Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Eat it.
Between cases this morning, one of my circulating nurses caught me carefully nibbling my tuna salad-on-wheat away from the crust. “You weren’t one of those spoiled children whose mommy trimmed away the crust, were you?” she asked.
No, I was one of those spoiled kids who was forced to eat everything. Now I’m a spoiled adult who gets to eat or not eat whatever the hell I want.
Depression era mentality effed up a lot of us baby boomers. I’m a walking cliche because I, too, balked at eating food that could have saved millions of starving Chinese. (And why were they always Chinese? Then, as now, Africa took center stage as the globe’s starvation hot spot.)
Not every meal contained seeds (or chunks, or slabs) of grief, but enough did. I have few happy childhood food memories: pancakes on a Saturday morning, my grandfather’s rye bread smeared with margarine, the jingle of the ice cream truck, neon-bright SnoCones at Arcadia Park. Balance that with fights over cantaloupe, avocado, shit peas (canned peas the texture of clay, and half the flavor), and blackened steaks and burgers, earthbound remnants of burnt sacrifices to the gods of home economics.
“Um mmph mm o mm mm mmfroom,” I’d say — I have to go to the bathroom, where the toilet would accept what my esophagus would not. This worked on my mom, not my dad, so I’d have to time the request accordingly. At other times, a food bolus would be palmed, passed to the dog, or stuck to the underside of the table for later disposal. If it fell to the floor, so much the better for the dog.
Remarkable, isn’t it, that I like food at all? Because back then, there was so little joy in food. Food wasn’t nourishment; food was power.
We have only one rule for my son: if it’s a new food for him, he has to try one bite. None of this “clean your plate or no dessert” BS. The kid needs to be heavier anyway, so if he wants ice cream sandwiches for dinner, so be it.
***
Testimony to the wasteland of my gastronomic childhood: raisins were a delicacy. I still like raisins and can put them down by the fistful, but no one else in my life likes the things.
I remember longing for cafeteria food. It smelled so good, you know? And the grilled cheese sandwiches . . . if a friend passed me half, I was in heaven.
In Junior High, kids made fun of me because I’d scrounge for pennies. Some kids would toss pennies for the pleasure of seeing me run after them. But why not? Seven cents would buy me an oatmeal cookie, and oh, were they delicious.
By the time I hit high school, I had an allowance, which meant I could indulge in the Canteen’s fried burritos, the Student Body Snack Shop’s Cup O’ Golds. Yup, I was a Cup O’ Gold man. Boy. Whatever. Popcorn was 35 cents, I think, and it tasted best when I let it go stale for a day or two in my locker. But a truly hedonistic lunch required a trip off-campus for a teriyaki burger. Oooh, baby.
Maybe I have my old gf to thank for my food awakening. To pay for dates, I needed a real job, and that brought me to Sizzler. You won’t find Sizzler in the Michelin guide, but at least they don’t burn their steaks (not unless you ask them to, anyway). Our Hispanic chefs who didn’t speak a lick of English convinced me to eat prime rib for my free meal. What a revelation!
My old gf’s mom still remembers my gusto for her food. She liked me because I would eat anything she put in front of me, even the weird stuff. Their family is Chinese, so weird can get pretty weird. I’m still trying to figure out if “fish stomach” was really fish stomach, or if she was pulling my leg. But that’s when I learned that with knowledge and effort, you could turn mealtime into something pleasurable.
I first began honing my skills in college. Despite a few disasters (ling cod in a crust made from high fiber cereal: don’t try this at home), I mastered the basics, and by my senior year I could cook Karen a meal that would impress rather than sicken. I had learned the Golden Rule from my friend Stan: “If things taste good separately, they’ll usually taste good together.” Karen objected to my pear sushi, but the Rule held more often than not.
So . . . NO, I won’t eat bread crust, not if it’s from a loaf of crappy store-bought wheat bread. Life is too short to eat crappy food, and my son’s childhood is way too precious to tarnish it with memories of food-based power struggles.
He’d win, anyway.
D.
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My mother was (and still is) a very good cook. She rarely made anything I didn’t like other than canned salmon patties and beets. (The salmon patties were for my dad, so` that stopped after he died.)
The only struggle we ever had regarding food was the beets – every time she cooked them, she’d try to tell me I liked them the last time she made them. I knew better, and would only eat three slices. This went on for many years, and I never liked beets. 🙂
IMHO, bread’s not good bread without a good, crunchy crust. I bake my own occasionally, and always claim the crust ends of the loaf as my right. Mmmmmmm
You don’t qualify as a crusty old doctor, I guess.
I had many of the same battles over food as a child. Mainly to do with brussels sprouts and rhubarb. The former earned me some belt slaps (it was before these gentler times). The latter… well, at least after refusing it I could hardly be punished by sending me to bed without dessert.
I avoid food battles with the Offspring, too. It’s partly paranoia because so many girls nowadays seem to develop food/body image issues, and I don’t want her to feel like she was ever forced to eat or equate food with negative feelings.
And then I do my best to have healthy(ier) snacks around for the moments when she starts hollering “I’m hungry!”
Personally, I’ve never had food issues. I luuurve food and eating.
Oh, and by the way, I’m a raisin fan, too, Doug! 😀
“…the jingle of the ice cream truck…”
Growing up, my next door neighbor wasn’t the best runner. I think just about everyone else could beat him in a race.
But, when the ice cream truck bells could be heard, you’d be amazed at how quickly he could go inside his house, get some change, and beat everyone else to the truck.
Oh, and I like raisins in Raisin Bran. Does that count?
it’s weird, because i almost wish my parents had forced me to try just one bite or to eat what was put in front of me. in my house, the rule was “if you don’t like what we’re having, you’re on your own”. hence, i never tried anything new, and to this day have immense trouble trying anything new. i didnt eat pasta till i was fourteen, and the only reason i did was because i was at camp, AWAY from the parents and the pressure, and because there was nothing else to eat. i still can’t get myself to really try vegetables, although i have taken small bites at camp. i can’t help but think that if my parents had been the “no dessert until you eat your veggies!” kind of people, perhaps i would not have such problems today.
nox, you ought to try roasting beets. Or find yourself someone who knows how to make a real borscht. Or run ’em through a juicer. But be forewarned: beets discolor urine. First time it happened to me, I ran over to the Urgent Care and dipsticked myself. I was sure I was peeing blood.
microsoar, I don’t like brussel sprouts either. Fortunately, neither did my parents. I like rhubarb and I love the crust of GOOD bread.
Kris, I especially miss cooking with raisins. Bran muffins ought to have raisins in them, dammit. But the fam thinks otherwise.
Dan, welcome to my blog. I’m always a little curious how newcomers find this place, so if you happen to stop by a second time, let me know. And yes, raisins in Raisin Bran are the best. It’s the frosted sugar 🙂
Shaina, here’s a foolproof vegie recipe for you. Works great with just about anything, but my favorite is green beans:
Preheat oven to 450.
Toss chopped vegies (unchopped if we’re talking green beans!) with olive oil, salt, pepper, and a little diced onion or shallot. Garlic, too, if you feel like it.
Spread ’em out on foil. Roast at 450. Check to see if they’re done after 12 minutes.
I did this with eggplant tonight. Not as good as green beans, but still very nice.
Hi Doug: Your trademarked frogs make you easy to find. 😉
Plate lunches were 35 cents when I was in grammar school and I was damn grateful. I can still remember hot dog day with the homemade buns. I think I would have starved to death otherwise.
I swore I wouldn’t have food battles with my kids – but that was before I had four of the little blighters, who can never agreed on a single meal. So it’s either start a food war, or cook 5 different meals (I hardly ever want what they’d eat!)
I wish it wasn’t so, but it’s not like I don’t cook decent meals! Any anyway, what one loves this week, is detested by next :o(
P.s. I do spoil them – no crusts if they don’t want them!
My kids won’t eat crusts! Husband and I are crust lovers, we fight over them, it’s the treat at the end of the toast. The youngest one is so obsessed with the anti-crust initiative she won’t eat the skins off anything; grapes, apples, cucumbers you name it she won’t have it. She gleefully will sucks the seeds out of cherry tomatoes and put the husks back in the box.
I must admit though, i want my kids to eat thier meals before any desserts are dished out – I damned well slaved over that meal they’re gonna eat it! I know they like cake, but they should learn to get their nourishment first.
But really finding slimy grape skins around my house does annoy!
The only thing I remember about food battles in our house – and it’s probably because I blocked the rest out – was refusing to eat liver and onions. Anything and onions, actually, but liver was the nastiest. Come to think of it, I didn’t like much except pizza and spaghetti back then.
School Girl, on the other hand, will eat nothing but PBJs, chicken finger-ish things, cherry tomatoes, and pickles. She’s been branching out to things like corn and lettuce, but that’s been very, very slow. Oh, and she discovered Italian ices yesterday.
I’m exhausted and my day is only half over. No TT in sight, folks. And my life (WORK) seems to be conspiring to keep me from my writing.
The day job is getting old, people. Why can’t the world see me for the genius that I am and pay me to do nothing but sit on my ass all day and write?
Enjoyed this post because as you know, I can relate.
The best part of becoming an adult and/or having your own money to spend is being able to eat what you want.
In elementary school, I recall the Peanut Butter Goodies; I used to trade for those things which consisted of a delightful combination of chocolate peanut butter and some crunchy substance (cereal?) that made it a taste treat.
I don’t recall anything tasty from childhood except matzho smothered in margarine…you’re right about the rye bread…that WAS tasty.
Non-sequiteur:
Apparently, Balls and Walnuts is
24% evil, 76% good
Who’d have thought?
Sis: they served those at the Emperor cafeteria when I was there, too.
Microsoar: I’ve written about gematria before, but that was a long time ago.
I object to being only 24% evil, though!
I’m 47% evil. Muahahaaa!
[…] Mind you, while I do occasionally read Doug’s blog (just have to be careful as the stuff he links to isn’t always work-safe), I haven’t commented on it in a long, long time. But, I did on Wednesday. His response was this: “Dan, welcome to my blog. I’m always a little curious how newcomers find this place…” […]