Food Memories: Grandma’s Thanksgiving Jell-O Salad a la Awful

When I was a kid I remember that on Thanksgiving Day, Grandma would pull into town in her big Caddy (a three-bedroom house on wheels known as a Cadillac Sedan Deville) and arrive at my parents’ home bearing her contribution to the Thanksgiving feast: a gastronomic catastrophe that for lack of a better name, I’ll call, “Grandma’s Thanksgiving Jell-O Salad a la Awful.” Actually, I could call it a variety of more colorful names, but none of them are fit to publish here. My sister called it, “Ick!” my brother called it, “P-U!” and Mom simply called it, “Oh, God!” All I know is that whatever you chose to call it, the Thanksgiving dinner was not enhanced by the presence of Grandma’s ever-repulsive runny lime Jell-O with carrots and peas topped with mayonnaise and paprika. While it might be a hit in some quarters, it certainly wasn’t at our house. Why ruin perfectly innocent lime Jell-O with mayonnaise—and paprika, for Pete’s sake! And so, while feasting on Mom’s beautifully roasted turkey with sage dressing, homemade cranberry sauce, buttery mashed potatoes served with her excellent roasting pan gravy, delicious sweet potato hot dish, always popular green bean casserole, and of course, Dad’s famous baked beans; we were forced to plop Grandma’s Jell-O nightmare onto our plates. Nobody liked it; nevertheless, we all choked it down, not because we didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but because we would never hear the end of it if we didn’t eat it. With a smirk on her face, she always dished up an extra large helping for Mom and expected her to gobble it up. Poor Mom.

I always thought that Grandma’s only purpose in serving the unwanted green gunk was as a joke—just to get a rise out of everyone—because she must have known how much we hated it. Three moaning children and the shell-shocked expressions on the faces of my parents, aunts, and uncles made that fairly obvious. We loved Grandma for many things, but her cooking wasn’t one of them.

 

Food Memories: My Least Favorite Foods as a Child

I had such fun compiling my list of favorite childhood foods (see “Food Memories: My Favorite Foods as a Child”) that I’ve decided to list my least favorite childhood foods to see whether or not they are still on my list of all-time most disliked foods.

• Least Favorite Breakfast: Boxed dry cereal with milk poured over it. Yes, let’s start with the absolute worst food item on my list. I hated it then and I hate it now. As a child, I liked to eat many different cereals right out of the box—I just didn’t like it submerged in a disgusting bowlful of milk. There’s nothing more repulsive or nauseating to me (concerning food) as boxed dry cereal becoming soggy and lifeless, depositing all kinds of gunk into the milk. I used to gag whenever I was near somebody who was eating it. When my mother ate it, I’d have to leave the room before she was finished, because I knew she would be lifting the bowl to drink the milk that was leftover—the milk that was full of particles and slop and…just the thought of it still makes me queasy. Yuck!
• Least Favorite Lunch: Grandma’s home-canned mystery meat, a slice of bread, and her home-canned peaches. Whenever we stayed with Grandma, she would serve us this horrible lunch. With her questionable canning techniques (it’s amazing that we weren’t all poisoned), her canned meat had the flavor of a damp cellar and the color of road kill. I hate to pick on Grandma, but that lunch was enough for anyone to lose their appetite. I usually stuck with the bread—it was the only thing that I considered safe since it was commercially made and came from the supermarket. Remember, if you’ve read my other posts about Grandma’s cooking, she did not fit into that stereotype of all grandmothers being good cooks (unfortunately). Since I am no longer forced to experience the misery of her canned lunch, I can’t think of a lunch that I would now consider being among my least favorites, but if Grandma were still here, her infamous home-canned lunch would still take the prize, hands down.
• Least Favorite Dinner: Sauerkraut and spare ribs. Dad insisted on having this once a week (his favorite meal), but I hated it, especially the sauerkraut. Today, I’m still not a fan of sauerkraut, but I like spare ribs very much—just not covered in mounds of sauerkraut. I much prefer the ribs covered in barbecue sauce.
• Least Favorite Side Dish: Canned creamed corn. Why wreck perfectly good corn with all of that milky horribleness? That’s what I’ve always thought about canned cream corn. Since corn was the only vegetable I would eat as a child, it was a real disappointment when it was ruined by that awful milk bath. I still hate canned creamed corn with a passion.
• Least Favorite Fresh Vegetable: All vegetables, except corn. I still like corn, but today, I like most vegetables and actually prefer them over several types of meat (except chicken, of course).
• Least Favorite Fresh Fruit: Peaches. I think my hatred of peaches as a child was definitely because of Grandma’s home-canned peaches that she served at lunchtime. They looked old and rusty and most unappetizing. Today, I like peaches very much as long as the peaches are not home-canned.
• Least Favorite Dessert: Chocolate cream pie. When I was a kid, I happened to get violently ill after eating chocolate cream pie, so I never ate it again. More than likely, I got sick because of something else—a germ or virus or, perhaps it was because of Grandma’s infamous home-canned mystery meat. Now, whenever I see chocolate cream pie, I continue to associate it with being ill, so I still can’t make myself eat it.
• Least Favorite Candies: None. If it contained sugar, I loved it, and I still do.
• Least Favorite Between Meal Snack: Raisins. Mom was determined that her children were going to eat healthy for as long as she was able to force it upon us. She managed this very well until we were about twelve or thirteen years old. Raisins were another of the healthy between meal snack choices that she offered, but I couldn’t stand them. As a kid, I thought raisins looked like wrinkly dead bugs. Today, raisins are among my favorite snacks.
• Least Favorite Beverage: Milk—still is. As a child, I had to hold my nose to force it down. I could tolerate it when I added chocolate syrup to it, but it was a rare occasion when we were allowed to do that. When I was about fourteen or fifteen, my mother no longer forced milk on me (Hallelujah!), and I haven’t touched it since.
• Least Favorite Childhood Foods—Period: Cereal with milk, canned creamed corn, and plain milk. I have never budged in my intense dislike of this terrible trio.

Conclusion: Some of the foods that I hated as a child, I now like very much: spare ribs, vegetables, peaches, and raisins, but the three foods I most disliked—cereal with milk, canned creamed corn, and plain milk—are still tops on my list of foods that I can’t do. And, of the three, boxed dry cereal with milk is still the champion—I can’t even look at it without feeling sick.

 

Food Memories: My Favorite Foods as a Child

Assumption: Many of the foods we enjoyed as children are no longer among our favorites, while only a few have remained staples throughout our lives. This may not be such an earth-shattering statement. It is, I suspect, true for most of us; nevertheless, I compiled a list of the foods that were among my favorites as a child to find out just how many of those foods are still among my top favorites.

 

• Favorite Breakfast: Lucky Charms cereal without milk. I would eat every one of the marshmallow “Charms” and avoid most of the healthy grain goodness of the “Lucky.” I haven’t touched Lucky Charms since I was about twelve years old, so I can safely say that it is no longer on my greatest hits list; however, if somebody place a bowl of it before me, I’m sure I would still gobble up all the “Charms.”
• Favorite Lunch (called “Dinner” when I was growing up): Grilled cheese sandwiches and canned cream of tomato soup. A grilled cheese sandwich is still one of my favorites for lunch, but it isn’t my top favorite, and I have developed an intense dislike of canned cream of tomato soup.
• Favorite Dinner (or, as we called it, “Supper”): Chicken hot dish (Minnesotan for casserole), buttery rolls, and canned fruit cocktail. Mom’s chicken casserole was the best (see “Food Memories: Birthdays”), and I loved any type of dinner roll made from that precut dough that popped out of the cardboard container when you banged it against the edge of the countertop. Fruit cocktail was my favorite canned fruit. I always hoped that I would get one of the red maraschino cherries in my serving. I never understood why there were so few of them in the can. While this meal is no longer the ultimate dinnertime experience for me, I still like it very much.
• Favorite Side Dish: Mashed potatoes with lots of butter. I still like mashed potatoes occasionally, but it is no longer one of my favorites. When given a choice, I always select something else.
• Favorite Fresh Vegetable: Corn, and only corn, especially corn on the cob. Corn is no longer my number one favorite vegetable, but it is still like it very much (especially grilled corn on the cob). Since I now like most vegetables, it’s very difficult to choose an absolute favorite, but I suppose if pinned down, I would select asparagus. Note: check out the nifty instructions for grilling corn that I found on RecipeTips.com.
• Favorite Fresh Fruit: Seedless green grapes. I considered them to be a real treat—the next best thing to candy. Today, I still like them very much, but I would say that fresh pineapple is probably the ultimate.
• Favorite Dessert: Ice cream, especially chocolate chip, vanilla, and cherry nut. Ice cream is still my favorite dessert, but it’s difficult to choose one favorite flavor. Vanilla would still definitely be on my short list, but chocolate chip and cherry nut would not. Among my other current favorites are maple nut and blueberry.
• Favorite Candies (in order of preference): Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Boston Baked Beans, Maple Nut Goodies, Mars Bars, and Starbursts. I still love candy and I still like all of the candies I enjoyed as a child; however, I stay away from Starbursts. After experiencing a number of dental mishaps while chewing them, such as pulling out two fillings, part of a cracked tooth, and even a crown, I felt it best to give them up a few years ago.
• Favorite Between Meal Snack that Mom Would Allow Me to Have: Fruit. I always chose seedless green grapes or when they weren’t on hand, I would choose a tangerine or a banana.
• Favorite Between Meal Snack that Mom Didn’t Know I Had Purchased at the Stop-n-Go While Walking Home From School: Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups or Hostess Twinkies. Sometimes I ate them as soon as I left the store, but most of the time, I smuggled them into my bedroom and ate them leisurely as I did my homework. I still have an occasional peanut butter cup (maybe once a month), but I haven’t had a Twinkie for so long that I can’t remember when I last savored the whipped cream sugariness and the golden sponge cake goodness. Although I try to eat healthy (most of the time I succeed), if somebody offered me a Twinkie today, I don’t think I would turn it down, and I think, perhaps, I’ve just talked myself into going to the store and getting one or two or….
• Favorite Beverage: Black Cherry Kool-Aid. As a kid, I loved it—I could have lived on it—but now, it sounds rather nauseating.
• Favorite Childhood Foods—Period: Ice cream, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and Hostess Twinkies. They were sweet and they were sugary, so what’s not to like? I still love ice cream and I enjoy it often. Although I still like peanut butter cups and I’m sure I would still enjoy a Hostess Twinkie, I can’t say that either one would make my current short list of top favorites.

Conclusion: I was surprised to discover that I still like so many of the foods I favored as a child. I’m somewhat embarrassed that since I have given up a number of unhealthy foods loaded with sodium, fat, and cholesterol, I haven’t been able to kick my sweet tooth. It’s a bit shocking to realize that ice cream and candy are still among my absolute favorite foods, but I suppose each of us has something we never get tired of, even when we know that it isn’t good for us. This was a fun exercise. Make your own list and see how your tastes have evolved.

 

Food Memories: It’s too Peppery

Once upon a time, when my brother and sister and I were children and Grandma came for a visit, Mom made her delicious fried chicken for dinner—the first time she had ever made it for Grandma. We all loved it—all of us, that is, except Grandma. My late grandmother, who had always been critical of Mom’s cooking (even though Mom was an infinitely better cook than Grandma), said, “It’s too peppery,” but then she said that about almost everything that wasn’t white, bland, and boring. And, Grandma always said it with such flair, enunciating the word, peppery, distinctly, with particular emphasis on the p’s and highlighting the word with a short pause beforehand. “It’s too—Peppery.” A spicy meatball was not spicy; it was “Peppery.” A hot chili pepper wasn’t hot; it was “Peppery.” During any meal (that she hadn’t prepared), you could always count on her saying at least once, in her unique style, “It’s too—peppery,” and we all found humor in the way she said it.

 

At one point during the infamous fried chicken dinner, my young sister asked her to repeat it, but Grandma said, “What for?”

 

“Because it was funny.”

 

“Funny? What’s so funny about something being too—peppery?”

 

Sis began a laughing fit.

 

“Well, I don’t think it’s funny,” said Grandma. “Would you like me to dump the whole pepper shaker all over your food and see how you like it?”

 

Sis continued to laugh, giggling behind one hand while pointing at Grandma with the other. Grandma was not amused. She unscrewed the top of the pepper shaker and carried out her threat. “There! Now your food is too—peppery!”

 

As Grandma began her own fit of laughter, Sis sobered up immediately; on her face were definite signs that she was about to cry, her lower lip jutting forward. But, as Sis let out her first whimper, Mom grabbed Grandma’s plate and dumped the whole works, plate and all, into the garbage. Sis immediately resumed her laughter, which exploded like a dam break. Mom stood there with her hands on her hips, looking at Grandma with a most satisfied expression.

 

“What in the world? Have you lost your mind?” Grandma was flabbergasted. “Why did you do that?”

 

“Because it was too—peppery!” Mom exclaimed.

 

At that point, with all of us howling, Grandma appeared to be quite irritated, but soon, she joined in the laughter, as she was always one to appreciate a good joke. After that experience, she rarely criticized Mom’s cooking, because one icy look from Mom was enough for Grandma to understand that she could either refrain from her criticism or go dumpster diving to retrieve her meal.

 

Food Memories: Grandma’s Icebox Cookies

Today’s entry has nothing to do with chicken recipes. Since I haven’t shared a food memory for a while, I thought it would be fun to write the first of several anecdotes concerning my late grandmother’s cooking ability—or lack of it. Forget those wild rumors you hear about all grandmothers being good cooks, because my grandmother definitely was not, but she did have a good sense of humor about it. She was always the first to say that she was a lousy cook and that she should not be permitted in the kitchen.

One often told story concerning Grandma’s total lack of culinary expertise was the time that my sister, Lori, and her husband, Rick, visited Grandma shortly after their marriage. My sister warned her husband, “If she offers food, say no! Don’t eat anything!” But, against her advice, Rick accepted one of Grandma’s infamous hard-as-steel rectangular icebox cookies, apparently prepared with equal parts of flour and Portland cement. When he clamped one between his teeth, he finally understood what it must be like to bite into a piece of floor tile. The only way that he was able to conquer it was to soak it in the mud-like coffee that had been on the stove for ten hours.

When Grandma offered seconds of the concrete cookie slabs, Rick said, “It’s tempting, but no thanks.”

Lori was not given that option. She had declined to have one on the first go around, but this time she was ordered to “Eat it!” My brother-in-law thought, this woman is a sadist!

While Grandma returned to the stove to fetch the coffee pot, Lori proceeded to slip the cookie under the table and pass it to Rick, who, for lack of a better place to hide it, stuck it in the front pocket of his shirt. When Grandma topped off his cup of tar, she noticed the weighty pocket. “You got a cookie in your pocket.”

“Yeah, well, I liked ‘em so much I thought I’d have one for the road—hope you don’t mind.”

Never before had Grandma experienced such an honor. “Well, in that case, I’ll send along a few more!”

I was afraid of that.

After they concluded their visit, Rick pulled over near the city park and pitched the cookies. He always swore that one struck the band shell and cracked the stucco. My sister was more worried about the possibility of some poor animal stumbling upon the rock-hard cookies, trying to bite into them, and losing half of its teeth.

Subsequent visits to Grandma’s always resulted in Rick having to choke down at least one of his “favorite” cookies. The rest of the batch was always sent home with him, because Grandma knew how much he enjoyed them. My good-hearted brother-in-law could never bring himself to tell her the truth. Several years later, we all learned that Grandma knew all along that he hated the cookies, but she couldn’t resist seeing the look on his face whenever she hauled out another monstrous batch prepared especially for him. Yep, Grandma was quite the prankster.

 

Chicken Recipes: Beer Can Chicken

Beer can chicken recipes have been around for years. For my first attempt, I prepared it according to the instructions on RecipeTips.com (except I roasted it in the oven at 350ºF rather than cooking it on the grill as they suggested—the temperature outside, hovering just above freezing, wasn’t exactly ideal grilling weather). The idea is to use a can of beer to help support the chicken vertically as it roasts. The can of beer is popped open so that some of the beer evaporates during the roasting time, adding flavor and moistness to the meat.

Beer Can Chicken

This cooking technique makes me laugh. Whenever I look at this picture, I find humor in it. I mean, the sight of a headless chicken sitting upright on a can of beer strikes me as being funny, but then, it doesn’t take much to get me going.

In spite of the humorous aspects of this cooking technique, I was quite pleased with the results of this easy to prepare recipe. Indeed, the chicken was moist and tender, and Recipe Tips’ suggestion to use a simple barbecue rub and to place herbs and lemon under the skin, made the chicken quite tasty. I also stuffed an onion in the neck cavity to prevent moisture from escaping, and most important of all, I used two cans of beer for this recipe: one for the chicken and one for myself.

 

As I have said before, recipes don’t have to be sophisticated or difficult to prepare in order to be good. This one is so easy, and the results are fantastic! Use the link, Beer Can Chicken, to get this recipe and the cooking instructions.

 

Food Memories: Slippery, Sloppy, Sticky Chicken

One day, when I was still quite new to cooking, I prepared a chicken recipe called “Honey Butter Orange Chicken” for a small gathering of friends. While we enjoyed cocktails, everyone commented on the mouth-watering aroma wafting from the kitchen, which helped to alleviate some of my fear of serving an untried recipe to my guests.

 

When it was time to serve the highly anticipated dish, I opened the oven door and was very pleased with the result, believing that our tastes buds would, indeed, justify the unanimous favorable opinion of our noses. There was, however, one problem: Some of the escaping juices from the chicken and the dabs of butter that melted, had raised the level of the hot, gooey sauce in the baking dish to near brimful. When I pulled the dish from the oven, I dumped at least half of the sticky mixture onto the hot oven door where it sizzled and made a nice baked-on mess. This mishap was followed by one of the chicken breasts slipping out of the dish, plopping onto the oven door, then, of course, coming to rest on the floor. Being a believer of the “five second rule,” I thought, what the heck, so I grabbed the wayward chicken with my left hand and threw it onto the counter, making sure that it would be the piece that I would serve to myself. Of course, while I was retrieving the blasted chicken from the floor, still holding the dish with my right hand, I dumped more of the sauce—this time, onto the floor and onto the tip of my shoe.

 

After treating the second degree burns on my hands, I had one of those rare moments that we all have from time to time when anger defeats logic. I opened the back door and threw the whole works out into the snow bank, hoping that it would melt its way to the bottom, concealing all evidence of its existence until spring.

 

Feeling pleased about my moment of insanity, I went back to the kitchen, hosed it down quickly; then I returned to my guests and announced, “There’s been a slight change in the dinner menu: Pizza is on the way.”

 

Moral: Don’t attempt to pull a hot chicken dish from the oven after downing two martinis big enough to bathe in.

 

Food Memories: Birthdays

My first posting about a food memory is, of course, associated with a chicken recipe. As children, my brother and sister and I were always treated to our favorite foods at dinner time (or, supper, as we called it). Mom would fix anything we wanted, within reason of course—she wasn’t about to serve an entire plateful of cookies or candy. Most often, I chose chicken casserole. (Like most good Minnesotans, we called it “chicken hot dish,” don’t cha know, but I thought it would be less confusing to call it a “casserole” for the benefit of all of you who are not familiar with our odd colloquialisms.)

 

Mom’s chicken casserole was the best! She would roast a whole chicken and then remove the meat from the bones—no canned chicken swimming in salt-laden water or prepackaged frozen stuff for her. She used big egg noodles, and the cream sauce she made was out of this world—it wasn’t just a can of cream of chicken soup. And, just for me, she would top the whole thing with a generous portion of crushed potato chips, which she hated to do because she said that potato chips ruined it, but after all, it was my birthday.

 

 

My Excuse for Starting this Blog

People love their Kansas City steaks, thick and grilled to perfection; their Iowa pork chops, juicy and flavorful; their Maine Lobsters, ocean fresh and swimming in butter; their St. Louis ribs, tender and tangy; their Virginia ham…you get the idea. I must say, I like all of those fantastic foods, but I still prefer delicious, succulent—Arkansas? Minnesota? Georgia?—chicken any day. (Does anybody know a specific place famous for chicken, or is chicken just so widespread in its appeal that no particular place can lay claim to being the center of the chicken universe?)

 

I love cooking and good food—especially delicious recipes incorporating chicken—so, I’m asking everyone who reads this to share your favorite chicken recipes. I will share some of my favorites with you in upcoming posts. I’ve combed through thousands of chicken recipes, and I have developed a few of my own, but I’m always eager to find more, so to all of you—chicken recipes, please?