My daddy always took me to get my immunization shots.  And when it was over, he would buy me a strawberry malt, and shake nutmeg in it.  I always carry nutmeg in the pocket of my car.  If I need a special treat, that's it.  If the urge for a strawberry malt hits me, (always strawberry) I'm prepared.

I have no idea where he got the money for the malt.  Back then, there wasn't any money for such things.  My mom and dad lived paycheck to paycheck like everyone else during WWII.  Everything was already allocated when the check came in.  Nothing left over for fol-de-rol like a malt.

Rent, utilities, gasoline (to get in a car pool-you didn't just drive a car to go get something, you walked), etc.  Food wasn't on the list.  Gran raised a garden and supplied canned goods.  She had a cow for milk and butter, and chickens for eggs.  And when we went to her house, we had fried chicken.  It was always tough, because the only hen a person could sacrifice was an old one that had quit laying eggs.  Or an old rooster for chicken and dumplings.

You had to have a ration stamp for meat--if you could afford it.  The grocery stores had freezer cases with horse meat--advertised as "not" for people.  But there were some who ate it since it was so cheap. We weren't that desperate.

My other grandmother was on rations and got blocks of cheese. (Remember those?)  Our staples were macaroni, beans and cornbread.

Everything was fried in bacon grease.  Jars of bacon grease were saved in the refrigerator so it wouldn't go rancid.  And lard.  How did we survive all that bad fat?  Who knows.  But every now and then, I fry okra in bacon grease.  The taste is a memory of what it was like to be poor and well fed.