Family and Food, How We Mix

Every family gathering when I was a young, seemingly revolved around food. Rather an over abundance of food. My earliest memories are of a tender age of five possibly six years old, when my father loaded our family into our trusty old station wagon, then down the road we went headed for Lamar. Lamar is a small college town located in southern Colorado were my father was raised. When we would visit, I was always aware that I was referred to as Tim's daughter, my own identity unimportant, leaving me feeling perplexed by the situation I was involuntarily placed. My father would take us from house to house upon our arrival as we entered into the house an onslaught of a variety of aroma's drifted throughout the home engulfing us all with the traditional Spanish meals my father was raised on. No matter whose home we found ourselves in, we were always encouraged to "EAT", "EAT". If you didn't leave with a bulging mid-section from all the fabulous food that was your own fault. Everything was alien to me, especially the foods served. I had never seen or heard of menudo or frijoles. Mostly because my mother was of Scotch- Canadian decent, so my mother didn't cook the traditional Mexican food that my fathers family was raised on. The homemade tortilla's and pinto beans were some of the foods I remember being present in every household. There was also the snatches of conversations undoubtedly not meant for my ears about how skinny and tiny I was. How was it possible that I couldn't understand a word of Spanish their native tongue, and to not be able to tolerate the spicy foods ever present?

As I have gotten older I've gained weight, stemming from my desire and love of food. A variety of foods it would seem. I know all my bad eating habits, trying to eradicate them has become an obstacle of monumental purportions. I cannot seem to stay away from the carbohyrates and refined sugars that are in all of my favorite foods. My adventurous palate is never fearful of trying new and mysterious culinary delights, as long as their not too spicy. Unfortunately I cannot tolerate spicy hot foods. Mystery abounds as to why I can't eat these foods however I simply love driving by those chili street vendors, with their signs boasting of the "Best roasted chili's" in town, with the intoxicating aroma's tantilizing my nostrils driving me crazy.

To add to my personal woes, I've devoloped acid reflux which has led me down a path of sorrow. Daily rituals include taking medication to keep this beast at bay, along with the reduction of some of my favorite foods from my diet. Examples of these items are, chocolate any variation, tomato based products i.e. lasagne,spaghetti sauces and caffeinated beverages. Each passing year my weight seems to increase while my metabolism decreases.

In recent years my husband and I have witnessed family members develop health issues which evidently led to heart surgeries. The building blocks for these ill health conditions abounded in poor eating habits and lack of sufficient excercise. This topic has alarmed my husband and I inspiring us to take action so history won't repeat itself with us. We have tried to modify our diets incorporating more fresh produce however, given the current economic situation we find ourselves in (un-employed) we cannot always afford the organic delights of fresh fruits and vegetables. There have been plenty of occasions where my husband and I have choosen to visit our local Taco Bell and spend our meager earnings on a meal, as opposed to visiting the grocery store and spending twenty or thirty dollars for a healthy meal. We've also started taking walks and hikes when time allows, some of our favorite hiking paths are located in Red Rocks, and Green Mountain.

When I was growing up ours wasn't the traditional family sitting down to dinner all together. With my older brother working after school and my father working until 10:00 p.m. and my mother getting home from work when ever she finished for the day we inevitably ate in shifts. My mother always said she felt as if she ran a boarding house as opposed to a family home. The only day of the week we were able to share a meal was on Sundays. Consequently Sunday meals were where my mother would try and prepare a lavish meal including dessert. My mother had her select menus she would serve always rotating the selection so we didn't have the same meal two Sundays in a row. Our choices were pot roast with cooked vegetables roasted potatoes and gravy, chicken that was either fried or baked along with scalloped potatoes and cooked carrots, meatloaf with mashed potaoes and gravy accompanied by green beans, and who could forget my dads favorite fried pork chops with fried potaoes and corn or greenbeans. Dessert was either a cake or a pie. When my mother made a pie she always made it from scratch. At least the crust part.

To this day when I make pies I pull out my mothers pie crust recipe, because I absolutely refuse to use those ready made pie crusts you can purchase from the store, to me they just don't taste the same. When I cook I use a lot of my mothers recipes, although I must confess that I have been known to alter the recipes from time to time to suit mine and my husbands tastes. I have aquired my mothers cookbooks, my all time favorite being her copy of the Betty Crocker cookbook. I have my own copy of this book but I still am drawn to using my mothers copy. I find hers has character that mine is lacking. Whether it's the various pages that have aquired spattered stains from something being dripped onto the page and then wiped off, or the numerous times my mother inadvertantly left the mixer on high and batter was flung to the far reaches of the kitchen. Or maybe it's the torn front cover that has long since gone A.W.O.L. Through the years there have been many occurances where things have gone drastically wrong in the confines of my mothers domain but one of my fondest memories is the time my mother was using her pressure cooker and whether the heat was too high or they had just been cooking too long it was anyone's guess but the next thing anyone knew, came an explosive sound and my mother and I arrived on the scene just in time to witness as the cooker's top shot off like a rocket followed by the lid to the cooker, which was closely followed by the beans. Beans were sprayed to the far reaches of the kitchen to encompass even the ceiling. Now that was a mess to behold and took quite awhile to clean up.

Since my husband and I have moved in with my father, I think he is secretly delighted in having once again been given the opportunity to enjoy home cooked meals. My father is eighty years old and doesn't eat large meals any longer, but trying to get him to eat something resembling a balanced meal is something totally different altogether. Sometimes I think he's going through his second childhood as I can never seem to get him to eat any type of vegetables. He almost always makes his own plate at dinner time which accounts for the lack of anything resembling vegetables on it.

Cooking for me is one of my favorite activities at least around the holidays. Dabbling in new recipes I discover on various websites is just too hard to resist. My huband delights in the fact that I'm not bringing home dozens of cookbooks adding to the clutter. During the holiday season my husband and I usally have family get togethers with his side of the family. These functions are are usually dinners where you dutifully bring a culinary delight which to share. This tradition results in a large array of food including doggey bags to the delight of all. The holidays are quickly approaching, and I can already begin salvatating over the thought of all those yummy baked cookies, cakes, and pies. YUM!! The dirty dishes on the other hand............