Sunday Supper at Grandma’s House

I grew up in a divorced family, probably the only divorced family in my school. Our friends could never keep our family straight. All of our friends always asked the same question when I walked about my mom, “Which Mom?”

Being from the only divorced family is school was odd. I will not deny that, but I will not tell you that my childhood was horrible because of the divorce either. My brother and I lived with our Dad, and we saw our Mom over the weekends. Most of our life, she lived with her parents, I thought that was grand. No matter what, I got to spend the weekend with my grandparents. Grandpa showed us many card games and Grandma fed us well! Most of my favorite memories of childhood center around Grandma and Grandpa’s kitchen table and lots of food.

Sunday mornings started with fried eggs, toast and a big glass of chocolate milk (in your favorite character glass of course). We would eat until our hearts were content. My favorite eggs remain the same, fried in with lots of pepper in a cast iron skillet. There is no other way. Granted I love scrambled and omelets as well. But those fried eggs bring me straight back to grandma’s kitchen.

Once breakfast dishes were hand washed, dried and put away, my brother and I always had the same question for Grandma. “What’s for dinner?” How she would laugh at us and tell us we just finished eating and did not need to worry about dinner. We always had to have an answer, because honestly, the only thing better than breakfast at Grandma’s, was dinner.

How I miss the meals in her kitchen. We lost her to cancer last December and we will never be able to enjoy a meal with her again. There are a few things I learned from her though, cooking being one of them. I have a few meals that friends call and request I make for them, or give them the recipe. I refuse to divulge the family secret and insist they have to wait until I am ready to make these meals again.

Though we cannot all break bread with Grandma in her kitchen, I am thankful that I can at least sit at the table I grew up eating these amazing meals at. She passed the table to me in 2000 after Grandpa passed away (from cancer as well). One day, her china will grace my table as well. For now, it remains with my Mom until I have the space and a place to put it out and show it like Grandma did.

Come back next Sunday to read about some of the amazing dinners we shared at Grandma’s!

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