March Slice of Life No.3 * Celebrate This Week.
I’m sharing a slice and celebrating comfort on this Saturday morning
with a cup of coffee and a wedge of cornbread drizzled with warm cream and maple syrup.
There are some days that are comfort days, like Saturdays.
There are some smells that are comfort smells, like fresh baked brownies.
And there are some foods that are comfort foods (I fear I have far too many comfort foods), like cornbread with warm cream and maple syrup drizzled on top.
In the days of my girlhood, we were poor.
I didn’t know we were poor because we didn’t have a TV to tell me I was poor.
The newspaper didn’t have shopping inserts with colored pictures to tell me I was poor.
I always had a clean pressed cotton dress to wear, and I could only wear one at a time, so my clothes didn’t tell me I was poor.
And there was always plenty to eat, so hunger never told me I was poor.
My mother was an expert at making sure that my four brothers and I were never hungry. (Well, except for times we were dismissed from the supper table for inappropriate behavior.) But before I continue, less you feel badly for me, I want to assure you that I was actually quite rich in what matters and lasts a lifetime –like imagination, conversations, books, laughter, love, faith.
As I was saying, my mom was an expert at making a grand meal out of almost nothing. Often in the winter, our evening meal (we always called it supper) was soup or stew. Some of the soups would begin with beef bones that my dad picked up from the butcher. (Soup bones were cheap back then. Little did we know that one day, bone broth would be considered a super food and bones with marrow would not be poor man’s fare.)
During cold winter months, large pots of delicious soups or stews simmered in our kitchen.
Sometimes Mom served what Dad called “day-old bread.” It was the stale bread that grocers sold at a greatly reduced price. It wasn’t moldy, just very dry. Mom would butter it and put it under the oven broiler until it was hot and crunchy. (Maybe that’s why I like crunchy toast.) Other times, Mom would bake flaky biscuits or cornbread to pair with our bowls of soup or stew. And on rare occasions, she would fry thin, crunchy cornbread patties — a recipe she learned while living in rural North Carolina. (But most often, fried cornbread patties went with our dinner of boiled ham, potatoes, cabbage).
When Mom baked cornbread, she would double up so there would be leftovers for breakfast the next morning. In the morning, she toasted wedges of cornbread sliced in half under the oven broiler, then spread them with farm butter. (I call it farm butter because Dad bought raw milk by the gallon from a farm, and Mom skimmed the rich cream from the top to serve on our cooked cereal or churn into butter, and sometimes whip up to go on a dessert.) As the butter melted, she would drizzle the smallest amount of warm cream and maple syrup on top of each slice.
I loved that cornbread!
So, on this chilly Saturday morning,
between winter and spring, I’m indulging
in a slice of hot buttered cornbread
with warm cream and maple syrup drizzled on top,
a cup of coffee and
the comfort of memories.
words of faith
And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life:
he that cometh to me shall never hunger. –John 6:35 (KJV)
Head over to
http://twowritingteachers.org
for more slice of life stories.
#SOL18
Celebrate this Week
with Ruth Ayres
#Celebratelu.
So many of our lives “back then” would be considered poor today, but I join you in being thankful for the “important things” that made us wealthy. Your slice is rich with sweet memories and sweet tastes, too.
Thank you. I’m so glad you stopped by.
What I take from your slice is that, regardless of the circumstances our memories are valuable.
Yes, they are. And I’m enjoying reading about yours, Juliette.
This brought back memories. Like you, my mom always cooked in large amounts not because she wanted leftovers but because she never knew which of our friends would stay for dinner. There wasn’t much but always enough to share. For us it was the Slovak food, halushki, halupki, anything that made a roaster full.
I bet your friends stayed every chance they got. Oh, yes… we had the Slovak food often…both halushki and halupki. Yum! I remember Mom rolling out the noodles–very thin, cutting them in long strips and drying them spread out on an old tablecloth on top of her bed (only large flat place they wouldn’t get disturbed during the day).
Yum! Thanks for a cozy slice today.
🙂
Lovely memory and I can smell and taste the cornbread. I grew up in a household like yours. Mom managed to make great food from very little. Thanks for the memory!
Thank you for sharing that with me, Joanne.
What a lovely slice… In the days of my girlhood, we were poor.
I didn’t know we were poor because we didn’t have a TV to tell me I was poor.
I could include so many more lines… Just so well crafted. I can taste that cornbread and remember what is was like to have to save for things…
Have a great Saturday 🙂
Oh, yes… “saving for things” … we counted those pennies and nickels. 🙂
Favorite line: “I was actually quite rich in what matters and lasts a lifetime –like imagination, conversations, books, laughter, love, faith.” You also showed such love of a mother shown through her food preparation. Lovely story. Lovely memory.
Thank you, Sally. So glad you stopped by.
What a special story of your childhood. I’ve never heard of having cornbread for breakfast. Growing up in Mississippi, we ate pot-liquor which was cornbread, black-eyed peas, and turnip greens, a drizzle of gravy from the pot roast. My mother would put it all together in a coffee mug. I can’t say it was my favorite, but definitely comfort food.
It sounds yummy. Along with bone broth, those greens–turnips greens, kale, collards– have found an elevated place in our current cuisine.
The love your mom showed to your family through her cooking can be felt in between your words. What a great way to spend your morning!
Thanks for stopping by, Dianne.
Beautifully written memory. Filled with comfort. This reminded me Byrd Baylor’s The Table Where Rich People Sit.