The Proof is in the Filling

I tilt the chair back with my long Olive Oyl legs and I extend myself through the square kitchen opening from the dining room into the kitchen. My Great-Grandmother, Myme is what everyone calls her was cooking up a storm today. The house was filled with various aromas that tickle my nose and convert my mouth into a well of water as I salivate for Myme’s delectable dishes.

Myme was not the kind of cook that invites you into the kitchen as she prepares meals. Which is confusing, because how did my Dad become such a great Chef?  But anyway, I always enjoy seeing the stove overflow with pots, the flour covering the countertop as Myme kneads the different doughs for fried sweet potato pies or dumplings to go along with the chicken or the lattice design atop one of my favorite desserts, peach cobbler.

I’ve learned not to ask questions during her process, or I would be ordered, “Go outside and play ‘Sandra!”  I lean quietly in the opening as I watch Myme season each dish, a smidge of this, a dash of that, or whisk this and blend that.  It was truly a work of art to see how fresh produce from the garden or the farmer’s market was transitioned into the most mouth watering, eye pleasing, and taste- bud gratifying meals.

“Hey, Hey Lady, can I reach in front of you?” 

“Hhhmm, what? Oh, I’m sorry,” I say as I snap out of my warm, fuzzy memory and move to the side in the baking aisle of the grocery store. I cannot seem to remember the ingredient Myme used in her sweet potato filling that gave it a zing of flavor. She never used a recipe. How did she keep all those recipes in her head?

My husband and I will not be able to visit family on the east coast this year because of the pandemic. I think that is why I am in nostalgia mode and we both are yearning for a taste of home. After all, ordering Thanksgiving dinner did not pan out for us. No matter how much I tried to add flavor to each dish it only helped the mash potatoes, but we were thankful for the tasteless meal.

I complete my trek up and down each grocery aisle, which also counts as my walk for the day and check out with the nice cashier.

I mull over the menu in my mind during the drive home, taking the time to think about each ingredient. I even bought extra items for a couple of dishes so I could practice before I cook them for Christmas dinner. As I pull into the driveway, I keep asking myself, “what ingredient am I missing?”

My husband comes out to help me unload the groceries. I pop the trunk and could only laugh as his eyes extend just like Wylie Coyote each time the Roadrunner tricks him. He asks, “How many people are you cooking for?” I shrug my shoulders as I innocently say, “just us”.

After putting the food away, taking a shower and putting on my comfortable PJ’s and fury slippers, I look over Myme’s recipes I had written down from memory. I decide to try her sweet potato pie first. I pull out the ingredients, sweet potatoes, butter, eggs, brown sugar, sugar, vanilla extract, cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, salt, evaporated milk and 1 unbaked store bought pie crust.  There was no way I was taking a chance with Myme’s pie crust, I could not remember how she made it anyway.

 I preheat my oven to 350 degrees. I clean and scrub the skin of the sweet potatoes, place them on a baking sheet and put them on the middle rack of the oven. As the potatoes are cooking, the butter is softening, and my eggs are warming to room temperature I decide to FaceTime my Mom and Dad.

I brag about making Myme’s famous sweet potato pie. My Mom and Dad laugh and drill me on the ingredients. “I got this,” I say proudly. My Dad responds, “that’s what we all said the first time we tried to make it too.” My Mom is quickly listing the ingredients as my Dad is running down the check list of kitchen utensils I should have on deck. In the middle of the chaos, laughter and my niece and nephew chattering in the background, I think I hear the ingredient I am missing. “Wait, what? Mom what were the last couple of ingredients you listed?” “I’m sure you have them all, like you said, well I have to go now” she said, as she instructs my niece and nephew to say goodbye. “Oh, okay, love ya’ll,” I respond.

“Dang, that’s what I get for bragging, I should have just listened.”

I slowly walk into the kitchen and begin scooping the sweet potatoes out of the skin, smashing them, pushing them through a strainer. I remembered this part from a cooking show, it gets rid of the strings. Putting the filling to the side I begin to beat and mix my other ingredients. I mix the sweet potatoes and other ingredients together and dip a small spoon in the mixture to taste. Not bad, but it is missing something. I add a smidge of this and a dash of that, mix it and pour the filling into the pie crust and place it into the oven.

As it cooks the house smelled good, but nothing like Myme’s home. Once it was done and cool. I call my husband, my guinea pig into the kitchen. He tastes a small piece, “It’s alright. I mean it’s not bad, but no it doesn’t taste like your Myme’s.”

I taste a small piece and my heart sank. The extra smidge and dash that I added over-powered the taste of the sweet potatoes. My tastebuds are highly disappointed with me and I cannot blame them. I clean the kitchen and decide to call it a night.

I toss and turn all night and finally settle down as I dream, I am in Myme’s kitchen again. I watch closely as Myme moves in the kitchen with her floral apron on and her scarf wrapped around her Sunday hair do. This time I watch every ingredient Myme’s hands touch and finally realize the missing ingredient as she asks, “do you want the rest of this?”

“That’s it, that’s it!” I yell sitting straight up in bed.  My husband looks up at me, mumbles, you figured it out. “Yes!” I exclaim. I look at the clock, it is almost 3 a.m. I get out of bed, go in the kitchen, and pull out the same ingredients and add to the grocery list on the refrigerator door the missing ingredient.

I go back to bed and sleep like a baby knowing Christmas dinner would be special and have a delectable taste because Myme would now be represented on our table in our home.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Reedsy followers what do you think the missing ingredient was?