Since I don't cook and my characters do, I have a huge collection of old cookbooks, some from the days when my family farmed for a living, not as an expensive and possibly misguided hobby. Those came from CoOps and Radio stations. Last year I checked a book from our local library about food fads from 1900 to 1990. Browsing through it was fun. There were some ghastly entries. The worst was a giant pineapple molded from liverwurst, pimientos, mustard and mayo. I think. It was pretty horrible so I didn't read the whole thing. The picture haunts me.
I say I don't cook, but I do. My husband loved to cook. He grew up in Long Island. His grandparents were from eastern Pennsylvania--the Wyoming Valley. There were some Kansas delicacies that he refused to make-- like chili and donuts; home made mac & cheese laced with garden tomatoes and served with a side dish of grapes; neckbones and sauerkraut; grilled summer sausage; tomato and peanut butter sandwiches; tapioca stew; kuchen-- all things he labeled Cropper Food. Since I wanted the kids to grow up normally I did learn to cook some simple comfort foods.
My grandparents had cattle so my parents had a side of beef whenever they butchered. When my husband and I were married we had beef from my parents. My husband loved the steaks, roasts, packages of hamburger, the fancy stuff, but then I had to use up the shanks, tongue, stew meat, brisket, cheaper cuts. Things I grew up knowing how to cook but never had the urge to linger in the kitchen prettying them up.
When my husband died, our three girls were in college and almost on their own but finances forced me to sell our house and move to a smaller house in a smaller town--one without a grocery store or a café. Two girls had to live with me. They were both working out of town but I insisted on sit down meals on Sundays and evenings. It was too expensive to go out of town to eat out and after a while it got to be kind of fun, sitting around the table and talking about our day. Now we remeber these meals, even the disasters, fondly.
Things got better, the girls graduated and went on their own. I was watching my 3 oldest grandkids in Florida one summer while their parents were on vacation. The oldest two-- 12 and 9 then--wanted to eat out after a trip to a water park. The toddler was just too cranky for a public eating experience. I was getting a little cranky, too. I said no, we are going to eat around the table like a family. Kenz and Austin were furious. Since I am only a step grammy, I almost gave in. Luckily, there was some kind of meal kit in the cupboard and, somehow, I managed to not screw it up. We put the toddler to bed and had a wonderful, if not gourmet, meal. They told me stories about their Spanish teacher. (I'm a Spanish teacher, so I tried not to laugh, but eventually almost choked.) After that they insisted on cooking for me whenever I came to stay.
Now my oldest grand daughter, a grown up banker and a mom, insists on having a sit down meal whenever we are visiting. She quotes my words: "We are sitting down at this table and eating like a normal freaking family! Dammit!" Anyway, although I don't cook, I do believe in the power of food. --s6