There’s not a way to spell the syllables to make “met” and “me” rhyme. The sentence though is the story of my food career, and I owe it all to my mother. She spent her whole life with what to cook was either grown in the back yard or raised in the back pasture. The offerings were to be seasoned with salt, pepper, onions, garlic, and bacon grease. The bacon grease was generational and sat on the back corner of the Chambers range in a stainless steel special can with a sieve to catch brown bits and a lid to protect from dust. In case there is a cardiologist among you, she lived to 101 1/2 and my dad to 96 on this diet and did not die of heart problems.
Mother’s first dictum was to have plenty. She was raised in Mississippi by a widowed grandmother who still had four sons living at home. Meals were mashed potatoes or rice, vegetable of the season – always fresh – , and a variety of meat from animals killed locally, caught, or hunted. Hot bread was part of most meals as rolls, biscuits, or cornbread. We’ll discuss dessert later. My dad was an ag teacher and had scholarship boys who had to stay on campus even if all else was closed. It the cafeteria wasn’t serving, our house was. The most heard phrase was, “Would you have some more….?”
Dessert came in six choices: two pies, two cobblers, and two cakes. Apples pie was number one, of course. Close behind was lemon meringue, my favorite. Cobblers with biscuit dough to absorb juice were peach and blackberry made in a large iron Dutch oven I still have. Maybe the cakes were three. A chocolate and an oatmeal sheet cake and one that appeared only for SPECIAL occasions, so I almost forgot it. It was three layers of a white cake mix with 7 minute icing – no mean feat- and coconut pressed into the top and sides.
I learned by watching and absorbing. Mother knew how to plan time and what she wanted to happen, and she couldn’t guarantee I would do it correctly. I was given the task of setting the table and be ready to “Put this on” when the command was given. No matter who was there, the meal didn’t begin until all were seated, and she pronounced, “Now, honey.” Breakfast was more individual, but for two meals a day, my dad would offer, “Thank you for the food we eat and the hands that prepared it. Bless it to our bodies and us to thy service.”
I may have gone beyond her recipes, but for a foundation I can make rolls and a blue ribbon peach cobbler. Basically, I want plenty to go around that a table full of men would enjoy.
She rises early while it is yet night and provides food for her household.
Provides 31:15
Let Me Tell Ya 