The other night, Joe, Bri and I were reminiscing about Mom's amazing après ski dinners. Kell smiled the whole time. Mom, aka Nan, would cook all day on Sundays and then present us with multi-course, soup/pasta-to-nuts meals fit for royalty. We'd arrive at The Best Restaurant In Town at about 4:30 p.m., cold, tired and somewhere between exhilarated and cranky. But then we'd perk up and dine for a couple hours, all the while telling snow stories that Mom seemed delighted to hear. I'm thinking that perhaps fond memories subconsciously prompted me to whip out the Bisquick, this morning.
Bisquick. A product I've not used in decades, mainly because of its resident trans fat. But for reasons unknown, Joe recently purchased a Sam's Club-sized box.
Bisquick. Back in the day when Ronnie and I were kids and before ingredients mattered, it was Mom's go-to for biscuits and dumplings. Yum. I can picture the ginormous pot of bubbling stew, topped with those gooey globs of deliciousness. I digress…
Memories are made of this.
Missing Mom.
