Vienna sausages and Chef Boyardee: Chapter 1959, First Quarter
Lead Summary
By
-
By Jim Thompson
HCP columnist
As I have gotten older, some of our family friends have bought second homes – on the beach, in the mountains, somewhere they like to be when not where they think they have to be.
No thanks. I had my fill of two-home living from 1957-63 when we lived in Troy, Ohio Sunday evening until Friday after work and near Cynthiana, Ohio (the McNary Farm) from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon. When you live in two homes, your home is nowhere.
So, that was the routine, year-round, except for a few winter weekends, perhaps in February, when Dad would often go to the farm by himself. Occasionally, he could persuade me to go with him. I really did not like those weekends. I was homesick for my Mother. We would not get as far as Tipp City (about seven miles) before I became homesick – and it lasted all weekend.
It would be cold and dreary on the farm. After all, it was the middle of winter. The highlight, however, would be the food. Dad was a pretty good and novel cook.
He liked to grate a couple of large potatoes with one of those box graters like everyone had in those days (and most still have). He would put them in a frying pan with some Crisco and brown them pretty well. Then, he would break a couple of eggs and mix them in toward the end of the frying process. I still remember these, and I thought they were great.
For breakfast, he would make pancakes, and he did not bother with a skillet. He cooked them directly on the top of the wood stove. He called them “stove lids,” because he would make them as big as those lift-out lids that were ubiquitous on the old wood stoves.
Occasionally, he and I would go out to eat. I remember a Saturday night when we went to what was then called the Paxton Lunch Box in Bainbridge. I had an open-faced roast beef sandwich with gravy, mashed potatoes and green beans. The building is still there, right on U.S. Route 50, and last time I checked, it was still a restaurant.
In general, food for all the weekends on the farm was a problem until Mother perfected a system of dealing with eating in two places. We had bought a used refrigerator and put that in the McNary house. (It failed; and it was given to me to tear apart, and I became thoroughly drenched in ammonia when I relieved the pressure on the refrigerant lines. Is that child abuse or an environmental disaster?)
Finally, we bought a very nice aluminum cooler and mother would freeze used milk cartons full of water to use as ice to get it through the weekend. Three half-gallon cartons worked just fine. No more looking for a refrigerator after that.
These weekends were where I learned the joys of Vienna sausages, Spam, Chef Boyardee, fish sticks and other such culinary delights popular in the 1950s. I was well into my adult years before I realized that anyone other than Chef Boyardee made ravioli – and that all ravioli did not come in a can.
In the summertime, of course, there were plenty of vegetables, straight out of the garden. There was a garden literally in the front yard at the McNary house and we usually had another garden, with potatoes and so forth, up along McNary Road, near the old log house where Mr. Fred Martin’s house stands now.
Then, there was honey (we had bees), and plenty of fruit and berries from the orchard. We ate pretty well, with all the warm foods cooked on a wood stove. And I still like Vienna sausages and ravioli.
Jim Thompson, formerly of Marshall, is a graduate of Hillsboro High School and the University of Cincinnati. He resides in Duluth, Ga. and is a columnist for The Highland County Press.
HCP columnist
As I have gotten older, some of our family friends have bought second homes – on the beach, in the mountains, somewhere they like to be when not where they think they have to be.
No thanks. I had my fill of two-home living from 1957-63 when we lived in Troy, Ohio Sunday evening until Friday after work and near Cynthiana, Ohio (the McNary Farm) from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon. When you live in two homes, your home is nowhere.
So, that was the routine, year-round, except for a few winter weekends, perhaps in February, when Dad would often go to the farm by himself. Occasionally, he could persuade me to go with him. I really did not like those weekends. I was homesick for my Mother. We would not get as far as Tipp City (about seven miles) before I became homesick – and it lasted all weekend.
It would be cold and dreary on the farm. After all, it was the middle of winter. The highlight, however, would be the food. Dad was a pretty good and novel cook.
He liked to grate a couple of large potatoes with one of those box graters like everyone had in those days (and most still have). He would put them in a frying pan with some Crisco and brown them pretty well. Then, he would break a couple of eggs and mix them in toward the end of the frying process. I still remember these, and I thought they were great.
For breakfast, he would make pancakes, and he did not bother with a skillet. He cooked them directly on the top of the wood stove. He called them “stove lids,” because he would make them as big as those lift-out lids that were ubiquitous on the old wood stoves.
Occasionally, he and I would go out to eat. I remember a Saturday night when we went to what was then called the Paxton Lunch Box in Bainbridge. I had an open-faced roast beef sandwich with gravy, mashed potatoes and green beans. The building is still there, right on U.S. Route 50, and last time I checked, it was still a restaurant.
In general, food for all the weekends on the farm was a problem until Mother perfected a system of dealing with eating in two places. We had bought a used refrigerator and put that in the McNary house. (It failed; and it was given to me to tear apart, and I became thoroughly drenched in ammonia when I relieved the pressure on the refrigerant lines. Is that child abuse or an environmental disaster?)
Finally, we bought a very nice aluminum cooler and mother would freeze used milk cartons full of water to use as ice to get it through the weekend. Three half-gallon cartons worked just fine. No more looking for a refrigerator after that.
These weekends were where I learned the joys of Vienna sausages, Spam, Chef Boyardee, fish sticks and other such culinary delights popular in the 1950s. I was well into my adult years before I realized that anyone other than Chef Boyardee made ravioli – and that all ravioli did not come in a can.
In the summertime, of course, there were plenty of vegetables, straight out of the garden. There was a garden literally in the front yard at the McNary house and we usually had another garden, with potatoes and so forth, up along McNary Road, near the old log house where Mr. Fred Martin’s house stands now.
Then, there was honey (we had bees), and plenty of fruit and berries from the orchard. We ate pretty well, with all the warm foods cooked on a wood stove. And I still like Vienna sausages and ravioli.
Jim Thompson, formerly of Marshall, is a graduate of Hillsboro High School and the University of Cincinnati. He resides in Duluth, Ga. and is a columnist for The Highland County Press.