The Clean-Plate Club

When I look at my daughter’s plate I realize she has never been a member of the ‘clean plate club’. Not a charter member-an associate member or even an honorary member. That half-eaten sandwich or burrito bowl is a true testament of someone who was never initiated into the club. She always leaves a bit of uneaten food behind.

 I on the other hand, am a lifetime member-to be anything other than a member of the ‘clean plate club’ was pure blasphemy! In order to keep that status, you had to eat everything on your plate-every time-even if you couldn’t stomach it. I remember sitting at the table ‘til 11 pm in front of a plate of liver until my mother came home to save me. My father, he was commander of the club. My mom was out shopping “up-island” with my three more fortunate sisters. 

Now the commander of the club, my father, had full say over the rules and regulations of the ‘clean-plate club’-you had to eat everything on your plate no matter what-head cheese, tripe, borscht-the only one that had any power over the commander was my mother. Thank heavens. She was a saint and a savior and though she had no stripes on her shoulder or stars on her chest-her halo and wings always had the final say.

 We all grew up pretty hardy-and ate what was given to us. I chuckle when my friends can discriminate between this taste and that-know what spice is what-how to prepare and serve all of the fineries. My mom was a good and dependable cook with a predictable rotation of dishes. Sunday was waffle night with cups of tea and Ed Sullivan, chicken was broiled with mashed potatoes and always plenty of veggies, roast beef was continually served with baked potatoes and green beans, pork chops were cooked with celery in tomato sauce-and fish was every night that my father came home with a catch. Back then salad was iceberg lettuce with mayonnaise for dressing.  We didn’t really have a chance to say ‘no thanks-that’s not my thing’-we ate whatever was put in front of us-without discussion, review, comparison or opinion. I think we were all just grateful to always have something to eat.

 Supermarkets seemed a lot less befuddling-I believe there may have been only one or two brands of yogurt while I was growing up and now the case is at least a half of an aisle long with every type and flavor imaginable. We used to drink soda now and then and the bottles where glass-which we washed out and brought back for our 5-cent return. That was big money then.  Even shampoo and ‘cream rinse’ came in glass bottles which was a bit hazardous if you should drop them on your toe while showering. There was not two hundred feet of cereal choices, salad dressings, barbeque sauces-an aisle dedicated to tea and coffee, a dozen companies dealing in French fries, bacon, tissues, sour cream or humus. Had we even ever heard of humus?

 And now just like fashion, home décor, art, medicine, music-everything has expanded to a myriad of endless choices. The evolution of humankind has stretched in every direction as we try to hold onto to the simple, the joyful, the logical.

 For me, I continue to be a silent disciple of the ‘clean plate club’ having it drummed into my head since I was able to eat solid food. It was never really about hunger or nutritional needs. We all know that club membership is not always good for you-some suggest forcing kids to overeat teaches them to ignore their bodies' signals and may encourage a lifetime of eating when they’re not hungry. My membership to the club was all about complying and the old ‘waste not want not’ principle. There are moments that I am tempted to eat that remaining half of sandwich my daughter left behind, but I’ve learned to leave it on her plate-just where it belongs.

My father-Joseph V. Remkus-commander of the Clean-Plate-Club!