Another story Dad liked to tell related to how poor they were growing up. During the Depression, whenever there was a dinner to be served and not enough fired chicken to go around, Grandma would call the kids into the kitchen and instruct them that would not take any chicken for dinner. If they were asked why they weren’t eating the chicken they were supposed to respond that they really didn’t like the taste of chicken. According to Dad, Grandma always chose to eat the neck because that was one of the least desirable pieces of chicken. But in reality, Dad maintained that it always had a lot of good tasting meat on it.
Dad had some interesting food memories. He hated homemade bread. He grew up eating butter sandwiches with two thick slices of homemade bread and a slather of butter. He grew to really hate homemade bread.
Something I never quite understood. He hated pork. He would gladly eat bacon and ham. But I don’t think we ever, or rarely, had a pork roast at home.
Oh well, just some random thoughts.