Memories are Made of this . . .

At South Shore Organics we had peas for our baskets this week, not just any peas, but English Peas.  I love peas, I do - I think they are my favorite vegetable.  There is an often retold story around our family dinner table of me as a little girl, a toddler no less, at a wedding - my mom had made my little cotton sundress with a matching sun hat.  Come dinner time I was tired, it had been a long day but I refused a nap and why?  Because peas were on the menu that's why.  Apparently, or so it has been said, I went around to each of the guests at the wedding, many of them complete strangers to me, and helped myself to a few peas off each plate - not all of them mind you, I am not greedy afterall, just a few . . . and nothing else on the menu interested me.  Of course, the same story trails on into that evening (still refusing a nap) while all the guests were on the dance floor and their drinks were unattended I was strolling around taking a sip out of this glass and a sip out of that one.  My mom says I was already tipsy by the time she figured out what I was up to - but there you go, peas and booze, what does that say about me?

I don't remember a thing (are we surprised?) but what I do remember is years later standing in my mom's kitchen shelling peas.  I think we ate more than we put in the bowl and I don't remember which house we were in at the time, or how old I was - all I remember is shelling peas and some for me . . . and a few for the pot . . . and some for me . . . yum!  There is honestly nothing nicer than fresh peas.

The shelled peas took me by the hand and lead me down a meandering path of other food memories I have: baking with my gran; my mom's awesome chocolate cake; oat crunchies; licking the bowl - hmmm hmmm - roast dinners; boiling jam . . . and those in turn melt into other memories: long walks with my gran (I swear she knew the names of all the hundreds of thousands of wildflowers that grew all around); beach holidays; birthdays; sunday lunches . . . and the common denominator in all of these memories is family . . . family. 

How important are our food memories to our upbringing?  Do contribute in any way to the adults we become?  And not just Thanksgiving and Christmas food memories, but all of them?  Mine are important to me I know that, and I treasure them.  What about the food memories we are giving our children?  Will they look back on meals or experiences in the kitchen with the same sepia-tinted warm fondness that I do?  What will those memories be of for the next generation?  Supermarkets?  Wendy's?  MacDonalds?  Heat and Eat?  Cold cuts? Friendly's?  Or shelled peas, home cooked meals and wiping the last smidgeon of chocolate icing from a bowl with your finger?

It seems to me these memories are an important consideration for parents as we work hard to shape young minds.  When you think about it, meals are an integral part of our culture, they provide children with so much more than just a plate of food, it gives them an identity, it is what stories are built on, how connections are made.  Meals give children access to grandparents, moms and dads, brothers and sisters.  It is the one moment in time where even the littlest hands can help in the kitchen, and when we all sit together and be together without all the distractions that happen throughout the day.   It's like a mastercard ad:  chicken - $15, vegetables - $10, assorted groceries - $5, a meal prepared and enjoyed by all: priceless.

If you are one of the families that received peas in your basket this week, then let little hands help you shell them, and if you don't have children well then, you are not to old to enjoy some for you, a few for the pot, some for you . . .