Clean Plate Club

“Clean your plate and you’ll get dessert…or TV…or stay up late…” or some bribe my mother would tease us with to finish our supper.  If that didn’t work we’d be guilted into it by some statement about children in a faraway land who were starving; we should be grateful for every last green bean, as if me filling up my belly would help with world hunger.  So, that’s how I became a member.  And it doesn’t help that I love to eat, so I now monitor how much is on my plate and eat every last morsel most meals.  Throughout my life, I have had the luxury of eating fresh veggies from my garden and, at times, fresh eggs and milk from neighbors.  Growing up in New Hampshire, there were cans of liquid gold stored at the top of the cellar stairs, gold boiled from the harvest of the local maple trees, simmered down into delicious maple syrup.  We drowned donuts in this liquid, soaked our pancakes, and ate it by the spoonful.  And when no one was looking, not only did I clean my plate, but I licked my plate!  Not a drop could go to waste.   

After my gardening job in Grafton this week, I passed a homestead that had driplines attached to loads of maple trees whose sap flowed through the lines into a large plastic grate on a pallet for easy transport.  My subconscious has been tempting me since, so I indulged in waffles with a heavy portion of maple syrup for breakfast this morning.  And after Jack went out to work in the shop, I licked my plate before putting it in the dishwasher.  Blame my mother for my lack of manners, but I really have no shame!