Some things never change.

As I age I find myself caring less and less about food.  Caring less about shopping for it, less about preparing it, less about actually eating it.  I don’t think this is unusual…anything you do for 60+ years gets boring.

But, today, for some reason, I began to think about my all-time favorite foods.  Things I just really would like to eat, if someone wanted to present it to me primarily, but also things I just love to have, even if I have to make it myself.  This thought came to me as I prepared my lunch of two slices of garlic bread with melted parmesan cheese.

Bread is one of my favorites.  I mean, I seriously love bread – me and Oprah.  A niece has nearly perfected bread making and offers it up at many family dinners and functions.  Today’s garlic toast is one of those loaves that was up for grabs after dinner on Sunday.  I brought home her rustic loaf and man, I am telling you, my lunch has never been so appreciated.

When I was a child I was a seriously picky eater.  I am sure I about drove my poor mother crazy with my preferences, especially awful of me since we were so often eating in restaurants and things could not have been fun to start.  I was a brat.  No ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, pickles or onions.  No barbecue sauce.  No fish, shrimp or crab.  Only white bread. I would eat bologna, hot dogs, pizza and spaghetti, as long as there were no green peppers, and my very favorite, cherry pie.  Somewhere around age 21 I began to open up my palate and eat like a normal person.  I’ve never looked back.

 

I told this story to a few family members before but, when visiting a distant aunt and uncle in Kentucky, I was offered butter for my pancakes.  Straight from the farm, in a big block, on a plate.  I threw such a fit and refused to eat that butter, which I am now sure tasted like gold would, if you could eat it, and insisted on margarine, straight from the factory or wherever it comes from, in a stick.  My mom and dad must have been horrified at my turning up my nose and screaming at the top of my 6 year-old lungs, over that sweet, creamy butter.  I remember my mom following me around the dining room saying “But, it’s the same as what you buy in the store” and I guess I didn’t believe her. What a dope.  And those precious family members, who I recall as being sweet and kind, giving me King Leo peppermint sticks as a treat, and then sending the whole box home with us.  I remember that box in the back seat of the car, a treat waiting to be shared, as we piled in the car to drive home.

 

My mom made the best cherry pie.  She really had that one mastered, and I loved it.  She used to tell of my going around the table after finishing my own dessert and cleaning off anyone’s plate that had a smidgen of crust and filling left.  I loved my mom’s cherry pie.  My siblings had their favorites, too, but I don’t think anyone could boast of loving it quite like me. 

So, I’ve been thinking of my favorite foods lately and how my tastes have changed.  I will always love bread and rolls, with real butter (would love to have that big block of farm butter today), and will miss my mom’s cherry pie for the rest of my days, I suppose.  Brie, popcorn, sweet corn, watermelon, a good salad, lasagna, fried shrimp, tacos, fettuccine and pan-fried lake perch are on my favorites list now, along with the first two pieces of Oscar Mayer bologna from the package on the first two pieces of white bread taken from the loaf…no mayo or anything else. I am still a brat.