Munchy Memories
Food is one of the most powerful ways to evoke memory. Just the smell of biscuits or chocolate chip cookies can take you right back to your mother’s or grandmother’s kitchen. Food is a trigger — a pleasant one — that helps you recall warm feelings and better times. In other words, food and the past are intimately intertwined. I have lots of that kind of food associations.
When my husband’s friend John and I used to go on what we called a “hot date,” we would invariably go to a diner and then thrift shopping. Maybe a bag of M&Ms to share for dessert. (My husband knew all about this and approved. He knew we wouldn’t take “hot date” literally. He also doesn’t mind when I joke about the dancing boys coming over when he’s away or my lover Raoul. But I digress.)
There’s a very retro diner in a nearby suburb called the Hasty Tasty, so that’s where we usually went, though sometimes we’d hit Waffle House or a small, family-run Mexican place. The Hasty Tasty has booths, waitresses who don’t greet you with “Hi, I’m Amy. I’ll be your server today,” and daily specials, my favorite of which is the chicken-n-dumplings on Thursdays. I haven’t been there in a while since John died, but I remember him and our dates fondly. I miss him even more than the Thursday special.
My Aunt Thelma owned a small hotel right across from another diner in Campton, KY. This was back in the 70s, so it was authentically retro, with the counter-n-stools, jukebox devices at every seat, and a pinball machine in the corner. They made a mean burger, grilled on a flattop, of course, and their chili was amazing. Along with the penny candy in the general store that Aunt Thelma also owned, the diner features in my favorite memories of Campton.
Comfort food helps you cope with feelings of depression and loneliness. That’s the magic it wields. I have many types of comfort food. Mashed potatoes (a common comfort food for many), mac-n-cheese, and chicken fried rice all somehow make me feel better.
In this part of my life, I’ve become a semi-foodie (or at least a gourmand), but when I want a grilled cheese sandwich, I want the kind that diners serve or that my mother made for me. White bread and American cheese (even Velveeta) are what I crave. Sliced diagonally The grilled sandwich that my husband made for me recently was delicious. It featured a thick slice of ham and Havarti cheese, but it just didn’t hit the right notes the way a more humble sandwich does.
I also have fond memories of a truly non-foodie food: the do-it-yourself pizza kit that came in a box. It included a packet of what you could turn into dough with the addition of water, a long metal can of sauce, and a smaller can of parmesan. If you paid extra, you could get one with pepperoni. Throughout my childhood, this and school cafeteria “pizza” were the only kind I had.
We didn’t have a round pan for baking it, so we used a rectangular baking tray. It was too long for the pizza dough, so we had a short, rectangular pizza. We used to fight over the corner pieces. (We did have an old, round lard can lid, but it was battered and lumpy, not good for baking even the least imposing pizza. But I digress again.)
Another favorite childhood memory is watermelon in the backyard in the summertime. Unlike eating watermelon in the kitchen/dining room, at the picnic table, we could simply dispense with plates and napkins and let the juice roll down our chins and make them sticky. We could spit seeds for distance.
But there was one other aspect of backyard watermelon that made the treat even watermelon-ier. That was a light sprinkling of salt. Salt improves most foods it comes in contact with — every form of eggs and potatoes, to name just two. Even desserts need a pinch of salt in the recipe to make them dessert-ier. On Food Network competition shows, when they say a dish “lacks seasoning,” what they mean is salt.
I tried to introduce my husband to the pleasure of watermelon with salt. He tried it, but it didn’t impress him. For Dan, it wasn’t a sense memory the way it is for me (unlike his mother’s stuffed peppers, which I have never been able to successfully replicate).
We are creating our own sense memories, though, and they’ve been added to my list of comfort foods. He makes mac-n-cheese with tuna and peas, shepherd’s pie (which has the advantage of having lots of mashed potatoes on it and gravy in the bottom to soak them in), and something we call deconstructed cheeseburger mac.
These will figure prominently in the years to come when I need soothing, comfort, and memories.
