Food Heritage
Last week’s TheHighCalling.org book club selection of essays (from The Spirit of Food: 34 Writers on Feasting and Fasting toward God) included Denise Frame Harlan’s essay “And She Took Flour.”As I followed her story of learning to eat (and eventually cook) real food, I sat almost as stunned as she did when a professor read excerpts from The Supper of the Lamb
to her class:
[T]ears streamed from his eyes as he read about ‘The Inconsolable Heartburn…by which the heart looks out astonished at the world and in its loving, wakes and breaks at once.’ This heartburn, Capon says, this sadness for what is not yet here is ultimately a longing for God’s final feast, the supper of the Lamb, when the Host of Creation will set all things right and will do so more beautifully than we can imagine. (Fields 76)
She reflects on this with astonishment:
The created order cries out—I knew that from Romans. Creation groans for further greatness still. Greatness in the kitchen? Greatness as a supper? …As if it were a near-death experience, my life flashed before me … I remembered my first taste of Communion wine at midnight Mass in the Colorado Rockies, my favorite sugar cream pie, and my grandmother’s homemade noodles with chicken. (Fields 76)
Like I said, her writing—her story—left me stunned. I’m not entirely sure why I connected so strongly with her piece, but I’ve continued living with my own food recollections. It seems that each day, scenes flash before me; blurry snapshots from my history with food slowly come into focus:
- Spooning my own grandmother’s noodles over mashed potatoes, starch on starch—forking down serving after serving until my stomach pooched out.
- Attempts at making whole wheat bread, mixed and kneaded by hand as a teenager—each loaf turning out more brick-like than bread-like.
- First taste of sautéed mushrooms prepared by my college roommate when we rented a house together.
- Learning to make my mother-in-law’s roux.
- My first successful crepes.
Harlan’s essay convinced me to order The Supper of the Lamb. She says:
Capon warns in his book that The Supper of the Lamb is a way of life, not merely a recipe that requires eight chapters of diversions to reach a conclusion. I read the book and reread it, as this way of life becomes mine. And I will tell you the truth: I’ve never grown tired of exploring the minute corners of life. I tossed a handful of lettuce seeds into the potted rosemary plan several days ago, and the sprouts stretch green leaves upward, and the anticipation grows. It might not work, but I had the seeds handy, and I was hungry for green things. I am hungry, still. (Fields 79)
I am hungry, too, for green things; for good words and good food; for bread and for truth.The Occasional VegetarianSo I read on. This week’s book club selection included “Tasting the Animal Kingdom,” in which I was taken back to my teens.
Like Alissa Herbaly Coons, I committed to vegetarianism around age thirteen. Though my dad raised Black Angus cattle, my parents—Mom in particular—supported my decision. Dad worried that I wouldn’t get the protein I needed, but Mom fixed vegetarian casseroles as a main dish for me and a side dish for the rest of the meat-eating family.At Thanksgiving that year, my beloved grandmother prepared a turkey. I was torn. Should I take a serving to honor her labor of love? Or should I stick to my vegetarian lifestyle?As I smelled the turkey and remembered how it tasted—and as I looked at my grandmother’s beaming smile—I made my decision.I took a serving of Grandma’s turkey savoring forkfuls of dark meat—alongside her noodles, of course—and I gave thanks: for turkeys and family and Grandma. I think she was pleased that I ate it all.And it was very good.These days I’m eating meat, but I’ve been known to suddenly convert back to a plant-based diet again. Each time I transition to or from the vegetarian lifestyle, I find myself appreciating all food, all sustenance, more than I would if I ate without thought and concern.I was touched as I read about Coons’ careful preparation of a chicken all the way to boiling the carcass with vegetables to make stock. A sense of reverence and gratitude flow through her story to the end:
For hours, I boiled the last nutrients out of the chicken, claiming the goodness of its skeleton for myself and for the soups of my future, a small act of faith in my slow reconversion. As I strained the brother and finally discarded the bones, I found the wishbone, whole in the pot, which had slipped unnoticed through my earlier bone breaking. I held it for a moment, and then I left it intact. (Fields 95)
Sitting in my fridge is a container of stock that I made from the turkey carcass at Thanksgiving. I froze it in November, but recently pulled it out to thaw and use in a sauce.With what remains, I will make soup. Vegetable soup.
Join the conversation at TheHighCalling.org.
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I smile when I read about your grandma’s noodles — “starch on starch.” We served ours over mashed potatoes, too. And when I tell people this, they think it odd.
Both of my grandmothers made noodles, though one made beef noodles and the other chicken noodles.
Both of my grandmothers are gone now, but one of them wrote her noodle recipe down for us while in the nursing home. And now my sister has mastered the art of Grandma’s noodles.
I didn’t think about there being beef or chicken noodles. Grandma’s would have been chicken noodles. I only knew one of my grandmothers, and she passed away when I was in college. I wasn’t thinking about wanting to make noodles from scratch; the most I thought about preparation noodles in college was ramen.
So I missed the opportunity to learn.
My uncle makes very similar noodles, however, and I’m waiting for him to phone me today and explain how to do it.
See what The Spirit of Food has done for me? I might track down that noodle recipe yet! (My uncle, by the way, is 84 years old).
That’s exactly what I thought: noodles on mashed potatoes? But then I remember the one time I made homemade pasta, and know it must have been heavenly. Isn’t it amazing, these different heritages we are handed?
I like what you say about how, when you move to or from being a vegetarian that you appreciate all food even more. That makes sense to me. Because it keeps us attentive to what we are eating.
I really enjoyed this, Ann.
I wonder if it’s a German thing? My grandmother’s mother was German–my mom can confirm which generation immigrated to America. So my grandmother I’m sure would have drawn from that style of cooking.
It is funny that – as introspective as I can get at times – I did not realise that all my memories of food in a family setting during childhood veered toward the unpleasant. I sat here trying to recall particularly pleasant ones… and I now realise it is a exercise in futility.
I remember the threats about what would happen if I didn’t eat it all, but nothing of the taste or even the arrangement. Eye-opening.
Just this week, I was wondering why everyone drifted apart and nary a family gathering is ever planned. Methinks you unknowingly helped me find the ‘root’.
(Your use of the word carcass had me spinning back in time as well, but I won’t tell you why. 🙂 )
Thanks for blessing me with a bit more clarity, Ann.
*heading off to share my discovery with a sister who also wondered how and why*
Oh, dear. I’m sorry that you have only negative food memories. And I think this gets to one of the themes that flows throughout the book–not only that there is a connection between food and the Creator of it, our Lord; but also there is that connection between food and our sharing it with one another.
I hope you are building some lovely memories for the next generation. Maybe you and your sister can get together and cook new things together?
I wasn’t intentional about building food memories before, because I only thought about it today when this post gave me pause….. but now my brain is cranking out ideas for my immediate family. (Sis. and I will be discussing how to do this on a larger scale… if we can get our parents and our other sisters on board.)
We covet your prayers. 😀
Love that ending!
The part with the chicken reminds me of Barbara Kingsolver’s “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle” and the chapter on harvesting their birds. The same appreciation for lfie consumed.
🙂
I remember reading a Ken Gire book in which he recreates a scene from Last of the Mohicans, where the native Americans chase their prey, kill it, then stop to give thanks. That sense of reverence doesn’t come naturally to people who pick up their meat at grocery stores, all wrapped in plastic and resting on Styrofoam (the meat, that is; not the shoppers).
Exactly! When I was on the cusp of eating meat again, I had a colleague who openly admitted not wanting to know where her meat came from, and she didn’t want her small children to know either. It shocked me, and also helped me decide to take as much ownership as possible of the life, death and cooking of my meat animals.
I loved that about your piece, how you insisted on dealing with the chicken from start to finish.
Alissa, good to see you here at the online book party! Such a gift to have an excuse to read your story, again.
Ann —
I didn’t know that about you, the vegetarian part. I can see it. I think there’s a part of anyone who has ever owned a pet or looked into the watery eyes of a cow who wonders if we should really eat meat. I appreciate that love won out in this case.
Hope your uncle can pass on the n00dle recipe. I just reviewed the details of my gravy experience with my mom, and I was right on the money.
Yes, I’m the Uncommitted Vegetarian; the Inconsistent Vegetarian; or, as I said here, the Occasional Vegetarian.
In other words, I’m not a very good vegetarian. 🙂
My uncle didn’t phone today. I hope I can get that recipe soon–I want to make it for Food on Fridays…though I did just make a blueberry syrup/sauce recipe for pancakes this morning that was related to the lingonberry sauce that Nancy serves on her Swedish pancakes.
I’m glad we didn’t read this book during Lent. I keep finding new dishes and recipes I want to try!
Ann,
Your title made me think of one of my all-time favorite New Yorker cartoon captions: “I started my vegetarianism for health reasons, then it became a moral choice, and now it’s just to annoy people.”
I’m taking this thought of yours with me, and look forward to other discoveries, other awakenings, as I eat my way through creation:
“Each time I transition to or from the vegetarian lifestyle, I find myself appreciating all food, all sustenance, more than I would if I ate without thought and concern.”
I’m writing down that New Yorker caption!
Your post was delightful. (It gave me an idea for a blog so I am not commenting on that here.) Growing up, I agree with Ruth, I was not happy when my mother gave me small portions of parsnips, rutabaga, peas or beets. I swore that I would never serve my children parsnips or rutabaga, and I never did. Anyway, we try to have a varied diet, and although we do use store bought pasta, we endeavor to avoid boxed ready meals. Now, I love peas and we use beets in salads. Some foods you grow into as you mature!
I’m so intrigued–let me know when you post on whatever it is that inspired you!
I have matured into many things. My mom can attest to my being an extremely picky eater. I’ve come a long way. I even eat kale and chard!
I so appreciate your wrestling with food in the way you do. I love food, and the closer it is to its original state, the more I approve. I flirt with vegetarian, but will never succeed due to my love affair with bacon.
Unfortunately, I came to the realization that I am in some ways handicapped by beautiful, hormone-injected perfect food presented to me my whole life in the grocery. The peppers, carrots and tomatoes from my garden are a bit misshapen and weird to me. The wide variety of greens in my farmer box each week aren’t all that tasty to me. But this realization that I am disconnected from original food has challenged me to overcome. If I can teach my children to appreciate original food and grow their own, I believe I will have well-equipped them for life.
You have really roused my curiosity with this reflection on the “supper of the Lamb.” Will have to look into that further.
Mmmmmm…..bacon……
While standing in a buffet line for breakfast at Laity Lodge with some of the THC team, I said, “I could totally go vegetarian if it weren’t for bacon. It woo’s me back every time.”
Jennifer Dukes Lee was across from me. “As wife of a pig farmer,” she said, “I’m delighted to hear you say that!”
As for the misshapen veggies–I think that there is an interesting essay here. It probably has some kind of spiritual application, too, if we thought about it.
Your kids will be so proud even of their misshapen carrots! My daughter brought in fistfuls of weird looking carrots that we’d neglected one late summer afternoon. She was happily chomping on them, even though they were past their prime and not very flavorful. “These are some of the carrots I grew!” she exclaimed.
Ann, where to begin?!
First, Mollie Katzen’s Enchanted Brocolli Forest gives good instructions for making homemade noodles– which are really homemade pasta but maybe a little thicker. I picked up an Atlas hand-crank pasta maker on close-out, and a mold for ravioli-making, but that’s because I’ve had a wrist injury before. You could roll them out by hand. I made sure my food processor could handle pasta dough– use a plastic attachment and not a metal blade. Recipe calls for 1 1/2 c flour and 2 eggs, but if you use a food processor, add a little more flour and 1T olive oil. Mix thoroughly, let the dough “rest” for 30 minutes, and roll into noodles. Cook in chicken broth, and thicken some of the broth with a roux of flour and butter. Add chicken bits.
And serve with mashed potatoes, starch on starch. Eat until you groan.
Second, thank you for the great gift of your reflection. I appreciate your appreciation, truly.