At least that’s what my Dad called it. When I was 13 or 14 my Mom took a month off. We were told it was a vacation to visit friends and family. But mostly, I suspect she needed to regroup from the whole Mom/Wife thing. In any case, while she was gone we subsisted on lots of hot dogs and hash.
During that time, as I was soaking in the bath, Dad banged on the door. “Hurry out, we’re having ‘flambe ambrochet’ for dinner!” (That’s the way it sounded, I have no idea how to spell it.) Well, it certainly sounded more promising than our usual fare. I dried off in a hurry and rushed out. It was a dinner that certainly counted in my family as comfort food, but not as a dinner item. It certainly didn’t qualify for the bath rush. I glared at him in disgust before digging in.
This was on par with the time Dad asked if we wanted to have a party. We got revved up. He got us yelling ‘yes!!’ over and over again. Then he ran us up the stairs, threw open the door to the bedrooms and crowed, “It’s a clean up party!” (I clearly have some forgiveness issues…)
Monday I ate some bad yogurt. I started getting queasy that evening and went downhill from there. After a LONG night and a slow, sleepy day full of tiny nibbles of bread and a few sips of water at a time, I was finally hungry again. I asked Jrex if he thought my old standby would work for a late night snack. He advised against it, but then he’s always found this one of my more disgusting habits. He suggested clear broth or ginsing tea, gentle foods. I thanked him for the advice, and counter to all medical instruction, went into the kitchen, took out the box of graham crackers, broke some into a bowl, and covered it with milk. Grabbing my spoon and the novel of the day, I happily dug in. Flambe Ambrochet.
This morning he looked at me skeptically, “How do you feel?”
I grinned, “Great! It worked like a charm.” He shook his head and shrugged. Some things my family does are just inexplicable to him. I have to admit that I’d feel silly listing graham crackers and milk as one of my Survivor necessities, but it’s not far from the truth (despite my Dad’s attempt to scar it from the comfort chart).
What about you? Did your family make up names for ordinary menu items? Do you have a cure-all comfort food? The essential item for your cast-away experience?