Connie A Thompson

A Simple Sunday Dinner


Loves Chocolate

I always loved it when my Grandmother made brownies for dessert. You could smell them the minute you walked through the door since she always waited until Sunday morning to bake them. In Sunday school, I could still recall their welcoming beckon and I hoped there would be leftovers since we often came back to her house on Mondays for those.

I now realize that while they were a treat for us, they were an easy dessert for her to make. She favored using just regular boxed brownies. Add a little water, oil, eggs and then stir until mixed. Thirty minutes or so later they are ready. Dessert is done.

Cooking Sunday dinner actually begins the day before as I walk through the grocery store gathering all the ingredients. If the vegetable stand is open, I go there first. I’m waiting anxiously for that first batch of homegrown tomatoes, okra, and corn.

Some prep work is done on Saturday. On Sunday morning, the cooking begins. Potatoes have to be peeled. Macaroni noodles have to be cooked. The meat has to be prepared. It has taken me a while to understand the timing. The first few weeks I did it all myself, things weren’t all ready when they should have been. I’m sorry to say I never really paid much attention to the timing. My Mom picked up where Grandmother left off. She could be like a drill sergeant dictating what needed to be done. And when everyone arrived, the dishes began to appear on the make-shift sideboard, which was a specially cut wooden board my Uncle Buck fashioned that went over the sink and counter allowing all the dishes to be set out buffet style. I’m lucky in that I have a little more counter space than she did.

Today I’m lucky. My sweet husband, Chuck is doing most of the cooking — burgers and hotdogs on the grill. I’m in charge of the baked beans, corn on the cob, hash brown casserole (pregnant daughter’s request), and making sure tomatoes are sliced, onions are chopped, and all the condiments are ready.

Sometimes I wonder what Grandmother would have thought about our variations on Sunday dinner, but I know ultimately that it was the opportunity to gather and spending time with children and grandchildren. And when my grandson comes running through the door telling me he is ready to “Eat, eat,” I am so thankful for the legacy these wonderful women bestowed upon me.

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