R is for RHUBARB and RENSHI #AtoZChallenge

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

My daily #AtoZ posts combine two concepts in under-300-words per day:

an appealing food choice along with thoughts that spring to mind.

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Pies, sauce, or wild stalks pulled straight from the ground! Rhubarb was a staple food when I was growing up in rural Wisconsin. Mom had a terrific garden that included a corner for the unwieldy stalks of rhubarb. She cultivated with care and turned the stalks into heavily sweetened pies.

 

 

An earlier AtoZ post discussed the use of a Foley Food Mill to grind up apples for apple sauce. In our house, that same mill was utilized to make rhubarb sauce, except the stringy pulp of the stalks made it more difficult to mash out the sauce. Lots of sugar went into making rhubarb sauce, also.

 

 

As kids, we had free run of the fields and woods out in the country. We often found wild rhubarb and braved the obvious sour-face to chomp on a barely cleaned stalk fresh pulled from the earth. Again, that stringy pulp - hard to pull out from between the teeth. Sort of an early flossing mechanism.

Thoughts of my childhood are dotted with images of food, whether at home or away.

Does the mention of specific foods bring back memories for you?

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Below are the final words of a short, renshi-style poem, entitled  A Magical Adventure, which looks back at childhood visits to my Gramma Anna and Gramma Julia:

Childhood

in retrospect

outshines the brightest star.

 

If you would like to sample my linking poetry, please visit my #AtoZChallenge poetry-themed blog site: http://poetryfromthelanai.blogspot.com

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R is for ROOT BEER FLOATS AND SUNDAES #AtoZChallenge,

 

For this year's challenge, my theme is The Fun in Writing. Each of my 26 posts for April is aimed at
illustrating fun parts of an author's day. A writer doesn't only write.
Creating a story or an essay requires research, revision, editing, and lots and lots of coffee and chocolate.

R is for Root Beer Floats and Sundaes 

 

 

 

My early childhood is best remembered as drives through the countryside on Sunday afternoons, with stops to visit relatives along the way. This was followed by a trip to the Custard Stand, on the east side of town, for root beer floats or ice cream sundaes. I’m talking real pop (that’s Wisconsin-speak for soda) and honest-to-goodness real dairy-fresh ice cream.

 

The visits often included a stop to see an aunt's three solid acres of gladiolas, which she planted in a wild array of colors. As I stared at those long-stemmed flowers, my young mind didn’t understand how she must have taken great pleasure in planting each gladiola bulb in spring, then watched the green leaves sprout and rejoiced with the eventual budding of the perfect petals. If that was the case, her joy would have matched my own juvenile excitement at the first taste of a root beer float or chocolate-topped sundae. 

 

 

Yes, Ithaca, New York . . . Two Rivers, Wisconsin is the birthplace of the original ice cream sundae! 

 

Which food or other non-guilty pleasure did you enjoy, sparingly, in your youth?
 

Link to site that shares the history of Root Beer:

http://whoonew.com/2013/07/root-beers-made-in-wisconsin/

A MAGICAL ADVENTURE Poem for Another New Beginning

13

A Magical Adventure

Gramma Anna shuffles the deck

for another round of five-card Rummy.

I am four years old.

The crystal candy dish visible

In the glass-front dining room hutch

holds round white mints with xxx on top.

My mouth waters at the thought of

those sugary xxx marks on my tongue,

melting. 

Deep purple plums, tangy

in their under-ripe bitterness.

At age six, a secret treasure mined

From Gramma Julia’s garden.

Kitchen fragrance,

Dough rising beneath a clean

flour-sack towel.

Fillings of poppyseed, raspberry, and prune

crowned with sweet whipped cream. 

Childhood

in retrospect

outshines the brightest star.

 

Barbra Streisand sang it best: “These are a few of my favorite things!” The time spent alone with my grandmothers was sparse. I was the fourth child born in my family, and have many cousins older than me. My memories lean toward culinary events. 

As kids, we weren’t so conscious of what we ate. We were neither spoiled nor deprived. Breakfast, dinner, and supper were all full meals, served “on time” every day. “Deprived” to us meant end-of-the-month baked cabbage sprinkled with caraway seeds as the meal’s vegetable. Mom loved making it because the recipe was simple and vegetables from her garden stretched the food budget. Thanks to Dad, dessert was a staple of every meal. 

Visits with my grandmothers, Anna on my mother’s side, Julia on my dad’s side, are recalled in the context of food. Both baked excellent pies, cakes, breads, and biscuits. Their candy dishes were always full. Holiday favorites for me: gravy and riced mashed potatoes. 

Nothing outshines my memories of both Grams’ kolaches: baking in the oven; cooling on the kitchen table; the colorful fillings, finger-tasting the freshly whipped cream. Food didn’t make the memories, it was how they served the food: with unconditional love.

 

Nothing outshines memories