RIP Chef Boyardee, by Barbara Rady Kazdan

Who invented chia seeds?  When did making a salad start with arugula or kale? 

On a visit to Seattle several years ago, my hostess asked, “Are you a foodie?”      

I’d never heard the term, so I assumed I was not.  Today I’d get some points for the way I shop for food – at organic markets or the natural foods aisle of the supermarket – and what I do and don’t eat (sweet potatoes, yes; red no; whole grain anything, yes; white flour anything, no.) Asian restaurants? Brown rice, please.  

For most of my long life salad started with iceberg lettuce and ended with Kraft or Wishbone dressing – Italian, French, Thousand Island or the enticingly exotic Seven Seas.   Now I choose between extra virgin (immaculately conceived?) olive oil, grapeseed or sunflower oil and add vinegar – not the coffee-pot cleaning kind but a palate-pleasing rice or balsamic.  And how did raw fish and seaweed go from off-putting to delectable?  I relate to the guy in the 80s movie, Desperately Seeking Susan, who said, “I bought some of that sushi and brought it home and cooked it.”  

GenXers not only made sushi trendy but also transformed coffee.  As newlyweds my Baby Boomer husband and I started our day with instant Maxwell House. At work a vending machine converted powdered coffee into a caffeinated mystery brew to which I’d add Coffee-Mate and artificial sweetener. My GenX offspring browse the aisles of specialty stores to find coffee beans with the perfect combination of roast, origin, and flavor notes (ethically grown, non-GMO of course.

Sometimes I think science provides too much information: turns out there’s a carcinogen that creeps into coffee when it’s brewed. So when I visit my son Jake in Los Angeles I find cold brewed coffee in his fridge, a beverage not to be confused with what my generation held our noses and drank when our nice hot cuppa grew cold. Happily, Jake and his wife own a stovetop espresso and coffee maker, but it works in mysterious ways so I need one of them to make me a cup.

I bless and curse the nutritionist who scared me straight (and took all the fun out of eating). Thanks to her, tofu is a staple in my diet.  I don’t know what it is, it certainly has no flavor, but I’ve learned how to disguise it until I can almost forget it’s there.  I make a meal out of tofu (smashed) mixed with yogurt (an item that now takes up half the dairy aisle), organic berries, raw walnuts and yes, a generous sprinkling of chia seeds. Yum.  Better than eggs, pancakes and a side of bacon?  Define “better.”

Enlightened, I buy oatmeal with flaxseeds in it. Sprinkled with blueberries (brain food) and doused with oat milk (of course) I spring up from the breakfast table ready to go full throttle until lunchtime. Then a mix of greens, feta and sunflower seeds propels me through the afternoon. Dinner?  Wild-caught Alaskan salmon (defrosted and nuked with flair), lentils, and organic, locally grown vegetables.

I grew up believing that Wonder Bread, “enriched with vitamins and minerals,” was all I’d ever need. Howdy Doody and Buffalo Bob told me it built strong bodies eight ways! Now I choose whole wheat bread, preferably sprouted, with seeds and nuts. Do I miss the classic PB&J?  Yes, but I make do with organic almond butter and all fruit jelly on that same whole wheat bread. 

What a difference from the Frosted Flakes breakfast, salami sandwich with potato chips lunch, and dinners of pot roast with canned veggies or brisket with drippings-soaked carrots and potatoes. How did I survive childhood?  Speaking of which, with the graying of America, I look forward to reading more of my favorite interviews: 

“What’s the secret to your longevity, Mrs. Don’t Need No Doctors?”         

“I fry my food in bacon grease, add plenty of salt, love sweets – especially donuts – and enjoy a smoke and a shot of bourbon before bed. Most days I sit on my rocker and watch TV.” 

Don’t tell my doctor but after my annual physical I lunch on a double cheeseburger with extra fries and dine on pepperoni pizza. For dessert? Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, straight out of the carton.  For that one day I throw calorie and cholesterol worries to the wind.

Just when I think I’m riding the latest health food wave something comes along to put me in my place:  

“I’m going to make this for you as a side for an omelet,” Jake promised, as he checked the ancient grains choices before adding a box of faro to our grocery cart. (The only ancient grains in my pantry are some instant grits in a hard-to-reach spot.) 

My culinary education continues each time I visit Jake. He knows how to choose among the array of mushrooms offered at farmers markets. (Who knows what Campbell used in their cream of mushroom soup; I just poured it over tuna and green beans, topped it off with a can of fried onion rings and popped it in the oven. Those casseroles graced our dinner table for years.) 

When raising my children I bought Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese by the case, and served various versions of versatile Velveeta.  My cooking utensils?  A can opener, spoon, big pot and strainer. When I took the time to boil up some pasta I topped it with Ragu tomato sauce. But most of the pasta I served came straight from the Chef Boyardee can. Somehow my children flourished. 

Jake and his wife, like many in “beyond Boomer” generations, cook everything from scratch. 

“I’m going to make you the best omelet you’ve ever tasted,” he told me. “The chef at an upscale LA restaurant makes it; I watched his YouTube video. It’s just eggs, chives, wild mushrooms and goat cheese, gently cooked so there’s no browning.”   

On a refreshingly different note, while out in LA I met my granddaughter Hallie for breakfast. A junior at USC, she’s no stranger to trendy foods and healthy eating.  Where did she choose to meet? At Mel’s Diner, a replica of the truck stop diner in the 70s TV sitcom. Grinning broadly like partners in crime, we devoured pancakes slathered with butter and syrup, scrambled eggs and crisp bacon. Then, eyeing the tabletop jukebox, she confessed, “I’ve never played one.”  Grandma gave her a quarter, and Paul Anka serenaded us with Lonely Boy.

–

---

With a BA in English Literature from the University of Michigan, Barbara Rady Kazdan founded two nonprofits and guided social entrepreneurs as director of Ashoka U.S. Retired and widowed, she workshops her essays in a Silver Spring, MD memoir group. In the works now: Oh. I’m a Widow! Sample her writing at www.achievingchangetogether.com/published-essays

© 2023, Barbara Rady Kazdan