I couldn't resist posting about my Friday night plans. My cousins Molly and Abby are over to spend the night. A year or so ago, I asked Molly how I could bribe her to practice the piano. She said I could make her some mashed potatoes. A foodie after my own heart. I still remember the birthday where Molly prepared to blow out the candles on her birthday cake by saying, "I wish for some mashed potatoes." Last time I fed her, she said I was a good cook. Molly is now my best friend. So I invited her over tonight for "mashed potatoes and mashed potato sauce." Can't invite big sister without including baby sister, so Abby is here, too.
Abby is four. I forget how novel everything is at that age. Looking at my Christmas decorations in a pile:
- "Is that a real wreath?"
"Is that real snow?"
"You have Christmas socks?" [stockings]
- "Can I stir?"
"Can I crack the egg?" [She only got one eggshell piece in the batter.]
- "Is this a new one?"
If you can't tell, I'm having a ball. I started making the mashed potatoes while Molly plunked on my childhood guitar which now has one string left. Playing that old guitar is her favorite thing to do at my house. This is an old picture of her playing while Scott dances (and sings?). I thought I'd never forget the hilarious lyrics she made up to that monotonous tune. I should have written them down.
Tonight, Molly fell asleep before I finished cooking the mashed taters. I also tried making Chicken-Fried Steak for the first and last time. I thought it was pretty good, but I don't think it's approved on any of the diets that I'm not on. I fried up eight steaks. Scott ate one. Molly was asleep. Abby was already full of potatoes. I ate one. Thank goodness Dad came by and ate two.
I told Daddy to offer constructive criticism. My grandmother, his mother, made the best Chicken-Fried Steak in the world, so he is well-versed in what a good steak should be. We all agreed it was too salty. Dad said I tried to go too fancy with the batter. I need to keep it simple. The steak was too thick. It would be better to pound it until its surface area is three times larger. Grandmother used a coke bottle to do that. None of those brown bits and onions in the gravy, either. He said the gravy should be white! I wasn't too crazy about the gravy myself, and I have not yet gotten Molly's critique of the 'mashed potato sauce.'
There should be plenty of leftovers for breakfast, but I'm already planning to make buttermilk pancakes and cook up some bacon. I'm slightly worried about little sticky syrupy fingers running around my house. I'm also worried that these kids will stay up later than I can and get up before I do. Especially since Molly already took a nap. To be continued...