Recipe 39: Dad’s Gravy

May 2, 2011

Source: Dad

I can’t eat at Shoney’s anymore.

When I was a kid, especially during the years my family spent in Gainesville, Florida, Shoney’s was a traditional Benz-family-after-church-on-sunday-lunch. I don’t remember what I ate there. But its one of those odd things that you pick up from your adolesence. Certain foods, no matter how many times you eat them growing up, will always be comfort foods. I have all sorts: strogonoff, meatloaf, lasagna, chicken and dumplings, grilled cheese cut into strips, peanut butter and jelly toast cut into squares and more.

Other foods, because you ate them so much, will never set foot in your mouth again. Not ever. Ever. This is Shoney’s to me. Let me put this in perspective: One time my twin sister and I were on some youth group trip. They decided that they would stop at Shoney’s for lunch. My sister and I had to go tell the adult leaders that were with us that we would NOT be eating at Shoney’s. We told them we’d be across the street at the Krispy Kreme, thank you very much.

This was all to tell you that when we moved back to St. Louis, our Sunday tradition was moved to the kitchen. (RHYMING!). My dad would usually cook some kind of eggs. I would vote scrambled, smothered in cheese. Then we’d have biscuits and all sorts of things. It was a routine, and we liked it.

And gravy was always a part of this routine. Gravy Southern Illinois style, I should say. And today Dad taught me how to make it.

You start by frying up some sausage. Once the sausage is fried and you have some sausage grease, you make what is called the “roux” of the gravy. This just takes adding flower to the grease until you get the right consistency. Then you add lots of your milk of preference. Then you crumble up a couple sausage. And then you get your father’s approval:

“Now THAT’S gravy.”

On to the next one.

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