I found myself at the grocery store almost daily in the flurry of preparations leading up to Christmas. I was buzzing by the produce section when the package of pearl onions stood out from its spot in the case. Despite the pressures of the moment, my attention was lifted back to another time.
My grandmother adored pearl onions. She wouldn’t pay the grocery store price, so she cultivated her own in a shallow plot beside their country home. The dirt was dry and loose in the warm days leading up to the fall. The onions, resting just below the surface, dislodged easily to the pull of a hand. Their skins were already drying at the edges as my grandmother arranged them across a screen in the garage to dry some more.
The anticipation of her harvest was palpable. She wasn’t a fancy cook but had an acceptable rotating menu. She cooked a roast in a Dutch oven. It stewed for hours, surrounded by root vegetables. The pearl onions were served as a side dish in a creamy white sauce. It was a marriage of meat and potatoes and a refined companion.
I speculate that tradition and your family largely influence what you eat. I’m not talking about the finer distinctions, whether a dinner roll accompanies a spaghetti dinner or the fat content of the yogurt you have for breakfast. A broader perspective includes people who rarely have a home-cooked meal versus those who eat around a table at least five nights a week. And then again, those who take the time to grow their special delicacies and serve them at their table.
Home Economics 