Ambrosia

I don't know what motivates me to blog about this subject tonight. I have moved about these United States and enjoyed many truly fine eats, including, but not limited to, a memorable almond souffle' dessert at The Four Seasons in New York, the most enormous, tasty pastrami sandwich at Stage Deli, fresh lobster sandwiches on the eastern seaboard where the lobster is plucked right from a trap door in the lobster shack:  yum!!  A dear friend of mine in Phoenix shared with me delectable gefilte fish she had made for the holiday.  Good friends from years past made Sheboygan brats simmered in beer, grilled and served on homemade rolls that I still think about, some thirty years later. The very best tortillas ever can be purchased fresh just blocks from my home. A neighbor makes the most fantastic tamales; so mouth-watering you can never eat another without yearning for hers; as if I never even knew what a tamale was really supposed to taste like until I sampled hers.  I, myself, very much enjoy cooking and have been known for a couple good dishes over the years.  A good dish's memories linger forever.  I became a vegetarian in recent years, but still enjoy the memories of all those past gastronomic delights.  Over the years, I prepared the meal described below many times in an effort to recapture it, but I was never able to create the experience of what we enjoyed that evening.  Ever.

And so it is, tonight I am remembering a meal I often tell people was one of the best meals I have ever enjoyed.  It was so many years ago now...in the '70's.  My husband contracted with some local farmers for crops and one summer evening closing out a hot day, we drove some miles, off the highway, over dirt roads...up to a stark two-story white frame house sitting atop the flat prairie like a topping on a wedding cake.  There was no yard, per se.  The house needed paint.  As I recall, there was some farm equipment sitting close to the house, a pickup truck, and an older model car.  We had been invited to dinner so my husband and the man of that household could 'talk business'.  In rural/agricultural communities, most people know just about everybody; even those in the little outlying towns.  As it happened, I simply did not know this family.  Had never had the occasion to meet them, I guess.  They seemed to be very quiet, somewhat shy folks.

When we arrived, we were greeted by the farmer in overalls who opened the screen door to let us in.  We entered a very dark living room.  Although there was yet summer evening light outside, the living room was heavily draped to keep out the heat.  There was a swamp cooler running, emitting a loud noise and the definite feel of moisture hung in the air.  At that time, I did not even know what a swamp cooler was.  The only light in the living room was a flickering bluish tint from the television.  There was a young man, perhaps late teens, seated on the couch in the darkness.  His eyes darted toward us, but he did not engage in eye contact.  He smiled a smile that was almost a little giggle; otherwise, said nothing.  I was escorted to an easy chair in that dark, cool living room with the young man across from me, his arms and legs tightly drawn against his body like a unopened envelope. [Really? I thought. You're leaving me in here...in this dark room..with this unusual young man?]

 My husband and the host went into the kitchen to sit at the kitchen table for their discussion.  The 'Mrs.', wearing a full apron, and a  daughter were also in the kitchen making dinner.  It was a typical farmer's kitchen with linoleum floor and a single, very bright ceiling light.  I don't remember that the woman or daughter  stepped from the kitchen to greet or acknowledge me, although I'm not implying at all that anyone was unkind. Quite the contrary. In their own way, I believe they were being very hospitable. The contrast between the bright, active kitchen and the very dark, swamp-humming, flickering television screen of the living room was stark.

No words were spoken in the dark living room.  I tried to focus on the television program.  I don't remember how much time passed before the young man and I were invited to join the others in the kitchen for dinner.  Again, few words were spoken as everybody ate.  Everything was plain as plain could be.  I don't
remember any table linens or fancy dinnerware.  But, I will never, ever forget that dinner.  Pork chops, grilled
in the broiler under the stove oven, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans.  Simple.  All, so very simple.
Yet, not simple at all.  Each and every bite was so succulent; so memorable.  They raised their own pigs.
The green beans were fresh from the garden.  I don't remember dessert; there may have been pie; probably a pie. But, I don't really remember that.  Somehow, though,  I knew the Mrs. wanted to please us.
I remember conveying profusely how amazingly delectable the meal was; followed up with a written note.   But, I doubt she could guess that for nearly 40 years since when people talk of the best they've ever eaten, her meal is the one I most remember.

Food of the Gods.

Perhaps it is his & my common Scottish ancestory which accounts for like minds...

What is that saying about the downward path to knowledge?

 ...that once you "get it"...once you really understand ... you can't "un-know" it.. you simply cannot go backwards.  So, if you are still at a place of sexism, racism, classism...a place of judgment about lifestyles, women's rights, or any number of other "..isms"...then, I would suggest, so far:  you just haven't "gotten it."
It's a process for each and all of us, but this I know:  as a society, ultimately, we will not go backwards.

I do understand the process is different for each of us.  I often say I don't trust anyone who declares they are not racist; at least, not anybody with whom I've shared this culture.  I don't say, "I'm not racist."  I wish I could.  My desire is to be "at that place."  But, I surprise, even myself, when, on occasion something may come to mind, and may, even, slip out of my mouth...that could be racist.  And so, I strive for awareness.  I apologize as needed.  It's an ongoing process.  But, at least, I am on that downward path.  I know that because it "stings" when I hear the arrows and slings of separation and discrimination.

http://www.timwise.org/2010/11/an-open-letter-to-the-white-right-on-the-occasion-of-your-recent-successful-temper-tantrum/http://www.timwise.org/2010/11/an-open-letter-to-the-white-right-on-the-occasion-of-your-recent-successful-temper-tantrum/http://www.timwise.org/2010/11/an-open-letter-to-the-white-right-on-the-occasion-of-your-recent-successful-temper-tantrum/