We ate according to the seasons when I was a girl. Airplanes didn’t whisk fresh fruit and vegetables to Indiana from more tropical climates such as Florida, California and Latin America. We Hoosiers could have fresh green beans, corn on the cob, cucumbers, and watermelon only in the summer. The tomatoes were the product of sun, fresh air and rain, rather than pallid, hard-fleshed things grown in hothouses and the cucumbers were not waxed.
And strawberries, oh the strawberries!
Now, there are real strawberries, and there are the ones that you buy at supermarkets that are designed to be huge, but are virtually tasteless and scentless. What I think of as real strawberries are small, luscious and full of scent.
Knightstown friend, Sarah Ward, came over for lunch and brought with her a gift of strawberries. They sent me into the land of reminiscence, just as a spoonful of tea with a crumb of madeleine did for Proust. Strawberries, watermelon, homegrown tomatoes and corn on the cob symbolized an Indiana summer. One evening our neighborhood feasted after a truck loaded with watermelons turned over on the hill leading to Schatzlein’s greenhouse that used to be in the northwest end of town.
While Wanda Frazier and I were playing outdoors, we’d hear in the distance the chant, “Strawberries . . . straw. . .berries!” with the emphasis on the second word. I’d run home: “Th’ strawberry man’s comin’ down the street!” Mother would give me the money, and I’d go buy berries from him. Strawberry shortcake for supper!
You say eether and I say eyether,
You say neether and I say nyther;
Eether, eyether, neether, nyther,
Let’s call the whole thing off!
You like potato and I like potahto,
You like tomato and I like tomahto;
Potato, potahto, tomato, tomahto!
Let’s call the whole thing off!
“Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off” was written by George and Ira Gershwin and was sung by Fred Astaire, Ella Fitzgerald and Louie Armstrong. The Gershwin brothers also wrote the hauntingly lovely “Song of the Strawberry Woman” in Porgy and Bess.
Now, there are differing views about what constitutes good strawberry shortcake. My family had no use for strawberries mashed and served with store-bought sponge cakes that one of my brothers-in-law wanted. Bill’s family likes shortcake made with sweetened biscuit dough. (I use Bisquick.) He wants his berries sugared and lightly pressed down well ahead of time so that there is more juice.
I don’t want my berries sugared too early as this causes them to become soft. I like them al dente. Sarah and I prefer our berries to be interspersed between layers of pie crust. Bill says, “That’s not shortcake!” Well, that’s what my family called it! My mother made the world’s best melt-in-your-mouth piecrust, using lard. She also baked a double-crust strawberry pie.
Among our favorite treats are the luscious tarts that they make in France. I love the lemon tarts that are intensely lemony, but Bill prefers the strawberry tarts that have berries on top of custard. One time we bought tarts and were eating them out on the street of a little village. I was several feet away from Bill, but when he took a bite the scent of those strawberries wafted through the air. That wouldn’t happen with most supermarket strawberries.
Mind you, I enjoy the variety presented by the big supermarkets that carry fresh herbs, all kinds of pasta, exotic foods, and prepared meals that weren’t available in the good old days. We have become an impatient society of “now.” However, perhaps anticipating, waiting and going without strawberries during the winter months enhanced their flavor. Scarcity makes many things more valuable. If we could pick up diamonds out in our yards, they’d be as worthless as dandelions, wouldn’t they? Come to think of it, perhaps that applies to life in general. wclarke@comcast.net