heritage

Banket was left upon our microwave. Leah and I discussed whether it was intended for us to eat. 

"It's on top of the microwave."

"Is that where our free food is?"

"I think so."

"Who would leave banket out and NOT expect their West Michigan housemates to eat it?"

"Exactly."

We decided we should probably wait to ask if it was meant for us or not. 

And then a few hours later (one) I ate it anyway. 

Banket isn't even my favorite dessert. It has no chocolate, for instance. The only worthwhile part of almond puff pastry is the frosting, and banket doesn't even have that going for it. But there is something so home-y about it. It's not even like my mom made it every Christmas or anything-- though it's definitely a holiday treat (would you ever eat banket in July? NO.). 

So as I googled banket recipes to replace what I'd eaten, I started attempting a list of Dutch heritage I can claim. 

My grandmother said "zink" and "Dezember".

My mother would talk about floosies on your sweater. (Does "pills" seem a more rational word?? I think not.) 

The alphabet of last names was filled with 70% Vs in school. And I was always last, except for Billy Yff. And sometimes Katie Wilson. 

And that's about it. I have little sense of "culture". Maybe if I lived elsewhere, for longer, my sense of Midwesterness or even "Americaness" would be more defined. The USA is so broad -- and crazy-- that generalizing anything seems unwise. 

So. I ate the banket. Because I grew up in West Michigan. Because it was there. Because Christmas is in a week and everyone is wondering about family traditions and I wonder if I have any.