Wisdom

Food should taste like love. -  Grandma B

Grandma B taught me to cook. I remember standing on a chair stirring the pot for Sunday supper. Usually, this was homemade spaghetti. Uncle G and his family would come over. Sometimes, Uncle S, who was in the Air Force would make it up from the Hampton Roads area. This was always a special treat.

When Dad's parents passed Mom managed to get the "spaghetti" bowl, a brown earthen-ware bowl that was chipped. It brings back memory of eating together, fresh bread, sliced tomatoes, and lazy Sunday afternoons where us kids were sent outdoors while the men watched "The Wide World of Sports." 

Mom often said that Mr B never ate a tomato peal in his (married) life.  Grandma B would peal them all. She sometimes worked as a school lunch lady.  This was before the federal government took over with school nutrition programs that made everything taste like crap. This was the days of real egg salad, green beans that didn't taste like a tin can and Texas sheet cake for dessert. 

I wish I could go back to that front porch and shell some peas or Lima beans, or snap some green beans.