I recall being quite young (two or three,) and, when I'd get-up to watch DubhGrandparents getting ready to go to work in "The Shop" (DubhGrandpa worked at "The Buick," building transmissions, and DubhGrandma worked at "Chevy in the Hole" AKA Chevrolet Flint Engine, building staight-six Chevy truck engines.) DubhGrandpa would sometimes give me a pickle as he packed his lunch (I adored them until my "tastes changed" at three. I don't like them, now.) Or sometimes he'd fix me a bowl of bread and milk, with a little sugar sprinkled upon the bread. (I drank soy milk, back then.) Then I'd get sent back off to bed, while they left for work.
I remember waking-up on weekends, to the smell of Bacon and Eggs frying, and Hills Brothers' coffee perking in the kitchen. No other set of smells ever made me feel safer, nor more secure. DubhGrandma always basted eggs, which isn't something often done, anymore. I also remember eating Pork steak (cheaper than pork chops, and one got more per portion,) with Mott applesauce, French-cut green beans, and Sweet potatoes served with butter, salt, and pepper. DubhGrandma's homemade bread and homemade Strawberry jam were to die for.
DubhGrandpa used to eat Kogel's pickled bologna, for a snack, upon a cracker along with Pinconning sharp cheddar cheese. I still eat Pickled bologna, on occasion (it's really quite good,) along with sharp cheddar. I substitute Triscuits for his Saltines, though. Also, DubhGrandpa would always have a single, cold, beer (Stroh's or Hamm's,) after arriving home from work. I'd always be allowed a sip of two. (Closely monitored, after he left the room once, and I drank about a quarter of the bottle.) There are other food memories, but those stand out.
One of my earliest memories is being woken up in our first house and fed apricot baby food by my father. I suspect I'd been sick, rather than still being a baby.
We visited my mother's pen friend and her family in France twice when I was still little. I don't remember the infamous episode when my two-year-old brother liked the taste of snails so we all had to eat one, but I do remember runny honey on a bit of baguette; I've never been able to find honey that tastes that good since.
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Skapi
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I remember waking-up on weekends, to the smell of Bacon and Eggs frying, and Hills Brothers' coffee perking in the kitchen. No other set of smells ever made me feel safer, nor more secure. DubhGrandma always basted eggs, which isn't something often done, anymore. I also remember eating Pork steak (cheaper than pork chops, and one got more per portion,) with Mott applesauce, French-cut green beans, and Sweet potatoes served with butter, salt, and pepper. DubhGrandma's homemade bread and homemade Strawberry jam were to die for.
DubhGrandpa used to eat Kogel's pickled bologna, for a snack, upon a cracker along with Pinconning sharp cheddar cheese. I still eat Pickled bologna, on occasion (it's really quite good,) along with sharp cheddar. I substitute Triscuits for his Saltines, though. Also, DubhGrandpa would always have a single, cold, beer (Stroh's or Hamm's,) after arriving home from work. I'd always be allowed a sip of two. (Closely monitored, after he left the room once, and I drank about a quarter of the bottle.) There are other food memories, but those stand out.
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We visited my mother's pen friend and her family in France twice when I was still little. I don't remember the infamous episode when my two-year-old brother liked the taste of snails so we all had to eat one, but I do remember runny honey on a bit of baguette; I've never been able to find honey that tastes that good since.