Basic Food Needs in a New Country

 

IT'S A MATTER OF TASTE!

If you do a search on Google to discover what are the food problems experienced by immigrants to Canada, you’ll find a lot of space is devoted to immigrants who arrive from places that are different weather-wise, culturally and places where religion influences food choices.

All that makes perfect sense, but, while our little Covey didn’t fit into these parameters, when we first made our tender steps on this wonderful land, we also experienced food problems.  There were foods we missed such as shop prepared fish and chips carefully wrapped in copious sheets of newspaper.  

Please note: There's NO nice white paper between the food
and the newsprint! 
It all adds to the flavour.

Or maybe we had fond memories of the penny crackling?  For those that don’t know what crackling is (please don't confuse it with the North American "pork crackling" which might be said to have a modicum of nutrition) - it’s the crispy bits of batter that drop off the edges of the fried fish, and really should be scooped up and thrown out.  All that lovely fried greasy batter! Waste not want not!

Crackling in all its glory

At the post-war time that we immigrated, the typical Londoner still had a very limited diet.  Although in our household the effort was made to have three colours on a plate: brown, white and green, which on a good day was represented by bangers and mash with green leaves of some kind. There were times when a change was called for.  If you remember the story of Sweeney Todd, you’ll realise that meat-pies are a favourite meal.  Anytime that you could wrap meat in a piece of pastry you had a winner.  From the fancy Beef Wellington to the cold dish stand-by: Veal and Ham pie. Of course, a serving of Pie and Mash was the piece de resistance for our cockney taste buds.

Potatoes - always scraped onto side of plate.
Green gravy called "liquor" coloured with parsley.
Pie, usually served upside down.

These were all foods that no household actually cooked.  Maybe the fish and chips, but the Pie and Mash never! 

In Canada there were few if any fish and chip shops; Pie and Mash establishments were totally non-existent, and still are. When we fancied any of these gourmet delights, we either made them ourselves or did without.

These were very small deprivations.  Canada is the land of plenty!  Our biggest problems were identifying the wondrous foods that were available in the supermarkets.

What exactly was a cantaloupe?  Did you need to cook a pumpkin?  How about the seeds in a watermelon?  Should you eat them?  The bacon looked a bit paltry, instead of a large rasher you had ribbons of mostly fat with a few streaks of meat. That was until you discovered “Canadian bacon”!  Mostly though, there was no cause for complaint about the food:  there was so much variety and so much quantity it was wonderful.

And then there was the Italian gift to Canada: the ubiquitous Pizza Pie, which brings me to the following story that involves a visit from Mum.

Mum was visiting Canada and taking her turn staying with LS and family.

Imagine if you will, a fine summer evening, LS, husband and daughter are pondering what entertainment they can provide for their visitor.  It’s decided that the Drive-In movies will be a unique experience for Mum, after all, nothing of that nature was available in Blighty.

Generally, Drive-In movies were a favourite outing of the times.  The whole family would pile in the car, even parents of young children could forego the babysitting charges and by the time the movie really got going, the offspring had all fallen asleep in the back seat so Mum and Dad could relax and watch the show.

A typical concession stand

But a really big draw was the “Concession Stand” where snacks of all varieties could be found.  Good movie or bad, when the interval break occurred it was “Tally-Ho” to the food.  Popular items, and a favourite of LS’s daughter were the individual pizzas which were probably not prepared fresh on the premises, but they were nicely warmed-up, so these were the obvious choice for all to enjoy.

Let it be said that Mum was not known for her honest appraisal of anything, and she wasn’t about to change now.  This being the first time she had ever tasted pizza it was no surprise when she declared that it had been: “The best jam tart she had ever tasted!”

 

Parenting 101

ADVENTURES OUTSIDE

Or, who needs "play dates"?

If you’re reading this blog then you probably know that I’m aging not so much like fine wine but more like that left-over soup at the back of your fridge.  Nevertheless, there was a time when I was a young mother with young children to care for and this little story is a memory of that time.

When I look around me I see how mothers today care for their children and it makes me wonder how mine survived.   I’m not referring to the extreme “helicopter” parents who garner a fair amount of newsprint but rather the ones I see driving their children to school, the ones who make sure by arranging “play dates” that their offspring do not play in the dangerous outside.  They are no doubt convinced that the world is a much more perilous place than when they themselves were young.

I don’t know how true those beliefs are I only know how I acted as a parent in the “good ‘ole days”.  Let me tell you.

Immigrant travel in the 1960s

The time frame was the 1960’s.  LS along with her husband and child had just immigrated to Canada.  On the day I’m remembering they were visiting us at our third floor apartment situated on a busy North York street.  My family then consisted of two children.  The eldest was a boisterous 3 year old who, had I known about ADHD, I might have said was afflicted with every letter of the alphabet.  Whereas, LS’s daughter was a 6 year old calm-well-behaved English young lady.

The apartment building where we lived.

Both children were tired of the constraints of the apartment.  They wanted to go outside to play! No problem.  It was a fine spring day and a little fresh air would do them good.  In case you’re thinking that either LS or I would accompany them - let me set the record straight.  We didn’t!   

Instead, the mature 6 year old was given that responsibility, and responsible she was.  She knew she was charged with keeping her small cousin safe and sound.  She kept her eye out for any potential danger.  She surveyed her surroundings and carefully forewarned her young cousin if anything came to light.

It did!  “Whatever you do” she directed, “do not put your finger in that hole, it is dangerous”.

Had I been there, as the mother of this child I would have rather slit my throat than have called attention to something of this nature, especially when it was made even more appealing with the admonition to not go near it.  But I wasn’t there.

Need I say more.

Should you mention this story to the now grown man he will gladly show you the scar on his finger.  Glass makes a nasty cut!

Perhaps today’s parents do know a thing or two.