 "Hey Grandad! What's For Supper ?!?" An essay on where and what we eat by Tony Rollo It was ritual for the family in the 1960s to make regular visits to Great Granny's house in Greensboro, Florida. It was a large, very old but solid farm house even back then. Huge, ancient oaks reached high to heaven in the yard and patches of native flowers abound in the rich soil. Surrounding the house were fields of tall crops of everything that could possibly grow in the Florida Panhandle's sun. The house sat atop pillars of stone and brick high enough to almost walk under as a boy without stooping. Underneath was sand not unlike the beaches of Florida around Indian Pass, Mashy Sands near Panacea or Saint George Island. It was the best sandbox in the world. Especially during the hard spring rains where my best buddy and I from down the lane built worlds and kingdoms from the sand. All time stopped when we heard the call "Come to supper!" from the kitchen window. We left our army men and cannons made of sticks and raced up the large front staircase of this Southern home, across the huge porch and into the house. In the dining room was a table spread with the most amazing assortment of traditional Southern foods all grown or acquired from within mere yards of the house. Aproned women proudly placed covered dishes onto the table and then removed lid after lid as each recipe's delicious fumes filled the house. Mustard greens with ham hocks and bacon. Steaming ears of corn piled high that were so sweet to the taste they didn't need butter. But you buttered them anyway because you didn't want to insult whoever churned the butter. Okra (pronounced oak'ree) batter fried and piled high. Some okra boiled in pork and bacon. Some okra boiled with snap beans and pig's feet. A big pot of field peas. Another pot with fat butter beans and bacon. A pot of snap beans. And of course, my favorite to this day, a big pot of fresh ground grits. In the center of the table was usually a large ham cooked so slow and tender that it could be cut with a fork and that big, round bone in the center just falls out of the meat. Fried chicken made from a secret batter that was so closely guarded by generations of women that even the men-folk in the family were never privilaged to know, just allowed to enjoy. Other times it was a fat turkey, deer or quail brought in from a recent hunt by the men-folk. I learned to be careful taking a bite in case some shot went unnoticed while preparing the meat. Deserts were amazing. They all started off freshly picked but ended up as some kind of pie. Pumpkin, apple, peach, plum and on and on. There was always a pecan (pee'can) pie from stuart nuts picked off the yard around the house. The women had a special carmel cake recipe that to this day I have never found an equal. Hand cranked vanilla ice cream that was a chore for the younger boys to handle. After such a spread Great Granny would then enjoy a pinch of honeydew snuff while the more Baptist women cleaned up and washed dishes while chatting the evening away. The men-folk would retire to the porch for freshly rolled cigars an uncle brought from the cigar factory he worked in. The young would run and play, full of energy and spark. In the summer it was cold watermellon all day long whenever the need or "hankerin" showed itself. Impromptu seed spitting distance contests would break out among the kids. In the South, food is love. And there was always a lot of love to go around in the country. People were healthy and lived long lives in the rural parts eating food they first saw as seed in the hand. Back then the restaurants in the towns and cities would entice potential customers by advertizing "good home cooking". In those days one could never get anything better than at home no matter how flashy the neon signs declared it would be. Fast forward to today and food companies boast their frozen dinners and premarinated meats give you "restaurant quality at home". Just pop this box in your microwave and enjoy a real home cooked style meal. Instant everything is the convenience of a modern lifestyle. Even instant grits to just add water and heat. Artificial flavoring and preservatives to appeal to the eye. Transfats that appeal to the tounge but the body has no way of processing. Processed gluten that makes food more appealing and destroys our very DNA. Seedless watermelons with little flavor. We import everything. Not just lead painted junk from China but a majority of the food we consume. Where does it actually come from? Only a select few really know. Is it then any wonder that the headlines are filled with incidents of death and disease from the very foods we find so conveniently these days? Next time you see a pickup truck along a roadside with the tailgate down filled with fresh produce, stop and ask where it came from. Take some home and compare it to those boxes of chemicals in your freezer. Make note of how you feel the next day after enjoying local produce. Ask yourself a simple question. Is convenience more important to you or your health and well being? - Tony Rollo / 2009 ALL CONTENTS © Tony Rollo - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED |