It takes time
When we need some easy television, we tune in to “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.” The long-running Food Network series provides all the viewing comfort of a big ol’ bowl of homemade mac and cheese.
Whenever we watch Triple D, some nice owner of a niche eatery explains that his love of cooking started when he was a kid in his grandmother’s kitchen. I get that. I wasn’t a kid, but even as an adult, I consider myself lucky to have spent time hanging out in Grandma Ginny’s kitchen.
Like the folks on Triple D, she made everything from scratch. She had her secret methods and her guarded recipes, some of which she shared and some of which she didn’t. But whatever she made, Grandma Ginny took her time and did it right. That time is really what I remember the most.
The process of cooking usually started with a fresh cup of coffee. Somehow it tasted better made in a Mr. Coffee drip pot and sipped from a ceramic mug adorned with daisies. Or maybe a white stoneware mug with the name of the nearest convenience store imprinted on the side. To be honest, I think Virginia’s company enhanced the flavor.
If we were gathered for breakfast, someone set the table, complete with apple butter, and some honey from the little pot with the wooden dipper.
Scrambled eggs were a specialty, so someone else cracked a dozen eggs into a bowl. They were seasoned with salt and pepper, a bit of dill, a touch of garlic, just the right amount of half and half, and a generous sprinkle of grated cheese, then folded over and over in creamy mounds in the skillet.
Preparing whole wheat toast was another job, along with cutting fresh fruit. By the time we pulled up to the table, three cups of coffee into the morning, the sense of well-bering was palpable. It helped that those old coffee cups only held eight ounces. But it really helped that Grandma Ginny sang and laughed while we cooked. Dancing was not uncommon. It was the best of times.
When we gathered for supper, Virginia’s potato soup was one of my favorites. When they hear about it, my friends shake their heads and explain that it’s just clam chowder without the clams. Maybe they’re right. I’m still holding out on clam chowder so I wouldn’t know. However you classify it, Grandma Ginny’s was sublime.
But my favorite dish she made was chicken and noodles over mashed potatoes.
We started with bone-in chicken breasts. Then we added celery (leafy parts included; that was important), onion and carrots into a heavy pot with salt and pepper, water, bouillon, and any seasonings she found “interesting.” After that, a super-slow simmer for 45 minutes, with the lid propped up to let out the steam.
Once the chicken was tender, we turned off the burner and let the chicken and vegetables sit there and think about their lives, with the lid sealed tight, until the stock cooled to lukewarm. That, Virginia said, was where the magic happened.
While the chicken cooled, we peeled and boiled golden potatoes with a little salt, then mashed them by hand with butter, cream, and a sprinkle of baking powder. Thick egg noodles, boiled with mostly water and a little splash of chicken broth, were cooked and drained. Then we added back the deboned chicken, a good measure of broth, and used a little slurry of cornstarch to thicken it all. Home cooking heaven.
This process took the whole of an afternoon. Along the way, we enjoyed our coffee, conversation and contentment.
The best things in life take time. Friendship. Trust. Good food. On Triple D, where diners feed hundreds a day, that time is created through artful prep and early planning. With Grandma Ginny, that time was lavished on us. Everything she prepared was for our enjoyment. With her love, and her Mr. Coffee.