|My beloved grandmother Hattie Hess and me|
My Favorite Food would have to be fried chicken. I know I’ll never taste one like my Grandma fried up in a couple big scoops of Spry or lard in her black cast iron skillet. She’d dip the pieces in seasoned flour and lay them in the hot skillet to brown. What was special about these chickens was that they were plucked, cleaned and cooked within hours of being killed. They had a good life for a spell—a big chicken yard with food, water, bugs, little rocks for their craws, the companionship of a rooster—no coyotes or foxes. A good life until it was gone.
Home mashed potatoes (lots of butter) and creamy gravy usually accompanied the chicken. In summer, creamed new potatoes with peas was de rigueur. As a kid I refused to taste this dish. We also had string beans cooked with bacon, but I freaked out about the “strings.” A difficult child. I got the wings which I loved, and I shared the liver with my Dad. My mom liked the ribby pieces and the dark meat. Dad also got the breast and everyone was happy. My grandma always fried two chickens if there were more than three people. She made the best Waldorf salad. And when the tomato crop came in, we had homegrown tomatoes, big red tasty ones—something I know I’ll never taste again in this lifetime. Something about the Kansas soil, or the care and love with which they were grown and tended. Huge luscious tomatoes with a zing that is impossible to find anymore, even if you grow you own. Oh, those tomatoes!
Did I mention the home-grown strawberries? Good luck finding a berry that tastes remotely like these berries, red all the way to the center. Tart. Sweet. Juicy. The very essence of what a strawberry should be. By the end of the summer I began to get tired of them, dumb kid that I was.
My grandma baked spectacular pies, with a tender flaky crust and cherries, or apples, or berries. She made those pies seem effortless with her nimble fingers and her rolling pin. Oh god, I would give almost anything to sit in the corner or her modest kitchen at that round oak table with my grandpa in his overalls and my grandma in her house dress and eat a meal with them just like when I was a child. It was always so wonderful, and of course we never appreciate those days until they’re gone.
Favorite foods convey love, family and caring for one another. Without the emotion attached to them, it's just a meal.
This weekend, other authors are also blogging about their favorite foods. Take a look at the following blogs:
Heidi M. http://heidiwriter.wordpress.
Skye Taylor http://www.skye-writer.com/
Anne Stenhouse http://annestenhousenovelist.
A.J. Maguire http://ajmaguire.wordpress.
Rachael Kosnski http://the-doodling-booktease.
Margaret Fieland http://www.margaretfieland.
Geeta Kakade http://geetakakade.blogspot.
Marci Baun http://www.marcibaun.com/
Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.
Victoria Chatham http://victoriachatham.webs.
Diane Bator http://dbator.blogspot.ca/
Fiona McGier http://www.fionamcgier.com/
Ginger Simpson http://mizging.blogspot.com/
Rhobin Courtright http://www.