Biscuits with Grandma

Grandma’s house was very familiar. Perhaps it was because I spent so much time there as a youngster. My grandparents built the family home at 703 South Meridian Street in the 1920s. The quaint bungalow had a large front and side porch, both outfitted with swings and rocking chairs, where the family spent countless hours visiting and watching traffic pass.

During the summer, I often took respite from the sweltering Mississippi heat on the front porch after manicuring her lawn with my push mower. Grandma would join me, but not before bringing me an ice cold Coca-Cola in a 6-ounce green bottle to quench my thirst.

Mazie Bunn Faulkner was born at home in the tiny community of Splunge in January of 1897. She grew up in a large family where she learned self-sufficiency and hard work. Much of the work revolved around growing and preparing food, and she honed her skills at a young age.

My fondest memories of my grandmother were around food. She was a stay-at-home mother and wife, so her cooking skills were unsurpassed when it came to classic Southern fare. She and Archie, my grandfather, tended a large garden that produced a bounty of fresh vegetables during the spring and summer. Many a summer morning started with a visit from Archie bearing a basket of whatever was ripe for the picking. A typical delivery might include radishes, cucumbers, tomatoes, okra, corn, green beans, eggplant, and squash. The delivery determined what was on the menu for lunch. My love of fresh vegetables sprang from that garden.

Grandma spent much of her time during the season canning and freezing many of those vegetables for the winter months. Jars of tomatoes, pickled beets, blackberry jelly, and sauerkraut lined her pantry. The freezer bulged with bags of black-eyed peas, butter beans, corn, and green beans.

Memories of her kitchen flood my mind as I write this post. With an electric stove and only a small amount of counter space, she was able to work magic. The yellow Formica dinette set would easily seat six people. We used the formal dining room for holidays and special occasions, but the kitchen table is where my appreciation for southern food was born.

Almost every meal at that table included hot biscuits, and hers were legendary. I’m sure she didn’t follow a recipe or measure ingredients, but they were always consistent and delicious. Biscuits never made it to the table without a stick of butter and a jar of sorghum molasses. Even to this day, I have a Pavlovian response when I think about sitting at the table with her and slathering hot biscuits with butter and a generous pour of molasses.

Grandma was a kind and generous woman. She had her quirks, and she could be impatient at times, but her love for family was always front and center. During my adolescent years, she loved me in spite of my long hair and sometimes pain-in-the-ass attitude. She was happy if she knew that I was sleeping with enough cover and ending each meal with something sweet. (She believed that a meal wasn’t complete without dessert.) Her love was unconditional.

It wasn’t until years after her death at the age of 99 that I grew to truly appreciate her. I regret that I didn’t spend more time with her when I had the chance. I realize now that her love and acceptance were truly a gift. I take great comfort in knowing that I had a wonderful grandmother who only wanted the best for me.

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Bill Harris

I grew up in small town Mississippi eating traditional southern fare.A lifelong foodie, I started cooking and experimenting with food at a very young age. I started Southern Boy Dishes as a creative outlet and a way to share my love of food.

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