I grew up in what was considered the Golden Age of this country. Times were simpler; everyone’s role was defined. Dad worked; my mom took care of the home. Dinner was at 6 p.m. Depending on the day of the week, you knew what meal would be served. Friday? Fish. Sunday? Pasta. Special occasions? Out to a restaurant: There was a steak house, certainly a bunch of Italian restaurants (none of which apparently could stack up to Grandma’s recipes), and if you really wanted to be exotic, there was Chinese.
No longer is it uncommon to see foods from other countries gracing American shelves.