As Good as a Feast: Essays on Enough

By Amanda L. Webster

Fans of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie series will no doubt be familiar with the phrase, “Enough is as a good as feast.” Ma Ingalls would often utter these words to her children to remind them that they were well enough off, regardless of how little they possessed.

The authors whose essays appear in this anthology explore the concept of “enough” from a variety of perspectives. One author explores psychological theories, while another draws her inspiration from the Bible. One thread that runs through all of these essays is that of the compelling personal stories that have led the writers to learn that “enough” really is as good as a feast.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda L. Webster
• Release date: Mar 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310291272

Amanda L. Webster

Amanda L. Webster is an author and editor who lives and works in Central Illinois, USA. She obtained her Master of Arts in English with a concentration in creative writing from Mount Mary University in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Webster is the owner and editor of Elderfly Press, an independent publishing company located in McLean County, IL. When not writing and editing, she enjoys crocheting, hiking, camping, and spending time with her two sons and two cats.

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Introduction

Fans of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie series will no doubt be familiar with the phrase, Enough is as a good as feast. Ma Ingalls would often utter these words to her children to remind them that they were well enough off, regardless of how little they possessed. I have often found this adage to be true. In my own life, it seems I always get exactly what I need exactly when I need it; never a penny more nor a second sooner. I have also learned, in the direst of times, to have faith that I will somehow receive what I need. This has brought me a certain freedom and peace of mind that is difficult to partake in when you are constantly seeking to have more.

The authors whose essays appear in this anthology explore the concept of enough from a variety of perspectives. As you read, I hope you will consider how much you really need from life in order to achieve satisfaction. Once you have developed a clear understanding of what truly constitutes enough in your own life, you may find that you are far better off than you ever imagined.

~Mandy Webster

Dinner is Served

By Jessica Schnur

Wait, chicken cacciatore has mushrooms in it? My brother, Joe’s, astonished voice interrupted my recitation of the recipe as I read from the old card I’d pulled from the red and white checked cookbook in my dad’s pantry.

I laughed. Yeah, it does. Dad hates mushrooms so he just leaves them out when he makes it.

Our dad has always been the head chef in my parents’ house. Growing up, my two brothers and I may have starved, or been forced to survive on Kraft spaghetti from a box, if my dad had not embraced the role of cook. Our mom was a fantastic artist and seamstress. She was a patient listener and objective counselor. She was often the disciplinarian in our household and was always fair, even though we may not have thought so when we were younger. The one role she never embraced was that of cook. She knew how to cook three things – chicken soup, vegetable soup, and chili – and made them each once per year, usually when she had a few days off of work and got bored. Outside of these three tried and true recipes, the kitchen was just not her forte. Ingredient creativity aside, our dad is a good cook, which is why my brother was inquiring about some of his recipes.

Families are a complex mix of talents and personalities, tastes and ideas. From the outside, it can be difficult to perceive the glue that holds together the collection of individuals that make up a family. Sometimes a shared history of food and the gift of bequeathed recipes is the adhesive.

My parents both grew up in Chicago as members of large, poor families in which good meals were never taken for granted. My dad is one of six children raised by a dedicated mother and an often absent father. My mom was the youngest of four, raised by a single mom during the turbulent sixties. Food was sometimes scarce in both families, and many of the recipes passed on from my grandmothers use economical components to feed a crowd. Biscuits and gravy, spaghetti, and hodgepodge soups come to mind. Both women were creative in their choices of ingredients and passed along countless recipes that are still used by many members of my family.

Even though her financial situation had no longer dictated the need, my mom’s mother, Lucy, remained a frugal cook until she passed away in 2009. As my family gathered to reminisce after the funeral, the conversation shifted toward food and the memories my mom and my aunt Pam had of their favorite things my Grandma Lucy would cook for them. They ran through the list of the much loved favorites: biscuits and gravy, corned beef and cabbage, and on special occasions, crispy oatmeal cookies, velvety fudge, and chewy rice crispy treats.

At a lull in the discussion, I interjected: Am I remembering correctly that her chicken paprikash was made with both white rice and potatoes?

Oh my God! It was! my mom exclaimed.

The most carb-o-rif-ic meal ever! laughed Pam.

It really was delicious, though, said my mom. And it filled you up cheaply.

We sat for a few more minutes, each remembering the uniquely pleasant taste of the juicy paprika-laced chicken, the soft chunks of potato, and the chewy rice. The contrasting flavors and textures made a seemingly bland meal something distinctive and memorable, not for its thrift, but for the taste.

Inheritances of objects and money are often fleeting. Trinkets are lost, and money is spent. The gift of a recipe, however, is enduring. When those we love pass away, creating the recipes they left behind becomes a way to bring a piece of them back. The scents and tastes of a familiar meal become an avenue upon which we can travel to revisit the pleasant memories of our past.

My other grandma, Lenore, passed away in 1992. Many of the things my dad cooks come from recipes she passed on. Many are simple, inexpensive meals, conducive to feeding a large family. One that everyone inexplicably looks forward to is a concoction called ‘broken glass cake.’

Generally made only at Thanksgiving and Christmas, the fluffy cream base combines Dream Whip, lemon Jell-O, pineapple juice and sugar. Chunks of multi-colored and flavored Jell-O float suspended in the cream, and layers of graham cracker crumbs, thick on the bottom and a mere sprinkle on the top, encase the center.

This curious amalgamation of powdered foods from a box tastes amazing. Just one bite takes me back to the Christmases of my childhood where the much-anticipated broken glass cake provided the perfect sugary ending to our holiday dinner. The main reason we only make it once or twice each year is because the construction involves a ridiculously tedious process. Each flavor of Jell-O for the glass in the middle of the cake needs to be made in separate containers. The timing has to be exactly right, as