Vicarious Memories
I never actually witnessed my grandmother cooking. From a young age, I watched as she endured the inner battle of losing her memories. This didn’t stop me from imagining the experience of my grandmother making American Chop Suey, a traditional home-cooked meal. Certainly, I find myself in my father’s shoes when picturing what it would be like to salivate at the smell of fresh tomatoes and chopped garlic. Much too often, I wait impatiently for this large pot of ingredients to suddenly form into the warm, hearty pasta dish that I’ve grown to adore. This dish has been a staple within my own family, and within my father’s family growing up. Although it is difficult to grow up viewing a family member as ill, it is easy to recognize the heart and soul they used to have. I never truly witnessed my grandmother do anything but struggle to muster up my name and who I was in relation to her. There was something comforting about the sound of her voice and the feeling of her touch though that made me know what it would be like to be gazing into her joyful eyes across the dinner table. The image I can see through the stories my father tells me about my grandmother preparing this dish makes me recognize a feeling of togetherness within my own family.
My father grew up in a family of eight. Two older brothers, three older sisters, and two hard-working parents. Dinner was especially difficult for his family economically, physically, and spatially. Cooking dinner meant buying a surplus of cheap, yet fresh, ingredients, planning most of the day around cooking, cleaning and serving, and then finding a place to store leftovers. Dinner was a loose term and was meant to fulfill multiple meal throughout the week. My father recalled, “She would caramelized onions and tomatoes and put the meat in afterward. She usually used beef and tomato paste and then add in regular tomato sauce after.” (Kennie) I imagine the process was grueling and long, but the end product was something that you couldn’t forget. It was a moment where the chaos of living in a family of eight finally silenced for a few minutes to enjoy hearty food and each other for what it was. “It was a meal that I looked forward to because it fed a lot of people and was wholesome. This meal made us enjoy a half an hour together and appreciate what we had. The dish made you so full that you’d have to take a late afternoon nap afterward.” (Kennie) Dinner was a bonding experience, as much as anything else was. It brought everyone together to share something so timeless and special once a day. The harmony shared over a steaming plate of food is especially important in how we carry our traditions and values with us.
From my father’s eyes, I can imagine the anticipation of waiting for the nightly family meal. The smell of sweetness and tang from cigars while the Giants or the Yankees was rolling on television. Hanging black bottomed feet off the edge off the couch and itching yesterdays bug bites. The hunger of a day’s work or play. The salivation that comes with the thought of chewing anything that will fulfill an empty stomach. That’s what I can imagine waiting for family dinner was like. It was like watching a mad scientist discovering a new treatment for cancer in their lab. Pots and pans banging together, the sound of sizzling, mushing, and steam. The smell of each individual ingredient hitting the humid air as it was added to the pot and finally hearing the delicious words. “Dinner is ready, it’s not going to last all night so you better get it now.” Growing so attached to those words that you eventually take them as your own. The familiarity that came with the nightly dinner routine which makes it so much more important when you watch someone fail to recognize that there even was one. Memory is something that pulls everyone back together. Laughter, heartbreak, the feeling of someone’s touch, all contribute to being together and what home means to us.
Unlike my father, I grew up in a house of three. That includes my mother, Katherine, my father, Reginald, and me. Life was mostly centered around my growth and supporting one another. My life demanded attention, and being spoiled from time to time, but this was an experience that made me recognize the effort it takes to raise a family. An instance when I realized this was during one of the hotter days in August a few summers ago. The days where your clothes stick to your body. One of the days where the air is as thick as water, but just barely breathable so you don’t suffocate. All I wanted to do on this day was stay still. For most, that meant watching TV for a majority of the day. For others, it meant napping. For me on this particular day, it included getting braces and then sleeping the rest of the day away to avoid pain. The funny thing about braces is that, if you’ve never had them, you probably don’t realize what a manacle bastard they are. I spent most of that hot August day crying into my father’s sweat-soaked shirt,sipping yogurts cups, and sleeping. Coddling was an understatement when it came to home my parents treated me. Sometimes I really have to think hard about how my parents put up with me.
My afternoon consisted of napping, and sweating, and sinking further into our brown, seasoned, 80s style couch. Napping like this was my speciality and I often found myself more awake than I was necessarily in deep sleep. I specifically remember the smell of sauteed tomatoes waking me up. There’s something about the smell of tomatoes swirling around in a saucepan that just makes your tongue tingle and try to puzzle together the food it’s about to encounter. I knew that my father was making American Chop Suey that night because it would not only satisfy my hungry belly, but it was ultimately something that I could easily consume. Mixed-matched boxes of pasta, ripe red tomatoes, store bought sauce, and spicy chilis made this dish easily edible and something I would enjoy immensely. I enjoyed consuming this dish, braces or not, but something that brought me more joy was being able to witness my father making it. From afar you could easily see the glimmer of nostalgia and the joy of creating something that shaped his childhood. “I use ground turkey, chilies, and classic Italian sauce with fresh tomatoes. I’ve made the recipe my own. It’s different than other chop suey dishes because a lot of people make the dish watery like my mother’s recipe, but I try to make it so it’s thicker like a stew and each bite makes you feel heavy and full.” (Kennie) This dish washed worries from your belly and instead fill you with wholesome, warm love. It was a dish that connected me to my family rather than the little moments that caused me pain. “Whenever you come home late from dance or school and you’re tired, you always request it, and it’s a quick wholesome meal that can easily fill you up and put you to sleep. It’s something that connects you with your family.” (Kennie) This was truer than anything else. This was a meal that not only satisfied my aching belly, but also satisfied my need for love and affection. Having this meal made for me showed me that my father cared for me and brought our relationship closer every time he made the dish.
My family followed the traditional route for most of my childhood and essentially originated back to my father’s childhood. Early Sunday family dinners, a staple meal at least once a week, and recipes that burnt a hole in your taste buds. These traditions never resonated with me until I had to endure watching my grandmother forget every habit that she built for her family. Bouncing from nursing home to nursing home for most of my childhood, it was difficult to understand why or how she couldn’t remember my name or who I was in relation to her. I have distinct memories of seeing her frequently and encountering the same conversation where she would tell me how beautiful I was and then proceed to ask me who I was. Like any quality grandmother, she would always offer me food or something wholesome to keep me happy. I’ve always desired nothing more than to ask for her to cook for me, but it was something that she never had the ability to do as I grew up. By vicariously living through these moments of my grandmother in good health through my father’s eyes and by listening to the snippets of memories that flashed through her mind during our visits, I can imagine that she was a dedicated mother with all of the jobs that come with supporting a family. From my father’s perspective, “she was such a strong woman. She always had dinner ready at the same time every day. She always fed us well and made sure we were well kept. I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish all that I’ve done without the traditions she pushed. When I make her recipes it reminds me of the values she set forward in my family and the values that I want to set forward on my own.” (Kennie)
You can learn so much through the people around you. I have so many memories of what it was like to watch my father make me dinner after dinner throughout the years, but it was more special to listen and visualize what it was like to experience the same thing from his perspective as a child. Much like stories, recipes and food can be passed from person to person and create such an important connection between people. I never got to witness my grandmother cook anything let alone witness her cohesively remember who I was. I could easily realize what a special and strong woman she was, but those memories of her cooking can only hold place in my imagination. It makes me form an appreciate for her. That I get to enjoy wholesome meals and traditions so often because she instilled that in her family values so long ago. I can look forward to coming home and enjoying a large pot of American Chop Suey with my family because she took the time and effort to expose my father to that sort of generosity so early in life. Sharing this meal commemorates her, and forces me to recognize this feeling of togetherness within my own family every time we join together to eat it. It is a cheap, easy, and certainly hearty meal, but it is something that I cannot get enough of. It sits with you for hours and encourages your stomach to yearn for it later. As I reflect on these small moments that I’ve had the privilege of having my stomach yearns for this meal and for the sound of my father’s voice and to hear how beautiful I am from my grandmother. It makes me smile and it makes me feel like home even when I’m miles away from it. That is essentially what togetherness is to me, and what this meal encompasses.
