Thursday, November 25, 2010

Peas All Gone!

A few evenings ago, I dined with old friends, Gene and Charlotte, at the iconic Atlanta eatery The Colonnade. As Charlotte was enjoying her veggie plate, I, my chicken-fried chicken, and Gene, his salmon croquettes, he reminisced about growing up near Atlanta in the 1940's and 50's, describing memories of driving downtown with his mother to shop at Rich’s and Davison’s Department Stores and the small magic shops that were situated between those two Grande Dames of Southern Shopping. He told about following his mother up and down Peachtree Street, to and from Forsyth Street, and how the trip was made less painful as he was allowed to stop at both of the magic shops on the way. He said that, all the while he was eating lunch at Rich’s Magnolia Tea Room, he’d be trying to decide which one of the magic tricks he would be allowed to buy.  As Gene was talking, my own Rich’s memory hit me like a….well, like a mouthful of English peas. 

Living way down in Waycross as we did, we didn’t make it up to Atlanta very often. However, I did have two aunts who lived here and we would drive up to see them from time to time. My first memory of an Atlanta visit must have been in about 1954, which would have made me four. I remember looking in the Rich’s window and seeing my first television screen ever, all lit up in vibrant black and white. I also remember eating lunch in the tea room there.

As a child, I was a picky eater. On one occasion when I was quite small, a nice neighbor lady asked what I liked on my hamburger, and I responded with “everything but the meat.” I’d like to think I was ahead of the  times with my vegetarian sensibilities, but I guess my recent chicken-fried chicken selection would belie that. And a vegetarian I definitely was not, as, to my child mind, vegetables were to be avoided at all cost. 

I’m pretty sure that, for my nice luncheon at the Magnolia Tea Room, I ordered either a cheese sandwich or my extra-special favorite, peanut butter and jelly. I’m also certain that my sneaky mother mouthed something about a vegetable to our complicit waitress in her frilly white apron.

It doesn't take much of an imagination to conjure up what happened next in the midst of a nice meal in a lovely restaurant full of happy post-WWII hatted and white-gloved matrons and very few children.  To my horror, English peas arrived in a neat little pile on my plate; Mama told me to at least taste them, and I said no.  She ordered and I cried.  She put her foot down and I petulantly took a spoonful.  But, determined to have the last, albeit silent word, I refused to swallow.  

The rest of the meal was spent with me full-cheeked and teary-eyed, but Mama didn't relent.  Finally, the bill was paid and my Mary Janes insolently followed my mother's spectator pumps past the other patrons, out the door, and into the elevator to take us to the first floor where the perfumes and hosiery were displayed and sold.  Midway through our downward journey, I looked up at Mama and smiled my best smile.  In the midst the packed elevator full of  other shoppers and diners, I said, in what my mother later reported to have been an extremely loud voice, "Peas all gone!"

Rich's Department Store, with its Pink Pig at Christmas and its Crystal Bridge spanning seven stories, is also gone, gone from downtown Atlanta and elsewhere.  All that's left are grown-up memories of little children reluctantly following their mamas in their pretty hats and white gloves up and down Peachtree Street; children just looking for some respite, perhaps a magic trick or a nice peanut butter and jelly sandwich with no vegetables. 

Although Gene eventually understood that there were simple solutions to the magic tricks he obsessed over and purchased on his shopping trips to downtown Atlanta, solutions explained by the sales clerk as soon as he handed over his small bills and coins, I continue to dislike English peas to this day.

12 comments:

Schmidleysscribblins said...

When I was a kid, back in the old days of the 1940s we lived in Brunswick and Thompson GA. Savannah was the big city, and Atlanta the big-big city. I don't remember much about the latter, but I do remember the streets in Savannah were covered with cobblestones.

Years later I returned to both cities for various meetings, conferences and to visit relatives who live south, west (in Alabama) and north of Atlanta. All I remember restaurant-wise is Pitty Pat's Porch. My boss loved the place. I cannot remember what I ate, but I doubt it was peas. Probably something bad for me like fried chicken.

Jean said...

Portland, Maine, had a wonderful Porteous department store. I didn't shop there until I'd moved to southern Maine in the late 60's. What a wonderful, old-fashioned department store it was: several floors, a large cosmetics area, beautiful decorations at Christmas. Ah, the old days! I love peas, by the way, and in place of a PB&J sandwich, I'd have a peanut butter and marshmallow. It doesn't get any better than that!

cile said...

I love this line:"...Finally, the bill was paid and my Mary Janes insolently followed my mother's spectator pumps past the other patrons, out the door, and into the elevator to take us to the first floor where the perfumes and hosiery were displayed and sold..." I can remember watching my Mother's shoes as she lead me through public places. It is exactly what a kid does! I had forgotten that. You remember the best stuff!

May no one offer you peas on your best day.

Bobby Gail said...

English peas? I had to google "English peas" to learn that this is what Southerners call what we yankees know as regular old green peas. And the green peas I had during our month-long sojourn in England back in 1985 were called mashie-peas and always accompanied fish and chips. Such a surprise. But I guess no more confusing that calling certain beans "black-eyed peas" -- but then no telling what Southerners call those!

Freda said...

I thought you were going to say that you sprayed the peas all over the lift!! Lovely story.

joared said...

So many stores are gone everywhere. This reminds me of the ones I see disappearing from around here now in So. Cal., let alone all the businesses that disappeared in my Midwest home town years ago.

Great peas story reminded me of my daughter's aversion to them and her disposal tactics I never learned about until she was an adult.

Wisewebwoman said...

Lovely memories, Marcia. What a gorgeous store that was!
I would have misinterpreted your elevator remark and looked anxiously at the floor!
I am a complete fan of Marrowfat peas and buy them here in Canada. Dried peas. "Mushy peas" to some. Born and raised on them.
I remember some of the old stores in Cork City and have written a few columns on them.
Will our grandchildren wax as nostalgic about Mall-Wart?
XO
WWW

marciamayo said...

I have no idea why we called them English peas. They were canned green peas. I'm going to have to ask around to see who called them that and who didn't.

Arkansas Patti said...

You mean you actually swallowed them? I was waiting for you to decorate the elevator with peas also.
I spent many an evening praying for bed time as I stared at some loathsome food on my plate I refused to eat. Parents do insist on those matters don't they.

marciamayo said...

I was stubborn but would have never had the nerve to spit them out. I, too this day, continue to be a rule follower. I guess it's kept me out of jail.

Friko said...

What are English peas?
Garden peas? nice
Mushy peas? yuk
processed peas? yuk

I really am surprised that you carried the horrors in your mouth for so long. I would have spat!

marciamayo said...

They definitely weren't garden peas. I'm pretty sure all the peas I had as a child were canned. At home, they were LeSeur, which I just researched and found to now be Green Giant. My mother, being a modern woman, thought canned fruits and vegetables were great.