse.  

After finishing a long prayer, she would eat a simple breakfast of melons and cantaloupes in the summer and papaya in the winter.  She drank a strong dark brew of tea, different from that my parents had.  She would always leave a little food on her plate.  This would be offered to the birds.  I was told that birds work very hard for living.  They fly all day, and often get very little food, but they never tire as if they stop flying, they would be easy prey for larger creatures.  And so, tired or not, they continue flying in the hope that they will find the sustenance they need in due time.  This was remarkable and inspiring to all, and thus, any little treat one could give birds, would be a treat well spent.  To my young mind, this was a rather caring act, and it was what made me love my grandmother instantly.  Unknown to her, perhaps, this was what has made me love all animals and birds especially.  

In the kitchen, a sanctum sanctorum in our home, Panditji would be peeling, chopping, mincing, frying, steaming, macerating, crushing or grinding.  All done by hand, machinery was non-existent till much later, into my teens.  It was amazing that we had a refrigerator, since that was the only appliance we had for a long time.  Panditji was territorial and also a Brahman that was puritan about certain things.  Keeping the kitchen sacred, clean and pure was his pet peeve.  As a child, he had trained my siblings and I to come inside it only after having had a bath and without any leather.  We could ask him to give us that, which we wanted, look around, but not touch.  The food was all prepared firstly to serve as an offering to the Gods and then it was taken to the dining table to serve the family and friends.  It was this offering for the gods that made it important for the food to remain pure.  He would cook without tasting the food.  After it had been cooked, he would serve a plate for the gods and then say a little prayer, add some of each dish back into the larger vessel, and leave some in the plate of offering to be later given to the birds.  The tiny amount of each dish that would be put back from the offering plate into the cooking dish, would give the food blessings from the gods and signify the purpose of the vegetables and grains we were eating as sustenance.  This was meant to teach us the sanctity of all things.  All life is sacred.  And again, even though little was given to the birds, it would feed several dozens of them and would encourage us to share.  I often wonder if these little things my grandmother, mother and panditji did so effortlessly, have made it easy for me to face challenges with relative dignity.

PS:  My maternal grandmother, who lives in San Francisco, used to make the best Cauliflower, Turnip and Potato Stuffed Parathas (flat breads).  It was also in her house that we would eat most any vegetable.  Not because they were better than Panditjis, but for fear of facing my grandfather wrath.  In some ways I owe it to him to be able to eat more veggies today than most of my other cousins.  I love bitter melons, lotus roots, zimikand (yam), kathal ( jackfruit) and other more exotic fruits and veggies that many younger Indians would not eat on a routine basis.

[Suvir Saran]

Liza,

Would you have a recipe for that amazing sounding potato chip chicken?

It sounds amazing.  Where would you eat it?  

Care to elaborate?

Thanks!