Aba was dead set on feeding us, always. It just bothered her to think her grandsons had any open space in their stomachs. In Aba’s mind there was always room in there to be filled, and growing boys needed chock full stomachs to become big, strong men.
I loved this quality of Aba’s, mostly because I was always hungry. I was a growing boy for sure, but I was also a big boy, relatively tall and thick. Up until I got to middle school I was what you’d call “husky”, which I think technically means something like “strong and big boned” but back then it was also code for being a bit chubby.
So Aba always wanted to feed and I always wanted to eat, a perfectly symbiotic relationship in which we both got our needs (or at least wants) met. But that’s not necessarily true, is it? Because all I’ve established thus far is that Aba wanted food going in my mouth, as did I, but I’ve made no mention of the type of food, or its taste, or healthfulness. What if Aba wanted to feed me broccoli? Would that’ve worked for me at the age of ten? No way!
These days people talk of filling our bodies with “healthy food” like organic vegetables and lean cuts of meat. Aba came from a similar place in that she wanted me to be healthy, but she had no use for conventional wisdom on what constituted a healthy meal. She had a clear perspective though: big portions of meat was what you needed to grow strong. This was music to my ears, sweet and delicious music that not only filled my stomach, but also warmed my heart and got me excited.
Meat was key here, but equally important were the big portions. In a way quantity was favored over quality, but again Aba didn’t play that game. To her quantity was an aspect of quality, and the size of a meal was part of its healthfulness. More food meant more calories, which meant more life sustaining energy for her grandkids. Treating quality and quantity as separate, unrelated measures didn’t jive with Aba’s worldview. They were linked, and more, simply put, was better.
It was kind of like she was always planning the last meal before a long hibernation, in which you eat as much dense, highly caloric food as you can take in so that you can last the winter. But in our case each meal wasn’t the last one before a multi-month nap. Each meal was one of three we had every day, so there was always another one coming within hours.
Aba was undeterred though and she did what she could to fill us up when she had the chance.
Going over to her house made it easy for her. She had you right where she wanted you. She’d usually bust out the Chunk Ham immediately along with a banana shake, which was just milk and bananas in the blender, but somehow Aba’s banana shakes became neighborhood legend. Our friends swore by them and told tales of the banana shakes to the kids who had not yet been lucky enough to be served one. And what’s Chunk Ham, you ask? It’s a processed ham product a bit like SPAM. It’s sold in the same size can as tuna fish, and the ham comes out in a single puck-sized piece. It’s not a single cut of ham, though, but a processed chunk made up of ham pieces squished together and then dunked in a briny gelatinous fluid.
What can I say, I’ve always loved Chunk Ham. As I write these words I don’t think I’ve eaten Chunk Ham for at least 15 years, and that makes sense as Aba passed away just about 15 years ago. But I can still taste it in my mouth, and this taste memory brings me right back to Aba and her insistence that this was “good food” and that I should eat it all up.
Aba developed a bit of a fascination with Arby’s and there was one on Delaware Avenue back then kind of close to her apartment. It was also processed meat and a lot of it, but this was served warm and sandwich style. They’d also run a special every few months where you could buy five Beef n’ Cheddars for $5, which was amazing. These were roast beef sandwiches on an onion roll with heavenly squeezed cheddar and a little secret red sauce. It was honestly hard to eat just one because then you’d have to somehow suppress the tremendous desires and urges to eat another. So having five was great, even if you were splitting it with your brother, which I typically was. Mike would have two and I’d have two and Aba would have one. She’d show up to watch us and have a bag full of them in her purse, which she’d reveal as soon as my parents closed the door behind them on their way out. I’d jump up and down for joy when Aba made it known Beef ‘n Cheddars were on the menu.
I still feel this way about Beef ‘n Cheddars. They’re comfort food for me and I get excited to eat them every time, which these days is probably every other month. Of course they make think of Aba too, and this is compounded by the fact that the Arby’s I go to now is ancient. It probably hasn’t been remodeled since the 80s, but that only lends to the charm as the whole experience sends me back in time with warm memories.
To be fair, I should mention that the Beef ‘n Cheddars don’t sit as well with my stomach anymore, and I need to be in close proximity to a bathroom for an hour after I eat them. But there’s also something to be said for the mental and spiritual comforts of certain foods that send you to a deep and satisfying emotional place. I honestly believe that these meals are also “good for you,” although in this case they’re soulful benefits rather than physical ones. And yes, I know I just made the claim that eating a Beef ‘n Cheddar is a spiritual experience, or at least it can be. That’s just how I feel and there’s no talking me out of it. Many won’t agree, but I’ve also met plenty of people who know exactly what I’m talking about.
Once I got to college Aba adjusted her approach to feeding me. This was driven by necessity as hand delivering a bag of Beef ‘n Cheddars was no longer an option as I now lived about 400 miles away in Washington DC. So Aba sent care packages instead. There’d always be a few things in there, a card usually, maybe some cookies, but most of it was meat. I’d find cans of Chunk Ham, and also sticks of summer sausage both large and small. I loved it when these packages would arrive. My friends found the boxes of meat hilarious and strange, but it was what it was. Aba kept the packages flowing throughout my years in college and I was glad. It’s great to have food, any food, when you’re on a college budget. I can still remember devouring thick slices of summer sausage late at night when I was hungry before bed.
There were other things Aba fed us, like her homemade chicken nuggets, but the reality is that outside of these heavenly nuggets and her extraordinary banana shakes, Aba wasn’t a great cook. But she was a great feeder. She had a passion for it.
I’ve often wondered how Aba developed such a stance on eating and health. I’ve always assumed it was because she grew up in a time when there was less. She was a young person, not even a teenager, when the depression hit. Aba lived in Cuba then, but there were major effects there too.
Aba also immigrated to the United States in her 40s with my grandfather, my father and my uncle. They left Cuba with just the clothes they were wearing and had to start over with nothing
These circumstances may have created within Aba a bit of a hunter-gatherer mentality. When you’re really hungry you eat what you can, you eat what’s available, you eat what cost effectively will fill your belly, because you’re not sure if and when the next meal is coming. If given the choice, you go for the option that’s cheap and calorie rich, that will keep you going for as long as possible. By this logic it makes sense to eat processed pucks of meat because they deliver so much energy and sustenance, certainly way more than a plate of broccoli or a dinner salad.
The constant feeding is also a common grandmother quality. Aba definitely wasn’t the only one gorging her grandkids with foods of questionable health. Is there something about being a grandmother that drives this need to feed? Or is it the time and place and circumstances in which these grandmothers grew up?
In some cultures, like in Cuba and throughout Latin America, meat was the main and special event of a meal. It was also something you might not have every meal. You’d have roast pork on special occasions, but only on special occasions, and for these special meals you’d roll out the good stuff, the best stuff, the tastiest and most filling foods. I can only assume this would create a mindset around those foods that elevated them, that made you want to eat them whenever available, because you always celebrated the occasions when they were served.
But then this culture, in which you eat special meats only on special occasions because you can only afford it every once in a while, finds its way to America in the 20th century. And then America starts to mass produce meaty treats, making them cheaper and more widely available. Even though they’re not the same quality of a roast pork that would be cooked for a Sunday family get together, they’re salty and delicious and packed with protein. And the price keeps dropping to the point where you can buy freshly prepared beef and cheese sandwiches for less money than you could make them yourself if you bought all the ingredients at the supermarket. Seriously, what’s a grandmother supposed to do here? She’s helpless in these circumstances because she can’t resist feeding her grandkids the way she always wanted to be fed as a kid. But she was also empowered because she now had the means to buy special occasion food on command, and she also knew she could literally make us jump up and down cheering when she did so. No wonder Beef n’ Cheddars became a tradition that I’m still talking about today.
Whether the intersection of “depression culture” and “American excess” played a role here or is just the backdrop to which it all took place I guess doesn’t matter all that much, because it’s all in the past and I’m honestly grateful for it.
Aba taught me how lovely it can be to overindulge in meaty feasts, and how those moments of indulgence are actually good for your soul. Moderation is definitely important, especially now that I’m older and no longer have the world class metabolism that I once did, but so is the pure joy of stuffing your face. It’s something I’ll always love, even if now it happens less often.
I’m actually a relatively healthy eater these days. But I always leave a little room in my life for Beef n’ Cheddars, pizza and chicken wings, Reuben sandwiches and late night steak hoagies. In my mind, eating right most of the time and working out regularly gives me license to keep eating these gluttonous meals once in a while, and I do what it takes to make me feel that I’ve earned them.
Aba fed us with pride and determination. She did what she thought best to make us strong and healthy, and I love that she did this. I also love the salty, processed meats she served and I always will.