Hello Michael, I wanted to let you know I made your peas with feta and dill and it was so simple and delicious that I made it again, immediately! Do you have anything simple like that for mushrooms? I loved them as a kid when my mother sautéed them in butter and then put sour cream in (who wouldn't) and I wondered if you have a rather simple recipe for them?
This was so lovely, Michael. As with all of your writing, your gift of observation and recounting those details brings these memories and moments such life. I am only sorry that I cannot reach across the screen and offer a hug.
In my family, we never ate before a holiday meal (cue visits to the DQ for a burger once one of us kids could drive). With my husband, they eat all day and shrimp cocktail is a must. Sauce is just catsup and horseradish, but I usually add some lemon juice.
Lemon juice is a must, in my book. And I once worked at a Dairy Queen for one shift. I quit when I knew I'd never be allowed to decorate the ice cream cakes because that was Gwen Stefani's brother Eric's job.
Shrimp cocktail and Scotch define every special occasion, holiday and even normal days for my family. My grandparents were the heads of our household and both loved the crustaceans. I grew up thinking everyone had seemingly endless fresh shrimp whenever they felt like it. Like you, I learned to drink Scotch to be part of the action. Thank you for bringing it all back to me.
what a lovely story about your parents! the shrimp cocktail brought be right back to my own parents' parties in the early 1960s where shrimp cocktail in fancy glassware was a staple ingredient. In the early morning my sister and I would explore the remains of the grown-up's buffet table and nibble on the leftovers...
😁 I only remember tasting the cocktail sauce and not the shrimp so you're probably right…also we were probably immunized due to eating raw ground round as “steak tartare” on a regular basis.
I love this. Sounds like you gave them that hour of hemi-demi-semi normality. And your father achieved dip, perhaps channeling mid-century Vegas (and your Vegas trips) as he did so. I had to write, for the AAA magazine, some potted histories of foods of the West (cioppino (here), California roll (LA), sopaipilla (New Mexico), funeral potatoes (Utah)) and the editor asked me to do a quick hit on the shrimp cocktail for our Nevada bit. It seems to have become the most popular hors d'oeuvre in America by the 1980s, but not so much now. I didn't look to see what had replaced it. Nice to have a recipe for the sauce.
My hunch is that the shrimp cocktail was replaced by the Awesome Blossom. And the sauce is strictly my own recipe. Dijon mustard might be considered heretical in some circles.
The 50 cent shrimp cocktail of yesteryear has been replaced by the $15 churro.
Las Vegas used to be fun and cheap and gaudy, but in a delightful, kitschy way. Now it's "family friendly", overcrowded, hideously expensive, and utterly terrible.
But I understand that, outside The Strip and what most of us think of as "Vegas", there are gorgeous hikes, and some lovely, unpretentious food. I want to see that place.
What a lovely and tender story. I’m glad you’re able to turn a stressful time into a moment of peace. ❤️
The first time I made poached shrimp was for a bachelorette party back in the early aughts. I was a “successful” (so, paid) journalist envisioning myself to be the Toronto Carrie Bradshaw. I spent a bundle on shrimp but looked super sophisticated bringing it to the party. Of course, rather than worrying about the bride-to-be, I focused on myself and how well I did with my posh contribution to the pot luck and accepted compliments with demure humility. As one does when they’re 25. Or even 55, really.
Often have I been so focused on the food I've made for important gatherings and how perfect it is or isn't and who's eating it/not eating it that I miss the point of the whole event, which is never the menu.
Shrimp cocktail was always a part of our lives, at most parties (though a remoulade sauce was expected too). Many of those people at those parties whose legs I'd scramble through went into dementia and Alzheimer's.
What a great memory to have, even with the pain. Both my parents died in their sixties, of lung cancer. My mom's sister died with dementia in her mid-nineties. (My aunt, when still verbal, turned to my oldest girl cousin who looked a lot like her, stared at her, and said, "I think you're me.") I often wondered if my parents would have declined into dementia too; if having more time with them would have been worth that. I just don't know. You do. You are unluckily fortunate to have that time.
So many of your stories have a kind of New Orleans-flavored thread of tragedy running through them and I am always fascinated by that. And I would expect nothing less than remoulade from you.
Funny, because I grew up in Atlanta. My grandfather went to medical school at Tulane (Emory had no medical school as he was in their first graduating class) and met my grandmother down here, and took her back to Atlanta. I've come to realize my life was definitely more New Orleans flavored than Atlanta. (Didn't everyone's parents have tons of people over, married, without and with children, single, gay, drinking and eating until late at night - or all the shrimp were gone?).
Deep lovely memory Michael. Aging is hard enough on your own.. But having to take care of and watch your parents lose their lives is, has to be, one of the saddest times in a grown child's life. I am glad you can write about the memories - good and bad - which must help sort things a bit for you. And shows me your heart. XO
My husband was a dementia care specialist. I worked on his ward with him for a while. I learned that patients' pleasurable and meaningful experiences didn't always produce outward displays of pleasure easily visible to others. This caused a lot of distress to families who remembered how their loved ones used to react to music, food, beautiful countryside, flowers, or wine, for example. But we encouraged them to continue because even the most unwell patients (who are seemingly unconscious and unresponsive in the final stages of dementia) need spiritual and sensual nourishment. We'd spray them with favourite scents, get bedding brought in from home so they felt familiar textures against their skin, and try to make bathtimes as sensorily pleasurable as possible. (No bright lights, no loud noises where possible, softer non-institutional towels, lots of nice lotions and bath foams.) I nursed one man who was incredibly angry and frustrated most of the time (he was only 55; I'd be angry too). Every afternoon around five-ish, I'd encourage him into a small sitting room, play classical music on a radio and give him a few squares of dark chocolate. His facial expression never changed; he remained frustrated and angry, but I knew it was a ritual he'd enjoyed in the past and that deep within his soul, he remembered that.
My mother-in-law has dementia. She was very argumentative and stressed pre-this. Now she is serene and content, and we get on so well. Although it is sad in many ways and always involves loss, m husband now receives uncritical love from his mother, which was not the case before her condition developed.
Everyone in my family who reached a ripe old age developed dementia. I should really start hoarding my sleeping pills now, but I'll probably forget where I put them.
Oh, my goodness, this touched my heart. Thank you for writing it. I lost my father decades ago, too soon for sure, and now my mother is tipping into dementia. Your urge to bring them something familiar and fancy is so true to how I feel.
Nevermind the recipe, though it looks great. I'm here for the people on this one.
I hesitated even including a recipe on this one, but am glad I did. It's pretty banger.
I'm sorry to read this about your mother. My sister took care of our mom when she was declining from it and I feel like I missed out on so much by not being there.
Hello Michael, I wanted to let you know I made your peas with feta and dill and it was so simple and delicious that I made it again, immediately! Do you have anything simple like that for mushrooms? I loved them as a kid when my mother sautéed them in butter and then put sour cream in (who wouldn't) and I wondered if you have a rather simple recipe for them?
I currently do not, but it sounds like your mother was basically making Stroganoff sauce! I’ll give mushrooms some thought.
That said, really, no horseradish in the cocktail sauce?
Oops, I missed it! Sorry! 🤣
My stomach dropped for a moment thinking I'd forgotten it.
I am SO sorry!!
This was so lovely, Michael. As with all of your writing, your gift of observation and recounting those details brings these memories and moments such life. I am only sorry that I cannot reach across the screen and offer a hug.
❤️🩹
Thank you very much, Amy.
❤️ A beautiful essay, Michael.
Thank you, JD.
In my family, we never ate before a holiday meal (cue visits to the DQ for a burger once one of us kids could drive). With my husband, they eat all day and shrimp cocktail is a must. Sauce is just catsup and horseradish, but I usually add some lemon juice.
Lemon juice is a must, in my book. And I once worked at a Dairy Queen for one shift. I quit when I knew I'd never be allowed to decorate the ice cream cakes because that was Gwen Stefani's brother Eric's job.
This weirdly makes me want to concoct a hybrid bloody mary/shrimp cocktail monstrosity that I think might actually be excellent.
Don't think for one second I didn't consider doing that, although I have the feeling you'd come up with something far more interesting.
Shrimp cocktail and Scotch define every special occasion, holiday and even normal days for my family. My grandparents were the heads of our household and both loved the crustaceans. I grew up thinking everyone had seemingly endless fresh shrimp whenever they felt like it. Like you, I learned to drink Scotch to be part of the action. Thank you for bringing it all back to me.
You're a kindred spirit, Joan. How lovely.
Loved this!
Thanks, lady!
what a lovely story about your parents! the shrimp cocktail brought be right back to my own parents' parties in the early 1960s where shrimp cocktail in fancy glassware was a staple ingredient. In the early morning my sister and I would explore the remains of the grown-up's buffet table and nibble on the leftovers...
Thank you, Lorraine. And I'm guessing by the fact that you are still alive that those next day leftovers did not include the shrimp.
😁 I only remember tasting the cocktail sauce and not the shrimp so you're probably right…also we were probably immunized due to eating raw ground round as “steak tartare” on a regular basis.
I love this. Sounds like you gave them that hour of hemi-demi-semi normality. And your father achieved dip, perhaps channeling mid-century Vegas (and your Vegas trips) as he did so. I had to write, for the AAA magazine, some potted histories of foods of the West (cioppino (here), California roll (LA), sopaipilla (New Mexico), funeral potatoes (Utah)) and the editor asked me to do a quick hit on the shrimp cocktail for our Nevada bit. It seems to have become the most popular hors d'oeuvre in America by the 1980s, but not so much now. I didn't look to see what had replaced it. Nice to have a recipe for the sauce.
Thank you, my friend.
My hunch is that the shrimp cocktail was replaced by the Awesome Blossom. And the sauce is strictly my own recipe. Dijon mustard might be considered heretical in some circles.
Ew. Had to look up the Awesome Blossom! I s'pose cheese and crackers (ho hum) took over top spot? Maybe nachos, with all the trimmings.
The 50 cent shrimp cocktail of yesteryear has been replaced by the $15 churro.
Las Vegas used to be fun and cheap and gaudy, but in a delightful, kitschy way. Now it's "family friendly", overcrowded, hideously expensive, and utterly terrible.
But I understand that, outside The Strip and what most of us think of as "Vegas", there are gorgeous hikes, and some lovely, unpretentious food. I want to see that place.
What a lovely and tender story. I’m glad you’re able to turn a stressful time into a moment of peace. ❤️
The first time I made poached shrimp was for a bachelorette party back in the early aughts. I was a “successful” (so, paid) journalist envisioning myself to be the Toronto Carrie Bradshaw. I spent a bundle on shrimp but looked super sophisticated bringing it to the party. Of course, rather than worrying about the bride-to-be, I focused on myself and how well I did with my posh contribution to the pot luck and accepted compliments with demure humility. As one does when they’re 25. Or even 55, really.
Often have I been so focused on the food I've made for important gatherings and how perfect it is or isn't and who's eating it/not eating it that I miss the point of the whole event, which is never the menu.
I usually just make it about me 🤷🏼♀️
Atta girl.
Shrimp cocktail was always a part of our lives, at most parties (though a remoulade sauce was expected too). Many of those people at those parties whose legs I'd scramble through went into dementia and Alzheimer's.
What a great memory to have, even with the pain. Both my parents died in their sixties, of lung cancer. My mom's sister died with dementia in her mid-nineties. (My aunt, when still verbal, turned to my oldest girl cousin who looked a lot like her, stared at her, and said, "I think you're me.") I often wondered if my parents would have declined into dementia too; if having more time with them would have been worth that. I just don't know. You do. You are unluckily fortunate to have that time.
So many of your stories have a kind of New Orleans-flavored thread of tragedy running through them and I am always fascinated by that. And I would expect nothing less than remoulade from you.
Funny, because I grew up in Atlanta. My grandfather went to medical school at Tulane (Emory had no medical school as he was in their first graduating class) and met my grandmother down here, and took her back to Atlanta. I've come to realize my life was definitely more New Orleans flavored than Atlanta. (Didn't everyone's parents have tons of people over, married, without and with children, single, gay, drinking and eating until late at night - or all the shrimp were gone?).
I think that line about the shrimp might be a Comden & Green lyric from "The Party's Over."
You are wonderful.
Deep lovely memory Michael. Aging is hard enough on your own.. But having to take care of and watch your parents lose their lives is, has to be, one of the saddest times in a grown child's life. I am glad you can write about the memories - good and bad - which must help sort things a bit for you. And shows me your heart. XO
Writing is the thing that keeps me sane. Pity I didn't discover that earlier in life.
And thank you for the lovely comment.
Ouch. Beautiful and sad.
My husband was a dementia care specialist. I worked on his ward with him for a while. I learned that patients' pleasurable and meaningful experiences didn't always produce outward displays of pleasure easily visible to others. This caused a lot of distress to families who remembered how their loved ones used to react to music, food, beautiful countryside, flowers, or wine, for example. But we encouraged them to continue because even the most unwell patients (who are seemingly unconscious and unresponsive in the final stages of dementia) need spiritual and sensual nourishment. We'd spray them with favourite scents, get bedding brought in from home so they felt familiar textures against their skin, and try to make bathtimes as sensorily pleasurable as possible. (No bright lights, no loud noises where possible, softer non-institutional towels, lots of nice lotions and bath foams.) I nursed one man who was incredibly angry and frustrated most of the time (he was only 55; I'd be angry too). Every afternoon around five-ish, I'd encourage him into a small sitting room, play classical music on a radio and give him a few squares of dark chocolate. His facial expression never changed; he remained frustrated and angry, but I knew it was a ritual he'd enjoyed in the past and that deep within his soul, he remembered that.
My mother-in-law has dementia. She was very argumentative and stressed pre-this. Now she is serene and content, and we get on so well. Although it is sad in many ways and always involves loss, m husband now receives uncritical love from his mother, which was not the case before her condition developed.
Everyone in my family who reached a ripe old age developed dementia. I should really start hoarding my sleeping pills now, but I'll probably forget where I put them.
You probably will. Julianne Moore taught me that
I'm not even out of bed yet, so how can I crawl back in it?
On a happier note, I once conspired with Ms. Moore to shame a famous friend of hers into behaving himself at the dinner table.
This memoir will be epic
One can only hope.
Beautiful
Thanks, mister.
Oh, my goodness, this touched my heart. Thank you for writing it. I lost my father decades ago, too soon for sure, and now my mother is tipping into dementia. Your urge to bring them something familiar and fancy is so true to how I feel.
Nevermind the recipe, though it looks great. I'm here for the people on this one.
I hesitated even including a recipe on this one, but am glad I did. It's pretty banger.
I'm sorry to read this about your mother. My sister took care of our mom when she was declining from it and I feel like I missed out on so much by not being there.
I'm glad you included the recipe, too, because it's just that type of thing that you try to do, step by step, and how it used to be.
Thank you for your care. I appreciate it, and it's meaningful even though I only know you through your words.
You make me extra glad I wrote this.