Let Them Eat Cake

 Back in the ‘70s, one of the Andrews who wrote for New York magazine (Tobias? Solomon?) wrote a piece advising people of a certain income level that it would be better for them to shove a case of canned tuna under their bed than to put money in a savings account. Now the cost of that case of tuna is beyond the means of quite a few and a savings account is as useful as a piggy bank.

When our current century was still young and not yet covered in battle scars, I bought a case of Mama noodles to put under my bed. I think I could still afford that investment but I know my blood pressure would rebel. The flood of palm oil and all the delicious additives that make Mama the world’s easiest comfort food also make it one of the least healthy staples. 

For a person who is indifferent to grocery shopping, I still spend far too much of my monthly Social Security check on food, a fact that’s belied by the contents of my refrigerator. I blame this on my homestead upbringing and the food that nourished me when I was a child. All of the economical measures that determined what went on my plate every day--50 pounds of potatoes in a burlap bag, cases of canned green beans, corn, and peas, Crisco in cans so large that they often served as seating for guests at the supper table, enough sugar and flour to last through the winter--kill my appetite with the mere memory of them. They turned me into a person who only stocks up on condiments and a bag of rice to accompany whatever I decide to eat that day. Even if I could afford the financial outlay required by a case of tuna fish, the obligatory nature of it lurking under my bed would deter me from eating it--which I suppose is the point. Survival rations rarely inspire a bout of binge eating.

Then there’s the matter of canned tuna fish itself in this era. Cleverly, manufacturers have abolished the need for a can opener, giving most canned tuna a top that resembles what's found on canned cat food. The resemblance doesn’t end there. Is it a health measure or an economic one that has packed that tuna in water instead of olive oil? No matter which, the result is the same--a dismal lack of flavor that makes a can of Fancy Feast seem almost succulent. That case of tuna has become the nightmare that used to prey upon single women, the one in which they were old, alone, and living on cat food.

Occasionally I’m given a magazine from the days of my childhood and as I study the advertisements, my personal nightmare reawakens. 

Remember casseroles? Remember when a can of Campbell’s soup was the only flavoring agent and garlic powder was an exotic ingredient? If your memory flags, go to an old school NYC outer borough diner where salt, pepper, and a dash or two of Tabasco sauce are the only condiments in the kitchen or on the table. No wonder cocktail hour was a staple in many middle class homes in mid-Century America. To face the dinner table, fortification was essential.

The pendulum made its customary swing and suddenly Julia Child replaced Peg Bracken. The housewives who, in Ms. Bracken’s words, “would rather wrap their hands around a dry martini than a wet flounder” began to labor over recipes that had them tottering by the end of the day, perhaps because of frequent sips of the wine that went into those complicated and exhausting meals. No wonder American women were always on a diet. They were simply too tired to pick up a fork.

God knows what's going on in this country’s kitchens now. What I find telling is that Gourmet and Bon Appetit have disappeared from magazine displays--and so have Woman’s Day and Family Circle. When I make my annual purchase of Real Simple, I’m always dazzled by the preponderance of recipes for pasta and the lack of ones for desserts. There’s a clue, I suppose. Unfortunately the food photography is always more tempting than the recipes; although I may tear out a page for future inspiration, it always ends up in the recycling bag.

Instead I spend a generous portion of my food budget on condiments. A case of fish sauce under the bed? Now we’re talking…