My sister Nancy (owner of the sublime, cozy, popular Arbor B & B in High Falls, New York) and I discussed iceberg lettuce this morning in the dark way before dawn as an upstairs smoke alarm made ping-ing sounds every minute or so. Because guests were asleep Nancy restrained herself from rushing upstairs to disarm the alarm. Meanwhile, we recalled our childhood/s when iceberg lettuce was the only lettuce. When
Velveeta was the only cheese,
and Cherrios were the only cold cereal, crunchy, torus-shapped, until milk-soaked and soggy.
In those days our parent’s shopped for groceries at the A & P
or at the other grocery, Bohacks.
If we were really lucky, during the evening as the family gathered around the radio to listen to a weekly hair-raising episode of Gunsmoke or Suspense (theater of thrills), our mother would cook up a treat for us – broiled little pizzas on English muffins with melted Velveeta cheese
or maybe garbanzo beans thrown into a saucepan on top of the stove, heated, then sprinkled with coarse salt and pepper and served hot in a bowl. We called these tasty nibblies Chi-Chi Beans.