Dad’s Gravy Spoon
Grab It And RUN!
What does a spoon have to do with an approaching storm, a possible tornado and the basement?
Let me explain: A tornado was coming our way. What did I grab to take with me to the basement to shelter? My Dad’s Gravy Spoon was the only thing I wanted to take.
That Gravy Spoon is precious to me. Many memories are linked to that spoon.
I never knew where my Dad obtained his Gravy Spoon. It didn’t match anything else in the silverware drawer, but there it was, having the place of honor resting on the stove, waiting for him to work his magic with it just before Sunday dinner was ready to be served.
My Mom would get Sunday dinner started. Unable to go to church on Sundays due to physical limitations, she stayed home to get the potatoes peeled, the vegetables ready, the salad made and the roast in the oven. Whether it was chicken, beef or pork, my Dad always made gravy.
My Dad’s Specialty Was Making The Gravy
When the roast was finally pulled out of the oven, before the potatoes were mashed and the vegetables ready, a small measuring cup of flour and water was mixed just so.
I can still hear that special sound of the Gravy Spoon hitting the sides of the measuring cup as he quickly stirred.
At just the right moment, after the roast was removed from its pan, the mixture of flour and water would go into the juices. Then my Dad would begin stirring gently with the back of that special spoon. There would be no lumps in HIS gravy!
The Result Was Deliciousness.
Gravy in the gravy boat (as they called it in those days) took its place on the dressy Sunday table, ready for use. Mmmmm, always mmmmm.
My Dad’s Gravy Spoon was well-traveled. I can remember it first as a child in Pennsylvania. When the tablecloth went on the table and the table was set, it was time for mouth-watering gravy to be prepared.
When the Gravy Spoon moved with us to California, its use became even more important since all was unfamiliar. Instead of maple trees, there were palm trees. In place of small homes, there were large homes with pools. Even the land itself was different. In Pennsylvania, there were hills, usually tree covered. In California, hills were bare and resembled small mountains.
Yet the Gravy Spoon remained a touch of home.
Whenever I would visit my parents in California from my home in Michigan, I would always fix them a full turkey dinner. Since my Dad would be lovingly kicked out of the kitchen that day, Dad’s Gravy Spoon would be used to make giblet gravy. No, it wasn’t HIS gravy, but I enjoyed watching his face as he enjoyed the results of my day in the kitchen as a thank you to my parents for teaching me how to cook.
Years later, after I was married, my Dad sent his Gravy Spoon to me. What a precious gift!
Since my family in Michigan wasn’t big gravy lovers, Dad’s Gravy Spoon was now a Side Dish Wonder as it served potato salad, baked beans or coleslaw, just like Mom had made.
Whenever Thanksgiving rolled around every year, my house seemed to be the place to be for family, friends, and anyone needing a good meal. Yes, Dad’s Gravy Spoon was again put to work and good use.
One year, my parents visited me in Michigan. Can you guess what was on the menu? YES, a full turkey dinner was prepared for them using Dad’s Gravy Spoon on giblet gravy.
Thus, when a tornado loomed in the blackened sky, you can understand why I grabbed Dad’s Gravy Spoon to take to the basement.
Thankfully, no tornado came my way. The Gravy Spoon lived to serve many at my table again…and again over the years.
Thank you for reading!
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