The Lost Art of Sunday Dinner

It’s Sunday morning circa 1987 and I can see my Grandma Rue, standing at the stove in a flowered smock dolloping hush puppy batter into hot oil. Other simmering pots hold collards and a picnic shoulder, green beans, butter beans and potatoes. On some visits, mom goes with Granddaddy to church. Growing up in tobacco territory, myContinue reading “The Lost Art of Sunday Dinner”