/pol/ - International /Pol/itics & /Bant/er

>>2426282 (OP)
mcdonalds is easily one of the most american things toe ver exist so

This reminds me of something.

It was the fall of the year. The poplars and cottonwoods had turned red and yellow.
His mother was working and singing in the kitchen over the old coal-burning stove. She
was stirring apple butter in a big crock. Or she was canning peaches. The peaches sent a
rich spicy smell through the whole house. She was making jelly. The pulp from the fruit
hung in a flour sack over the cooler part of the stove. Through the cloth the juices oozed
stickily down into a pan. The pan had a thick pinkish-cream scum around its edges. In the
center the juice was clear and red.

She was baking bread. She baked bread twice a week. She kept a jar of starter in the
ice box from baking time to baking time so she never had to worry about yeast. The bread
was heavy and brown and sometimes it swelled two or three inches over the top of the
pan. When she took it out of the oven she smeared the brown crust with butter and let it
cool. But even better than the bread were the rolls. She baked them to come out of the
oven just before supper. They were steaming hot and you put butter inside them and it
melted and then you put jam on them or apricot preserves with nuts in the syrup. That
was all you wanted for supper although you had to eat other things of course.
In the fall his mother worked from day to day and from week to week scarcely ever
getting out of the kitchen. She canned peaches and cherries and raspberries and black berries and plums and apricots and made jams and jellies and preserves and chili sauces. And
while she worked she sang. She sang the same hymn in an absent voice without words as
if she were thinking of something else all the while.

Excerpt from "Johnny Got His Gun" by Dalton Trumbo.

Imagine living before McDonald's existed and this was just the norm for you?