Waste Not Want Not

As long as I can remember, food has played an important part of my life. My parents grew up during WWII when food was scarce and to waste food was unthinkable. Apparently at the age of one my mother was told that I was too thin. A plump baby was the sign of prosperity and good health. We were always expected to eat everything on our plates. Not wanting to disappoint my mom and dad I always cleaned my plate.

Only twice in my life can I remember not eating what was put in front of me. We owned a reference book on mushrooms and of course most of them were considered poisonous and inedible. The message from the book that stood out for me, even at the young age of 8, was that unless you were an expert on mushrooms you should NEVER pick wild mushrooms for consumption. Our house backed onto a huge abandoned field and one day my mother went back there and picked mushrooms and made a huge pot of mushroom soup. Normally I loved mushroom soup but I refused to eat it, convinced that it would be the death of me. Needless to say, it didn’t kill anybody but I wasn’t going to take that chance.

The second time I refused it eat a meal happened on our first visit back to Germany. My sisters and I (ages 11,9 and 5) stayed with our maternal grandmother while our parents spent a few days with my father’s brother and sister. Oma thought she would surprise us with a meal that my mother used to LOVE as a child. We were grossed out when she put bowls of  hot sweet milk with elbow macaroni in front of us. None of us could eat it. Later that day the drained and slightly sweet macaroni appeared at dinner with a ground beef sauce. My grandmother wasted nothing. I’m sure she used the milk in something we ate while we were there. I remember how sad my Oma was when we wouldn’t eat her “special treat”. Talk about feeling QUILTY!!!!