The Origin of "Pringles"

I had coffee and conversation with a friend at Panera in Finneytown this week. Finneytown is one of the north-of-Cincinnati residential areas that I have passed through frequently on the bus or in the car as we go into downtown Cincinnati by way of Winton Road.  Though I have thousands of hours of commuting time in all sorts of weather and road conditions under my belt, those days are past, and I am no longer an adventurous driver. Nevertheless I felt perfectly comfortable driving there by myself in the middle of a sunny afternoon, and I arrived early, as I usually do, since I don't really believe that you can get "everywhere" in Cincinnati in about a half hour, and always allow more time. I am wrong more often than I am right--it almost always takes less time than I allow.

We were in my friend's neighborhood, and after we talked, I offered to drive her home. I was watching carefully where I was going, so I could get back again, and after we made a couple turns I noticed the sign for Pringle Drive, though that was not where we were headed. Then she remarked casually that Pringles were named after this road! Oh, that's where the inventor lived? I asked. No, but the product manager at P&G who was working on their potato chip product back in the '60s happened to live in this general area, before the new product with the innovative shape and container was named. He and a colleague or two car-pooled, and as he passed one day he noticed the name of the street and thought it was catchy. Neither he nor any other Pringles associate actually lived on Pringle Drive, but the street is forever enshrined because its name caught his eye and his imagination.

Pringles, which I have seen in numerous countries throughout the world, is one of the hundreds of consumer brands that I recognized as a Procter & Gamble (P&G) product even before I came to Cincinnati. But it turns out that my recognition is outdated. Since I moved here and read The Enquirer I have been aware that P&G is downsizing, selling off tons of its brands. They sold Pringles in 2012 and it is now owned by Kellogg.

The Wikipedia article about Pringles gives a good history of the "potato snack," as it is now called, and speculates--but without this exact story--about its name. I like this one.

Two-Car Family

Nothing makes me feel more American than the fact that we have once again become a two-car family. Two cars for two people. During most--but not all--of our working life in New England, we had two cars and set off for work in different directions and on different schedules. But when we moved from New England, with one of us retired and one working at home, we downsized to one car.

It's hard to believe that we existed for a good five years with no car at all. That was in Spain, when we lived in an apartment on the main street of Roquetas de Mar, with a bus stop outside the door and within four or five blocks of the sea-side promenade.  We walked; we biked; we took the bus to the nearby city of Almería; we depended only occasionally on the kindness of friends to drive us to an event; and we occasionally rented a car when we wanted to go farther afield. We were in much better shape physically than we are now.

Five years later, but still in Spain, we were in the process of moving farther to the east and northward up the Mediterranean coat to the Torrevieja area in Alicante province. It was a minimum three-hour car trip (without stops) between the two areas, and it took us almost a year to explore the new area, decide on a new house, sell our apartment, and get settled. Even before we chose the exact house we eventually moved into, we knew we were going to need a car, because everything was so much more spread out in the Torrevieja environs than it was in Roquetas. We bought a "new" used car from Goldcar, the company we had used for renting umpteen cars to go back and forth. It was a silver-gray Ford Fusion, German-made but American-branded, the first American car I had personally ever owned. Throughout our life in the U.S., we had been regulars with Volvos and Toyotas after my husband gave up on the blue Camaro convertible my father had encouraged him to purchase in 1967 "because he knew Susanne would like it."

The house that we moved into in Algorfa, near Torrevieja, was within a five-minute drive of everything you would ever need on a daily basis, and a good deal more. It was within walking distance of nothing, however, unless you counted the Sunday outdoor market (but you would die of gas fumes walking along the road to the market because of the hundreds of cars that came from longer distances). And so when our good bikes were stolen we did not replace them, and we got used to driving the short distances to shopping and entertainment together, or occasionally as a single, but only a couple times did we ever have a conflict when one of us wanted to be in one place at the same time that the other wanted to be in a different place. It worked for our semi-retired, active, but joint life in Spain.

We bought a car here even before we moved back permanently to the U.S., because we knew we were going to move, and we knew we would need one. The used Avalon sat in a rented storage area for the last six months we were in Spain. Now we are permanently and fully back home in the U.S., in a condo where I, at least,  can actually walk to drugstores, the hairdresser, restaurants, a liquor store, and various other establishments (but not a good supermarket), and where there is a a bus stop outside the door that takes you into the city. Our activities have changed, though. We still go to a number of social events together, shopping, and medical appointments. But we have added adult-ed classes, a book group, and meetings with other painters and writers. During the spring session of the OLLI adult-ed classes, I gave up two desired classes because we could not coordinate the drive schedule. And if I go off for a lengthy book group and luncheon meeting with the car, Johannes feels cooped up not being able to drive ten minutes to Lowe's or the frame store or somewhere else to work on a project.

Johannes has always said that his next car would be an electric car, so off we went a month ago to look at a used all-electric car. We test-drove it and agreed to think it over. But we failed to pass by a Toyota dealer on the right side of the street on the way home without stopping to look, so several hours later we found ourselves the new owners of a used Prius, which is partially electric.

The Prius is now sharing space with the Avalon in what used to be a comfortably open double garage with one car and a lot of side space. Now it is cramped and we have to be careful how much we are carrying when we get into or out of the car--either one of them. The Avalon has become somewhat neglected, since the Prius gets twice the miles-per-gallon that the Avalon gets and suits almost all our driving needs. Only twice, I believe, have both cars been out of the garage at the same time. I don't think we are driving any more--in fact, maybe less, since we no longer have to make some contorted trips to accommodate two passengers in two different places. The OLLI schedule will come out in a couple weeks, and I am happy that I can choose what I want without worrying about whether Johannes will choose a course at the same time at another location.

I do, however, have to worry about which car my sun-glasses and a/c sweater are in, where the library books and reusable grocery bags are, and whether I have the right keys for the right car at the right time. And then there is the matter of the garage door opener, of which we inherited only one when we bought the house. I am sure we can buy a second, but then we would have to program it!

There is always a price to pay.

A Walk in the Park

The walk was a week ago Friday and the park was Smale Park, a large park in various stages of development on Cincinnati's riverbank, adjacent to downtown Cincinnati and immediately across the Ohio River from Covington, Kentucky.

The day started with a bus ride into the city. It had been nine months since I had taken the bus, and I planned to catch it at a different stop from where we had run after it in the mall parking lot last fall. This stop was a short walk from my garage door. I checked the schedule carefully, planned on getting there ten minutes ahead of time, since only one bus comes per hour, and allowed five minutes for the walk. The walk took one minute tops, and the bus came fifteen minutes after the published time. Still, I was in the city at the Government Square depot just 45 minutes after I got on, on time. The route passed through areas with which I was familiar, and I was glad to see that I could get to two grocery stores, historic Findlay Market, and the Music Hall by bus if I ever feel the need to do it that way.

Meeting up with my sister at Fountain Square was easy, and we walked down Walnut Street toward the riverfront. Our first stop was to look around at the various statues in front of and around the Great American Ball Park. We had heard the sculptor talking at an earlier OLLI lecture this summer, and there were still signs of the 2015 All Star Game that had taken place just three days earlier. The weather was good: bright and sunny, not humid, and still under the 91 degrees F. that would show up on the temperature gauges later in the day.

We moved on to the 45-acre Phyllis and John Smale Park itself and saw its welcoming water cascade and splash-and-play water fountains roomy enough for a baby stroller to be driven through, which was happening. On to a 19-foot earth-based piano with 32 bells and keys and chimes that ring out when kids dance on them--if they are big enough to trip the sensor (For very young children it takes a team effort). We stopped on the waterfront and observed how high the river has grown this wet summer, and my sister oriented me to the several towns along the other side, in Kentucky Walking  farther west we eventually came to Castellini Esplanade, with picnic table and benches recalling the names of many early farmers who came from what are now three states to sell their produce.

We never found the spiral labyrinth we had read about, but some people did, for that is where you can rent bikes, segways, and tandem or quad-cycles to navigate around on, and we saw lots of people on those, especially the bicycles for two side-by-side. We did find Carol Ann's Carousel, a lovely old-fashioned structure with paintings of Cincinnati landmarks, and watched as children found their places and whirled around, and as parents and grandparents watched them with enjoyment.

Then we made our way to Moerlein's--"the official after-game gathering place"--for lunch, and afterwards we walked back up into downtown and toured the Hilton Netherland Plaza and rode the elevator up to the 49th floor of the Carew Tower, the "highest elevated building in the city of Cincinnati," to get a view of the city and the winding river that separates it from Kentucky. Finally we walked back to the Government Square area and found our respective buses and returned home after a special day for me of learning about some of the highlights of Cincinnati history and architecture.

Spanish Tapas in Cincinnati

I've been too busy to write about them before, but there were two significant events in June before we left to sell our house in Spain. The first was that we "catered" an afternoon of tapas at our new home here on June 7; the second was that we "catered" an evening of Danish smørrebrød the following week.

Both these events were sponsored by my first sister and brother-in-law as fundraisers for their church fellowship. Both had been planned for months--the seats were auctioned off at the church last October--and the dates had been carefully selected to avoid any foreseen conflicts with the four hosts involved. The first change was that both the sponsor-host and the caterer-hosts moved house between the auction and the event. As the time neared, we all decided that it would be easiest to handle the food preparations and serving at our new home, and that gave us the motivation to get things organized for entertaining after our move, as well as help in doing it! Perhaps not knowing the guests in advance removed some of the tension from first-time entertaining, too.

For the record, here (below) is the menu for the tapas festival, the first event.

Taste of St. John’s

An Afternoon of Tapas

Sunday, June 7, 2015

“Bienvenidos”

Cava

Endibias (endive with tuna filling)

Tortilla Española (Spanish “omelet” with potatoes, spinach, and onion)

Olives

Almonds

Queso manchego (Manchego cheese) and jamón serrano (serrano ham)

At the Table

Cóctel de Gambas (shrimp cocktail)

Barras de pan (Bread)

Albóndigas (Meatballs) en salsa con guisantes (peas)

Patatas alioli (Potatoes with garlic mayonnaise)

Gazpacho

The quintessential Spanish summertime soup

Paella Valenciana

with chicken and chorizo

Sobremesa (Afterwards)

Dulces (sweets) y café

From my point of view it was a good party. I had fun planning a diverse but representative menu, canvassing food stores throughout Cincinnati for the right ingredients, and working with my sister on the project. There were no culinary disasters. The guests said they had a good time, and the conversation flowed. There were enough left-overs to spread around the next day, but not too many. That was a good thing, because by then we were on to Denmark...!

A Danish Dinner

There are plenty of tapas restaurants in Cincinnati--and everywhere else--so the guests at that event had a pretty good idea of what to expect. But Scandinavian food is not as well known, and the Danish open-faced sandwiches called smørrebrød are not available in restaurants here. They are, however, available in our home almost every Saturday evening, so preparing for this event was not difficult at all. The only problem was accepting that some of the wonderful food combinations had to be left out, because, after all, the dinner had to be consumed in one sitting. Below is the menu that I finally settled on.

Taste of St. John’s

June 14, 2015 at 6:00 PM

Smørrebrød

Danish Open-Faced Sandwiches

Snitter

Appetizers

Hardcooked Egg with Herring Bits ~ Paté of Sprat with Cucumber

 “Victor Borge”

The favorite sandwich of the Late, Great Dane

Smoked Salmon, Egg, and Shrimp on White Bread with Dill Mayonnaise & Caviar

“Stjerneskyd”

 A Shooting star, or fireworks

Baked Breaded Tilapia with Remoulade, Shrimp, Caviar, & Tomato on Dark Bread

 “Hans Christian Andersen”

What the Famous Storyteller Ate When He Wasn’t with Company

Mushroom & Chicken Liver Paté on Whole Wheat Bread, with Tomato, Aspic & Horseradish

“Summer Salad”

Egg with “Italian salad”

or

Sliced New Potatoes with Curry Mayonnaise and Fried Onions

Citronfromage

A classic light summer lemon dessert

There was a bit of a cosmetic glitch in this dinner, with the lemon dessert, which is definitely not traditional with the smørrebrød but is traditional in spring and summer, and the weather was perfect for it. It tasted fine, too. Again, the conversation flowed--this time with beer--and inspired.

Amazing Grace

It's been a busy month and a half, but we are now home again in Cincinnati. This morning, through the grace of The Gathering at Northern Hills, I was introduced to new words to a well-known song whose melody haunts all who hear it, but for some of whom the traditional lyrics strike a disturbing chord. Here is "Amazing Grace" from a less individualized, more loving perspective.

Amazing Grace (Adapted)

Amazing grace! How sweet the sound

That loved a soul like me.

I once was lost but now am found,

Was blind, but now I see!

'Twas grace that taught my heart to love,

And grace such love received;

How precious did that grace appear

The hour 'twas first perceived!

Through many dangers, toils, and snares,

We have already come;

'Tis grace that brought us safe thus far,

And grace will lead us home.

When we've been here ten thousand years,

Together just as one,

We've no less days to sing love's praise

Than when we'd first begun!

No author attribution was offered for this version of the hymn that replaces the original by John Newton in my heart, and I have not found a source after a short research session. But I did find a Wikipedia discussion of modern interpretations that provides some interesting perspectives. It includes a mention of the wonderful documentary on "Amazing Grace" produced by Bill Moyers in 1990, which I recall seeing, and links to several excellent recordings of the piece by various artists.

From My Bedroom Window

I opened my eyes this morning to the view I often have now, to the window on my left that lets in morning light through its top two panes while shielding me from the view of the row houses across the shared backyard gardens. Bless those honeycombed blinds that can be lowered to hide the bottom and reveal the top, which were already installed in the bedroom when we took over the house in February. I make sure that they are positioned with the bottom half of the window covered and the top half open before I go to bed each night, because I love to lie in bed in the morning and watch the sky come to life, sometimes with clouds moving across, sometimes with breezes blowing the leaves and upper branches of the trees, sometimes with streaks of sun shining through. No sun this morning, but the expanse of the sky was there, and pretty soon a cup of hot coffee appeared magically at my bedside, too, so my reverie could continue.

This morning I was remembering how I used to wake up in the bedroom in our house in Spain, where the window was on the right (and so was I) and where, if I had been able to look out the full-height glass doors to the French balcony, I would have seen tall yucca trees instead of the broadleaved trees we have now. Of course, I never saw those trees when I woke up because in Spain windows are covered for the night with rolling metal awnings to keep out noise, temperature, intruders and, alas, any morning view. We will be going back to that house in three weeks to close its sale to new buyers, and fortunately we have decided not to stay in the house for the few days we are there. A few months ago the yuccas were cut down on the advice of the real estate agent, who had listened to potential buyers note that the house seemed dark with their foliage. I was devastated, because the yuccas had shielded us from the view of the neighbors across the street and passers0by along the street during the day when the awnings were open, to the extent that I felt perfectly comfortable changing my clothes without covering the window. No one will be able to do that now, with the trees gone, but the new owners won't know that you once could. I think they are going to be an awful lot hotter during the summer months with the sun boring in than we were, too, but that's not my fault.