While we are one country with one language, there are obvious differences. Winston Churchill famously said Brits and Americans were one people separated only by a common language. People from Louisiana often speak English differently from people in Tennessee. Our diets are as varied as our dialects as well. We are the product of our heritage. Our habits and our lifestyles are handed down through the generations.
I remember when I was a child being raised in the South, thinking white potatoes were “Arsh potatoes.” Everybody called them Arsh potatoes. It was only years later that I learned they were actually saying “Irish potatoes.” Irish potatoes are what I know today as russets. Regular milk was known as sweet milk. The other milk was buttermilk. Bread was either cornbread or biscuits. We ate three hot meals a day – breakfast, dinner and supper. Vegetables were cooked in bacon grease and chicken was always fried. Is it any wonder I and many of my southern brothers and sisters are what some might call “plump?”
In different parts of the country we have developed our own languages. In the South we had many colloquialisms that seemed to me to be correct. I didn’t know any other way. Recently someone asked me what was the number value of a “mess” as in “a mess of fish.” I remember my grandfather answering that question for me as a young child. “Well,” he said, “you got nary which is none, ary which is one, two which is self explanatory and any more than two is a mess.” That answer worked for me.
I’ve had the pleasure of living in many parts of this great country and I’ve found every part has its own peculiarities. When I first moved to Minnesota, I ordered a meal in a local restaurant. It was the lunch special. Everything on the plate was white. Minnesota is where they soak fish in lye which turns it into the consistency of Jello. They call it lutefisk. Yummy??? Also they think Miracle Whip is mayonnaise. Oh, and they drink a lot too. I wonder why. Uff Da.
In California, where I spent several years, they have what I call a hippie diet. They eat a lot of raw food. They don’t season anything, preferring its “natural” taste. Those people eat a lot of salads. In other words they eat what my food eats. In the restaurants you get a plate that is two feet wide with a tiny serving of food stuck in one corner. The rest of the plate is smeared with colorful swatches of sauces and little green bits that are inedible. No wonder they all wanted to come to my house for supper.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve loved every moment in every area of the country. I’ve loved the different interpretations of foods and the style of preparation. I appreciated the different uses of the same language. Out in California there is the heavy influence of Hispanics. In Minnesota the German and Scandinavian heritage prevails. The same is true in the Northwest; there are a lot of Scandinavians. I’ve enjoyed the differences. But I’ve also became painfully aware of the similarities too.
Somehow, someway, somebody decided shredded carrots would go well in green gelatin. You can get that dish in every part of this country. My biggest question is why? Why would you do that to gelatin and why ever would you do that to carrots? Oh well. I guess some things are better left uninvestigated.
