Grandma's Table

Growing up, the dining room table was the gathering place at my Grandma's house.

It didn't matter that there normally was delicious food of some kind she wanted to feed you, it's just where we lingered.  Where family was.  Sometimes the room would be so full, there'd be two to a chair, elbows rubbing, laughter overflowing.

Often, as young kids we'd get booted from the chairs to sit under the strong oak table and play amongst the legs of adults, or we'd crawl to the nearby hall. At times we would "spy" on their conversations, as if swapping fishing stories or the ribbings during a Rook game were anything for us to hear.


As an adult, I treasured visits with my grandparents and savored their undivided attention.  We'd chat about everything and sit in silence watching the birds over a glass of sweet tea.  As they aged and health problems grew, I'd bring them treats and even meals to keep Grandma from having to cook.  And they'd enjoy them with me at the table.

But in her better days, could she ever cook.  Home-grown, fried with love, good Grandma cooking.  The kind I've never been able to duplicate, even with the help of her hand written recipes.  How I long to sit at Grandma's table and savor fresh bass dipped in ketchup, her famous wine chicken, or ooey-gooey eggplant Parmesan.  The only dish I've somewhat mastered is Grandpa stew and this cooler weather certainly has me longing for a steamy bowl!


All these memories are stirring within my stomach - and my soul - after lunch with family today.  Grandma's sister, Mary, and Grandpa's sister's children, whom we rarely see, along with my mom and her siblings took up the back half of a local diner.  Plates of meat and three passed around, with room saved for a homemade Italian cream cake, brought with permission.  Watching these familiar but aged faces, comfort of family falling so easily into place, I was reminded of days gone by. 

More than the meals of my childhood, I miss the familiar.  I miss the regular gathering of that side of the family, as our grandparents were the central magnet that brought and kept us all together.  I miss Grandma and Grandpa and all that they were.  But I'm thankful for the moments and memories I can now hold dear.

And I'll joyfully await our next family gathering, already planned before we parted. Until October...

Deep Fried Joy

Three worn plastic dishes side by side.  Seasonings stirred into flour to just the right sandy color.  Fresh farm eggs cracked, the golden yolk swirling into stark white milk.  Skillets warming.  Fingers caked with flour, goop meeting grit.  The soft sizzle of the oil that greets chicken to pan.

Such was the setting for last night's dinner preparations.  In each step, I could sense the presence and love of my mother-in-law.  Gone from this world two years now, I carry on the tradition of cooking her baby fried chicken for his birthday meal.

If June were here, she would have called Tim yesterday morning and invited him to a lunch he already expected to attend.  He would've eagerly counted the hours at work until the time to drive the short distance to her apartment, where the aroma of fried chicken would meet him in the parking lot.  Hearing him from the breezeway, she'd stand waiting in her small kitchen at a tiny table for two.  Her face would light up at his entrance and he'd envelop her in a giant hug, sneaking a chicken leg behind her back in one swoop.  They'd share a laugh and then a meal with all of his favorites.  The best part though, for Tim, would be her company.

I never attended a birthday lunch, it was their special time, but I can envision it in my mind from the stories he'd tell upon returning home.  Our gift was the fact that he never came back empty handed.  In a faded yellow tupperware container, her name written in cursive across the top, would be those tasty leftovers of fried deliciousness.  This container now lives in my cabinets and I smile upon the memories of the meals she sent to us each time I use it.

My hope is that Tim had a bit of flashback of happy memories with last night's dinner.  His smile, upon presenting him a plateful of crispy chicken, was worth the time spent, mess, and unavoidable grease pops that came in preparing it.  He was giddy with excitement as he bit into the crunchy, yet moist leg.  And it didn't bother me in the least that not a word was said until the very, finger licking, paper towel cleaning finish.

It was my great pleasure to bring him some comfort, a hug from his momma above, and a hefty dose of love on a plate for his birthday.  I pray it was as joy-filled for him, as his enjoyment made it for me.

Egg in a Bag

We have a favorite meal whenever we camp.  Noah actually taught it to us, after learning the recipe at a 4H camp.  I think that's one of the reasons we enjoy it.  The meal is so interactive, from start to finish, and is perfect for camping. 

Before we left for our trip, I spent an afternoon prepping our meals.  This made whatever meal we were having so much simpler, allowing me to truly relax and be on vacation.  For our "Egg in a Bag" breakfast, I chopped and bagged all the omelet choices, knowing we'd have additional leftovers from other meals. 

The morning we had this, all I needed to do was heat up a pot of water and lay out the assembly line.

Each camper then brought their Ziploc bag (slider type, sprayed with Pam), inserted into a solo cup, just to keep the cracked the eggs from slipping across the table. 

We dropped two eggs in each bag and then the fun begins.....squish, squash, squish!

Once mixed, everyone gets to add their favorite ingredients to the bag......ham, cheese, onion, green pepper, mushroom, the options are endless.  And because each bag is as individual as the owner, everyone is happy.

Another squish or two and then we're ready for the pot. 

The water needs to be boiling before dropping in. 

(Be careful not to let the edges touch the sides of the pan or burner or you'll have a gooey mess.)  Cooking time will vary based on how full you packed your bag - around 3-5 minutes.  You'll know it's done by checking for any liquid goo.

When ready, just open bag and roll out onto a plate. 

Because of the cooking process, it's not a meal that everyone can sit down to eat at once.  But, because others are busy mixing, adding, squishing or boiling,

everyone has something to do. 

And all that's left to do in the end is enJOY!

Whether camping in your backyard or a woodland retreat, try Egg in Bag with your family.  I hope it fills your belly and creates fond memories for years to come!

Let Them Eat Cake!

Exactly two weeks after Christmas is my birthday.  Eleven days later is Noah's.  Two weeks from that, Tina's.  So for six glorious weeks we are surrounded by birthday cake.  And with our birthday-fests, lasting days as they do, cakes are in no short supply!  This week begins our last scrumptious days with the frosted delightful desserts. 

My all-time favorite is red velvet but only if it is made from scratch, super moist, with a note of deep, dark chocolate, and perfectly tart cream cheese frosting.  A few years ago Tim surprised me with one he'd ordered from a friend of a friend.  It was A-mazing!

Noah's favorite is classic.  White cake, vanilla icing.  He actually scoffed that I ordered 1/2 of his sheet cake this year in chocolate (because that's the favored kind of the family).  Not that he had any room to complain considering we also had a cookie cake and ginormous cupcakes from GiGi's his birthday week!  Tina's fave, I have discovered, is strawberry.  Tonight, her actual birthday (#13), we're having strawberry shortcake.  What she doesn't know is that I've also ordered a from-scratch-strawberry cake complete with strawberry filling and strawberry cream cheese icing.  I can't wait for Sunday's party!

All this cake thinking and ordering reminded me of our birthdays growing up.  For us, Mom always made our cakes.  Mine was normally vanilla.  I love chocolate but in a "teenage phase" I thought it cool to be pro-vanilla.  I distinctly remember my 13th birthday cake like it was just yesterday.  It was pink and maybe it was strawberry inside too.  I just remember the pretty pink frosting, pastel candles and candy letters.  Sorting through photos, my memory was pretty spot on!

I also remember posing for a photo, even though I couldn't find it.  That photo is actually why I remember the cake.  Mom had pencil curled my hair for my birthday and I was wearing a soft pink sweater that matched the icing.  I normally hate any photo of me but I remember this one being cute because I actually posed.  ....of course it would be the one I can't locate!

What I'm glad I do have though are the memories of those simple, close family birthday memories complete with homemade cake and icing.  And, I'm thankful I took the time a few years back to scrapbook all those family recipes to keep for generations to come, many in the actual handwriting of the cook.

From my family scrapbook cookbook

PB Delight

What do peanut butter, corn syrup, and butter have in common?  They cure what ails you!  Or, at least they sooth my soul (and Noah's too).  More than anything for me, they take me back to my childhood sitting at the table with my Grandma Coons.  I love how family recipes connect you to generations, memories and emotions.

When combined, these three ingredients create a luxurious spread to be enjoyed on a slice of soft, white bread.  As kids we just called it Grandma's dessert; somewhere along the line it became known as "peanut butter delight", but whatever the name it is ooey gooey comfort on a plate!

Sunday evening our entire household was on a downward spiral.  At first, I'd hoped it was just disappointment of the ending of a fun weekend.  But Tim's back had grown increasingly worse (more on that in another post) and Noah had sniffles throughout the day.  By the time the sun was down, so were both of them.  I never like to see my guys in pain and knowing they feel bad saddens me, especially when I can't fix it.

After dinner, I decided to concoct this yummy treat, knowing it would at least bring some comfort to Noah.  Placing Tim in the hot tub for some therapy, I headed for the kitchen.  As soon as I began assembling the recipe, my nerves began to calm.  It was as if thirty years faded and all my worries melted when I stirred the butter and peanut butter together.  Drizzling in the corn syrup and blending to just the right consistency, I could picture my Grandma doing the same. 

With Tim dried off and wrapped up on the couch and Noah snuggled beside me, we enjoyed the treat together.  Smiling, he rested his head on my shoulder, remembering the times I'd made this before.  I loved knowing he has happy memories on this sweet delight, just as I did as a child.  In fact, I don't guess you ever really outgrow them since just preparing it brought back warm childhood moments for me.