My grandmother’s scrambled eggs
were different than my mother’s
a darker yellow
a more dehydrated yellow
an earthier taste from the pan
handed down by her mother
with the eggs containing
flecks of whatever had been
in the pan, previously, usually
bacon, or hashed browns,
and far too much pepper.
This is another in a series of poems about growing up in the South, suggested by my friend Nancy Rosback. I'm still trying to figure out how I can remember the taste of those eggs more than 50 years later.
This poem will also be submitted for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. The links will be live at 2 p.n. Central time today.
13 comments:
Glynn,
Just had some of those eggs this morning with the bacon "flecks" in them. That is the way we always had them growing up. Funny thing now, my own kids don't like them that way. They think they are infected with avian influenza or something like that:) Always tastes better to me with a little bacon residue.
Nothing like growing up in the South:)
Love the "southern" reflection. :) Funny, but I can still taste my grandmother's cooking to this day.
Blessings!
You cannot put too much pepper in Southern eggs.
I skipped breakfast this morning...and now this.
Glynn, I grew up with those same eggs..but to the north..everything was grilled in the same pan, the flavors molded us and melted into the memory...today we own too many pans and separate everything with taste....thanks much for the memory..bkm
My grandmother had a pan like that though without as much pepper.
ha...makes me think of the reasoning behind cutting the end off the ham...
but in the end...those eggs sound really good right about now...smiles.
It's an utter joy to remember something so basic from over fifty years ago isn't it? You've written about it with vivid clarity and invited us in to share. Thank you!
i can see the different colours of yellow. and i can smell the bacon and toast.
i wonder if your grandma got her eggs from someone that raised their own hens.
i am enjoying these memories of yours. i think that they remind the rest of us of some of the everyday things we may not have thought about in awhile.
My Gran's eggs were soft,
too soft for my young palate.
My mother's eggs were hard,
too hard for my teenaged tongue.
So I cook them just right,
and thank Goldilocks
for the courage
to keep trying
for perfection.
Sorry, couldn't resist. Gran was a southerner and a very good cook, but runny eggs did not sit well with 10 year old me.
My dad loved to cook his eyes in a cast iron skillet -- they tasted different then.
My mother's iron skillet sometimes didn't even get washed. Maybe that's why she lived so long. =)
Everything's better with bacon.
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