Memories of Food

Some of you know I have been entering videos for the Paula Deen - Real Women of Philly Contest...and she ask us to share our first cooking experience and I honestly cannot remember it but I do have memories of food and below are some of those,,,I would love to hear yours so let me hear from you.

Food…it comforts us, it sustains us, and it brings us together. It seems that many of my most memorable moments in life have an aspect of food attached that I can remember…but the strange thing is …I can’t remember my first cooking experience and ladies, I’m not that old. These memories are both glorious and heartbreaking and still hurt my very soul to remember and to be quite honest; I do not care to have that particular food anymore. That is how powerful memories and cooking can be. The first memory that I have of food was eating watermelon when I was young…now you know you are country when your daddy buys a big watermelon and it becomes a family event. Every summer when the first ones would appear at the fruit stands my daddy would buy one and we would call all the cousins and granny to come over and eat it. Us kids ran all over the yard with watermelon juice staining our faces and what clothes we still had on…it was hot in the Summer Mountains. The next memories of food were when it would come November and it was hog killing time (I know that sounds harsh but remember my ancestors were farmers and the land kept them alive). I did not participate in the butchering part but boy I loved the taste of that fresh tenderloin. Other memories included going ginseng digging with my granny. When dinner time came around (that’s what she called lunch) we would find us a cool spot in the woods and she would open up a mason jar filled with pinto beans she had left over from supper (that’s what she called dinner) pieces of cornbread, fresh tomato, cucumber, and onion. Nothing tasted any better. Of course there were the holidays and breakfast at my granny’s house. She cooked on a wood cook stove until she passed away. You have not tasted biscuits or gravy until you had tasted my granny’s. Blackberry cobblers, blueberry cobblers all fresh because we picked them. I have a few scars to prove it. There were also times of sorrow that resonate in my memory and pull along smells and tastes. I was eight years old and my momma was in the kitchen frying chicken. I remember she had flour all over her hands. The phone rang and she received the news that her 28 year old brother, my uncle had been killed. The phone dropped and so did she. That was a dinner never finished. I can still see the grease bubbling up in the frying pan. Food has been in my blood you might say. I am from a great family of cooks, old fashioned cooks and my style of cooking is not what my granny would have done and she probably would not even like it very much. My background is humble. I can’t quilt or knit which are also parts of my heritage, but I can cook and I believe in the power of cooking- it brings people together and loves them up really good.