the Carry- in

Yesterday I found Paula Wolfert's "Cooking of the Eastern Mediterranean " at the library. I was reading through the introduction today thinking about how much pleasure some cultures get from so little and how little pleasure Americans get from having so much. Food, for example. I have been thinking about all the holiday "carry-ins " I have been to lately and how little pleasure there is in them. A "carry-in" is Southernese for potluck, and the ones I have seen this season have been sad affairs. I can remember the potlucks we used to have when I worked at Nashville's catholic hospital. These were lively and convivial. The conference room table bloomed with crockpots. No one cared if three people brought the same old green bean casserole with french fried onions. It was the intent that mattered. People ate and enjoyed, then hurried back to work so that others could eat and enjoy.
Things have changed. Potlucks at the place I work now mean six giant bags of corn chips and one half pint jar of salsa. Supermarket cookies with the chewy tenderness of a DVD. Pink shrimp in a plastic clamshell container -half defrosted and tasting like wet facial tissue. Tepid appetites and disgruntled attitudes. The other night - New Years day eve- I saw a nurse trying to cut himself a slice of ham at the potluck table ordered to move so that another nurse could see the TV. Those beautiful southern manners, thought I. A kindly older nurse had spent her own money that night to order 5 boxes of pizza for 20 people. 5% of the staff took 95% of the pizza without remorse.
How did it come to this I wondered? I knew some people hadn't brought anything because they could not afford to. These were our nurse technicians- the working poor. They resented being asked to bring in food for people they worked with when these techs could hardly afford to feed their own families. I could understand this except that many of these same people spent precious dollars on lottery tickets every week and on take-out from the Wing Zone most nights they worked. And then there is the way too tired to cook crowd who work five and six 12 hour shifts a week at 2 jobs and commute 60 miles a day. Who could expect more than a Kroger pumpkin pie from them? I have not yet mentioned the Lap Band tribe. Half the female nurses I work with have had Lap Bands and another quarter are scheduled to have one. How much of a pleasure can cooking be when you submit to this? I would think one's relationship to food would be permanently tainted . When did so many of us become so fearful or disrespectful of food?
I consider myself blessed that I can take pleasure in elderberry syrup on homemade french tost, in Crawfish Pie and cream soup and turnip gratins with cream and butter. This is nothing less than taking pleasure in the world and in life. It is no mean thing. I think of seeing our Nashville Kurdish immigrants last Christmas having their great open air party at Edwin Warner Park. They had tripods cooking srews and braziers grilling lamb. Their children brought their bikes, their young men played soccer, their young women strolled, and their older people smiled and watched. So much joy in their new life here. I admire them. I wish more Americans were like them. Until the next time then.