a fridge full of food and why that matters to me
So y'see, I've got this odd problem in the household. The problem is that there's too much food. There's so much that it's pretty much a constant struggle to eat things fast enough before they go bad. Dad is constantly buying groceries. He has this amazing knack for finding deals that he buys enough to feed a whole family for cheaper than I could just for myself. But what exactly do we do with a hundred pounds of potatoes or a literal crate of apples? Mom on the other hand cooks and bakes constantly. Half of it winds up going into the freezer, to be dug up later. Grandma is a snack hoarder, and constantly tells me I need to take boxes of crackers or other things and store them in my bedroom somewhere.
I know, I know... first world problems, but interestingly stemming from third (probably more like second) world roots. The fact that there's a fridge with food in it, the fact that there's literally 3 grocery stores within a five minute driving radius of home, the fact that if I had to there's probably enough food to last a month in the household... I take these things completely for granted.
The other day my father was telling me a story from his childhood. These were the years after WW2 and before the Cultural Revolution. Poverty was the norm in rural China. He was recounting a story about his mother, my grandma, and what dinnertime was like. How grandma would prepare a bowl of rice, and then mix a single egg with a cup of water. This single watered down egg would make a small omelette, to be split amoung the four children. There's a brief pause in the story as my dad so casually mentions that at this point he had already lost an older brother and sister due to famine. So grandma would then cut this omelette into four slices, and give one slice each to her children on top of the quarter cup of rice. She would then scrape out the pan and that would be what she ate for herself.
I cannot even begin to relate to this. As I sit here in front of my computer, there's an empty plate to my side that had a grilled cheese sandwich on it a few minutes ago. A half hour before that I ate a banana and apple. I'm still feeling kinda peckish so I can probably rummage and heat up some cabbage rolls in the microwave, or take a pizza out of the freezer, or heat up some rice and ribs leftover from last night. I have so many options it's not even a question of whether I'll be satisfied, but more a matter of what's been sitting in the fridge longest that I should eat first so it doesn't go bad.
There is no point in my life where I have been truly hungry. Oh sure there were some days I was busy at work and didn't eat until I got home, or how about that time doing the 24-hr famine for school or church fundraisers. But true hunger? The kind that comes coupled with fear and uncertainty on when you would eat next? At some point today I'm probably going to look in the mirror and kinda whine at myself that I could stand to lose some weight. The only hunger I know is the mild annoyance in the gut when I haven't snacked on something in a couple hours.
And here I am, at a place in life where I can complain that my family cooks too much food. That mom has this annoying habit of ruining meals by freezing them when they'd be better fresh. That dad buys too much and we have to throw stuff out. That grandma tries to give me too many snacks and I feel guilty telling her no all the time and actually kinda snapping at her because she won't take no for an answer.
What a stupid blessed life I live.
So I need to step back and look at why they are like this. Dad buys so much food because he can. Because it's a wonder to be able to have so much and provide for so many all at once; to have so much that no one will starve to death ever again. That mom will constantly cook and prepare meals, and everything has to be presented and look just right, because in the old days when you celebrated, you did it with food. That was it. Survival was about food, and anything worth celebrating was done with food, and you made it look good. If you wanted to show off to guests, you showered them with food and insist that it was no effort at all. Grandma hoards food, because she lived through the war era. Where food was even so scarce that you had to hide whatever you had, so others wouldn't steal it.
What a blessed life I live.
I should be more thankful for what I have.
I know, I know... first world problems, but interestingly stemming from third (probably more like second) world roots. The fact that there's a fridge with food in it, the fact that there's literally 3 grocery stores within a five minute driving radius of home, the fact that if I had to there's probably enough food to last a month in the household... I take these things completely for granted.
The other day my father was telling me a story from his childhood. These were the years after WW2 and before the Cultural Revolution. Poverty was the norm in rural China. He was recounting a story about his mother, my grandma, and what dinnertime was like. How grandma would prepare a bowl of rice, and then mix a single egg with a cup of water. This single watered down egg would make a small omelette, to be split amoung the four children. There's a brief pause in the story as my dad so casually mentions that at this point he had already lost an older brother and sister due to famine. So grandma would then cut this omelette into four slices, and give one slice each to her children on top of the quarter cup of rice. She would then scrape out the pan and that would be what she ate for herself.
I cannot even begin to relate to this. As I sit here in front of my computer, there's an empty plate to my side that had a grilled cheese sandwich on it a few minutes ago. A half hour before that I ate a banana and apple. I'm still feeling kinda peckish so I can probably rummage and heat up some cabbage rolls in the microwave, or take a pizza out of the freezer, or heat up some rice and ribs leftover from last night. I have so many options it's not even a question of whether I'll be satisfied, but more a matter of what's been sitting in the fridge longest that I should eat first so it doesn't go bad.
There is no point in my life where I have been truly hungry. Oh sure there were some days I was busy at work and didn't eat until I got home, or how about that time doing the 24-hr famine for school or church fundraisers. But true hunger? The kind that comes coupled with fear and uncertainty on when you would eat next? At some point today I'm probably going to look in the mirror and kinda whine at myself that I could stand to lose some weight. The only hunger I know is the mild annoyance in the gut when I haven't snacked on something in a couple hours.
And here I am, at a place in life where I can complain that my family cooks too much food. That mom has this annoying habit of ruining meals by freezing them when they'd be better fresh. That dad buys too much and we have to throw stuff out. That grandma tries to give me too many snacks and I feel guilty telling her no all the time and actually kinda snapping at her because she won't take no for an answer.
What a stupid blessed life I live.
So I need to step back and look at why they are like this. Dad buys so much food because he can. Because it's a wonder to be able to have so much and provide for so many all at once; to have so much that no one will starve to death ever again. That mom will constantly cook and prepare meals, and everything has to be presented and look just right, because in the old days when you celebrated, you did it with food. That was it. Survival was about food, and anything worth celebrating was done with food, and you made it look good. If you wanted to show off to guests, you showered them with food and insist that it was no effort at all. Grandma hoards food, because she lived through the war era. Where food was even so scarce that you had to hide whatever you had, so others wouldn't steal it.
What a blessed life I live.
I should be more thankful for what I have.