If that is so, then these days I would be a half cup of Haagen-Dazs coffee ice cream — my daily guilty pleasure. But I didn’t start out that way.

My sister and I were not breast-fed babies; we began life on a home-prepared, physician-recommended formula of — brace yourselves — Carnation Evaporated Milk and Karo Syrup. And we were healthy in spite of it. I don’t know exactly what we were fed when we were ready for solid foods — probably Gerber’s baby foods; but my earliest memories are of regular grown-up food. And lots of it.

I was raised in the midst of parents, old-world grandparents, and lots of aunts and uncles. And food seemed to be the center of our universe. Really, really good food. So if we are indeed what we eat, here is an idea of what I am made of:

For some reason, the first thing that always comes to mind is pot roast, usually made with beef brisket or chuck roast, onions, potatoes and carrots, all in one pot, braised on top of the stove and then nicely browned in the oven. Can you smell it? I can. And sometimes there would be a stack of Bubbe’s incredible potato latkes to go with it.

We ate a lot of chicken, too — my grandparents had a chicken coop in the back yard, so those birds were really fresh when they hit the pot for roasting or braising or stewing. And there were occasional veal chops, dipped in an egg wash and flour and fried — not sauteed — in plenty of solid Crisco, with onions, of course. Or roast beef tongue, cooked slowly in the oven to tender perfection. And frequently — again fried — beef liver with onions.

Right now I sense that some of you are gagging on those last two items — I realize that not everyone is into organ meats. But I loved them then, and still do. Which, I suppose, is why my entire family has been on cholesterol-lowering medication for years. But it was worth it.

The best recipes, though, were the ones my Bubbe (grandmother) brought with her from the old country: the knishes, the kasha with bowtie pasta, the matzo balls swimming in rich chicken soup, and — best of all — the cabbage rolls made with ground beef and a thick tomato sauce. In Russian, they’re called golubtsy.

Okay, that’s enough food — I’m drooling now. But you get the idea.

My diet today is much lighter and healthier, but not nearly as satisfying. I do, however, allow myself that one nightly half-cup of Haagen-Dazs coffee ice cream. At my age, I’m entitled.

So there you have it. Based on the above, it would seem that I am comprised of 1/4 part animal protein, 1/4 good carbs, 1/4 bad carbs, 1/4 trans-fatty acids, not nearly enough fiber except for that cabbage, and lots and lots of the love that went into the making of every single dish. All of which explains these hips.

I don’t recommend the diet of my early years for everyone. But remembering the taste of the food, the warmth of the kitchen, and the constant presence of all those relatives . . . well, I wouldn’t trade my childhood for the world.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
8/3/23