Food Memories: A Taste Of Memories

From the time I was old enough till a few years ago when my grandparent's house burned, shortly after papa passed away, I spent many summer days eating watermelon on their front porch. When I eat watermelon now, as an adult, I am transported back in time to that beloved porch when I was a little girl without a care in the world. To a time before my Papa's cancer had took hold, and before I really knew what responsibility was. To a time where I believed a watermelon would grow in my tummy if I ate a seed, and my stomach would be big like my Papa's. That's one thing my papa told us, and as silly as it seems now, to a young girl it made perfect sense.

I remember times when my Papa and Granny's front porch would be covered in watermelons that my Papa either grew or from someone who had told him to come get him a truck load from their field. You see, where we grew up that was a common occurrence, people sharing what they grew with their neighbors was just the way it was. Perhaps it was that many of these people grew up in a time when sharecropping and helping each other out was a necessity. Perhaps it was just that my grandparents always went our of their way to help others with anything they could, and this was the way some people gave back to them. When I think about those watermelons all lined up along the shady part of the porch I think about how my Papa and Granny would offer one or two to anyone who came for a visit. I can hear my papa now "Y'all get a couple of those melons and take them to those babies", and by "babies" he meant their children, grandchildren, or any other child that happened to wonder into their path. Papa and Granny were all about the "babies", and if we wanted watermelon we got watermelon. Now we did get the occasional, "don't get a belly ache" warning, but he'd always give in if we wanted more.

I can't see a watermelon without thinking of those times on the front porch eating watermelon and watching the cars ride by, a favorite thing of Papa's to do. I personally think he'd sit out there so if anyone he knew rode by, they'd know that a visit wouldn't interrupt anything. Papa sure did love to visit with folks.

Tasting the sweet meat of a watermelon is almost bitter-sweet for me now. Memories of my beloved grandparents and the front porch we all so dearly loved come flooding back with every bite. I share my love for watermelons with my own children now, and before the passing of my Papa and the fire that destroyed the porch, Kenneth even enjoyed watermelons on the same porch I did with my grandparents.

There were several times throughout my childhood that I remember my Papa unloading a truckload of peanut plants onto his porch and telling all of us younguns (children and grandchildren) to come help pick off all the peanuts. Papa and granny had the "make everything a party" mentality that came from the corn husking parties they participated in growing up and when their children were little. These "parties" were a group of neighbors working together to get a big job done while catching up and enjoying each others' company. The best part of picking those peanuts off was the time I spent with my parents, grandparents, siblings, and cousins. After the work was done Granny would boil a big pot of peanuts and we'd enjoy one of our favorite treats. I can taste those juicy, salty peanuts now.

For a few years my grandparents even used the local canning plant to can some boiled peanuts, some plain, some with peppers in them. There were shelves upon shelves of canned peanuts for us to enjoy at any time, granny would even warm them up for use since that's how we liked them best. I'd give anything for a can of those peanuts right now. On the occasion that I do pick up some green peanuts and boil them or stop by a roadside vendor for some, I remember picking peanuts, sneaking tastes of the raw peanuts, and eating the boiled peanuts with my family. I remember how my grandparents injected fun into everything and how anything could be a party.

I mentioned my grandparents making everything into a party, but nothing compares to what went on when we made syrup. Chewing sugar cane or eating cane syrup makes me think about when we would all gather at Papa and Granny's house to make syrup. I can't even begin to count how many people were there when we did this. There were several jobs to be done and even though we didn't all help for the whole time, we all helped some of the time.

Grinding the cane was my favorite part because I'd get me a glass of the cane juice and drink it and boy was it good. My Papa had a cane mill in his back yard. It was powered by a tractor that drove around in circles to turn the wheels of the cane grinder. We'd take turns feeding the cane through to be ground up. We collected the juice in a 50 gallon drum after it was filtered by a sheet that was placed over the top of the drum.

Once the juice was collected it was cooked in the kettle till it was syrup. During the cooking process trash would have to be skimmed off the top. Part of the way into the cooking phase a gummy taffy like substance would form around the kettle, it was the candy. The candy was great, and we all got a small piece. What a treat!

My Papa sure did enjoy making his syrup, and we all enjoyed helping him with it. Every time I see sugar cane or taste some cane syrup I think of the cool fall days we spent making syrup together. I really miss that time.

Even after my Papa passed away there were bottles of syrup left and every time we visited granny we'd make biscuits and sop them in the cane syrup mixed with butter or sour cream. I can't eat biscuits and cane syrup without thinking about the last few visits my husband and I had with my Granny before she passed away. Sure, we'd ate biscuits and syrup together many times while I was growing up, but for some reason my mind sends me back to less than a year ago.

The last few times we visited Granny we has biscuits and syrup together and when I eat it now I think about how wonderful it was to have had that time with her. I can't recall what we talked about, but I can recall the feelings I felt. I can remember how nice it was to just be with her.

My Daddy's mama was the first grandparent that I knew who passed away. I think of here often, especially around Christmas. Christmas is the time of the fruitcake and my Granny Brogdon was Queen of Fruit Cake. She made the best fruitcake in at least 3 states, but I'm betting it was just the best fruitcake period.

When I eat fruitcake I always think of granny and how good her's was, but I also think about what my Daddy used to say to Granny at times. He'd tell her she was nutty as a fruit cake when she'd make a silly statement or misunderstand something. He always made her laugh and I can hear her now, "Aww Gordon", as she was giggling about what he'd said. They had an easy way together, just as most sons have with their Mama. It could have been a hurtful statement if it were said by anyone else, but my Daddly saying it brought her a certain joy and allowed her to laugh about it. My Daddy was always picking at her, and I miss seeing that playful interaction.

When Christmas comes around again, and there's a fruitcake in the house, I'll spend a few mornings enjoying the memories with a hot cup of coffee.

Hot chocolate is a favorite treat for my children. During the cooler months, and even sometimes during the summer, me and my sons,Kenneth and Chrystian, love drinking hot chocolate in the evenings. I really enjoy sharing a cup of hot chocolate with them.

For me hot chocolate is more than a yummy treat. It is a time machine that sends me back to my favorite time of year, Christmas. I don't remember exactly when our tradition of homemade hot chocolate began, but I do remember looking forward to Mama making it. She would only make it homemade a couple times a year, one being the day we put up the Christmas tree. I don't know what I liked better the hot chocolate or putting up the Christmas tree, but when I drink hot chocolate I think of both and it's like I'm getting a warm, comforting hug.

I have made homemade hot chocolate for my kids, but mine never seems quite as good as Mama's. I don't know what it is about hers, but I'm guessing that it's the love she puts in it. Myu children will probably feel the same way one day, at leas I hope that's how they'll feel.

2 cups of sugar
1 cup of Hershey's Cocoa
Dash or two of Salt
1 1/3 cups hot water
1 Gallon of Milk
3 tsp vanilla extract
mini marshmallows or marshmallow cream

1) mix sugar, salt, and cocoa in a large pot, stir in water and cook over medium heat until the mixture boils
2) boil for 2 minutes and then stir in milk and heat (do not boil!)
3) remove from heat and add vanilla, top with marshmallows or marshmallow cream and serve.
* You can put left over mixture back into the milk jug and refrigerate. Will keep a couple days. You can drink it cold or reheat it for more hot chocolate.
(I like to add peppermint schnapps or a peppermint candy to my cup of hot chocolate)

I married the love of my life almost 5 years ago and since then our bond and our love has grown immeasurably. Ron is my best friend and I trust him more than I have ever trusted anyone else.

Our wedding cakes were both topped with strawberries, so tasting them always makes me think of the day we were married. It was a beautiful Saturday in October, but boy was it hot to be October. I didn't see my wedding cake until the day of my wedding. It was such a beautiful cake: white with strawberries topping each layer. I was so shocked by how beautiful it was, that I knelt down in front of the table it was on to get a better look. I was in my wedding dress and my cousin, who was taking the wedding pictures, just happened to snap the photo. It is one of my favorite wedding photos. It's beautiful, just as every other detail of my wedding was.

These are the thoughts I have whenever I bite into a strawberry.

When I was around eleven or twelve years old my mom was working nights and we didn't get to see her very much. We'd see her for a little while before we went to school, but that was it other thank her days off. During this short time we had together in the mornings, we'd enjoy the pancakes that she made us. Mama was queen of special pancakes. She'd add sprinkles or chocolate chips to our pancakes and we'd be as happy as hogs at the trough. It was the perfect start to our days.

When I eat pancakes now I think about how Mama would come in from a night at work and make us pancakes for breakfast. It was such a short amount of time we spent together, but it was meaningful. I don't recall any specific conversations, but that doesn't make the time less memorable for me.

That morning at breakfast with my husband I tried to explain why I love pancakes so much, and this memory has to be the main reason aside from the taste.