When the SJG was growing up in a quaint little town called Westwood, we ate dinner at exactly 6 o'clock. The whole family was present. How my dad, the one, the only Ben Starr, made it home in time for dinner, I have no idea, but he was always there. Dinner was a well-planned meal. Baked chicken. Artichokes. Melted butter. My mom was a great cook. One of her favorite dishes: Pork chops and apple sauce. What we were doing eating pork, I can't tell you. My dad even worked this non-kosher dinner into a "Brady Bunch" episode he wrote. Peter Brady, in search of a personality, takes on the persona of Humphrey Bogart, and says, "Pork chops and applesauce" like Bogie. An instant classic.
Dessert was also a big event. Nightly, my brother John would ask, "Is there a planned dessert?" The answer, for the most part, was yes. Chocolate Whip n' Chill. Broiled grapefruit. A nice cake. Something altogether delish. Occasionally, it was a grab-a-cookie, fend-for-yourself situation. But not often. An unplanned dessert was a letdown. Fast forward to the house of the SJG, where every dessert is unplanned, every meal is a last-minute decision. If I ask the current tenants what they want for dinner, they say, "Whatever's easiest," which helps me how? Not much. Maybe tonight, I'll make more of an effort. Then again, I could just throw together a salad. I'm not sure how my mother pulled dinner together, so magnificently, night after night. If only she were here to tell me.
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