I had the great fortune, nay, privilege to grow up in the '50s and '60s. It was a time of quiet and calm. Eisenhower took care of us and God bestowed His graces on us. More importantly was the fact I had super parents to raise me. Both parents were of the Depression and WW2 years and from them I learned how not to waste food. My dad, bless his soul, was the master of "what in the heck is that you're eating?" crowd. He put together some of the most bizarre concoctions known to man.
I watched one night as he fixed himself a milkshake. At least that is what he said it was and since I was probably no older than 7 I just took his word for it. In went the vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup, normal so far, but things got a little weird after that. The malt was OK and the peanut butter too. The ketchup I would have left out. If recollection is accurate I don't think the pickle added all that much as well. But then again what would a 7 year old know of such things, right? I don't recall all the ingredients today but you get the idea. Dad asked me if I wanted to sample it and I clearly remember running away from that thing as far as I could get my little legs to go.
However, today I ain't to shabby at putting my own concoctions together that might not make it on the restaurant circuit. Having to watch carbs and cals because of diabetes has forced me to be creative. Tonight, as example, I put together a "pizza filling scraped from cold left over pizza on a bed of iceberg lettuce dowsed with 2 tablespoons of honey mustard dressing and slices of green bell pepper." Ah, ecstasy.
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