Dave Wood

Years ago, when Ruth and I were young and foolish, we hung around with “Fast Eddie” Sabella, an econ prof of Italian descent who hailed from Providence, Rhode Island. He was recovering from an unsuccessful marriage, and we were happy to learn he was dating again with a beautiful Norwegian lady from Up North. We accompanied them to a dinner date at The White House, a posh joint in Golden Valley where we dined on a specialty of the house, veal stuffed ravioli with vodka sauce.

As Eddie waxed eloquently about the lovely dish, Ruth and I nodded in agreement, while Ingrid from the Upper North sat silently then burst out in response: “What’s wrong with you guys? All you think and talk about is food! I’m sick that we can’t talk about something else. I guess I’m not like you. ‘Eat to live.’ All of you live to eat.”  

We piled into his Thunderbird and endured a very silent ride home.

We never saw Ingrid from Up North again.

No, no. Eddie didn’t murder her. He just dropped her like a slab of lasagna. I guess he didn’t relish spending any more time with someone who thought food was not an important thing to think about. I remember him saying that his most pleasant times at home in Providence in the Italian ghetto where his father cobbled shoes to eke out a living involved his mother toiling in the kitchen making specialties from the old country.

I understood that because my childhood in some ways was similar to Eddie’s. My Grandpa Wood had more money than Eddie’s father, but a surefire way to please his palate was to make his favorite schoolboy lunch which his mom packed for him every day for his years at school. Corn bread and cranberry sauce pleased him more than Chateaubriand (which I doubt he ever tasted). His Scandinavian bride made it for him frequently and he honored her standby, which I call Norwegian Guacamole, which consisted of leftover bacon drippings mixed with Karo Syrup, stirred up with day-old homemade bread (because Grandma was told by her immigrant parents to never waste ANYTHING).

My mom’s side of the family had its share of gastronomic peccadillos as well. Mom made a mean sour cream pancake. When she served us it was always with butter and syrup. Her own serving got special treatment. No butter, no syrup, just plain sweet-pickled beets. She has been gone for 80 years and I still haven’t had the intestinal fortitude to try her dark red invention. 

Her older sister Myrt lived in a swell house in the third ward of Eau Claire and ate quite conventionally but couldn’t keep her well-manicured mitts off the cookbook. Her family were Beswicks, and all were fond of New England boiled dinner—but Myrt had felt compelled to make a slight adjustment. When the taters, carrots, onions, beggies and hamhocks were tender, Myrt unfailingly removed the potatoes, mashed them with whipping cream and served them in the broth with all the other goodies.

“Doesn’t this make all the difference; doesn’t this elevate the common peasant strew to something much more elegant?” she’d ask. And we who were very aware of her position in the great chain of Beswick family, would politely nod in agreement as the mashed potatoes slid into the broth and ruined her invention.

I’m not quite finished with mom’s sisters. Aunt Dorie always served Jell-O with pot roast. Sounds terrible, right? WRONG! Dorie’s lime or lemon Jell-O did NOT feature bananas, mini marshmallows, pineapple or other noxious fruits suspended in the gelatin. Nope! Dorie suspended minced onions and celery and sometimes chopped bell pepper topped with a dollop of tangy Hellman’s (NEVER Kraft!) mayo and placed far away from the warm portion of the meal. DELICIOUS!

Sorry Myrt, you but should have spent more time at your younger sister Dorie’s table and left your whole boiled potatoes to thrive without intrusion of the electric beater. They can thrive on their own! But perhaps in Myrt’s part of Eau Claire’s Third Ward she aimed at something worthy of being called Pommes de Terre?

Thus, you can see, dear reader, that we remained fast friends with Eddy and lots of other earthy souls who find the discussion of food rather pleasant!