Mom And Pop

Fat is out. But I like fat. Preferably charred. However fat's become a “no-no.” There are people more interested in my health than I am, and they control what I can eat. I remember a trip that my wife and I made to Spain about a decade ago. One of the things we did was to take an excursion and cross from there to Morocco, I think to the city of Tangier. Before recrossing the Mediterranean we stopped off in the city's open market. Everything and everybody was there. There were colors galore; fabrics, crafts, fruit and vegetables, and whatever you've seen in the movies. And there was meat. Sides of various animals were hung in front of the venders' booths, and flies swarmed around them. It was hot. There were some displays of cut meat available for purchase, and in every case the meat was trimmed to a point where there was almost no fat left. Even there the threat to health required the trimming of fat, even if insect-born diseases weren't of great concern.

I also recall an attempt I made to get what I liked from a local market in the Bronx. Unfortunately the market's owners had adopted the practices of larger stores. Their meat was already cut and packaged, and the corned-beef must have had only a sixteenth of an inch of fat. But there was a butcher there and I could have meat cut according to my wishes, so I ordered, for the following day, some corned-beef with a lot of fat. When I returned the beef set aside for me had meat with about an eighth of an inch of fat. That, I guess, was “a lot” by the standards of the day.

And, sad to say, we accept those standards and live by them because we have no choice. We can choose to have an abortion, but we cannot choose to have fatty meat. And our access to those who, in the past, would listen to us and fulfil our requests is all but nil.

I was in a shoe store a few weeks ago with my daughter and the clerk there asked he what size she was. Only when my daughter requested it was any attempt made to measure her feet. I looked for shoe laces in the store but didn't see any. And, of course, there is no place in my area to get them (actually there are a few in the local supermarket, but the selection I risible), or to have my shoes reheeled and resoled. That, unfortunately, doesn't matter since the shoes available nowadays are made with unreplaceable (and often hollow) rubber bottoms. So there is no longer any need for a cobbler. And modern manufacturing techniques have made his craft outdated.

And there are no blacksmiths, wheelwrights, real butchers, sawyers, tinkers, coopers, or many other craftsmen who once existed (fortunately we have a fish monger not too far away, although his prices are impressive). That's not to say that these skills are no longer needed, but to lament the fact that changes in society have obsoleted so many of them, or changed the magnitude or the nature of the establishment or individual who is offering a needed service. In some instances, and they're certain to increase, mechanical devices or robots do jobs once performed by humans (and another threat is the depersonalization of workers related to outsourcing); often “Mom and Pop stores have ceased to exist or been replaced by “big box” companies that deal in volume and can undercut any competition they have. (I remember going to the candy store when I was young. It was always a treat and an adventure. That experience is no longer available.)

We also live in an age when the philosophy of manufacturers is “one size fits all.” “We know best.” That allows them to package everything according to the standards of the day, and we have to take it or leave it. We take it. It may not be individualized to meet our needs, but we'll make do. We'll meet the manufacturer's needs. We have no choice.

When I was young you could get fatty corned-beef at the local delicatessen, but those days are gone. Now that we've decided that fat (and gluten and sugar and salt, as well as a host of other goodies) is bad for people, it's been eliminated or loudly rejected by a society that permits alcohol (except for pregnant women), cigarettes, and, in some states, “recreational” marijuana.

They don't float my boat. But Pop would. And fatty corned-beef would.

April 25, 2017