I was reading my Southern Living magazine this morning, thumbing through the recipes when those favorite dishes of my childhood and early adulthood started coming to mind. I am not sure if anyone knows the true measure of how good the food actually was as compared to how well it is remembered as it was wrapped up in precious memories. I am certain of the fact that this was the September fall edition which triggered it all. The kick off of fall dishes always helps to ring in the holiday season and who was at the center of the holiday season growing up other than grandma.
My Grandma Smith was known for her peas and chicken and dumplings. The recipe came from the mother-in-law of one of my favorite readers, Mr. John Gallaspy, my grandmother's best friend and country neighbor, Ms. Camille Yates. I never could find it in writing, but I do remember it beginning with homemade biscuit dough and boiled chicken. Never have I had the pleasure of tasting another helping of chicken and dumplings that can compare.
When I was still a teenager and married my husband, Clay, we would often drive over to his Grandma Nezzie's house to eat lunch. It didn't matter the day of the week or if we called first. She always had a full spread cooked at lunchtime. Men from the mill would stop by and make a plate then leave some money. Neighbors would walk by or peddle by and speak while sharing the meal. It was a very modest house in a very modest neighborhood that had a yard larger than many of the others. She had a small kitchen with a table in the center where food was always cooked and sweet tea was always fresh.
I will never forget my first trip over to her house to share this meal of fresh vegetables, carbs and more carbs, and a variety of meat. Her one bathroom was toward the back and as I looked around next to the toilet paper there was a box of matches. I had no clue why these two items would be made partners in this tiny facility; however, my husband later explained it to me. Necessity is truly the mother of invention.
As time passed we would eat at Clay's Aunt Billie Sue's house for Thanksgiving and at times Christmas and even Halloween. Over the years each family member developed their own special dish they presented with great pride, and as I write this my taste buds are buzzing and my mouth is beginning to water. My mother-in-law's roast and red gravy, one aunt's dressing, another aunt's garden vegetables. Crips and crunchy corn bread and my husband's brisket and smoked meats.
In the south our lives revolve around breaking bread as families and friends and fellowship. We take pride in our creations or for those of us who are not great cooks we take pride in those family members who are. My sons have quite naturally picked up this art, so I just continue chopping things up and tossing fresh salads.
This brings me back to my original point. There is no doubt that our grandmothers could whip up some fabulous food when inspired which seemed quite often when the holidays rolled around. Yet, I have sat in many fine dining restaurants being served the house special cooked by an award winning chef in a room with candles lit and shiny silverware. I have sipped on red wine and crunched into freshly baked bread dipped in olive oil being surrounded by others sharing in the atmosphere dressed to the hilt enjoying the cuisine. And never have I experienced food that warmed my taste buds and my soul at the same time.
We often reminisce that it was Grandma Nezzie's old iron pots that held the years of seasoning which simmered her delicious gravies and fried foods. There is obviously some merit to a well-seasoned pot; however, dining in the south most good chefs know this secret. It has to be one layer deeper or several layers deep. The children running and laughing in and out of the front and back doors. The huge hugs and shared memories while buttering the bread. The sweetness and safety that these flavors have been woven into our lives with the love and care those grandma's gave to their hand sewn quilts. These meals permeated all of the senses far beyond our taste buds to form a unique flavor that can't be copied and is all our own. Precious memories…I still smile about the matches.
