He always wore Birkenstocks, which I would eye jealously as the black asphalt burned through the soles of my own bare feet. As an untidy line formed behind him, he unlocked the Plexiglas doors that enclosed the bed of his truck. Inside, a heavy, blue shaved-ice machine sat next to stacks of Styrofoam cups, bright-colored bottles of syrups and a bowl of red Swedish Fish candies. The lifeguards repeated their command. Stack banana till the morning come. Every summer of my childhood, the same ritual repeated itself.
Then there are the ebbs and flows of our status as an agricultural nation.
Shaved ice itself is marvelously simple: Banana Boat songfeaturedHawaiian shaved iceshaved ice. When it melted, syrup would roll down the sides of the cup in bright droplets of green and blue. American Food Roots Why we eat what we eat. Monterey Bay offers fish for the whole family.