It was Easter Sunday, and the boys and I were preparing to say goodbye to the great state of Tennessee and to all our relatives later that day. We had just finished church and had taken a brief drive to the foot of the mountains to take some photos. As we started back to my mom's house, I decided to go ahead and fill up my car so I wouldn't have to do it later. I knew there was a Stuckey's just down the road so I headed that direction.
Photo here
Now, let me pause to say that if you've never been to a Stuckey's gas station, you have to go at least once in your lifetime. So the next time you're in the south and you need a bathroom break or some gas or just have a craving for a pecan log roll (more than just a candy bar - gooey nougat and marachino cherries surrounded by caramel and toasted pecans - yummy!), pull on in to the nearest Stuckey's. They are one of the south's tademarks and a delight to young 'ens everywhere. (Stuckey's did not pay me to say that!) Ok, back to my story.
Photo here
The boys and I piled into Stuckey's to do our business. Ellis and Aidan needed the bathroom, Josiah was dying for a Sobe (What is it with today's generation and their addictions?), and I of course, needed a pecan log roll to entertain me on the drive to Wisconsin. (Come on people, I was lookin' at 15 hours in a car with 4 boys by myself. I needed something to make me happy!)
Anyway, when I got to the register, I greeted the lady (who called me honey several times - love the south), pulled out my money, and that's when I noticed them. Sitting on the counter in a big white pickle bucket were these little square red lollipops. I hadn't seen them since I was a little girl. My siblings and I used to get them when we were on vacation as kids, and I have thought about them many times over the years but never seen them anywhere. I couldn't believe my eyes.
To purchase your own old-fashioned handmade cinnamon lollipops, go here.
The sign said, "3 for $1." I picked up three of them and asked if she could add those to my order. Now you might be saying, "But you have four children," and you'd be right, but I wasn't buying for them. These were all mine. I tucked the little white bag into the driver's side door pocket and once we had said our goodbyes and had gotten a safe enough distance away that I knew I wouldn't be seeing anyone who knew me, I popped one in. With that first taste, I was back at Henry Horton State Park where my family vacationed when I was a child. All the memories came flooding back:
playing Marco Polo in the pool with my dad,
lying in the sun and singin' along to Leavin' on a Jet Plane and Afternoon Delight and other great 70's tunes (OK, I'm quite sure I didn't even know what the lyrics meant!),
feeling the blast of the frigid air-conditioner after being in the hot sun all day,
coming back to the cabin famished after a day of swimming and smelling my mom's homemade spaghetti sauce,
and kicking rocks around the trails and looking for bunnies at dusk.
Isn't it amazing how one taste or one smell can evoke so much emotion. I'll be honest, I love food, probably more for what it represents than anything, like a song that sticks in your memory and takes you back to a certain place and time. Most of my travel memories are usually marked by some meal or some food I ate.
For instance, when I think of our trip to Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina with my sister, one of the first things I think about is the hush puppies from the little hole-in-the-wall seafood place that did take-out. Best hush puppies I ever ate! (I need me some hush puppies.) When I think about visiting our dear friends Mike and Ann in Baltimore, I think about that soft shell crab sandwich we had in Annapolis and the little eyes that stared into mine as I took that first bite. When I think about the first time Ken and I visited Chicago before moving there for seminary, my mouth starts to water because it is the first time I ever put a piece of Giordano's Pizza in my mouth. I almost choked there was so much cheese on it. Delicious!
Funny story:
A few weeks ago, Ken had lunch with a friend and former pastor of ours. Our friend was having lunch with a retired professor from Ken's seminary, and he sort of invited himself along. When we were in seminary, for some reason I can't remember, we were invited to the Dean of Student's house to have dinner with some other students. When Ken shared with me who he was going to have lunch with, he asked, "Do you remember him?" I said, "Oh yeah, we had dinner at his house and his wife served French Silk Pie." He couldn't believe I could remember what she served, but it was the first time I had ever eaten French Silk Pie, and it was like a piece of heaven. To this day when I eat that pie, I remember the conversation around the table, the feeling of social awkwardness for me, the big white box the pie was in and the fire flickering in the fireplace. The taste brings it all back.
Is it just me that marks the moments of my life with food? Is that pathetic?
My kids know that when we travel south, there are certain things we will probably do (at least a couple of them):
we may stop for a pecan log roll at Stuckey's, especially now that they have my favorite cinnamon lollipops (given),
we will probably have Krystals for lunch one day,
we will most likely enjoy Sonic half price drinks from 2:00-4:00 p.m. as many days as possible,
if we see a red light on at any Krispy Kreme, we're pullin' over,
if mom can get her way, we'll order J&G pizza, (The rest of my family must have figured out that it's not the quality of the pizza that I crave but the experience, so I'm usually outvoted.)
and if there's a Cracker Barrel within ten miles of a needed potty break around suppertime on our trip, that's what's for dinner, ya'll!
It's not that any one of these particular places holds special memories for me, and it's certainly not the quality of food or the healthiness of it, but together they make me feel a little closer to my southern roots, a little closer to home, maybe even a little closer to childhood. Oh, let's not psycho-analyze here. It's just good, friends, and it's a good thing we don't have these places where I live now. Once or twice a year is fine, but a steady diet - I don't think so.
Are there foods that take you back to another time and place?
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