Why I’m Not Thin

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Abstract

breakfast which included mom’s invention, chocolate gravy. Just don’t ask.I don’t remember if I even knew what breakfast cereal was until I was in my teens. If you grew up like me, with a breakfast like this most mornings, you might be writing an article titled, “Why I’m Not Thin,” right now, too.Oh, sure, she would switch it up some mornings to pancakes or French toast, but there were usually sides of potatoes and bacon, sausage or salt pork accompanying the ever-present fried eggs. Did I mention butter?Lunch must have been a Northern invention.Lunch was taken to school in a brown paper bag and was not nearly as palatable as breakfast. Lunch was apparently the payback for the good meals. It consisted mainly of a bologna or potted meat sandwich, a bruised apple or overripe banana and some kind of prepackaged Hostess dessert.Left in a school locker for four hours, potted meat converts bread into an almost inedible jelly like substance. I say almost inedible because when your ten years old and hungry, you learn to suck it up and eat what’s in the bag. Now you have an idea of how much I did not like lunch. What is potted meat, anyway?But ahh, dinnertime!By dinnertime I was

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a hot, running on empty, hunger machine in search of fuel. And I was never disappointed. For dinner, or “supper” as my Southern mom called it, there was another caloric cornucopia of fatty foods tantalizingly tempting me to the table. Just the smell hanging in the air could make you forget the worst day of school.One of my favorite suppers was fried chicken, fried in a cast iron skillet in real lard, fried okra, homemade cream style skillet corn, crusty cornbread and fried potatoes with onions. Note — no boiled or steamed vegetables.Dad, my brother and I would always fight over the last piece of fried chicken. Dad would look at us and pitifully say, “Go ahead, I couldn’t eat it knowing you boys wanted it.” Then we would give in and let him have the last piece.This all changed when I got old enough to catch onto his pity act, then while he was reciting his line, I would grab the last piece of chicken and by the time he was finished with his line, so was I.I don’t know if my little brother ever caught on.There were many variations of Southern dinners mom served throughout the week, maybe I’ll tell you about more of them sometime. But I think you’re already getting the idea of why I’m not thin, and for some reason, I’m hungry.</article></body>

Mom addicted me to a whole world of Southern cooking. I’m still trying to survive the 1960's

Photo by Jodie Morgan on Unsplash

I try hard. I really do. But I’m never going to be thin. I’d like to blame mom, but she didn’t hold my mouth open and shovel the food in. I grabbed or forked every bite myself and jammed it into my pie hole as fast as I could.

I grew up before healthy cooking was ever mentioned, and even if it was, it wasn’t mentioned at our house.

Mom was from Mississippi and learned from her mother and grandmother at an early age how to cook a real Southern meal. Just so you know, there was nothing low calorie about a real Southern meal. And when I was growing up in the 1960's, things were cooked with real lard and most things were fried at least once before serving them up.

Imagine being 10 years old and coming downstairs to a breakfast of fried eggs, fried potatoes, homemade buttermilk biscuits, bacon or sausage, and breakfast gravy. And this was at 7 am, before school, almost every morning. On the weekends we might have a little bigger breakfast which included mom’s invention, chocolate gravy. Just don’t ask.

I don’t remember if I even knew what breakfast cereal was until I was in my teens. If you grew up like me, with a breakfast like this most mornings, you might be writing an article titled, “Why I’m Not Thin,” right now, too.

Oh, sure, she would switch it up some mornings to pancakes or French toast, but there were usually sides of potatoes and bacon, sausage or salt pork accompanying the ever-present fried eggs. Did I mention butter?

Lunch must have been a Northern invention.

Lunch was taken to school in a brown paper bag and was not nearly as palatable as breakfast. Lunch was apparently the payback for the good meals. It consisted mainly of a bologna or potted meat sandwich, a bruised apple or overripe banana and some kind of prepackaged Hostess dessert.

Left in a school locker for four hours, potted meat converts bread into an almost inedible jelly like substance. I say almost inedible because when your ten years old and hungry, you learn to suck it up and eat what’s in the bag. Now you have an idea of how much I did not like lunch. What is potted meat, anyway?

But ahh, dinnertime!

By dinnertime I was a hot, running on empty, hunger machine in search of fuel. And I was never disappointed. For dinner, or “supper” as my Southern mom called it, there was another caloric cornucopia of fatty foods tantalizingly tempting me to the table. Just the smell hanging in the air could make you forget the worst day of school.

One of my favorite suppers was fried chicken, fried in a cast iron skillet in real lard, fried okra, homemade cream style skillet corn, crusty cornbread and fried potatoes with onions. Note — no boiled or steamed vegetables.

Dad, my brother and I would always fight over the last piece of fried chicken. Dad would look at us and pitifully say, “Go ahead, I couldn’t eat it knowing you boys wanted it.” Then we would give in and let him have the last piece.

This all changed when I got old enough to catch onto his pity act, then while he was reciting his line, I would grab the last piece of chicken and by the time he was finished with his line, so was I.

I don’t know if my little brother ever caught on.

There were many variations of Southern dinners mom served throughout the week, maybe I’ll tell you about more of them sometime. But I think you’re already getting the idea of why I’m not thin, and for some reason, I’m hungry.