I grew up in Darwin's addition, the first suburb --
Like my little hometown in northern Minnesota.
So it's not named after a biologist, it's named after a developer. level housing.
In this sense, this community is not a Darwin, because it is not naturally evolved at all, but was born from instant creation. Bam.
Perfect house with three flat squares for the core family.
None of us are perfect, of course, but I can tell you: In 1985 we were all as young as the new tarred street, and all the moms stayed --at-
At home, the sisters work elsewhere, and the leaves of the newly planted oak trees sparkled in the hot sun, as bright and fragile as the forced light bulb.
We, the children on the Seventh Street, wander from house to house, in a huge package --
Not checked, missing
For adults and the people around them
With a feeling of freedom, it now seems to come straight from the fairy tale.
To break the endless flow of summer, mothers get together to play cards every month.
The requirements of common meals.
On this special occasion, my mom hosted the event and for the sake of simplicity, she distributed their signature dishes to each of her friends: Judy brought seven
A layer of salad, a layer of mayonnaise, a cake of lettuce and bacon.
Candy is a plastic gallon ice cream bucket filled with milk and macaroni salad with small pumpkins, bell peppers and celery.
Didi is not a cook. he brought potato chips and mint butter.
I don't remember who brought the bar.
Scotland and lemon squares are everywhere, and they may sprout on their own at the counter, just like volunteer pumpkins in the compost pile.
My mom made a hot beef sandwich, and she, Karen Tilen, was fairly called a hot beef sandwich, chopped beef served with enough juice, soaked in cotton with a hard roll to a brown shell
She started using an electric oven full of roast beef and added spices from the steakau-
Traditional flavor: Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, onion.
When I asked her for a recipe years later, I was surprised to hear she said "Lipton's onion soup mixture" because she always came from-
Scratch cook, an early full-back.
Most of my adult life was proud of her raising us on these main sources: garden vegetables, marble meat, beans cooked in dry condition.
I remember a soup.
Mixed sound tips, however: dry Malaka-
Shake the onion in a paper bag.
Although I don't really like to cook with a boxed seasoning mixture, it is undeniable that the fakey onion mixture collates with metal red meat to make the shredded beef so strong and so salty --so electric —
It tastes almost dangerous.
Her recipe was printed on the back of the box as the secret went on and was very public.
In fact, Lipton's onion soup mixture, from soup to nuts to sour cream, is as common as green grass.
That's the secret weapon of every mother in the Midwest.
On the card lunch, the woman played the dealer's choice and rotated seven times
They call it Polish poker ".
"The casino game is perfect for my mom's off-track behavior.
Of course, she is not serious about gambling, and she is excited about breaking the rules.
She would pour toxic detergent into the sink in the bathroom.
She knew nothing about the use of water and sprayed the water pipes on the trees all night.
I remember once when she was driving I handed her my empty candy wrapper from the back seat and watched her open the window and let the suction pull it out, the paper wings that pop off my back window.
I followed it breathlessly.
I know it's not right to litter.
Because that's what she told me)
But she just did it.
These little deviations from her go through my veins like mercury and raise the temperature of my devotion.
They proved her secret.
In many ways, boxed spice mixes like Lipton are part of the early wave of feminism, a shortcut accepted by women who have just started pricing their time.
Despite this group of accommodationat-
Family mothers have time to cook, and the processed food industry heralds their future, with women entering the labor market in a broader sense.
Soon, the children will enter puberty, losing the work of the woman's mother, some of whom --Including my mom.
I will go back to college to finish their degree.
Some people even break the biggest taboo, divorce, and my mom is the first in this regard.
But now, while my parents are still together, Karen's newly started independence is just a spark of fun, radical energy.
My gut feeling is that in many accommodations --at-
The post-80s family mother, a similar blend of integration and Discontent brewed in these calm waters, occasionally appears in small things, such as unwashed fruits.
Unlike today, my mom's afternoon party for her neighborhood friends is not called a game date (
What the kids will play is a given).
They are called "get together and have coffee", even if the drinks are happier in nature.
The field of mother and child is strictly isolated and, in fact, this division encourages --
The level of architecture in this era: women sit upstairs, the children stay downstairs and stand behind the door shaking at the top of the steps.
When Candy's youngest mother climbs the stairs to cry for her, she automatically runs over to comfort him, while other moms call to laugh at him, "Oh, candy, you just gave him what he wanted!
Handed her three bottoms. year-
Old cookies, she gently told him to go back with the big kids.
Our dog, a indignant cock named Buffy, lazily lifted her sly eyes from her habitat on the steps, holding her breath until the candy
Downstairs, a group of boys ran behind a firm Alpha.
So my friend Tina and I escaped and jumped on the door and sat on the stool behind the woman at the big table.
I'm sitting next to Didi's elbow.
The only person in this group who has no children, she is about 10-year-
Old me, let me play with the gold buckle on her cigarette case and pile her potato chips in the tall unstable tower.
The wrist of Didi is very thin. it is a black well.
Curly hair and exotic
Almost half-open almond eyes
She spoke slowly, as if she were South.
Technically, she is from Iowa.
Didi and her husband live in a yellow short Rover home under the block, one of the children's fantasy blooming houses in their minds, like twisted by the sparkling summer heat
The entire restaurant is covered with white carpets and a huge smoky gray glass dining table with a strange abstract sculpture in the middle. A piece of art.
Tina and I think she must be rich.
My mom didn't win.
Didi quietly told me to fold in another big jar.
My mom stood up and asked the table, "What do I think we should feed these children ? ".
The chain around the table was broken and the women climbed up the chair and began to call their children.
My brothers stepped up from the basement and the hair on the sweat stream sweaty's back was frosted into a high protein crisp peak, sensing food, confirming my mother's intuition.
I prepared lunch for her as instructed by my mother.
Our movements were well choreographed, and our movements were combined to form the potluck soundtrack.
I saw a dollar of buns and threw the chips into the bowl.
She raised the tank.
The lid, released the humor of the beef trapped.
After soaking in the onion soup all day, the beef unfurled the fragrant flag hanging in the air --
Air conditioning, thick and dense, taste like just welded metal.
She turned over the pieces of ground beef with a fork and brought the moist juicy meat to it, just like turning Hay.
"The fork for serving," she said, and I promised to open the silver drawer and put the pins into the beef for my own convenience. service.
She opened the lid from the top of the macaroni salad, with the cream surface of the macaroni salad covered with sliced black olives --
The eyes are not blinking. (
Depending on what you think of them, they are either naive or focused on asking questions. )
I spit out the hot dog from the boiling water.
Because of course there are hot dogs here, children live by hot dogs.
Then throw them into the bowl.
My mom turned around from the fridge and gave the tomato sauce and mustard on the counter a sound and a sound.
Then, suddenly: Buffy released a series of brutal stacces.
There was a heavy knock at the door and we were startled because most of the people around us were already here.
Also, we didn't really knockand-pause.
We knocked at the door most of the time.
My mom crossed the child's door, climbed down the steps dramatically, turned around and patted us on an interesting mock look --shock.
"It's the Sheriff," she took the stage --
Open the door, whispered.
"What can I do for you, sheriff ? " He walked into the room.
Old man with wide thigh Tan
I'm here to investigate a report of an unregistered pistol.
Our team of 15 people stood quietly at the landing, as if watching a play.
My mother looks serious.
"My husband Teddy, I know he has a gun in his bedroom, and I think it's an intruder.
I can show you. "This is the first time I 've heard of a gun.
I looked at Tina.
Her round black eyes sparkled, and an expression said, oh, your father is in trouble. ble!
The sheriff took a serious walk behind her and went up the steps and said, "I should do that . ".
"How, ladies," he said, nodding to Judy.
Tina's mother, Judy, "What are you doing here ? "
Nicknamed "Jude", the ladies sometimes change it to "Dude ")
, Standing at the top of the 5: 00foot-1.
She was dragged away by eight children and was not afraid at all.
"We are just having lunch.
"No, no, thank you. I have already eaten," he said, rubbing his generous stomach.
He looked at the table, which was littered with dormitories and ashtrays.
"It looks like there may be some illegal gambling going on here, though.
My mom, who never had a hedge, told him it was just 21 and she didn't really think about gambling.
Sheriff: "Then you're playing real money.
"Larry, we have to play for a few quarters . "
Sherriff: "Ladies, I still don't want to tell you this, but I have to take you to the station where illegal gambling is.
It's better to bring the children.
"Some children began to cry and women pulled them to their hips.
Tina and I stood and our chin opened like a drawer.
So we're all in trouble.
Just then we saw my dad's face on the window at the front door.
Larry rolled his head under his hat to try to hide the cracks in his smile. Just in time.
It has been difficult for him to hold on.
My mom guessed that the plug-in hit gag and made a huge music scream.
It broke the tension but again
The dog was startled, and it suddenly barked again.
She stood in the center of the room, holding her knees with both hands and crouching on her hips.
It looks like she's going to pee, but I know she's going to dump it (in a good way). “Jesus H. Ch-ristopher!
She shouted happily, shaking her curls. “You a-holes!
My father jumped up the stairs.
He was very satisfied with himself, and his mouth was full of joy.
My mother ran into his arms and punched him a few times on his back.
He dumped her.
"Hell, Teddy," Judy said . " But she was laughing too.
"Great, Teddy," said Candy, patting him on the back.
When the commotion subsided, my mom walked to the middle of the room, stom her feet to one side, straightened her arms and said loudly, "now!
"Who wants a hot beef sandwich Larry," he said, tilted her head to the sheriff, "Are you really full? Or is that a lie ? " Put his big hat on the table.
"Of course, I want one.
If you have a beer, come on.
"* I remember it was the day of subversion --
It's not my fucking poker.
Practice version of the party
Landed in my own living room.
It was tolerated.
It turned out to be comics.
However, these conventions will not be established from that day on.
The women of the neighbors will change, the men will change, the way they communicate will change, and my parents will separate --
It's all for the better.
The woman in my town will go to work outside like a father, and there is no prank at home.
"Criminals on the Seventh Street" has long been disbanded, and my mom won't want to live in the house with a gun today, and I won't think I'll write a story about the gun.
But in general, the recipe for a hot beef sandwich is basically the same.
I omitted Lipton's attempt to lead to failure: bland, low
Contrast pieces of beef.
Restore the soup bag and then I added a couple of modern prosperity that I was worried would be treason --
It wasn't until I tasted them that they were added, not reduced (
Only after Karen Tyrone gave me her blessing).
Neither she nor I cook too much with boxes or jars anymore, but Lipton's soup mixture is a fallen soldier and we can't seem to leave.
Pure Taste, nostalgic. (
But in fact, garbage lives outside.
Dry like a seed pack, it can survive the revelation. )
After 10 minutes of mental shaking ashing and playback, the sheriff and my dad and all the women went downstairs to eat, and their laughter gradually disappeared into the quiet dust on the thick carpet.
I piled up a hot beef sandwich and a bunch of chips on the plate.
Potatoes, not poker.
Jump the fence and take my plate downstairs to have dinner with my own tribe.
Click here to read the full recipe.