Around the Kitchen Table: Granny wings & other essentials

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but grandmas don’t look the same as they used to. My paternal grandmother, Ma, was short and stout – think “I’m a little teapot.” Her bosom was ample enough to enfold and comfort a weeping child or provide a nestling place for a sleeping baby.

Ma’s hair was past her hips and mostly white. She kept it braided and twirled atop her head in a neat bun. I only recall two occasions when I saw it undone and she allowed me once to comb it (a big treat for a little kid). Ma also had a permanent pleasant expression complete with a good many wrinkles. Her face exuded kindness and acceptance, two things growing children need most.

Today’s grandmas look decades younger are more likely to wear blue jeans than a housedress and drive an SUV instead of a sedan. While we are a bit different these days, there are a few things that remain the same – you’ll still find plenty of grandmas in their cozy kitchens stirring up batches of cookies and birthday cakes. We might cheat a little, with help from Betty Crocker or Pillsbury, but we still measure out love and hugs, just like our grandmothers before us.

The kitchen was my favorite place at Ma’s house. It was fascinating to watch her move slowly about the tiny corner between her sink and stove creating cornbread, hushpuppies and cakes, all without so much as a glance at a cookbook or other guide. She just knew. She wasn’t quick, like my aunts, because of a bend in her leg at the knee, the result of jumping off a wagon when she was young. They couldn’t afford a doctor, if there had been one available, so she suffered the rest of her life with a limp. She never complained and it certainly didn’t affect her cooking.

Preparing meals was a constant for Ma. Before daylight, she would be up fixing biscuits and eggs, bacon or sausage for my Aunt Babe before she left for work. Then my Uncle Floyd would stop by after helping Uncle Monroe at his dairy. Then there was Aunt Joyce and her four children that came early enough to eat a bite and catch the bus before school. Aunt Joyce would often spend the day helping Ma around the house.

In the evening, my dad would stop by and check on her on his way home from work. He did this as long as she lived. Her house was the hub of our extended family for many years. The coffeepot was always on the stove, a pan of biscuits or cornbread in the oven – and it was all served with a warm greeting and a listening ear.

One day, when I was watching Ma make a chocolate pie for supper, I noticed her arms. I don’t think I’d ever paid any attention to them before. I was too focused on her crooked leg. That day, I saw the movement in her upper arms as she whipped up some egg whites for the meringue. The rhythmic flap-flap-flap of her skin hanging from her arms seemed to somehow be a part of that magical process of baking. Her pies were always perfect. While I didn’t know what it was exactly, I knew that like white hair, wrinkles and an ample bosom, those appy arms must be an essential part of being a grandma … a revelation to a kid of 11.

My own grandchildren have developed a fascination with my “Granny wings.” The younger ones, 18 months and five years old, love to make them “wave.” Grabbing my arm, they hold it high and pluck the loose skin hanging down like a dangling banjo string. They think it’s hilarious. It used to bother me, seeing those aps in the mirror, but now I see them for what they really are – badges of honor. I get to enjoy this time in my life, seeing another generation learning to bake and cook, watching and learning from me, much like I did from my own grandmother and mother.

While I may not be “short and stout,” I do have the long gray/white braid, a generous portion of wrinkles and my coffeepot is always on.

Things always change, we can be certain of that, but those things that become a thread through our lives, linking us to our past … those things we want to treasure and enjoy while we can. Not all of us grandmas look like grandmas used to, but that doesn’t mean we are any less valuable in our roles. Loving, teaching, accepting, instructing, we are more important than we realize just ask any five-year-old. They know.

Perfect Meringue

You can cheat and use an electric mixer, but your “wings” won’t get the same workout.

4 egg whites, room temperature

¼ teaspoon cream of tartar

6 heaping Tablespoons of sugar

Put egg whites and cream of tartar into a deep bowl. Using a fork or a whisk, beat the mixture until it is frothy, then add the sugar, one tablespoon at a time, and beat well after each addition. Make sure the sugar is well incorporated before adding more. If it feels grainy between your ngers, you need to beat a little longer.

Keep doing this until all sugar is added and the meringue takes on a glossy look and it holds a stiff peak when you test it with the fork or lift the whip.

Use atop cream pies, like chocolate, coconut, lemon or pineapple. Bake until golden brown in a 400º oven.

by Tamra M. Bolton