Meat, Potatoes and a Can of Corn

There was only one kind of lettuce in the fridge when I was growing up, and two kinds of cheese; three when my mom bought a box of Velveeta. When I felt cosmopolitan and wanted a salad, it meant grabbing the light green ball of iceberg lettuce and topping it with either the white dust that fell from the bottle of parmesan or ripping up a wiggly slice of Kraft cheese. I rarely touched the Velveeta.

Also sitting in our fridge, on a plate, covered with plastic wrap, was a chub of Spam. There it sat, a pinkish square of meat, with an odd gel like substance gathered around its base. 

The only juice we had was orange juice. And I knew it was important, if not exotic, as it required a process to make it. First, one had to take the frozen container from the freezer. Popping off the thin metal lid, one would then, employing both gravity and force, pry the frozen orange paste from its container where it would plop into a pitcher. This paste was then mixed with water - voila, orange juice.

Not once was rice served in my home while growing up. Therefore, I believed this maggot-looking substance to be strange.

We never had pizza either, unless it came from a Chef Boyardee box. In which case it was baked in the shape of a rectangle that matched the cookie sheet in which it had been pressed. 

What we lacked in variety when it came to our everyday meals, we made up for with the boxes of frozen entrees stashed in the back of the freezer. Hidden behind the canisters of frozen orange juice and fish sticks, were boxes of salisbury steak, swedish meatballs and chipped beef. These thin boxes housed a brown beef-like substance held in a plastic pouch. The pouch was submerged into a pot of boiling water, then poured over white bread. I doubt the directions called for white bread, but I can assure you, it was all we had in the house. I’ll also note that the beef-like substance in the chipped beef box, looked and tasted remarkably similar to the beef-like substance in the salisbury steak, and swedish meatball box; shape being the only distinguishable variance.

We never had tacos, or any other mexican dish. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even know such entrees existed. Most likely, I assumed everyone, including the mexicans, were dining on meatloaf, just like me.

The only deli meat stocked in our fridge was that of Bologna and Honey Loaf. Occasionally, sliced ham would make a brief appearance; just long enough for me to know there was a third choice.

My limited exposure and knowledge of food wasn’t restricted to what I saw in the refrigerator; I never knew potatoes came in so many colors and sizes. If asked what a potato looked like, I would have said, with confidence and fingers spread a few inches apart, “Round, brown and about yea big.” 

Needless to say, when my mother visits my home, she nearly starves. She has no interest in changing her methods or diet. In her world, Hillbilly brand bread is whole wheat bread. And that is about as far as she’s willing to go.

Sane