As the holiday season approaches, it’s not just about the food; it’s also a time for reminiscing. Just the other day, while waiting for my turn at the office microwave, I overheard a colleague reminiscing about her mother’s sweet potato pie, her eyes sparkling with memories of family gatherings. This led to another colleague sharing tales of his mom’s comforting chicken and dumplings, and how he and his siblings would help roll the dough. I nodded along, appreciating the warmth of their stories, but felt a pang of exclusion. I loved my mother dearly, but when it came to her cooking, it never seemed worthy of such nostalgic reverence.
You see, my culinary upbringing was steeped in the world of processed foods. My childhood favorites were products of mass production, complete with their catchy jingles. With ingredients concocted in laboratories, our meals existed somewhere on the vast spectrum of food, often with recipes sourced from the backs of boxes or labels rather than cherished family traditions.
Yet, I find myself feeling nostalgic about those factory-made meals. I remember the pitch-black winter evenings in the Midwest, with rolled-up towels blocking the cold airflow. My mom would serve Campbell’s Chunky Beef Stew over Minute Rice, the flavor of the gravy mingling with the mushy rice creating a comforting warmth amidst the frozen landscape outside.
Then there were the potluck gatherings, where I would hunt for my mom’s signature dish: Idahoan scalloped potatoes. Those starchy slices, enrobed in a golden-brown sauce, were always a highlight on my plate, which I would often fill with desserts as well, reveling in the freedom that larger gatherings provided.
Every lunchtime during my elementary school days, my sister and I would enthusiastically yell out dollar amounts to Bob Barker on The Price Is Right as our mom prepared gooey grilled cheese sandwiches made with Velveeta. I always relished the task of slicing off pieces of Velveeta from the iconic orange block.
It was the late 1970s, the height of the processed food era, and my mom wasn’t particularly passionate about cooking. While her focus was on ensuring we were nourished, a balanced meal in those days simply meant including something from each of the four food groups. Tuna Helper with canned green beans? We were good to go.
Meal after meal, my mom enlisted the help of famous culinary helpers like Mrs. Grass for her chicken noodle soup, Chef Boyardee for beef ravioli, and Betty Crocker for cake mixes.
Then came a day in sixth grade when I returned home craving my usual snack, Golden Grahams. To my dismay, I found a plain white box labeled “Ready-to-Eat Corn Flakes” on the shelf—it looked like a relic from a bygone era. The colorful brand names began to vanish, replaced by generic versions that drained the joy from our pantry.
This shift in our food landscape coincided with my dad losing his job, making those generic products feel even more dismal. My mom insisted they were the same, just cheaper due to less fancy packaging. Determined to prove her wrong, I set up an experiment for my science fair project, comparing generic and brand-name products. With rigorous metrics and taste tests involving my siblings, the generics consistently ranked lower. I presented my findings to my mom, but she simply praised my effort and continued to buy the cheaper options.
Eventually, fortunes improved, and the cheerful brand names returned to our home. It wasn’t until much later that I realized these beloved brands were products of a culinary era that many looked down upon. Friends from different backgrounds rarely indulged in such items, which were also not particularly healthy.
Now, as a parent, I strive to limit processed foods in my children’s diets, but I also feel compelled to share the comforts of my childhood. This holiday season, alongside free-range turkey and organic butternut squash soup, I included Pillsbury Sugar Cookies and Stove Top stuffing. This winter, I plan to prepare Mock Wild Rice using Campbell’s French Onion Soup, which I’ll affectionately call “your Grandma’s special recipe.”
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In summary, while my culinary memories may not align with the traditional home-cooked meals of others, they evoke a sense of warmth and nostalgia that I cherish and wish to share with my children.