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America’s Breadbasket

Mom's bread drawer May, 2015

If you want to solve world hunger, look no farther than my mother’s bread drawer. This is what it looked like after she and my stepfather hosted four of us for the weekend. I don’t think this photo could possibly do it justice. We must have looked underfed because Mom sent my stepfather out Saturday afternoon to buy dinner rolls.

In preparation for our brief visit, my mother had done a little shopping. In other words, there was enough food to feed every creature on Noah’s ark.

I haven’t decided if I’m joking. My mother has the best-fed critters around. She lives in the country, and I bet her neighbors love her. Especially the ones who hunt. The birds and squirrels are fed year ‘round, and the deer get corn in the winter. Her “pet” chipmunk eats Cheerios on the front porch. Have you ever seen a fat Greyhound? Me neither. We try to get to her before she gets to our dog. This is a hereditary condition, apparently, and I will have to manage my risk factors. My grandfather used to hand feed racoons from his back yard. His neighbors loved him too.

I try to tell my mother to take it easy. Another part of me loves that I still get to wake up to the smell of coffee and a Mom bustling around the kitchen.

I can offer to plan the food, shop and cook, and she will say yes, but somehow we always end up doing things her way. I don’t think she entirely trusts me. She still hovers over me while I cook.

There was a time when I experienced a certain Shadenfreude but I have good-naturedly surrendered it. I no longer try to coax–or corner–her into eating curries and Korean pancakes. The last really naughty thing I did was about two years ago during one of her visits to us. With a straight face, I asked her and my stepfather to join us for dinner at the Pakistani restaurant down the street. I just wanted to see what would happen. My mother once sent back a plate of pasta at Ruby Tuesday because it was too spicy.

On this weekend visit, I did bring a bag of quinoa thinking it might help me stay on my [insert expletives] low fat diet when everyone else was eating lasagna and hamburgers and the four containers of ice cream in her freezer. She wasn’t sure about that “quinola.” Mom concluded she needed to round out our dinner with rice. She stood over the stove concentrating on those Uncle Ben’s boiling bags, skimming the froth from the pot with a very serious expression. The rice would not have cooked if she had not done this.

I snapped this photo as we were cleaning up and heading out. Oh, we were cleaning up, all right. We scored two giant Ziploc bags of her famous chocolate chip cookies.

My mother knew I was having a laugh at her expense, and she was a good sport: she obligingly offered to rearrange the drawer to give me a better picture. I wonder what she would say if she knew I was going to talk about her on my blog. Oops, wait. She doesn’t know I have a blog. And don’t you tell her!

I’ll be taking a break from posting for a while. My children are coming into town, and I’ve got to go stock up on bread.

For other posts on Mom, click here and here.

Rule # 7: Everything German is Better

Rule # 7: Everything German is Better

This Family Rule must be understand in a very flexible way. In my family, “German” meant everything related to our years in 1970s Germany. If you lived in my house, you absorbed the fact that living like a German was the best way a person could live. If you were a visitor in our home, you knew you were in the presence of some pretty darn special people!

Here are some things–or ways of doing things–whose Germanness clearly kicked the butt of Americanness. Boy, there were so many things which were better. Germany would have beaten the U.S. in Rock, Paper, Scissors each and every time. And since we understood these things, maybe we were superior beings?

In no particular order, I present the first twelve testaments to German awesomeness. Drumroll, please…

Photo courtesy of A. Kniesel

Photo courtesy of A. Kniesel

1. Nutella. O.M.G. We were eating it by the pound before you American dumb-dumbs even knew it existed.

Photo courtesy of MPD01605 on Flickr

Photo courtesy of MPD01605 on Flickr

2. Drinks in bags. Ditto, American slackers. I was drinking bagged Capri Suns before you were even born.

Photo courtesy of Thomas Rosenau

Photo courtesy of Thomas Rosenau

3. Haribo Gummi Bears. Same story, third verse. Also, gummi colas, gummi worms…you name it!

Photo courtesy of Maddox74

Photo courtesy of Maddox74

4. Playmobil.

Photo courtesy of Hans

Photo courtesy of Hans

5. Steiff stuffed animals. Yup.

Photo courtesy of EME

Photo courtesy of EME

6. German bread. From fluffy to crispy to scour-your-anus-good. Just add BUTTER.

Blutwurst photo courtesy of Roberto Verzo

Blutwurst photo courtesy of Roberto Verzo

7. Sausage. So. Many. Kinds. Of. Heaven. (I swore never to try Blutwurst but I ate it once by accident. Part of me wanted to stick my finger down my throat. Part of me wanted more.)

Photo courtesy of Washington & Jefferson College

Photo courtesy of capl@washjeff.edu

8. Cheese. We only had, what…American, Swiss, and Cheddar back in those dark ages?

Image courtesy of Wikimedia

Image courtesy of Wikimedia

9. Ikea. Who cares if it isn’t actually German? We used to go to shop at Ikea in Germany, before it came to the US. I would live in Ikea if I could.

Photo courtesy of capl@washjeff.edu

Photo courtesy of capl@washjeff.edu

10. Wooden toys. No plastic crap for us. No siree!

Photo courtesy of High Contrast

Photo courtesy of High Contrast

11. Coffee. My parents were partial to Tchibo, which they drank with a drop of Bärenmarke evaporated milk.

Photo courtesy of Mysid

Photo courtesy of Mysid

12. Chocolate. No surprises there, especially in the 70’s. I think Ritter Sport with rum, raisins and hazelnuts was my childhood fave. Also epic: Kinderschokolade eggs with build-it-yourself toys inside. Some of the toys were quite involved. The surprise and the engineering behind them was magic.

Stay tuned for more worship–uh, I mean, sharing. In the meantime, you might want to check out fellow blogger Aaron Schilling, who is writing fun and very authentic bits about the unfolding of his intensive German experience.

This post is part of Family Rules. For the prior post, click here. For the next post, click here.

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