The Cavendish Banana

A peanut butter sandwich, a banana and a glass of soy milk.

It may not be as poetic as, “a loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou”, but it works pretty well for me.

I am a creature of habit. I need nourishment soon after I rise in the morning and I usually have the sandwich, fruit and beverage that I mentioned above. Lately however I have been concerned about reports that the banana, as we know it, may become unavailable in the next ten to twenty years.

Bananas were practically unknown in America before 1870. The only real fresh fruits available in our produce stores during the winter months were from the citrus family. Two different individuals discovered the year round marketability of bananas at nearly the same time and by 1899 the various operations had merged to form the United Fruit Company. Because the fruit was available year round and could be picked green and allowed to ripen either naturally or in gas chambers it was easy to promote and deliver on a regular basis.

There are hundreds of varieties of bananas from all over the world. Some have large seeds and they vary in color, size, sweetness and texture. Most of our bananas come from the Caribbean and the variety we see in abundance in our grocery stores is the Cavendish. But that was not the variety that was marketed originally by the United Fruit Company. The first popular variety was the Gros Michel. It sounds like such a royal name that I cannot help but wonder how it tasted. I will probably never have the opportunity to find out. By the 1950s the Gros Michel was dying in large numbers due to Panama disease. It soon became unprofitable to produce and market it so the company replaced it with the Cavendish. The problem that some scientists are predicting is that this variety is doomed to a similar fate in the foreseeable future. What will replace our precious banana? Who knows? I hope it doesn’t have large seeds because as the Hoosier Hot Shots put it so musically, I Like Banana Because They Have No Bones.

The banana is such a large part of our food culture here in the United States that we take it for granted.

One of my favorite character actors is the late Andy Devine. If you are a fan of old Westerns you will undoubtedly remember him as “Cookie”, the side kick of Roy Rogers. He had a high pitched whining kind of a voice that contrasted well with his rather large frame. I like to think of him as being “traditionally built” but then I also like to think of myself as being the same size that I was in High School. I like to think lots of things. I digress.

The Great Andy Devine

Mr. Devine had a long and wonderful career and appeared in well over a hundred movies and many TV shows. He was in the classic western, Stagecoach as well as It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Word and Myra Breckenridge. His television appearances include everything from Bonanza, Twilight Zone and Batman to a regular character in the first year of the show Flipper.

He characters were often humorous but he did dramatic roles as well. Probably the role he is remembered for most in our house is the voice of Friar Tuck in the Disney animated film Robin Hood.

Frank Zappa wrote a song called Andy that is a reference to him and contains some very strange lyrics but that is nothing unusual for Mr. Zappa.

A couple of weeks ago, my wife and I were watching a movie I borrowed from the library called Torrid Zone.

When I was kid and we only had two or if we were lucky three stations we could watch on our television, the networks used to have regular hours set aside for old movies. I guess they had a harder time filling time slots so whenever they were at a loss as to what to use to fill a couple of hours they would show some old movie. I remember in particular an afternoon slot at around 4:00 PM when either NBC or CBS would show an afternoon movie. Most of the time I was outside riding my bike or playing baseball or fishing, but occasionally the weather would be bad or I would just be bored so I would plop down in front of the old black and white set and watch whatever movies they had on.

While watching the Torrid Zone the other night I remembered seeing it as a child on one of those quiet afternoons I spent in front of the set.

Torrid Zone is from 1940 and it stars Pat O’Brien, James Cagney and Ann Sheridan. The action takes place on a banana plantation somewhere in the Caribbean. Pat O’Brien is the manager and James Cagney plays an overseer who works off and on for O’Brien. Cagney is one of the few people capable of getting the bananas to the shipping port on a regular basis. Ann Sheridan is a singer/card shark who is passing through the local port.

Pat ‘Obrien basically runs the whole town. The local police do everything he says and he wants Ann Sheridan out of the way and on down the road. He cannot tolerate anything the does not help get his precious fruit shipped.

The actual history of the United Fruit Company was quite close to this in the way they operated in Guatemala, Costa Rica and other banana producing countries. They were such a large part of the economy of these small underdeveloped nations that the company itself was pretty much the law and what was good for the company was what was good for the country. If you have ever heard of the term “Banana Republic” this is where it comes from.

In the movie a local peasant hero is captured and sentenced to die by a firing squad. He meets Ann Sheridan in jail and as he is leaving to go to his execution he gives her a ring he is wearing.

The particular piece of dialogue that I remembered from my childhood is when he tells her that he won’t need the ring where he is going. Her reply is classic.

“What, are you afraid it will melt”?

The whole movie is full of snappy one-liners like that and I found it a joy to watch.

And to make it even better, Andy Devine plays James Cagney’s helper. His whiney voice and comical expressions fit right in with the quick repartee of the other stars. The movie is a great example of fast pace modern humor and a great example of just how much control this American business had over the politics of these small countries. Gee, I wonder? Do you suppose American businesses have any control over foreign economies and politics anymore? I guess I’ll just let that one lie there.

Another nod to the notion of a “Banana Republic” can be seen in Woody Allen’s great early film, appropriately entitled Bananas. Woody, of course, takes the whole concept way over the top in a slapstick manner, but it still works very well.

Banana (the book)

While writing this I dug around into some of the many books I own on food and cooking and came up with a gem of a book called The Banana by Philip Keep Reynolds. It was printed in 1927 and has a tipped in sheet in the front of it that indicates it was a gift to someone from the Fruit Dispatch Company. The book is full of black and white photographs, maps and illustrations and it chronicles the early history of banana production and marketing in and around the United States and the Caribbean. Of course this is about the Gros Michel variety not the Cavendish. At this point the Gros Michel was not dying from Panama disease.

I’m sure that the reason I like peanut butter and bananas so much is because we always had them in the house when I was a kid. Whenever we were hungry and there wasn’t anything else to devour my Mom would say, “Go make a peanut butter sandwich”.

Now we are faced with the demise of the banana as we know it and added to that is the new threat of salmonella in our peanut butter. I’m sure you are all aware of the massive recall of certain peanut butter products. My wife told me the other day that I should stop eating peanut butter sandwiches to be on the safe side. I don’t know that I need to be that concerned but who knows? If you don’t see a post from me after this, I guess you might consider that I ate one too many PB sandwiches.

It was great watching that old movie and making that connection with my childhood. Peanut butter and bananas may end up going the way of the late great Andy Devine. Just like many people, I try to hold on to the past but change is inevitable. What I think is important is not the things we had or the things we try to hold onto. The real value is in the memories. No one can take those from us.

If you look at the amount of space that is used in most grocery stores to display breakfast cereal you have to guess that cereal plays a large role in the store’s sales. In your neighborhood chain food store it’s all about display space. Different companies and suppliers battle for the right to stick their wares in the most advantageous places and to get as much of whatever available display space is up for grabs. Some products get very narrow slices of the shelf pie and others take up huge spaces by the door where you enter or perhaps on the end of a regular aisle.

Today I found myself standing in the middle of a fairly narrow aisle (the aisles themselves have to be passable but not too far apart or it will eat up the available merchandise space) trying to locate the Uncle Sam Breakfast Cereal that my wife and I eat. The sheer overwhelming number of cereals offered for sale made the simple search I was trying to conduct a bit of a task. Many of the boxes have similar artwork and colors. Most of the various sizes that the products come in have similar patterns and the huge selection caused my eyes to glaze. I felt a state of sleepy calm beginning to overtake me. Gradually the periphery of my vision became narrower and a Vaseline type glaze not unlike opening your eyes under water took place. After a brief effort to right myself and to fight off the deadening haze that my mind had drifted into, I felt a release and perceived an audible snap that indicated that I had crossed some line of consciousness. I drifted into a semi-spiritual state that ended in my field of vision swirling and slanting and sliding off of my sensory plane.

Then I found myself walking in a field of tall grass in my bare feet. The sun was shining and there were huge fluffy clouds drifting slowly through the sky. Most of the grasses and wild flowers that made up the field I was strolling leisurely through reached the level of my chest or at least slightly above my waist. I was moving through these plants in a slow stroll and the flowers were incredible. I recognized black eyed Susans, daisies, sunflowers and when I looked down at my bare feet I saw violets and dandelions as well as morning glories and buttercups. These were the flowers of my childhood; the flowers that I remember seeing all the time as a child growing up in the rural dairy country of northwestern Pennsylvania. I felt like a child again and I was warmed by the summer sun of late August. I moved on through the field and after a few minutes saw a fence made of wooden posts and barbed wire that separated the field from a large valley where a small stream was flowing. The noise of the water running over the stones and pebbles of the creek brought back more memories of youth. These sounds and sights were old friends.

I dropped to the ground and rolled under the lower strand of barbed wire and slid down the hillside to the short grass of a pasture that ran along the edge of the stream. I approached the abrupt dirt bank that followed the stream and I dropped to my knees, sitting down on the roots of a large maple that stretched out over the water. There was a faint fishy, moist earthy aroma that rose to my nose and I could see eight to twelve inch carp and suckers moving upstream in the shallow water. A small pool that had formed on the downstream side of the maple tree held tadpoles with legs that were almost fully developed and crayfish of various sizes. A fat water snake slid into the water on the other side of the tree and I was able to catch just the briefest glimpse of his patterned skin as he disappeared downstream. Not all of the creatures were glad that I was there.

I leaned against the tree and stared up into the pillowy clouds that were drifting at a pace that revealed their lack of ambition. They were in no hurry and I could think of no reason why I should be as I drifted off to sleep. What a gorgeous day to be alive and what a lucky fool I was to be as in this delicious world.

When I came to I discovered a large man with greasy parted hair and a ridiculously proper tie standing over me. An older woman was offering me a drink of water and she was the first person I recognized. She was the check out person in the store I shopped in. She smiled and asked me how I was in a manner that made me believe she really wanted to know. What the hell was going on?

You feeling better honey? Is there anyone we can call for you? You fell down. We don’t think you hit you head but we think you might get someone here so you don’t have to drive. I know you drove here because the bag guy knows you car.

Bag guy?

What?

Where’s the Uncle Sam Cereal? I just need to get a couple of boxes of that stuff.

Uncle Sam’s is one of those natural cereals that people hate because it tastes like you’re eating a bowl of oats or wheat berries. There is no added sugar. It has flax seed in it and there are ten, yes that’s right TEN, (10) grams of fiber in each serving.

Now we all know that you have to be careful about what constitutes a serving size. When you read the ingredients on the side of the box and you check out all of that nutritional information you must be sure to see what they list as a serving size. It might have twenty percent of the daily recommended requirements of Vitamin C or Protein or whatever, but if the serving size is half a bushel and it takes twenty boxes of the stuff to get that much, then it really doesn’t mean much if you get my point. Now that is an obvious exaggeration and I “never” like to exaggerate, but I have read the nutritional information on candy bars and thought that the fat and sugar content was not all that bad until I discovered that in their opinion one bar constituted three servings. Yeah, right. I’ll buy a candy bar and share it with two other people.

Uncle Sam Cereal comes in two versions. One version is just the cereal and the other has dried blueberries, strawberries and raspberries in it. I used to buy the one with the dried fruit but I have discovered that it cost almost a buck more than the plain version. Now I just add my own fruit. My wife likes raisins and I like bananas. I just checked out their website and it turns out they sell an instant Oatmeal in two different flavors as well as some sort of energy bar. I have not sampled them as I have not seen them in any of the fine grocery stores I shop in, but I bet they are good.

I like the flavor of the whole grain goodness and that is what Uncle Sam’s is really all about. As I stated in some of my earlier posts, I am all about colon health and whole grains. Do yourself a favor and make sure you get some good fiber in your diet. Everyone should have a colonoscopy by the time they are fifty and by eating a lot of fiber in your younger years you will help to prevent colon cancer. Colon cancer is highly curable if caught early so be sure to get the colonoscopy when you turn fifty and do what the doctor says. Alright. Enough said.

I can’t help but think that there are some parts of our lives where we just have way too many choices. Standing in front of an overwhelming array of possibilities is enough to make anyone drift into la la land. I like to sample new foods and drinks and I hope I never give up trying new things but sometimes when you find something that really works for you on whatever level, then you just need to stick to it and as we say in our family, “keep on enjoying yourself”.

I think Uncle Sam is killer. Check it out with some bananas and soy milk. Good stuff.

The earliest memory I have of cooking was in the kitchen with my mother. It’s hard to say exactly how old I was but it must have been about the time I was in fifth or sixth grade, maybe younger. We made a cake. I say we because I am sure that my Mom was close at hand in case I needed questions answered.

It was a cake mix and I don’t remember exactly what kind but it must have called for eggs to be added to the mix because when it was made and being eaten by the whole family there were a number of shells discovered in the cake itself. It was all accepted in good humor and I don’t believe any of the cake was thrown away but it was obvious that I needed to learn how to handle eggs.

For my next cooking lesson Mom took me aside and taught me how to make one of my Dad’s favorite sandwiches. It was a fried egg with a couple of strips of bacon and mustard on the bread.

Dad told me once that his father used to take these sandwiches with him for lunch when he worked for the state highway department. He carried them in his lunch box and sometimes when he came home there would be a half a sandwich or more he had not eaten. My father said he loved to eat those leftovers.

When I was a young man just out of high school I worked in a spring factory and used to make these sandwiches for myself to take to work. If you toasted the bread and stuck the sandwich in a plastic bag or wrapped it in wax paper the heat of all of the ingredients would cause steam to condense on the inside of the bag and make the sandwich just a little bit soggy. For some reason, I always loved that effect on the sandwich itself.

My Mom pulled out her small Revere Ware frying pan, with the copper bottom, and had me place two small strips of bacon in it after she turned on the electric burner.  After the bacon was fried on both sides and set aside, we used the grease in the pan to cook an egg that I had to carefully break into the pan. Many times while learning to fry eggs I cracked the shell of the egg and while dropping it into the pan had the yolk break. I didn’t really mind all that much and still ate the results of course, but it was always a matter of pride trying not to break the yolk. If it was cooked properly it would be just a little bit soft in the sandwich. Not too much, just a little bit soft. And later when it was eaten for my lunch break, cold, it really did not matter all that much whether it was broken or not.

In the next few weeks after making this first fried egg, I learned to be a little bit careful when cracking the egg and I also had to learn that by increasing the heat of the burner I could not really make the egg cook faster without the finished product suffering in quality. I had assumed that by cooking on high I would be able to hurry along the egg frying step and thus sit down to eat sooner. Of course the eggs started to look and taste a little bit crispy on the edges. It was a good lesson in patience that I wish I could say I used for the rest of my life. Education is a lifelong experience.

It was a big deal to me after I mastered the art of frying an egg to be able to make this sandwich for myself whenever I felt like it. Prior to this, a bologna sandwich with butter or ketchup was about as complicated a meal as I could construct. Now I was really cooking.

This morning I made a fried egg sandwich much like what I used to make but with one small change. I used whole grain high fiber bread. I really enjoyed it and now I’m wondering…should I attempt to make a cake mix and see if I can get it finished without the egg shells?