“A grandmother’s kitchen — where memories are seasoned with love.”
– Author unknown but most likely well nourished.
– – – – – –
Just like Sunday dinner at Granny’s house.
That was my first thought last week at Lions Club, where fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, and hot rolls were served up for the civic club luncheon.
Any meal my father’s mother cooked on any day of the week was the equivalent of an East Texas Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner combined. I cherish the festive childhood memories of meals at her house that sadly ceased after my grandfather died. And feasts like last week’s Lion’s lunch still remind me of those family gatherings like they were just yesterday.
A yesterday when most meals were enjoyed at home. Meals that weren’t “hit and run” on the way to somewhere else. When family’s sat down together to eat. No phones. No TV. No rush. Fast food was yet to replace home cooking, TV dinners were still trendy and eating out somewhere other than the bus stop cafe downtown or the truck stop out on the highway was a rare treat.
It was a yesterday when Mom’s meals on the table coincided with Dad’s arriving home from work. You could set your watch by it. Back when we wore watches. That needed to be set.
A yesterday when being in your place at the dinner table was a request not open to debate. And failure to comply meant you’d better be so badly incapacitated that walking to the table was not physically possible.
Also not debatable was deciding whether Mom’s meal suited your taste buds. You ate what was on the table without question or comment. Unless you were saying how good everything tasted … including that nasty liver.
Although it was the age of “eat what your momma put on the table,” there was no way even the pickiest eater was going to leave the table hungry. And that went double for Sunday dinner at Granny’s.
The table that occupied my grandmother’s dining room, which now resides in mine, was the center of many meals. Common fare was fried chicken or ham, often both. Baked chicken and dressing were usually holiday delights. Mashed potatoes covered with cream gravy, steaming corn on the cob, and hot homemade biscuits begging for butter. Plates were piled high, but not so high that the aroma of fresh-baked pie coming from the kitchen failed to remind that you’d better save room for dessert.
For most grandmothers, including mine, cooking was a labor of love. Meals prepared without a single recipe. Ingredients blended with just a dash of this, a pinch of that, and a lot of love. Everything coming together at the same time, which was no small feat considering Granny could have a meal on the table and not miss a Sunday service sitting in her pew at the Pittsburg Methodist Church.
As a child, I never knew she accomplished her miracles having dinner ready like that by spending hours in the kitchen Saturday night and Sunday morning before church. I thought the plate I sat down to was just another measure of “grandmother’s meal magic.”
Watching her prepare a meal (only if we promised not to get in the way) was more than magic. It was controlled, coordinated chaos. Prepping chicken for the oven, mixing the dressing, peeling potatoes, and pulling husks off ears of corn. Hands moving with the precision of a symphony orchestra conductor.
To this day, I don’t know how she did it. But when we heard, “Y’all come on, it’s ready,” the chicken was moist and perfect. The potatoes were fresh and creamy, waiting for gravy. And the corn? Dripping with butter, ready to savor every bite, row by row.
And then the most amazing thing happened. Once the blessing was offered and bowls started around the table, Granny wiped her hands on her apron, sat down with a cup of coffee, and ate nothing. Just visited and waited on everyone else while we ate.
Honestly, I know meals today are still out-of-this-world good. We still dine to a supreme sufficiency, as my good friend Joe Fomby used to say. So why do we long for those Sunday dinners at Granny’s house? Some insist the food really was that much better. Others argue it was the family-gathering tradition, seemingly not as common today as it once was.
I’m saying it’s a little of both — seasoned with a lot of love.
But while we’re debating this issue, could you pass me another piece of chicken and a roll … please.
—Leon Aldridge
– – – – – – –
Aldridge columns are featured in these publications: The Center Light and Champion, The Mount Pleasant Tribune, the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche, the Fort Stockton Pioneer, the Elgin Courier, The Monitor in Naples, and Motor Sports Magazine.
© Leon Aldridge and A Story Worth Telling 2026. Excerpts and links may be used, provided full and clear credit is given to Leon Aldridge and ‘A Story Worth Telling’ with appropriate and specific directions to the original content.
A Story Worth Telling 