I come from a small town where 90 percent of my extended family still resides. When we got married, we moved to a city about 40 minutes away. In my opinion, if you’re going to reside in the same state as your parents, you should live close enough for weekend visits but far enough that mom doesn’t walk in on your weekly naked television time (another post for another day, my friends). Anyhow, the small town I come from is close (within 25 minutes of driving to malls, chain restaurants and well, civilization) but for some reason my family hasn’t really evolved. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good people. They even have all of their teeth or, I guess, most of them have all of their teeth; they’re just very simple.
Recently, the food at family gatherings has become a big topic of conversation for Bread and me. There are how many holidays/birthdays/reasons to gather each year? My family eats the SAME THING EVERY TIME! I shit you not. Ham, macaroni salad (1970’s classic!), cheese dip, Deviled Eggs and cheesecake! What? Why are we having the same meal again? WTF? Oh wait, I’ve forgotten to mention the relish tray? What’s a relish tray? It’s fucking pickles. Every kind of pickle you could imagine. But, placed in a divided dish it’s really quite fancy.
The same people make the same things every time. Uncle Ed, here’s a surprise, please make a cheesecake again. I recently suggested that he should, upon January 1st, set up an assembly line, make about 12 of the damn things and freeze them. He would be set for an entire year! Stress free party going.
What’s your contribution to the spread you may be asking? Usually I’m told not to bring anything. I am 31 years-old. I can cook. I actually do 95% of our cooking at home. And, my husband is still alive. He doesn’t even spit it out. At least not when I’m looking…Anyway, on the rare occasion I can talk my way into bringing something I try to do something within their range so they’ll actually try it. I’ve made some progress; they now will eat sweet potatoes and they’ve even tried Tiramisu (remembering what it is they’re eating is another task for another day). “What’s that stuff called again?”
Now, I’m not a master chef or anything. We eat what I consider to be normal, healthy food. We make our own pasta sauces, grill and bake cookies once a week; eat fresh fruits and vegetables. We try new recipes and experiment here and there.
The most recent family gathering was for Grandpa’s 76th birthday. Grandpa is quite possibly one of the greatest people ever. He’s always happy, makes jokes and thoroughly enjoys a good laugh. He is definitely the center of the entire family. As far as food goes, he’s a true meat and potatoes guy. He doesn’t try much else which is probably why my family eats the way they do. The guy also enjoys salt on EVERYTHING. I once watched him salt corn beef. Yes, he did do that. He also used to cook his eggs in bacon grease which inevitably led to his triple bypass twelve years ago and then a pacemaker. But the guy loves food. He loves sweets and makes the best ice cream ever. He also loves beer and has turned the phrase God damn into an adjective.
So in honor of the greatest man’s 76th birthday, we had a gathering. Grandpa made ice cream. Aunt Cindy made a birthday cake (no cheesecake this time). We brought some baked beans. And the main course was? BOILED HOT DOGS. Yes, to honor one of the greatest people ever, we boiled some fucking processed meats. We didn’t even grill them. A big old’ pot of boiled wieners. Is your mouth watering? Can’t you just smell the processed lips and assholes of pigs? “Come on over, y’all we’re boiling some hot dogs!” And, you know what? Grandpa was just as happy as if we’d served him Filet Mignon. Greatest. Man. Ever.
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