The Alchemy of Gravy...

 

It's Father's Day. That means a celebratory breakfast of sausage, biscuits, and gravy. It is a little family tradition that we all enjoy. I was raised in New England and never heard of having gravy for breakfast. At our house, gravy was reserved for Thanksgiving and Christmas and for supper meats like turkey or roast beef. My mother made gravy, but I don't recall if she did it from scratch or used a mix. 

When I married a man from Tennessee, I was introduced to the popular southern breakfast where sausage is cooked, gravy is made from its drippings, and meat and sauce are wed to hot, golden biscuits. It didn't take me long to become a fan. Since the meal is not exactly health food, we only have it on special occasions. 

I stood at the stove this morning while the sausage was fried in the cast iron skillet. I made a pot of coffee, got out my favorite biscuit recipe, and stirred up the dough. I didn't have to think hard when I made the gravy, but that was not always true. As a young bride, I didn't have a clue how to make the stuff, and I'd have a nerve attack any time it was on the menu. I read many recipes, and when we moved to Memphis, I would ask the older ladies in our neighborhood for tips. With trial and error, I finally mastered my own version of sausage gravy, which I trot out for Father's Day, birthdays, and sometimes Christmas. 

After browning the sausage patties, I lay them on a layer of paper towels to wait while I make magic happen. The skillet, coated with sausage crumbles and grease, is deglazed with white wine. This is my own addition to the process. I scrape up all the crispy bits and simmer this down. I add a little butter because the sausage we use is relatively lean. Next, I toss in some flour, just enough to absorb all the liquid and make an odd-looking paste. I add a little salt shaken into my palm and lots of fresh cracked black pepper. No measuring cups or spoons are used. I let the flour cook a little, browning it a bit. A generous pour of milk comes next. 

Now is when doubt hits every time because, looking in the pan, I see a mess. Odd clumps of brown flour, muddied milk, it can't be right. I take a leap of faith and stir it all up with a whisk. While the heat from the burner flame spreads up through the iron skillet, I stir and stir, and suddenly the ingredients are conjured into an entirely new substance. The flour and seasonings meld with the milk and, in a happy instant, become thick, creamy, and glossy. Fragrant steam rises to fog my glasses as I taste, add more pepper, and taste again. I add a dash of Worcestershire sauce for a little extra gusto. With some skill and luck, the timer telling me that the biscuits are ready chimes in, and I call the family to breakfast. 

The group around the table becomes quiet as everyone takes the first bite. Then chatter resumes, silverware clinks on dishes, and finally, the last crumbs of biscuits sop up the last drops of gravy. There are satisfied sighs all around. Shared meal magic, sauced up with some gravy alchemy. 

Flower Season...

 I recently read something that said, "Anyone can have a pretty garden in June." My gardens are evidence of this; all my plants look healthy and are blooming up a storm. 

These happy pansies are called "Cat's Whiskers" and are well-named. They are big, showy blossoms and are smile-worthy. 

This iris and its companions were mailed to me as bulbs from a lovely woman I've never met. They are huge, 5 or so inches tall for each bloom, and the sweetest shade of lavender. Such kindness. 

My little front garden is growing nicely. I was so pleased to be able to plant it myself 3 weeks after getting my new knee. Seeing each plant grow and putting out brilliant blooms feels like a little victory. 

My friend Nance brought me some unusual and stunning peonies. I put them in a favorite vase and enjoyed them tremendously for days. 

One morning a few petals had fallen artistically on the table. They looked so pretty that I left them where they fell. Later that day, we sat down to lunch, and suddenly, without so much as a nudge, one of the flowers practically exploded. 

I've never seen anything like it. Poof, petals everywhere! It was a glorious surprise. 

Our friends Angel and her daughter Fields arrived on Memorial Day. Having them visit is always a treat, and we had a good time catching up. Angel took over much of the cooking while she was here.  Her daughter quipped, "Mom says she is just going to whip up a little something, and before you know it, there is a three-course meal of the most delicious food you've ever had on the table." That was accurate. 

We were sad to see them leave, but niece Aimee arrived for a quick spend-the-night before the guest room could get lonely. She brought a gift she had knit for me. 

The happiest little bear with a fat summer strawberry. She says there will be seasonal additions coming to keep the bear company... I am imagining a pumpkin for autumn, a snowman for winter... or whatever her fertile imagination and talented fingers come up with. Can you believe she created this little wonder with needles and yarn? He has a LOT of personality, and the most winsome smile.  

Today I cleaned the little chicken coop and the goat cozy. While I worked, I provided a moveable feast for the black flies; they seemed glad to have me outside. I scrubbed water tanks and puttered around, enjoying a sunny day after several gray ones. It's a pleasure to watch my animals, even when they do something naughty like hang out on the picnic table, a place they are forbidden to visit. TheDonald cares not for rules. He is cheeky; he crows at me when I notice him being where he does not belong. 

It is flower season, and FairWinds is blooming with gardens, visitors, feasts, and fun.