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In the Midwest during the 1940s fresh fruits and vegetables were scarce
until the
weather warmed enough for local farmers and gardeners to begin
working their
wonders with the soil. During the winter some families might be
lucky enough to enjoy
home canned peaches, pears, tomatoes, or corn while others depended
upon the
commercially canned products that paled in comparison. So summer
was welcomed not
only for its warm temperatures and long days, but for the fruits
and vegetables produced
during the summer growing season.
My family enjoyed the culinary variations made from this bounty that came from
Mother’s kitchen. She was skilled at finding the best locally grown leaf
lettuce, chard,
tomatoes, white and red radishes, and green onions for her salads. She searched
out
the first sour red cherries, apples, and rhubarb of the season to make pies
so rich they
hardly needed ice cream on the side. We ate browned new potatoes and carrots
with
pork roast and gravy and green beans galore simmered with bits of bacon.
Mom wasn’t a gardener herself, preferring to concentrate on homemaking
chores
inside the house, except during World War II when people were asked to grow
victory
gardens to help prevent food shortages. Ours was a rather pathetic effort that,
because
of the ineptness of the gardeners, was planted in an uneven crescent shape
that my
father dubbed the “rainbow garden.” We gave up on that venture
after the threat of food
scarcity was over.
My mother knew the people in town who kept gardens and were willing to sell
their produce. I often went with her, sometimes ending up in a remote corner
of the
township at a modest, well-tended house that I’d never seen before. Often
we’d go to
Mrs. Book’s house, which was an old Victorian style that housed her many
children and
even some of their off-spring. I’d trudge up and down the rows of vegetables
behind
them, Mom saying what she wanted and Mrs. Book pointing out her best choices
for
that particular day. The hot sun was often intensified by high humidity from
recent rains,
those two essentials for a good growing season. Bugs swarmed around my bare
arms
and legs, and I’d take refuge in the shade to play with the kittens that
Mrs. Book’s cats
produced with amazing regularity.
Farmers came to our town on Saturdays and sold fruits and vegetables from the
back of their trucks, which they parked on the downtown square. A truck bed
would be
piled high with watermelons and the seller always cut a plug in the one Mom
thought
looked best, a guarantee of perfect rosy ripeness that watermelon lovers no
longer
expect when buying from today’s chain supermarkets. Roadside vegetable
stands
proliferated along the highways and often consisted of no more than a sturdy
table set
up on the edge of a farmer’s field and manned by his children. When my
father went out
of town on business, he might bring home the first tender sweet corn of the
season or
juicy tart tomatoes, a much-anticipated event in early August. After I grew
up and
moved away, I always planned my yearly visits home to coincide with the ripening
of
those two local delicacies. Add to them a tender Iowa steak or pork chop seared
to
perfect doneness in an iron skillet, and you have the ultimate late-summer
Midwestern
dining experience.
The salad I remember best from my childhood reflected that emphasis on good
fresh ingredients. Mom would arrange thinly sliced tomatoes, sweet onion, and
cucumbers on salad plates for each family member, and we made our own dressing
from cruets of oil and vinegar at the table. It took some practice to get the
proportions
right, and learning how to turn oil and vinegar into delicious dressing was
probably my
first salad-making lesson. Topped with salt and pepper, that simple salad tasted
as
fresh as the breezes wafting in the dining room door behind me. After we’d
eaten, while
everyone else lingered over iced tea and conversation, I’d carry my salad
plate to the
kitchen and lean over the sink to drink the remaining dressing mixed with juice
from the
tomatoes.
The dressing my mother used most often for lettuce salads consisted of lemon
and vegetable oil. She would squeeze a lemon into her glass juice squeezer
and then
add just enough oil, salt, and pepper to the squeezer and then pour the dressing
over
the salad ingredients. I never have learned to make this dressing by instinct
as my
mother did, so I rely on measuring the ingredients and have added balsamic
vinegar
and substituted olive oil, two ingredients more popular now than then.
Mom’s Vinaigrette Dressing with Lemon
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
½ cup olive oil
Salt and pepper
Variations to add: ¼ teaspoon dry mustard
½ teaspoon dried or 1 teaspoon fresh basil
Minced garlic clove
Mix ingredients well before tossing with your favorite combination of greens.
Every time my mother made her favorite fruit dressing she exclaimed about how
delicious it tasted. This was not vanity on her part, because the recipe was
given to her
by the daughter-in-law of one of her closest friends. Mom always appreciated
the
camaraderie of shared recipes from friends and acquaintances and treasured
their
newness and difference from her own collection of recipes. The dressing is
equally
compatible with summer and winter fruits. Slices of melon such as cantaloupe
or honey
dew, peaches, pears, apricots, and grapes in summer and winter staples like
oranges
and apples all go well with this dressing. Mom especially liked the flavors
of grapefruit
and avocado with this dressing.
Floss’s Honey Dressing
2/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon dry mustard
1 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon celery seed
1 cup vegetable oil
1/3 cup honey
1 tablespoon lemon juice
5 tablespoons vinegar
Mix the dry ingredients. Add oil gradually and beat well, then
add the lemon juice
and vinegar. The amount of sugar can be decreased and honey portion
increased according to taste.
When I was a kid, I could never quite see the logic of wilted lettuce.
Why would
you put a hot dressing on fresh leaf lettuce? I thought lettuce
should be crisp and cool,
not wilted to eat on a hot summer’s day. Mom didn’t share my
opinion and often, when
she’d rounded up some particularly good leaf lettuce from one of her
gardening
sources, she would make wilted lettuce for dinner. Admittedly the
aroma of bacon mixed
with garlic and vinegar made my mouth water, and the salad tasted
just as good as the
smell of warmed dressing had promised. Mother usually eschewed
sweetening in
recipes that weren’t of the desert variety, the honey dressing above
being an exception.
Her wilted lettuce dressing does not contain the sugar that most
recipes specify, but a
teaspoon of sugar may be added for those who prefer a sweet and
sour flavor.
Wilted Lettuce
2 cups shredded leaf lettuce
½ small onion, chopped
2 strips of bacon cut into small pieces
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tablespoons vinegar
Salt and pepper
Wash and shred lettuce, add chopped onion. Brown the bacon and remove
bacon bits with slotted spoon to paper towel. Add vinegar and garlic to the
bacon
fat, heat and then toss with lettuce, bacon bits, salt, and pepper to taste.
Serve
immediately.
This old-fashioned dish originated with the Dutch and was served in many
variations at Midwestern tables. In 1869 my mother’s paternal grandparents
emigrated
from a German town near the Dutch border to homestead farmland
in eastern
Nebraska. She identified with the heritage of her father’s people
and enjoyed preparing
the specialties passed on through his family. Stewed chicken with
noodles, hot German
potato salad, cookies spiced with ginger or caraway seed, and festive
New Year’s cakes
made in the old cast iron mold, with long handles to hold over
the oven fire, that she’d
inherited from her German relatives. Wilted lettuce was just one
of those dishes that
brought back her own childhood memories of good food and a close-knit
family circle.
Recipes are from the collection of Anna May Cullison.
Margaret Cullison
has recently retired from public education and moved to southern
Oregon. Now liberated from work, she's happy to be writing again.
She can be reached at tekie@charter.net.
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