A day in the life of a little princess.

(Posted by Gayle)

Sometimes Ron and I spend so much time writing about our age difference that I forget we’ve also navigated some other significant differences too.   We were raised in environments as divergent as north and south.  Our ability to come together and build bridges amazes even me at times!  Yesterday’s post reveals another glimpse into Ron’s childhood.  Today it’s my turn to say “welcome to my world”

I am an only child.  My parents were 40 and relatively wealthy when they gave birth to me.  My mom didn’t want me to be selfish.  She was concerned that having a spoiled brat for her only child would reflect badly on her.  On the other hand, my dad wanted me to shine.  I was compared to him in most every way possible.  Luckily, for my mom, being hopelessly torn between the two of them produced enough guilt and insecurity to temper their indulgences.

So what do White Castle, rare prime rib, and Burger King have in common?

My mom was proud of the way she cooked.  If you gave her a can opener and a stocked pantry she could have dinner on the table in less than 30 minutes.  Mom grew up during the great depression.  Processed food didn’t exist.  Hell, at times no food existed.   I however,  grew up during the dawn of processed and enriched food.  My mom loved food in cans, boxes, and frozen food trays.  Especially if it was processed by another cook in a restaurant.  Our apartment, a few miles south of downtown Chicago, was conveniently triangulated with a corner drug store sporting a lunch counter and the original Morton’s restaurant.

A typical week in my life included the following meals:

• Cheeseburger and fries with a green river (move over Sonic this was a 7-Up with lime syrup added) from the drugstore.
• Rare prime rib and mashed potatoes from Morton’s (Yes, I said rare.  That is the way my dad ate it – so I did too.)
• Spaghetti and meat sauce from Morton’s
• A Swanson’s Salisbury Steak frozen TV dinner with mashed potatoes, peas and carrots, and apple cobbler in the center compartment on the top row!
• Hungry Jack mashed potatoes and brown gravy made from a packet for breakfast (no, my mom didn’t cook this for me, but she didn’t stop me from making it for myself.)
• A corned beef sandwich on white bread with mayo packed in my lunch box compliments of the corner drug store.
• During first grade my mother spoon fed me Lucky Charms cereal for breakfast because I didn’t like getting up in the morning.  She didn’t want me to go to school hungry.  I guess it didn’t occur to her to kick my bootie out of bed.  (Thank goodness for the oodles of guilt.  It helped counteract my diva-in-training program.)

In my elementary school days, I dined with my family in some of Chicago’s finest restaurants including The Black Hawk Steak House, Trader Vic’s, The Kon-Tiki Ports-of-Call, and the Pump Room to name a few.  But I longed for a meal at White Castle.  My dad refused to indulge me.  Sadly, there wasn’t one in our neighborhood and since my mom didn’t drive, it just wasn’t my destiny to eat there until later in life.  Now whenever Ron and I are on a road trip than takes us into “slider” country, I indulge.  I even made the White Castle holiday stuffing recipe off the back of a package of frozen burgers one year. (Even with my skewed opinion, it was awful.)

I’m certain I must have eaten some home made meals, but I really don’t remember the everyday ones.  I remember catered parties and huge holiday feasts.  I know my mom made spaghetti, pan fried steak, and salmon croquettes (YUCK) from scratch.  I also remember learning how to cook and taking over the kitchen duties when I was in 7th grade (by then we were relatively poor.)  There were still restaurant indulgences, they were just on a lesser scale.  We still weren’t near a White Castle or I know my mom would have walked with me there.  The new kid on the burger block was Burger King.  Mom and I ate there every Sunday after church.

I’m not sure what the true definition of a “foodie” is, but I’m pretty sure Ron and I fit.  We have shared some amazing meals in incredible places.  An anniversary dinner at the Jules Verne atop the Eiffel Tower, cheese spaetzle in Heidelberg, the best Italian meal of our lives in Berlin, baby bok choy to die for (who knew you could want to die for bok choy) in Prague, and finally we were were able to add feasting like a king in Las Vegas to our list a few weeks ago.

When Ron and I boarded the plane, I touched my throat and thought about my dad.  I have a charm style necklace.  It has interlocking ruby and sapphire hearts on it.  My dad bought it for me in Vegas when I was little.  He paid for it with his winnings from the black jack table (did I mention that I learned how to play “21″ before I learned how to play “go fish”?)  I wished I was wearing it.  I had forgotten that Vegas was one of “his” places.  It seemed strange that it had taken me almost 51 years to get there.

If you are ever in Las Vegas, and want to dine like a king – let me personally recommend a popular spot on Dean Martin boulevard near Highway 15.  No it’s not on the strip or even near the strip, but Cinderella and her prince were – well -  looking for slippers at Zappos and they got a little lost and very hungry.  Suffice it say the Burger King inside the Travel American Truck Stop makes a whopper of a meal deal!  I was right at home.