Funky Foods

The Sugar Fix 

 

When my mum was in her early teens, her mother became quite ill.  This would be in the early 1930’s. “Mrs. Bangay,” the doctor advised,  “If you want to get well you should avoid eating meat and give up tea and coffee.” 

 

An Englishwoman giving up tea was unheard of.  But my Grandma took his advice and she began to get well.  Thus began a journey into experimenting with  vegetarian cooking for my Grandma and my mum adopted this lifestyle and continued to take an interest in ‘clean eating’ after immigrating to Canada at age 25 in 1952.   By the time I came along in 1963, cheeze whiz was all the rage but my Mum was full swing clean eating and a mantra of 'nuts and seeds, greens and grains.'
 

“Hey, why don’t I ask my mom if I can stay at your house for supper?” my friend asked as we walked up the long, steep hill to my house after school one day.

 

“Uhhh...I think I maybe…” I would scramble to think of a reason why staying for supper might not be possible. In all of my growing-up years, not once did I ever have a meal at a friend's house that was even remotely similar to what was on the supper-table at my house. 

 

A typical evening meal created by my mother would be, nut loaf, steamed kale, grated carrot and raisin salad, perhaps a piece of fruit that was in season.  No salt, no pepper, no sauces or dressings, no ketchup or melted butter.  Very, very plain food.  My father, an Alberta farm boy, never complained.  Every so often mum would fry up a steak for dad filling the house with smoke - mum took little interest in learning the best ways to prepare meat.

 

In 1981 our parents took the four youngest children, including myself to England.  I had just graduated from high school.  We arrived in time for the evening meal at my grandparent's home.  It is difficult to describe how it felt to look at the all too familiar dishes placed before us.  There really was another place on the planet with the same menu on the table.  

 

It is no wonder then, that as a child, sugar was something I was drawn to and sought out and thoroughly enjoyed. I became very resourceful as I tried to satisfy the craving.   I remember being very, very young;  probably only 3 or four, and finding a freshly discarded piece of chewing gum.   Without hesitation I peeled it off the sidewalk and gleefully popped it into my mouth, savoring any leftover flavor it had left in it.  Sometimes I had to spit out the odd tiny rock or piece of dirt.  I’m sorry, dear reader if you are gagging!  It is such a clear and distasteful memory!  Sometimes I was lucky enough to find a discarded popsicle stick to scrape the gum off the sidewalk - and sometimes the gum hadn't been stepp on yet - bonus! 

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“Hey Lindsay!  Want a piece of ABC gum?”  My grade one buddy had my attention. 

 

I didn’t know this was a joke.  I readily reached out to accept whatever was in my friend's hand, not caring if it was ABC gum or Juicy Fruit or Spearmint - brands and flavors were irrelevant. Gum was gum!  When she opened her hand to expose a chewed wad of gum I was confused.  She threw her head back and said, "ABC gum!  Already Been Chewed!"   But I was in grade one now and knew that accepting it would bring me unfavorable attention.  

 

Perhaps these repulsive habits have contributed to my strong immune system but one day the desire for sweets put my young life in danger.

 

I was four years old accompanying my mum to the grocery store. 

 

“Mummy, I’ll wait on the horse ok?” I said when we were headed to the check-out stand.  The highlight of the trip was the routine of sitting on the ‘dime horse’ near the store’s entrance while the groceries were put through.   It was rare that I would receive the dime to actually activate the horse but that was not my interest or concern.  Next to the horse was a pop machine and next to the pop machine was a tall, wire rack to house empty pop bottles.  

 

This day, in particular, is forever etched in my memory. It was my lucky day.  

 

As I neared the horse I could see that there were a few empty bottles in the rack.  This was a good sign.  No matter how “empty” these bottles appeared to be,  past experience had proven that there was always a high probability of at least a few drops of pop pooled in the bottom of each bottle.  

 

My eyes grew wide as I neared the rack scanning the bottles.  And then I spotted it. Sitting at the top of the rack was a green 7-Up bottle.  Even though the glass was dark there was no mistaking that the bottle was more than a third full.  My lucky day.  But it was high.  I got up on my tippy toes and reached, reached, reached.  My little fingers stretched and wrapped and gripped that bottle like a lifeline.  I pulled it down to my eager lips.  I gulped in the goodness.  But the expected sugar rush did not happen.  I immediately began to vomit. My little tummy turned upside down and inside out.  My vision blurred.  

 

On our way to the store, I had been eating an apple and I recall seeing chunks of it spilling onto the floor as I rushed to find my mother.  I must have confessed what I had consumed as I was rushed to the hospital and held down by several nurses while a tube was inserted into my mouth and down to my stomach.  They pumped.  And pumped.  And pumped some more.  I was sent home the same day and put to bed without any supper.

 

 It was suspected that I might be blind or brain-damaged by the effect of the menthyl hydrate (shelf cleaner) that I had consumed, but the next day I was back to my old self minus the desire to score drips of pop out of empty pop bottles for the rest of my life.  Never really been a fan of 7-Up since.