The Harbinger

If you’re in a munchie pinch, do you have a favorite thing to gnaw on? Do you have a stand-by quickie? Is there a long-lost love of which you desire to taste again?

I’m thinking … Reminiscing, actually… of things I’ve had in my extensive years, where I enjoyed the wondrous pleasures of mastigating a piece of life. What actully got me off at certain times of my life? Are there things that I enjoyed as a young’un that might still tickle the uvula of one who, technically, could be a grandmother…? Can I peak on those old stand-bys any more?

Answers abound, my Friends. They are yes, Yes, and YES!

Blue crabs, hot dogs, real honest-to-God honey from a real hive slathered on my Nana’s honest-to-GOD homemade biscuits.

YES, YES, YES!!! *she says in the throes of recollection*

When I was ten years old, Daddy bought a marina in Maryland on the South River, just off the Chesapeake Bay. Blue crabs in all their hard (or soft) glory were a huge part of my summertime life. There’s nothing better than spending all day netting up a bushel of those blue beauties, selling half of them, then cooking and eating what was left. I could get three dollars for two soft-shells, and I felt rich. Now, every summer, I get the hankerin’ for some of the flaky goodness and Old Bay hot-lips I got from those crabs. Nowdays, at nearly $50 a pound for the goodies, I sure wish I had some of the money I got for selling my hot commodity when I was a hot commodity!

Another thing that I miss from those days were the hot dogs that I made in the big aluminum timer-oven thingie. I don’t remember the name brand (Steward’s?), but someone’s GOT to remember the days before microwaves ruined bread, don’t they? It was so COOL! You just put the hot dog, in it’s celophane wrapper, into this huge e-z bake type oven, set the timer and VIOLA! A steamed dog that was perfect to grab-and-go. Daddy hated that I took those diggity-dogs without telling him. I was cutting into his profit margin!

HoneyCOMB, HONEYcomb - Ooh honey-honey co-omb… I know, those aren’t the real lyrics. It’s a song about lollypops, for cryin’ out loud! But sometimes I just want to sing about the goopy goodness of a warm biscuit (Happiness IS a warm bun, y’know) slathered with home grown honey on the comb. Those plastic teddy bears filled with yellow corn syrup can’t match the depth of taste that real honeybees make on a farm that has peach, walnut and apple trees, blackberries, blueberries and rasberries and a myriad of vegetables. The Papap sure knew what he was doing with that acreage. Pure Virginia goodness, that farm and I. Well, the farm was pure, anyway. OH! The comb could be chewed like gum, if you knew how to do it right.

There was also magic in my grandmother’s biscuits. I think the magic was that she made the dough without using a bowl, never using a spoon or a fork. The only thing that touched that dough was her fingers and an old cookie cutter that doubled as a donut maker (which I still have). There was no recipe for her biscuits, and for that I am ashamed. I watched her make those biscuits nearly every night for years and never learned how. They were flaky without layers. Soft as clouds, not too greasy or flowery and just melted anything that got near them. Honey (with comb), jams, jellies, preserves, and gravies. Leftover biscuits were always served the next day with gravies.

Now GRAVY, I can make. Chicken gravy, pork chop gravy, sausage gravy, chipped beef gravy - even bacon gravy! But none of them are as good without Nana’s homemade biscuits.

*sigh*

At least I learned how to do that.

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