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, my… Continue reading The Lost Art of Sunday Dinner
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