1984... Too young to cook.Where do I even begin? Do I start with the mixer that's four generations old? Or the monkey bread that may lead to an angry phone call from my grandpa's cardiologist? Or the 100 mile round trip journey into the next state for a fried chicken dinner that sealed the deal on elastic waistbands for the rest of my weekend?
Let's start with these people. Louis and Lois Crowe. Next year they will have been married sixty years. Every evening before bed, she takes his breakfast order. And every morning, she wakes up and does the crossword puzzle in the Joplin Globe. When Grandpa wakes up, he sits at the kitchen table drinking black coffee and watching CSPAN while she fixes the breakfast he ordered the night before. And Grandpa's not the only one with breakfast privileges. When I woke up on my first morning at their house, I walked into the kitchen to see the best looking breakfast potatoes I'd ever laid sleepy jet-lagged eyes on. I happily scarfed them down on the first morning, but on the second day, I thought it would be best if I shared the recipe with you. Thanks, Grandma, for letting me follow you around the kitchen snapping pictures while you made me breakfast. Now if I'm ever hit with Midwest nostalgia, one of you faithful readers can whip up a batch for me.