Special foods and special memories

Growing up in a family whose roots were deep in the soils of a country far different than the U.S. meant usually not getting Pop Tarts or Cocco Puffs for breakfast.

As the mad rush to the holiday season begins, I’m again thinking of all the subtle - and some of the not so subtle – ways my family would blend Old World traditions with those of their new country. Food, of course, figures high in the equation. Of all the “lifeways” an expatriate naturally changes when they emigrate to a new culture, one of the slowest to go seems, inevitably, to be the foods they crave to nourish both their bodies – and their souls.

Juice and an English muffin or cereal might seem like a normal breakfast for most kids growing up in the 1950s, for example, but cheoreg, string cheese and those wrinkly black olives were far more commonly found on our table – at least when Grandma and Grandpa were present.

Coffee was typically Turkish coffee – or in the morning – my grandfather’s special café au lait. Grandma would bring the milk to nearly a boil in a saucepan, adding a teaspoon of sugar to dissolve in the hot liquid. Then, she would cut the heat and carefully pour the hot, rich coffee into the mixture until it was a soft, creamy beige color. That was morning coffee! As we grew older, we were allowed a cup, as well, although more sugar was usually added after Grandpa’s cup was poured – along with more milk.

While really special dishes were often trotted out for Sundays or holidays, it’s actually the everyday habits that sticks the most in my mind. It’s things like Grandma’s love of Cream of Wheat – but served as halva, rich with butter and sugar and cut into wedges – not just lying there in the bowl. It’s the flat, Armenian Lavash or thick, chewy pita on the table for dinner – not Wonder Bread.