of e m o s i r p he
SOUP
t
THE NEW DOMESTICITY
the
NEW DOMESTICITY
1
By Julianna Lawson
It was a dark, grey morning. The weight of the world
seemed to rest on my pre-teen shoulders, and the last thing I wanted to do was catch a school bus. I peered out the window and sighed, “Do I have to go?” My mom was a wise woman. She knew that, yes, I had to go. But she also knew how to make that yes more bearable. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll have a nice, hot pot of soup simmering on the stove when you get home. How does that sound?” “Soup?” My heart flickered with interest. “I guess that sounds nice.” She cupped my face in her hands, kissed my forehead and promised, “Soup.” That soup got me through the day. I can’t remember what was so horrid about that particular day, but I do remember the promise of soup and the comforting effect it had on my tender heart. It was probably the first time I realized how powerfully important a simple meal can be.
Almanzo ate the sweet, mellow baked beans. He ate the bit of salt pork that melted like cream in his mouth. He ate mealy boiled potatoes, with brown ham-gravy. He ate the ham. He bit deep into velvety bread spread with sleek butter, and he ate the crisp golden crust. He demolished a tall heap of pale mashed turnips, and a hill of stewed yellow pumpkin . . . he ate plum preserves, and strawberry jam, and grape jelly, and spiced watermelon-rind pickles. He felt very comfortable inside.
Original
Each family is unique, so food choices will naturally reflect this. Find routines that will work successfully, reflecting with originality your family’s various schedules, dietary preferences, ages of children, and grocery budget. I’ve long appreciated the originality of the “Sunday Night Lunch” as described by Maud Hart Lovelace in her delightful “Heavens to Betsy”:
With longer November evenings stretching before us, we have many opportunities to make the most of mealtimes. Lest we fall into a busy autumn rut that makes mealtimes disjointed, harried, or even non-existent, let’s use the word “SOUP” to consider how we might make even the simplest meals memorable and comforting. Along the way, we’ll hear from a few classic authors who wrote mouth-watering descriptions based on their own experiences of long ago.
Sunday night lunch was an institution at the Ray house. The meal was prepared by Mr. Ray . . . First he put the coffee on . . . and while it came to a boil, slowly filling the kitchen with delicious coffee fragrance, he made the sandwiches . . . He sliced the bread in sensibly thick slices . . . The butter had been put to soften, and now around the breadboard he arranged everything he could find in the ice box. Sometimes there was cold roast beef, sometimes chicken, sometimes cheese.
Savored
Understated
Every once in a while, I’ll find a book that’s an especially “hungry” book. Laura Ingalls Wilder’s “Farmer Boy” is one such memoir. Whenever I read it to the kids, our mouths begin to water and I’m seized with a desire to bake bread. (We also invariably remind ourselves that those Wilders must have burned a whole lot of calories.) As you read with your children, select books that honor this traditional, savored family time. Here’s a tempting sample:
Teach your child to enjoy quiet, understated meals and moments. The menu items can be as simple as cubed cheese, hard-boiled eggs, and sliced apples, but if they are accompanied by a parent’s presence, family conversation, and maybe even some soft music and a lighted candle or two, the meal becomes magical. Speaking of understated cheese, let’s visit Johanna Spyri’s “Heidi” at the grandfather’s alpine hut: continued on next page
8
Vancouver Family Magazine • www.vancouverfamilymagazine.com • November 2018