We
need to start this piece off with a story. It almost certainly
won’t make a lot of sense placement-wise as we begin, but we’re
going to come back to it. Don’t read too deeply into it for some
direct meaning. Simply consider the surface thought.
Nonni
was the cook for the family. And not the cook on this day or that.
Not the cook for a few years. Nonni was the cook for generations.
In fact, the following was brought to me by Nonni’s great granddaughter.
She
came to the United States as part of a move involving her parents
and grandparents. They lived together for years after the move
in an apartment. Along with her mother and grandmother, Nonni
cooked in the kitchen. And after she was married and had moved
out of the apartment, she began a Sunday tradition of weekly meals
at Nonni’s house. A family tradition. Every week.
More
than thirty years ago, the story was related to me. At that time,
Nonni was still the cook for Sunday dinners. By then, Nonni was
also a great great grandmother, and two of those great great grandchildren
were old enough to cook with her from time to time. This basically
means that Nonni connected eight generations of family cooking,
and my friend was an in-person participant when five generations
were in the kitchen at the same time.
A
few years later, Nonni passed away. The family decided to collect
her recipes, make a book out of them, and print copies for everyone
in the family. While all have been treasured, the recipe everyone
wanted was her sauce.
They
all tried to make the sauce. And I do mean everyone tried. The
results were good. Great, actually. But unanimously, every time
it was agreed that something was missing and the next week someone
else made an attempt. None succeeded.
It
was discussed. Often. Conversations comparing one person’s experiences
in the kitchen with Nonni against those of another. What order
did ingredients go into pans? Which knives and cutting boards
did she use? Did anyone notice her changing the settings for burners?
There had to be something, even a little thing, that all of them
were missing. And then…
A
great great grandchild ended the debating. Mind you, she didn’t
end it with a resolution. She merely presented something that
caused everyone to realize they likely would never get to a perfect
recreation. The great great granddaughter’s question: “Didn’t
Nonni smoke in the kitchen?”
And
while the child was noticing the only thing in the kitchen that
she saw happening before that wasn’t happening now, the rest of
the family at first moved it to perhaps a bit of smokey infusion,
perhaps a few cigarette ashes, that may have been brought to the
sauce but never managed to get listed on the recipe card. Eventually,
regardless of whether it actually was the cigarettes or not, they
understood there was a chance that they would never achieve perfection
in the sauce itself. The perfection was the memory, and of having
the joy of being in the kitchen with Nonni at all.
Again,
we’ll come back to this.
Every
so often, I believe we all think of something we’d like where
others would react, at best, with skepticism. More accurately,
they would react with a confused look that suggested they had
absolutely no idea what we wanted.
For
me, one of those things would be the Doritos flavor sour cream
and onion. Amazing. It was, for me, the best flavor of Doritos,
and it’s not even remotely close.
On
the surface, calling for such a product to be brought back isn’t
a bad thing. In fact, I’d like to think it’s a good thing. But
I am also aware that there are people that would not just tell
me it’s a terrible idea, they would also do so with facts.
See,
I’m asking Frito-Lay to bring back a tremendous product, and they
have the information to tell me why they shouldn’t. Perhaps the
sales weren’t as good as I would think. (And my promising to purchase
a bag or two each year isn’t enticing enough to change their minds.)
Maybe they know about issues with ingredient supplies, such as
cost or availability problems.
The
reality is that I don’t know why they stopped making them, but:
(1) they did stop, and, (2) there was a reason (or reasons). And
whether or not I promise to annually wave a $20 bill in their
direction, those reasons appear to be good enough not to place
the flavor back into the regular lineup.
Frito-Lay
would prefer I try some other options from their fine family of
snack items.
(Here’s
comes the twist.)
And
that’s probably for the best.
Planter’s
began offering cheese balls several decades ago. Specifically,
Planter’s Cheez Balls. They weren’t the very best cheese balls.
But they were good. Very good. And they had this complementary
buttery-like taste that no other brand offered. In short, if you
were in the mood for Planter’s cheese balls, you had to have Planter’s
Cheez Balls.
They
discontinued the product. And many people, like me, were sad.
Then
they brought it back. And many people, like me, were sad.
We
were sad because what they brought back was not the same product
we remembered. The taste profile was all wrong. Something was
missing.
And
this is where Nonni returns. (Not because I think anyone was smoking
while the cheese balls were being made. I warned you about overthinking
it. Just the basics.)
Is
Planter’s using different equipment? Are the ingredients sourced
from different suppliers? Were some ingredients swapped out with
what are supposedly equivalent options, but aren’t exactly the
same? Are they making them in a plant that exists in a different
location, perhaps a different elevation, than the previous production
plants?
I
don’t know the answers to these questions. But I do know that
the cheese balls are different. Very different. And if they brought
back sour cream and onion Doritos, I can’t be sure that they’d
be bringing back Sour Cream & Onion Doritos.
(Full
disclosure: they have at times brought back the Doritos. Limited
releases, and I’ve never been able to find them. But I’m a sucker
for nostalgia, so I’ll keep looking. Still… Nonni’s Law remains
a scary possibility. Anyway…)
The
major issue here is simple: some things are terrible ideas. But
only by finding out details we may not be considering can the
full truth be realized. Just keep in mind…
The
reasons you don’t see everyone jumping off the garage while holding
an umbrella may be far more significant than people not knowing
where they put their umbrella. In some cases, it may be tremendous
to go looking for your umbrella. In other cases, you might be
better off with the memory.