Thursday was payday, so buying groceries was paramount in Mother’s week. In fact, Wednesday evening she would have probably made supper(not dinner)from the few remaining items in the pantry, possibly a box of macaroni, ketchup, a dented can of mackerel, and dried lima beans. Yum! It takes a talented chef to whip up an appetizing meal from that poor fare. Alas, Mother was no chef, but we were always ravenous, so we ate it. We knew better than to complain. Wednesday breakfast would have likely have been oatmeal, no butter, or God forbid , flap jacks. Mother’s flap jacks were her last resort breakfast. When she got that low, she was likely out of the eggs or milk needed to turn them into decent food. I believe her recipe was:
mix self-rising flour with equal amount of water. Stir until consistency of mashed potatoes. Drop gobs into near-flaming grease. Turn just before gobs ignite. Can be served with pear or fig preserves if you don’t have butter and syrup. Failing that, they can be served with thick brown gravy. Be sure to cook in blazing skillet so they swell up before burning black on both sides Dough should ooze out when pierced with a fork. There should be ample leftovers.
They were as horrible as they sound, nothing but fried dough balls.
My parents usually owned one car, meaning Mother had to drive Daddy to work at 630 and rush back home to get the babies before the big kids caught the bus. All this took place after being up at five-thirty to milk the cow and cook the delicious breakfast described earlier.
Then, she was on her way to pick up Daddy’s check and do the banking. Next, she drove by two small grocery stores to check the specials posted in the windows. She usually managed the bargains with groceries and babies in one buggy. Then, off to do the real shopping at the A&P. Pushing her buggy along, she heaped it up with canned goods, cleaning supplies, big bags of potatoes, dried beans, sugar, flour, butter, meal, produce, and meat. The babies rode along in the second with paper goods, cornflakes, and lightweight items stacked carefully around them.
The car fairly sagged with its cargo. With no availability or funds to purchase lunch, Mother changed and fed the babies a makeshift lunch in the car. Hopefully, they’d be napping amidst the shopping when she got back to pick Daddy up from work.
Back at home, Phyllis and I would be pressed into service to doodle in innumerable parcels, put away groceries, tend babies, and help get dinner started, while Mother got ready for evening milking. In time, Phyllis and I had to milk, a repulsive chore. According to Daddy, men were forbidden in the Bible to milk. “Thou cannot take what thee cannot give” He couldn’t cite the chapter and verse, but knew it was in there. He quoted lots of convenient %#|^ from the Bible.
The financial reckoning came after supper. As Phyllis and I cleared the table and started the dishes, Daddy pushed back from the table, lit a cigarette and asked. “How much did you spend on groceries?”
Mother dreaded this. “I spent about eighteen dollars at the A&P and eight dollars on chicken and hamburger at Barrett’s Market. Oh, I got a box of day bread at the bread store for a dollar.”
“I told you, can’t keep on spending like that. You’ve got to cut back! You need to go get your groceries and bargain with the manager on price!” Daddy had never been grocery shopping in his life, but had to know better than that.
“Bill, I’m not doing any such thing! That’s not how grocery stores work!” and they were off!
Nutsrok 