I remember the first time I ate brown gravy on mashed potatoes. That brown gravy was one of the few things my mother made from a mix, and as a child I preferred the boxed brown gravy to the white milk gravy that was normally served with our meals (yes, I was a strange child). In early marriage, my cooking wasn’t quite up to “Mom” standards, so I was thrilled to find my childhood favorite on the shelf at the local grocery store. One evening I served a meal of hamburger patties with mashed potatoes (also from a box, a trick I learned from my mother-in-law) and brown gravy. As we sat down to the table, my husband said “Mmmm… brown gravy like Mom used to make.” “No,” I confessed, “this brown gravy comes out of a box.” “So did Mom’s!” he said with a grin as he dug in.
Brown gravy like Mom used to make has come to be a staple in my kitchen over the years, a memory from our newlywed days that still brings a smile. I’ve learned a lot about cooking from the Moms in my life. I still make my Mom’s simple but world-class from-scratch cornbread, a staple on her dinnertable and the first dish she taught each of her girls to cook. I have finally mastered her white milk gravy, replaying the memory of watching her measure hot meat grease against a spoon and add enough flour to make a bubbly roux, then add a bowlful of milk and stir until the mixture boils and thickens into the elixir that makes biscuits and chicken fried chicken special. I learned from my mother-in-law to make homemade pie filling from canned fruit with sugar and cornstarch (or flour) for thickening. A pie crust recipe in a church cookbook was my go-to for years, until the day I learned about the secret pie crust.
Peach cobbler was my Dad’s all-time favorite (mine too, unless blackberries are in season). I worked hard to learn how to make my Daddy’s favorite dessert, and I got really good at it if I do say so myself (which I can, since this is my blog). My stepmother makes an excellent cobbler too, and she makes the prettiest lattice tops I’ve ever seen. I had never made a lattice top, and so a few years ago I was excited to be in the kitchen the day before the family Christmas gathering when she announced that she had to make a peach cobbler. I’d eaten her cobblers. They’re wonderful, a culinary chorus of sweet peaches and cinnamon and flaky crust. I was prepared to be awed. I was not prepared for the shock.
She reached into the freezer and pulled out two red boxes. I had seen those boxes in the dairy case, but I had never seen the contents. I watched as she opened the boxes and lined a pan with crust, poured in the pie filling, and cut more crust into lattice strips and carefully wove them over the top of the cobbler. That cobbler was beautiful, prettier than any I’ve ever made. That cobbler tasted as good as mine (maybe even better… kitchen commandment number 1 is that Mom is the best cook bar none, and she’s no exception).
I’ve used her “secret” pie crust recipe ever since, reminding myself that I do know how to make a pie crust and still can anytime I want. My aunt, who made the most awesome cream pies you’d ever want to eat, later confessed that she used the secret recipe too, and the three of us shared a good laugh about our recipe at family gatherings. (Another secret: use the name brand and buy them when they’re on sale.)
I’ve been blessed to have come from a family of great cooks and doubly blessed to marry into one. I could write pages about all the special dishes, and surprises, I’ve encountered over the years, and the lessons I’ve applied to the daily meals that come from my own kitchen. For the sake of not spilling all the “secrets” in one sitting, I will end this entry by sharing, in honor of my Mother and all things like Mom used to make, the recipe for Mom’s cornbread.
Mom’s Cornbread
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| The finished product. You can use any kind of dark 8 or 9 inch pan or an iron skillet; mine just happens to be heart shaped. The cornbread never lasts long enough for anyone to notice the shape of the pan. |
1 cup cornmeal
1 heaping serving tablespoon flour (approximately 1/4 cup)
1/4 heaping teaspoon baking soda
1/4 heaping teaspoon salt
1 egg
1 cup buttermilk
fried meat grease or oil
Preheat the oven to 500 degrees (yes, 500 – that is not a typo). Measure the cornmeal and flour into a mixing bowl. Add the baking soda and salt and mix well. Add the egg and the buttermilk and stir well. Melt some fried meat grease or oil in an 8 or 9 inch dark cake pan or iron skillet. Turn the pan to coat the bottom with the melted grease; pour the excess into the cornbread mixture and stir in. Sprinkle the bottom of the pan evenly with a light dusting of cornmeal. Return to the oven until the meal is lightly toasted. This happens quickly, so resist the urge to check social media or run to the dryer at this point or you will have an over-toasted, smoky cornmeal mess. Pour the cornbread mixture into the pan and bake until golden, approximately 15 minutes.
Notes: Mom always used white cornmeal, but you can use yellow with good results if you can’t find white meal. Mom always used real buttermilk. You will find recipes for substitutions, but trust me when I say real buttermilk is worth the cost, and you can probably find a small container of buttermilk in the dairy case of your local supermarket for a reasonable price. For those of us who need to watch our cholesterol, a healthier oil can be used in place of the fried meat grease.