Depression Cuisine
May. 17th, 2010 05:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hafoc
My mom sometimes waxes nostalgic for the Good Old Days of the Great Depression and World War II. When she does, it often about some of the fine cuisine she enjoyed way back then.
Actually, what they had wasn't at all bad. This grandfather was the prototypical Michigan And-Farmer. He was a Carpenter And-Farmer. The carpentry brought in the money. The farm gave him his self-identity and a great deal of self-sufficiency.
They had cattle for their own beef, milk, and butter. (Raw milk is RANK, by the way. And never, EVER arm-wrestle with someone who makes butter in a hand-cranked churn.) They had pigs we kids liked to feed and scratch behind the ears- nothing like sitting at breakfast and saying you'd like to feed the pig and have Grandpa laugh, point at the plate, and say "The pig is feeding YOU." They had a garden for fresh and home-canned vegetables. Grandma baked all her own bread, five or six loaves at a time, and had enough supplies on hand that she could have done so for a month at least before having to go to town. That sort of thing.
They had a great plenty, and knew to be grateful, because most of the other kids who walked to the country school had bread with lard spread on top for their lunches, nothing more. Grandpa lost a lot in the Depression, but he kept the farm, and they always had plenty to eat. Most of the people in that area did not.
Maybe that's why, for as long as she lived there, Grandma ran her own private welfare program. The name of the program was If You're Here, You Eat.
Preachers, of course-- with that unique sense these guys have for sniffing out ways for "the Lord" to provide them their living, the local preachers tended to wander by, accidentally just at dinnertime, far more often than could be explained by random chance. But it didn't matter who you were. Hired hand, cousin, grandkid, TV repairman, salesman, stranger walking down the road, if You Were There, You Ate.
And it was wonderful food too.
But it's not the homemade bread or the pot roasts (always a beef roast and a pork roast in the same roaster) my Mom remembers so fondly. It is some of the true Depression Cuisine, the food that made the Great Depression so depressing.
One dish is Boiled Dinner. The recipe is easy: throw a bit of greasy "picnic ham" and quite a bit of bone into a pot with lots of water. (Water is cheap.) Throw in potatoes, onions, carrots, and cabbage. Boil until all flavor is removed. Season with salt, if you're lucky. Maybe some pepper, but probably not.
The other is the Ground Bologna Sandwich. For her it is a memory of the church youth group gatherings when she was a teenager. There was no fast-fooding it then; Ray Kroc was years away from asking himself why two brothers named McDonald needed not just one, but MANY of the multi-headed milkshake mixers he was selling. Food with the gang meant sandwiches at somebody's house, and ground bologna was... affordable. You can say that much about it, anyway.
Not that the bologna was bad. In fact, here in Mitchigen we have excellent bologna. It comes in rings, just as if it were a real sausage, which it is. We're having sausage and sauerkraut tonight, and the sausage is real Kogel Ring Bologna. None better. It took talking with Tephra, who is not from around here, to realize that not only is sandwich bologna (known here as "Big Bologna") more common than the real stuff-- most people don't know there IS such a thing as real ring bologna. And just when I thought Mitchigen didn't have its own cuisine!
But being in a ring, shaped like the real sausage it is, ring bologna isn't convenient for sandwiches. So they'd take this good bologna, grind it up with some pickle relish, mix it with that abomination from Hell known as Miracle Whip, and spread it on bread to make their sandwiches.
It is horrible. But at least when Grandma did it, it was on really good bread.
Actually, what they had wasn't at all bad. This grandfather was the prototypical Michigan And-Farmer. He was a Carpenter And-Farmer. The carpentry brought in the money. The farm gave him his self-identity and a great deal of self-sufficiency.
They had cattle for their own beef, milk, and butter. (Raw milk is RANK, by the way. And never, EVER arm-wrestle with someone who makes butter in a hand-cranked churn.) They had pigs we kids liked to feed and scratch behind the ears- nothing like sitting at breakfast and saying you'd like to feed the pig and have Grandpa laugh, point at the plate, and say "The pig is feeding YOU." They had a garden for fresh and home-canned vegetables. Grandma baked all her own bread, five or six loaves at a time, and had enough supplies on hand that she could have done so for a month at least before having to go to town. That sort of thing.
They had a great plenty, and knew to be grateful, because most of the other kids who walked to the country school had bread with lard spread on top for their lunches, nothing more. Grandpa lost a lot in the Depression, but he kept the farm, and they always had plenty to eat. Most of the people in that area did not.
Maybe that's why, for as long as she lived there, Grandma ran her own private welfare program. The name of the program was If You're Here, You Eat.
Preachers, of course-- with that unique sense these guys have for sniffing out ways for "the Lord" to provide them their living, the local preachers tended to wander by, accidentally just at dinnertime, far more often than could be explained by random chance. But it didn't matter who you were. Hired hand, cousin, grandkid, TV repairman, salesman, stranger walking down the road, if You Were There, You Ate.
And it was wonderful food too.
But it's not the homemade bread or the pot roasts (always a beef roast and a pork roast in the same roaster) my Mom remembers so fondly. It is some of the true Depression Cuisine, the food that made the Great Depression so depressing.
One dish is Boiled Dinner. The recipe is easy: throw a bit of greasy "picnic ham" and quite a bit of bone into a pot with lots of water. (Water is cheap.) Throw in potatoes, onions, carrots, and cabbage. Boil until all flavor is removed. Season with salt, if you're lucky. Maybe some pepper, but probably not.
The other is the Ground Bologna Sandwich. For her it is a memory of the church youth group gatherings when she was a teenager. There was no fast-fooding it then; Ray Kroc was years away from asking himself why two brothers named McDonald needed not just one, but MANY of the multi-headed milkshake mixers he was selling. Food with the gang meant sandwiches at somebody's house, and ground bologna was... affordable. You can say that much about it, anyway.
Not that the bologna was bad. In fact, here in Mitchigen we have excellent bologna. It comes in rings, just as if it were a real sausage, which it is. We're having sausage and sauerkraut tonight, and the sausage is real Kogel Ring Bologna. None better. It took talking with Tephra, who is not from around here, to realize that not only is sandwich bologna (known here as "Big Bologna") more common than the real stuff-- most people don't know there IS such a thing as real ring bologna. And just when I thought Mitchigen didn't have its own cuisine!
But being in a ring, shaped like the real sausage it is, ring bologna isn't convenient for sandwiches. So they'd take this good bologna, grind it up with some pickle relish, mix it with that abomination from Hell known as Miracle Whip, and spread it on bread to make their sandwiches.
It is horrible. But at least when Grandma did it, it was on really good bread.
