On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.
Isaiah 25:6
Grandpa was one of those guys who truly knew what it meant to suck the marrow from the bone of life; he and my grandmother lived their lives to the fullest. All that God placed here they enjoyed and relished. It did not matter if it was a hug from his granddaughter or a handful of freshly tilled earth, he enjoyed it for all it had to offer.
Food was always an integral part of life in their home. Food permeated every aspect of life there. They were involved in growing, tending, harvesting, canning, preserving, preparing, and most especially, eating. In their house it was quite the symbiotic relationship; Grandpa grew it, Grandma prepared it, and Grandpa ate it.
They both loved food, the mystique of the way family would gather around in all aspects of it, and savoring its goodness. Grandma constantly came up with new recipes that had to be tried. She would get Grandpa to grow things that should never have been able to be grown in the area where they lived, but they grew it consistently with glowing success. During the months that it would grow, Grandpa would tend it and spoil it like a beloved grandson.
Grandpa would tend to each phase of the new plants life with nothing short of tenderness and love. Usually, he started in the late fall and early winter by gathering seeds for it from that year’s harvest. Then he would plant them in sets in the house; daily making sure they had sufficient water and light. He put tremendous effort into ensuring that he used the proper blend and proportions of fertilizer. He watched the little sprout as it began to break through the soil with tremendous glee, and inevitably would escort my siblings and me to go witness the new life breaking forth on our next visit with him.
When spring would finally arrive, Grandpa would take the now healthy plant sets out and plant them in the garden. Again, he would take great care to protect them and feed them. Each would be properly supported, staked, guarded, or whatever was needed; no aspect was overlooked. When it began to grow to its full height, he was there every day with the pruning shears and the twine. As it grew the branches that would sap energy from the plant without producing fruit were removed, and the ones that were fruitful were supported. He would continue to water and fertilize each plant individually and make sure that it was well-supported with plenty of dirt piled around its base.
When the harvest came, Grandpa was there. Each day he would collect the fruits of his labors. Each tomato, green bean, ear of corn, turnip, or stalk of rhubarb was inspected. If it did not pass his scrutiny it was thrown into the compost bin to help feed the plants that were still producing. If it did pass his watchful eye, then it was delivered to Grandma to prepare something truly delightful.
One of Grandma’s particular specialties was sauerkraut; it was divine. Made from cabbage from their garden, the two of them would carefully wash and prepare the cabbage. She would prepare her special pickling brine and put the combination in ceramic crocks where they would be left to become a true delight. Even most of the herbs for the brine were grown in their garden.
Sometime after the kraut was ready we would gather for a meal of German specialties; usually some kind of sausage, potato salad, and their kraut. Very few items found on the table did not come from their garden. Each of us would eat well beyond the sin of gluttony just trying to keep pace with Grandpa, and never really succeeding. Then, just when we thought that we could not possibly eat any more, Grandma would announce that desert was ready.
Often she would prepare a cake (homemade of course), with icing that would melt in your mouth. She would usually have some ice cream to go with it. Grandpa was always health conscious and took great pains to point out to my sister, brother, and I that our diets should at all times be balanced. Our meals should always include vegetables, protein, dairy, and fruit. Beyond that, desert as well should be balanced; never should you allow your cake to outweigh your ice cream.
Grandpa’s philosophy in the art of eating and enjoying desert would be that if your dessert experienced an imbalance then you should adjust the proportions to bring it back to a state of homeostasis. So, if the relationship between ice cream and cake were not according to that delicate balance where cake outweighs ice cream, then you should add more ice cream to your dish until they balanced. If it became unbalanced in the other direction, then you should add cake to balance it out; removing one of the items was never an option. Grandpa would repeat this process until either the cake or the ice cream (or most frequently – both) was gone. This was Grandpa’s variation on Zen and the Art of Eating Desert.
My siblings and I discovered, unfortunately, that our parents did not share the same philosophy as Grandpa. We would use the same arguments that he used and they would fall on deaf ears. Wiping out an entire cake or container of ice cream in order to keep our dietary chi in balance was neither encouraged nor allowed, but it never really stopped us from trying or savoring the fullness of whatever we did have to enjoy with Grandpa’s enthusiasm.
Grandpa was a man that loved his food and his family. All of us felt his loving touch. He would help support each of us in any endeavor, carefully getting us started. He would keep us going with regular encouragement. He carefully pruned us if we sprouted of in the wrong direction. And, he proudly brought us in and presented us when he felt that we had met the mark. He then continued to love us until there was nothing left. Grandma simply had a way of turning bitter rhubarb into the sweetest of pies. It did not matter how bitter we were, under her sugary touch we became as sweet as honey.
Isaiah 25:6
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| A Roman Feast Roberto Bompiani late 1800s. The J. Paul Getty Museum, 72.PA.4 |
Grandpa was one of those guys who truly knew what it meant to suck the marrow from the bone of life; he and my grandmother lived their lives to the fullest. All that God placed here they enjoyed and relished. It did not matter if it was a hug from his granddaughter or a handful of freshly tilled earth, he enjoyed it for all it had to offer.
Food was always an integral part of life in their home. Food permeated every aspect of life there. They were involved in growing, tending, harvesting, canning, preserving, preparing, and most especially, eating. In their house it was quite the symbiotic relationship; Grandpa grew it, Grandma prepared it, and Grandpa ate it.
They both loved food, the mystique of the way family would gather around in all aspects of it, and savoring its goodness. Grandma constantly came up with new recipes that had to be tried. She would get Grandpa to grow things that should never have been able to be grown in the area where they lived, but they grew it consistently with glowing success. During the months that it would grow, Grandpa would tend it and spoil it like a beloved grandson.
Grandpa would tend to each phase of the new plants life with nothing short of tenderness and love. Usually, he started in the late fall and early winter by gathering seeds for it from that year’s harvest. Then he would plant them in sets in the house; daily making sure they had sufficient water and light. He put tremendous effort into ensuring that he used the proper blend and proportions of fertilizer. He watched the little sprout as it began to break through the soil with tremendous glee, and inevitably would escort my siblings and me to go witness the new life breaking forth on our next visit with him.
When spring would finally arrive, Grandpa would take the now healthy plant sets out and plant them in the garden. Again, he would take great care to protect them and feed them. Each would be properly supported, staked, guarded, or whatever was needed; no aspect was overlooked. When it began to grow to its full height, he was there every day with the pruning shears and the twine. As it grew the branches that would sap energy from the plant without producing fruit were removed, and the ones that were fruitful were supported. He would continue to water and fertilize each plant individually and make sure that it was well-supported with plenty of dirt piled around its base.
When the harvest came, Grandpa was there. Each day he would collect the fruits of his labors. Each tomato, green bean, ear of corn, turnip, or stalk of rhubarb was inspected. If it did not pass his scrutiny it was thrown into the compost bin to help feed the plants that were still producing. If it did pass his watchful eye, then it was delivered to Grandma to prepare something truly delightful.
One of Grandma’s particular specialties was sauerkraut; it was divine. Made from cabbage from their garden, the two of them would carefully wash and prepare the cabbage. She would prepare her special pickling brine and put the combination in ceramic crocks where they would be left to become a true delight. Even most of the herbs for the brine were grown in their garden.
Sometime after the kraut was ready we would gather for a meal of German specialties; usually some kind of sausage, potato salad, and their kraut. Very few items found on the table did not come from their garden. Each of us would eat well beyond the sin of gluttony just trying to keep pace with Grandpa, and never really succeeding. Then, just when we thought that we could not possibly eat any more, Grandma would announce that desert was ready.
Often she would prepare a cake (homemade of course), with icing that would melt in your mouth. She would usually have some ice cream to go with it. Grandpa was always health conscious and took great pains to point out to my sister, brother, and I that our diets should at all times be balanced. Our meals should always include vegetables, protein, dairy, and fruit. Beyond that, desert as well should be balanced; never should you allow your cake to outweigh your ice cream.
Grandpa’s philosophy in the art of eating and enjoying desert would be that if your dessert experienced an imbalance then you should adjust the proportions to bring it back to a state of homeostasis. So, if the relationship between ice cream and cake were not according to that delicate balance where cake outweighs ice cream, then you should add more ice cream to your dish until they balanced. If it became unbalanced in the other direction, then you should add cake to balance it out; removing one of the items was never an option. Grandpa would repeat this process until either the cake or the ice cream (or most frequently – both) was gone. This was Grandpa’s variation on Zen and the Art of Eating Desert.
My siblings and I discovered, unfortunately, that our parents did not share the same philosophy as Grandpa. We would use the same arguments that he used and they would fall on deaf ears. Wiping out an entire cake or container of ice cream in order to keep our dietary chi in balance was neither encouraged nor allowed, but it never really stopped us from trying or savoring the fullness of whatever we did have to enjoy with Grandpa’s enthusiasm.
Grandpa was a man that loved his food and his family. All of us felt his loving touch. He would help support each of us in any endeavor, carefully getting us started. He would keep us going with regular encouragement. He carefully pruned us if we sprouted of in the wrong direction. And, he proudly brought us in and presented us when he felt that we had met the mark. He then continued to love us until there was nothing left. Grandma simply had a way of turning bitter rhubarb into the sweetest of pies. It did not matter how bitter we were, under her sugary touch we became as sweet as honey.
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