As the holiday season approaches, it’s not just about the food; it’s about the memories tied to it. The other day, while waiting for my turn at the office microwave, I overheard a colleague reminiscing about her mom’s famous sweet potato pie. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke of family gatherings filled with laughter and comfort food. This conversation sparked others to share tales of their childhood favorites, like soul-soothing chicken and dumplings.
I found myself smiling, but also feeling a bit out of place. Not because I lacked a mother—mine was wonderful—but because my own culinary memories were quite different. I grew up in a household where processed food reigned supreme. My cherished childhood meals were mass-produced and often came with catchy jingles. They were concocted in factories, not kitchens, and our family “recipes” were printed on the backs of packages rather than passed down through generations.
Yet, despite their lack of romanticism, I can’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia when I think back on those meals. I remember the deep, dark evenings of a Midwestern winter, where rolled-up towels sealed off drafts, and my mom would serve Campbell’s Chunky Beef Stew over Minute Rice. The soggy rice complemented the flavorful gravy, creating a cozy atmosphere that contrasted with the icy world outside.
At church potlucks, I would sift through Jell-O salads and Corningware to find my mom’s crowd-pleaser: Idahoan scalloped potatoes. The starchy layers, topped with a beautifully browned sauce, were irresistible. I’d load my plate with half of these and then, with a sense of freedom found in large gatherings, pile on desserts.
Coming home from elementary school, my sister and I would tune into The Price Is Right, shouting out dollar amounts while my mom flipped gooey grilled cheese sandwiches made with Velveeta. My favorite part was always cutting the squares from the orange brick of cheese, which was a rite of passage in our household.
In the late 1970s, processed food was at its peak. My mom, while keen on ensuring we ate healthily, believed a meal was nutritious if it contained something from each food group. Tuna Helper paired with canned green beans was our go-to, checking all the boxes.
As time went on, my pantry began to change. One day, I opened the shelf to see an unmarked white box labeled “Ready-to-Eat Corn Flakes.” It looked like a remnant from another era, and I knew our culinary landscape was shifting. The familiar brand names disappeared, replaced by generic options that stripped away the fun and color of our meals.
This transition coincided with my dad’s unemployment, making the generic foods feel even more disheartening. My mom insisted that they were the same quality, but I set out to prove otherwise. I conducted a science fair project comparing generic items with their branded counterparts, employing my siblings as blind taste testers. The results were clear: generics never won. Despite my findings, my mom continued to purchase the cheaper options.
Eventually, as family fortunes improved, name brands returned to our lives. I would later come to understand that these processed foods were emblematic of a period often criticized in American culinary history. Friends from different backgrounds didn’t eat them, and I learned that they weren’t the healthiest choices.
Now, as a parent, I strive to limit the processed foods my children consume. However, I also feel a strong urge to share the taste of my childhood with them, hoping to keep my mother’s spirit alive. This holiday season, along with our free-range turkey and organic butternut squash soup, we’ll enjoy Pillsbury Sugar Cookies and Stove Top stuffing. This winter, I plan to whip up Mock Wild Rice with Campbell’s French Onion Soup, proudly telling my kids it’s “Grandma’s special recipe.”
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In summary, my upbringing may have been defined by processed foods, but those memories are a cherished part of my story. They remind me of warmth, comfort, and the love that food can bring, even if it comes from a box.