Food from my Childhood and Beyond: My Journey
CeCe’s Musings
Growing up in the 60s and 70s, food in our family was the fare of the era. Tang. Jello. Hamburger Helper. Tuna casserole. La Choy chop suey. Spam. Fish sticks and french fries. Banquet fried chicken. Chipped beef on toast. Canned vegetables. Kool-Aid.
My mother was a utilitarian cook. She admitted she never liked cooking. It just needed to be quick and easy, especially after she went back to work in the late sixties. Mom had a few go-to recipes she could throw together like Spanish rice, taco pie, and baked chicken and rice. She’d make a sheet cake for each of our birthdays, peanut butter cookies if she was in the mood, and iced sugar cookies at Christmas.
Dad could grill hamburgers, but Sloppy Joe’s were his speciality. He would lay out all the ingredients like it was a science experiment, and carefully measure each one. Later he added Kraft Macaroni and Cheese to his repertoire, but that was about it for Dad and cooking. He was a man of his generation.
My siblings and I always joke that Mom never seemed to make enough food for six people. We never starved, but our refrigerator did not know the meaning of leftovers. One box of Hamburger helper fed the family. We rarely had dessert, and if we did, it was Jello or Jello pudding. It was a special day in the Shumate household if we came home after school to see her gray Tupperware dessert sherbet cups in the refrigerator!
My brothers were always hungry in those days, and often scrounged up second meals later in the evening after athletic practice or part-time jobs. My sister mostly snacked at friends’ houses, and I’d fold a slice of Kraft American cheese in four pieces and put in on saltine crackers. My dad loved ice cream, so there was always a carton or two in the freezer. We rarely had soda in the house, but if we did, it was Fanta.
Dad was extremely frugal. Feeding a growing family of six was a struggle, so he scoured the city for day old bread and deals on bulk food before Sam’s and Costco were a thing. Once, he decided it would be cheaper to make our own milk from powdered Carnation. It was lumpy, an odd blueish color, and tasted disgusting. We didn’t do it for long, but it still makes for a funny family story.
After the four of us grew up, Mom continued to feed Dad simple meals. She did expand her recipes over the years, and family meals with our spouses and children were a bit more creative and tasty than the food from our our childhood. One of her specialities was ham balls, which sounds weird but they were good. The funny thing was, though, Mom never did figure out how to feed a crowd. We still laugh about the time she made her ham balls for a family get-together, but as everyone filled their plates, my husband, my brother-in-law, and I were the last to get our food. We spied three balls. Now, for a visual, these ham balls were just a little bigger than your average meatball. The three of us looked at the balls, at each other, and then smiled. I’m pretty sure I made myself a snack after we got home that night.
When I was a young single mother with two boys, I didn’t expand much on what I’d gleaned from Mom. Spaghetti from a jar. Tuna Helper (my oldest’s favorite). Grilled cheese and tomato soup. I knew every restaurant in town that offered deals for kids, and, dang, I made sure they read those books so they could get their free personal pan pizzas from Pizza Hut!
Later, though, I taught myself how to cook, watching Rachael Ray and Ina Garten on Food Network. I bought good pans and utensils, gathered a variety of cookbooks, and experimented with different types of food. I’m not a chef, far from it, but I enjoy the process. Rock puts on music and pours the wine while I prep and cook. Later, he cleans ups. We make a good team.
I’ve also learned how to bake pies. It has taken years of practice and lots of fails, but I’ve discovered the perfect recipe for homemade crust. It’s flaky and delicious and not hard to put together. Pies are fun to make because they doesn’t require exact measuring and precision like cakes do. I even toyed with the idea of selling them, but it never materialized, so instead, I bake pies for holiday dinners, when someone needs cheering up, and often, just because I feel like rolling out a crust. It’s my meditation and my love language. If you happen to receive one, you are special.
Pies are a gift from my heart.
An apple pie I baked for our last spring session of my memoir class, and I shared the rest with my Forest Park crew.