Nostalgia

When my children were young I occasionally wanted to recreate memories and dishes from my childhood for them. Since several of my children were born after my parents had passed away, they missed out on the “Grandparenting love” that I had. I often told them stories about my childhood and life as a child in a house with seven siblings. As I recalled some of our favorite dishes that my parents cooked, I decided to make some for our July fourth cookout. My daddy ruled the barbecue grill. Mama would help him wash and season the meats, and then my sisters and I would help her prepare the side dishes. My brothers were outside helping daddy wherever needed. Daddy put the sizzle and smacking of lips in his ‘Q’. His sweet and spicy sauce was certain to drip down your chin, tease, then escape your tongue, and cause eye rolling of the “slap your mama” good variety. I was going to cook the meat with a replica of daddy’s sauce, mama’s potato salad, and made from scratch baked beans. The night before the cookout, I got the dried navy beans, molasses, mustard, tomato paste, dark brown sugar, bacon, and a chopped onion. We gathered around the counter and they watched me pick and sort the beans to make sure there wasn't any dirt or rocks mixed in. Of the five of my children, the oldest two drifted away to the television during that process. They had experienced this with my parents and grandparents. I rinsed the beans happily talking about how my mom and grandmother made them for a side dish whenever we had cookouts. I covered the beans with cold water and soaked them overnight. The following morning, in a large ovenproof casserole dish, I placed the rinsed and drained beans  inside with cut up pieces of bacon and the chopped onion that I had sauted in the bacon grease. My children were excited that the beans had “magically gotten bigger and drank some of the water” that was in the bowl. I added the remainder of the ingredients and let my daughter stir them while her brothers looked on and tried to pinch pieces of the bacon before we put them in the dish. I put the lid on the dish and popped them into a medium oven (300 degrees).

In a couple of hours they had the house smelling wonderfully. They had to cook about 2-3 hours and it seemed as if every 20 to 30 minutes one of the boys yelled, “Mom are they ready yet?? I’m so hungry.” Finally later that day after all of the meats were grilled, the potato salad was cooling inside of the refrigerator, and the macaroni and cheese bubbled promises of good eating, the beans were done. Proudly I placed my feast on the table and we began to eat, my husband happily sliced the sticky saucy ribs and the kids gobbled hot dogs washed down with cherry kool-aid with fresh sliced lemons floating in the pitcher. I spooned the baked beans on their plates cautioning them that they were hot, so remember to blow on them. I smiled as I watched them dive into the baked beans. One of my younger sons looked up with remnants of baked bean sauce on his face and said, “ Mommee, these taste good, just like the ones out of the can.” Needless to say that was the first, and last, time that I went through the process of making them from scratch. In the future I would save time, energy, and the heat from the oven and give them the ones “out of the can.”  So much for nostalgia.