Oatmeal, Food Memories, and Grandparents

Recently, one morning at work, I was eating a rather boring cup of "diet" oatmeal, and we got into a short discussion on the different ways people fix their oatmeal. Our graduate assistant says her problem with oatmeal is that she only likes it with lots of sugar and butter. Another coworker said she also likes hers with butter, and I found myself telling the story I see in my mind's eye of my grandfather (maternal) sitting down to his bowl of home-cooked oatmeal (I've never had any as good as my grandmother's since she passed away many years ago - she said the trick was the salt).

Granddaddy would take a bowl about 2/3 full of oatmeal, sprinkle white sugar over it (I prefered brown), then take an entire piece of buttered toast and tear it into crouton sized pieces and spread that over the oatmeal. Next, he took the cream pitcher (really just milk) and poured milk over the oatmeal, sugar and toast until the milk nearly spilled over the edge of the bowl. You had to make sure you got your milk before he did, or you'd have to get up and go back to the 'fridge for more. By the time he ate it, it looked kindof like cream of oatmeal soup with lumpy croutons in it.

This memory is as fresh in my mind as what I wore to work yesterday - actually, I'm not really sure what I wore to work yesterday, so I guess it is fresher.

I've been mulling this over and thinking about how many strong memories we have that are tied to food and meals and frankly, the kitchen or dining room table. As strong as the memory of my maternal granddaddy and his oatmeal (and his milkshakes, and hand-rolled cigarettes - tobacco by the way) are my memories of my paternal grandfather fixing a breakfast tray to take to my granny in bed. He brewed coffee in an old-fashioned percolator, even after coffee makers hit the scene. For the record, my mom always said his coffee was more like battery acid than a beverage. I don't guess I ever tasted it, but I remember it being so dark you couldn't see the bottom of the spoon. He would scramble eggs and fix toast. He actually did quite a bit of cooking. My favorite was the mornings he would take day old (or more) doughnuts and put them on a cookie sheet and put them in the oven until they were hot and the sugar was all melted and bubbly. I remember that taste, and along with it the memory of him fixing them to this day.

My grandmothers come into this too. A few weeks ago my mom and I were talking about her mother's homemade caramel icing and I told her (Mom) I can still see Grandmomma standing in her kitchen cooking that icing. After it began to boil, she would drop a few hot drops from a spoon into a coffee cup of cold water (a specific rose pattern china by the way) and would kindof stir that dab of caramel around with her finger nail. If it crumbled or scattered in the water, we boiled awhile longer, until it formed what she called "soft ball" stage, then we stopped cooking and cooled it just long enough so it would spread on the cake without running off the sides onto the plate. My dad's mom would cook the best gumbo I've ever had..., plus I remember sitting in the kitchen more times than I can count while she and a lady who cooked for her made the best sugar cookies you ever ate. I actually managed to get this recipe, but have never been able to make the cookies as well as they did.

Now, these are all really nice memories for me. In addition, I have tons of memories of my family growing up as we worked in the kitchen, or sat around the table at dinner. What bothers me is that I'm afraid in this new fast food, fast paced world we live in, we will lose these moments to make such strong memories.