the mythology of a family tree has practical roots
Hard marshmallow bunnies were a favourite chocolatey, chewy variation of spun sugar. Not until as an adult was I to discover that nobody stocks these concoctions.
Those unsold go on drastic sale after easter. That was mom’s cue to swoop in, buy low; let them mellow a year. Confectionery fine wine and scarce as diamonds.
So it was price that influenced preference for a treat more chewy than squishy. Preferred over fleshy, boob-shaped cakes. Marshmallow only a zombie could love.
Would such products even exist were it not for war-time shortages of flour and sugar, fuelling craving for what we can’t have with desire for concoctions we do not need?
Economics influenced other traditions. One cousin cuts off both ends of the turkey. Not for culinary reasons (also discovered as an adult), but to fit bird to pan.
We had sandwich wedges for hasty supper, in anxious excitement to see the lights before gift exchange. In another truth, snacks were all mom and dad could afford.
The best sled was appliance store cardboard, slicker than slobber, girth to cargo all. Able to crash on cue and accept its fate warming star-lit hands of a band of kids.
Economics honed our Hemingway outlook of filling in the spaces with imagination. Participants, not spectators, owning our stories with a truth less poor, more chewy.
