ABSTRACT
When I was growing up in Texas, we had steak every Sunday. It was never my favorite, and there came a point when I probably groaned: “Not steak again!” This brought a laugh at my family’s dinner table, though my mother may have gritted her teeth as well. I think her putting steak on the table once a week went beyond feeding her family to being a symbolic act. She grew up in a working class family with five children and was a teenager during the Depression. Although she says her family did not suffer, I’m confident they didn’t have steak nearly often enough for her to dream that “Not steak again!” would be a meaningful thing to say.
