After all that virtuous talk of vegetables, it’s only right
that I own
This morning I dished out a praiseworthy portion of low-fat cottage cheese for my breakfast and then cancelled out all that righteousness with a generous allotment of maraschino cherries.
In high
school, one of the hidden benefits of babysitting was a new refrigerator to
explore once the kids were in bed. The trick was to graze lightly, focusing on
items that came either in multiples unlikely to be counted – cheese slices,
pickles - or in a mass difficult to gauge – whipped cream in a can.
My father was more a gin and tonic kind of guy, so
maraschino cherries never made it to our fridge. One of the families I sat for
must have been big on Singapore Slings or Whisky Sours, because I could always
depend on finding a jar at their house that was none the worse for 3 or 4 (or
more) missing cherries.
Last week I
was in the grocery store, working my way down the aisles - No, we don’t need
cereal, yes, we’re out of ketchup – when I went past the canned meat
section, an area I always ignore since we’re not much of a Spam or chipped beef
on toast family. As I went by, a small
can on the shelf called to me as loudly as any chocolate bar ever has. It was a
can of Vienna sausages, basically bologna, something else I never
buy, in tube form.
But after
church on hot summer Sundays (which in Oklahoma
is basically a given), my grandmother would sometimes serve a cold meat platter
and it always featured a cluster of Vienna
sausages. I could have eaten my portion and everyone else’s besides. I
don’t recall having had any since I was twelve.
That day I
walked past the canned meat and began to round the corner to the next aisle. I
found my feet moving backward as though some unseen hand had put my legs into
reverse. I picked up the can and never looked back.
The content
information claims that a can contains two
You made me laugh to remember those days of babysitting and grazing. I had one family who always had cartons and cartons of the best ice cream in their chest freezer. I helped myself until I got sick! :-)
ReplyDeleteLove your description of Vienna Sausages, I don't eat them, but my husband gets a hankering for them from time to time. We call them Vian Sausages, Vian being the town in Oklahoma the my Mother and Sisters lived in.
ReplyDeleteHow funny. I'm not familiar with Vian. I've got (or had) family connections to Sapulpa, Stillwater, Tulsa, and Mangum - which my great-grandfather Ashley was instrumental in founding.
DeleteI found a miscalculated serving size yesterday, when I opened the three serving package of Almondina.
ReplyDeleteI was a babysitter grazer, too.
My mother regularly served maraschino cherries on a scoop of cottage cheese, and kept a can of Vienna sausages in the house. Now days, my mouth would revolt against the salt in the sausages. Maraschino cherries are still OK.
oooo vienna sausages. eaten a few myself but like you it's been many many years.
ReplyDeleteYes, grazing in others fridges was fun, especially if you came from a home whose refrigerator was pretty bare most time.
ReplyDeleteBoy did you take me back. I use to work with a guy that was addicted to Vienna sausages. Every time I see a can, I smile and think of Ray.
ReplyDeleteGuilty pleasures are sometimes an essential.
ReplyDeleteHad a chuckle over the Vienna Sausage. I also had pleasant memories of those an not too long ago decided to try a can for old times sake. I suppose my taste have changed, I was disappointed.
ReplyDeleteYeah, they were okaaay. My reaction was more Meh. . .
DeleteI know the feeling of not being able to say no, but it wouldn't be on Vienna Sausages.
ReplyDeleteI remember these from when I was very young, but haven't seen any for a long time. I must look closer at the shelves ans I zip past on my way to the icecream. I find that chocolate bars no longer call to me, it's that sweet, creamy deliciousness of vanilla icecream that whispers in my ear. "you know you want some..
ReplyDeleteThis is so funny! We always had Vienna sausages, potted meat sardines, and saltine crackers on hand when I was growing up, especially for when we were traveling. It was so easy to stop at a picnic table along the highway and open a can meat to eat with a cracker.
ReplyDelete