We Should Be Folding Laundry

My grandparents used to throw some amazing parties.

Their beautiful home would be full of people who had come from all over to hang out, swim, eat my grandmother’s food, and drink my grandfather’s extra-strong cocktails.

Nobody threw a party like they did.

And nobody made food like she did. Her fruit dip, daiquiri pie, coleslaw, cornbread stuffing, fried chicken, and rice and beans (to name just a few) were legendary and some of my personal favorites.

There was a certain familiar flavor that seemed to present itself in almost all of her dishes. Maybe it was a flavor that had been cultivated from years of cooking out of the same pots and pans. Or maybe it was something secret that she was adding to keep us all guessing.

I always assumed that she was sprinkling copious amounts of sage in everything but she assured me on one occasion that it was most definitely NOT sage.

Between you and me, I know sage when I taste it.  😉

Her culinary skills didn’t end with food preparation. She had a knack for presentation that had been fine-tuned over many years of entertaining as well.

Unfortunately over the years, as these things usually go, people moved away, friends passed away, and their own health started to fail them.

All too soon, those parties that I had enjoyed so much were over.

We would still get together once a month to reconnect and stuff ourselves silly but it was a much more low key affair that only included immediate family.

No more dressing up or putting out fancy serving dishes. No more afternoons spent peeling and deveining shrimp or slicing green olives to garnish coleslaw and deviled eggs.

It was just us, sitting around a much smaller table. Chatting and eating the uncomplicated food that we all loved off of simple plates that we could just throw into the dishwasher when we were done.

It was far from fancy but it was no less wonderful.

Our last family dinner together was on Father’s Day of last year.

My grandmother was admitted to the hospital for heart surgery two weeks later.

She would never come home.

I stood next to her at her kitchen counter and her stove so many times over the years, watching her cook and bake and arrange things just so.

I cut things and peeled things and stirred things for her so many times, but I never asked her to write any of her recipes down. I never watched her and wrote them down myself. I never asked where they came from.

Were they her Mother’s recipes? From a magazine maybe? Or did she just make them up as she went until something worked?

I would put off asking because she seemed too busy or maybe she looked tired or wasn’t feeling well. I foolishly assumed that there would be a next time so I would just ask her then.

That assumption will be one of the biggest regrets of my life.

My Grandmother passed away last week.

Her death wasn’t at all unexpected but it still stings none the less.

I’ll miss her for the rest of my days. And I’ll probably spend about that long trying to figure out how to recreate those dishes that came so simply to her but were so special to the rest of us.

After a few days of being incredibly sad, I’m finding that the most mundane, everyday things remind me of her.

Some of the strongest and happiest memories that I have of her are tied to food in some way.

She was the one who convinced me to put cream cheese rather than butter on my muffins and banana bread when I was a little girl and I’ve eaten them that way ever since.

I have no doubt that she was somewhere rolling her eyes as I was coming up with this recipe.

She was a purist when it came to banana bread. She’d add walnuts occasionally but that’s about as far as it went.

I’ll admit, it is a bit much.

Especially when you factor in the cream cheese that I’ll no doubt be smearing all over it in memory of her.

But because she used to get to school an hour before the bell rang for dismissal just so she could be the first person in the car circle line every day… and because she would make breakfast to order every morning, even if what you wanted was a hamburger and a milkshake… and because she never let me go to a school production, Christmas pageant, or Halloween party without a beautiful homemade costume… and because she once left a Christmas tree up, fully decorated with presents underneath, until the middle of May for me… and for so many other unforgettable reasons that made her so amazing, how could I not?

Brown Sugar Biscoff Banana Bread/Muffins

In a large bowl, whisk together:

2 cups AP flour

3/4-1 cup brown sugar (depending upon how sweet you like it)

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

1 1/4 tsp cinnamon

In a separate bowl, combine:

3 mashed ripe bananas

2 tsp vanilla extract

6 tbsp melted butter (let cool for a bit so it doesn’t scramble your eggs)

1/4 cup yogurt (plain, vanilla, banana – anything)

2 eggs

3-4 tbsp Biscoff (smooth or crunchy)

Combine the wet ingredients with the dry ingredients and mix just until combined.

Fold in a cup of good quality chocolate, caramel pieces, nuts, or other mix-ins.

I added this:

Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 22-25 minutes for muffins, 45-50 minutes for loaf bread.

Let cool before slicing.

Although my banana bread is delicious, it’s not the reason for this post. Nor is it to share with you how wonderful my grandmother was.

You certainly don’t need me to remind you that tomorrow is not promised for anyone. Or that the people we love may not be there when we’re finally ready to say what we need them to hear. Or when we’re finally ready to hear the answers to questions we were always too afraid to ask.

But I will say this.

That Father’s Day, we all hugged and said our goodbyes in the kitchen, then we hugged goodbye again on my parents’ patio outside. Our goodbyes tend to linger – that’s just how we do things. For years, my grandmother would always say to me “I’ll see you later hun… come see me some time” as we hugged goodbye.

As she was getting into the backseat of her car so my grandfather could drive her home, I had an overwhelming need to say goodbye to her one more time and to make it really count because this time would be different.

There were a million things I could have and probably should have said to her but at that moment in time, I only needed her to know one thing.

So I leaned into the car, hugged her tight, and told her that I loved her where only she could hear it. It was only for her anyway. She whispered into my ear “I love you too sweetie.. take care” and gave me a kiss.

Those were her last words to me and they were perfect.

How many people get that privilege?

Here’s where I finally get to the point.

I know that saying certain things, even to the people that you’re close to can seem heavy and overwhelming.

But not saying them is a much heavier burden.

So say them. If you can’t do it in person, say them in a letter, on a voice mail, in an email, write them in a birthday card. The way you say them doesn’t matter.

Just say them.

And if you need an icebreaker – or a reason to get together, call those special people soon and tell them to brew some coffee because you’re on your way with the most ridiculously delicious banana bread ever and you’d just hate yourself if you couldn’t share it with them.

Don’t assume there will be a next time. How much time is there, really?

My grandmother was laid to rest today and the only thing left for me to say to her was “I’ll see you later hun, come see me some time”.

We’re only a few days in to the new school year and it seems like I’m already slacking.

In the interest of keeping things honest around here, I want to share with you that I lost someone who I loved very much this week. Her death wasn’t unexpected but she was a huge part of my life from the very beginning so it hurts none the less.

Blogging has taken a backseat to my needing to come to terms with her actually being gone.

It’s a process and I’m slowly getting through it.

I’m still making bentos because I enjoy it so much and so does my daughter. I’m just not taking any pictures.

I’m sleeping in a little longer in the morning and not worrying about what scrapbook paper would make the perfect background or adjusting the blinds to get the best morning light through the living room window.

Those things just don’t matter right now.

I hope to be back to posting in the next week or so. Thank you for understanding.

I love biscuits.

Actually, I have a deep-rooted love of most bread but biscuits, especially properly made, southern style biscuits are especially dear to my heart.

Biscuits from a can are fine. But that’s about as far as it goes. Just fine.

I’m telling you, if you’ve never had a properly made biscuit, you need to put that at the top of your to-do list because once you have one, you’ll throw rocks at those canned biscuits.

I’m not exactly sure what that means but my Dad always says it. Must be a southern thing. Or maybe he just likes to throw rocks. You can never be to sure with him.

Biscuit making isn’t hard. The ingredients are simple and the process is fairly simple as well.

But for some reason, no one does biscuits like southerners do biscuits.

If you grew up in the south, or were ever lucky enough to watch someone who really knew what they were doing, you know what I mean. This last statement usually applies to our Grandmothers or Great Aunts who can make biscuits without measuring or using fancy equipment and while doing ten other things and having a totally unrelated conversation all at the same time.

It’s almost as if these women have biscuit making engrained in their DNA.

I might be particularly partial, having grown up in the south and coming from a long line of southern women, but I know good food – comfort food when I taste it and it’s just not the same whenever I’ve eaten outside of this region.

Are my biscuits perfect? Nope – they’re made with milk and butter instead of buttermilk and shortening – GASP!

But they’re darn good.

And they’d be even better with some fried chicken in between, maybe a little gravy, and a glass of sweet tea on the side.

Whisk together:

2 cups flour

2 tbsp baking powder

1/2 tsp cream of tartar

1/2 tsp granulated sugar

1/2 tsp salt

1 tbsp Italian seasoning

1/4 tsp garlic powder

few grinds of black pepper

Then fold in:

1 cup of sun-dried tomatoes, chopped

1 1/2 cups shredded cheese (I used cheddar jack)

Then cut in:

1 stick of butter, cut into small pieces.

You can do this with a pastry cutter, two butter knives, or your hands. Just work the cold butter into the dough until it is the size of small peas and mixed in well to the dough.

Then add:

1 cup milk

Gently work into the dough. Be careful not to overwork it or the biscuits will be tough.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead 5-10 times, just until the dough is smooth and no longer crumbly.

At this point you can roll out the dough to about an inch or so thick, cut out biscuits, place onto a sheet pan, and bake at 450 for 10 minutes or until the tops are light golden brown.

I like to cut my biscuits with a sharp knife rather than a biscuit cutter. It’s much easier. But if you must have round biscuits, be sure to press straight down, do not twist or it will keep your biscuits from rising properly.

You can also brush the tops with melted butter just before the biscuits are done baking for extra buttery flavor.

Boy are you in for it today.

Another peek inside the inner-workings of my crazy brain.

More specifically, how my poor family suffers as a result of it.

My husband, son, daughter, and cat all have “special nicknames” given to them by me that no one else knows about.

Until today.

My boys would kill me if I told the internets about the ridiculous nicknames I gave them so I’ll keep those secret – for now.

But my daughter could care less. She’s got a pretty easy-going personality (thank goodness). Plus she’s six and doesn’t read my blog so she’ll never know.

When she was just an itty bitty thing, six years ago more or less, I started calling her Munkaroo.

It’s weird I know, but it stuck. I think it must have started with “monkey” but evidently that just wasn’t weird enough for me.

Soon after, her father and brother also began calling her Munkaroo and that was it.

Over the years, Munkaroo evolved into: Munx, Munxy, Munxatawny Phil, Munkadocious, and Munkasaurus Rex.

All of the above nicknames are used on a constant basis in addition to the more obvious nicknames that any normal person would come up with just by looking at her name.

That child is rarely ever called by her actual name. Unless she’s in trouble. I think we all know how that goes.

Of course now that she’s older and “Munkaroo” has been a part of our daily vocabulary for so long, the name has become synonymous with all little things.

Unless we’re talking about babies. Those are “mini-munkaroos” – just to be clear.

The well goes much deeper folks, that’s just the tip of the iceberg as far as the weirdness goes but since I find it’s best to dish up my craziness in small doses, we’ll save the rest for another time.

To give a bit of direction to all my rambling, this snack mix was named after my daughter’s very first nickname because it contains some of her snacky favorites.

It also sounds super cute so why not?

Directions:

Add your snack mix into a large bowl. There are no precise measurements for this part. Just add what you like to a bowl and mix gently.

I used Goldfish crackers, small pretzels, and popcorn this time but I’ll also add nuts, Cheez-its, Chex cereal, and/or mini saltines when I have them.

Then melt 4 tablespoons of butter in a saucepan and add a few shakes of Worcestershire Sauce, 1 teaspoon each of both seasoned salt and Italian seasoning, and 1/2 teaspoon each of both onion powder and garlic salt. Whisk to combine.

Drizzle the seasoned buttery yumminess over your snack mix and gently mix well to make sure everything is coated. It’s best to drizzle a bit and mix gently, then drizzle a bit more and mix gently. That way, everything gets evenly coated.

Then pour the mixture onto a large baking sheet and slide into a 200 degree oven for 20-25 minutes.

That’s it!

Leftovers can be stored in a resealable bag or a jar with a tight-fitting lid.

I’d love to tell you how long this mix will stay fresh but it never lasts more than a couple of days. It seems like someone always has their hand in it.

I’d venture to guess that it should stay fresh for up to a week, but I’m telling you, it probably won’t last that long.

To make a special munchy mix for your child, just season up their favorite dry snacks and once cooled, pour their mix into a resealable bag labelled with their nickname and the word “munch” or “mix” written after.