By Brea Franklin

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All I want to say is that I’m forever grateful to Nana and Papa, may they rest in peace, for opening up their home to me and allowing me to hold many great memories.

I grew up on Remsen Ave – no it wasn’t my real home but it’s where I spent all of my time. Remsen was the family house that belonged to my great grandparents Nana and Papa who unfortunately passed away two years ago leaving Remsen unclaimed and neglected. 

Every day after school my grandpa would pick me up in his old red Jeep and drop me off at Remsen where I would wait hours for my dad to pick me up. When I got to Remsen after school I always had the same regimen; take off my uniform and put on pajamas, which were always random clothes Nana found around the house, eat, and then do my homework. Since I used to be a picky eater I always chose between the same two things to eat: instant ramen and microwave popcorn. 

Instant ramen has always been one of my favorite things to eat and still is to this day. Nana would always give me a plastic container to put under the styrofoam cup to ensure that I wouldn’t spill it. I would ask if she could pick the vegetables out of the ramen for me because I didn’t like the taste of soggy vegetables, but she would forget every time so I ended up burning my fingers in the hot ramen to pick out every single vegetable. When I would see all the vegetables soaking through the paper towel that my fork rested on I would know the ramen was ready to be devoured. The fork I would eat with was stained with food from whoever used the fork last, so the ramen never tasted just like ramen but rather someone else’s leftovers. Once all the noodles were gone I would take the discarded vegetables and put them back into the soup, then I would break off small pieces off the sides of the styrofoam cup and put them into the soup creating my new concoction. I always thought that I would grow out of this habit but to this day I still do these same things. Now, I take the vegetables out before I put the hot water in. And I eat with clean forks.

Microwave popcorn was another favorite meal, granted microwave popcorn isn’t a meal but when you eat as many bags in one sitting as I did, it becomes a meal. I would only eat movie theater butter popcorn and kettle corn, strictly! This was the only thing that Nana trusted me to make myself since it was extremely simple. 

Take the popcorn out of the box. 

Take off the plastic wrapping. 

Unfold the popcorn bag and flatten it out so all the kernels can pop.

Then lay it down the right way ensuring that the packaging reads “THIS SIDE UP.”

Set the microwave to two minutes. 

I would love standing right in front of the microwave while watching the popcorn pop. It was as if I was witnessing an evolution of some kind of creature waiting to break through. Once I would hear the three obnoxiously loud beeps burst through the microwave a smile would creep onto my face. I would finish the popcorn in less time than it takes for it to cook, then it’d be time to start the process over. While the next bag would cook I would take out the unpopped kernels and plant them in Nana plants hoping my popcorn tree would grow. I thought that the popcorn kernels were seeds and if planted right a beautiful popcorn tree would sprout out of the soil. After I finished gardening I would rip the popcorn bag apart and lick the salted butter off the sides of the bag. That was truly the best part about microwave popcorn; it was like there was always more to eat. By the time all of that was done the next bag of popcorn would be freshly born and ready to be finished in an instant.

Nana got tired of seeing me eat those same two things so she decided to cook real food for me, fish. When Nana laid the fish in front of me I had a hard time looking at it. All I could see was two sockets where the fish’s eyes once laid –there was still a scaly texture no matter how much the fish was fried. When I took a bite I realized that it wasn’t that bad, I actually enjoyed eating fish. The outer skin was fried perfectly into a thick crunchy golden layer that Nana would then cut crisscrosses on top of imitating the scales. Fish became my new normal. I was eating it basically everyday. After having fish every time I visited Nana for months, the appeal I had towards fish was replaced with dread. I no longer enjoyed the crunch of the golden skin or the sight of fake scales Nana would cut. And the smell came back. I would be able to smell the fish even outside the house, which ruined my appetite before I would see the fish. To this day I can’t eat fish or any type of seafood because all I think about is the constant struggle of eating it everyday at Remsen. 

As I’ve gotten older I’m able to stay home alone, which means that my grandpa drops me off at home instead of Remsen. I stuck to the same regimen: I take off my uniform and put on pajamas, which are random clothes I find in my closet, eat, and then do my homework. Even though I’m doing the same things I would’ve done at Remsen it doesn’t feel the same. Nana was no longer there to complain about me just eating instant ramen and microwave popcorn but I could still hear her anyway. So I started to learn how to cook, even if it wasn’t big meals. The struggle of trying to find food besides fish on Remsen taught me how to fend for myself. I know that Nana would be proud that I’ve grown out of my picky eater habits, but instant ramen and microwave popcorn are always the first things I make whenever I feel hungry. 

Process

When I first thought about food and culture I always thought that I had no connection to that idea. There weren’t any specific foods that were made on holidays, and there weren’t any traditions that were consistent in my family. Then I came to understand that Remsen Ave. was the only culture and tradition that I had. Through this piece, I hope to give you a sense of understanding of what it meant to me growing up on Remsen, being what my family calls a ‘Remsen Baby’.