“Squares?” Heidi started in surprise.
“Oh yes – round ones left scraps, but that dough was so good, so crispy that she used to cut them into little square loaves and fry them whole. You would get a fluffy inside, a crispy outside, and that taste…” Mimi hummed happily as she shook her head. “My grandma could really cook. Now get over here, child.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, if you’re in this house, then you’re gonna learn my secrets – and we’re making egg gravy together from scratch. You ever make a roux?”
“A roo?”
“Roux, roux, roux,” she barked like a weathered drill sergeant. “A bit of grease, some flour, you brown it and…”
“Ooooh,” Heidi exclaimed in understanding – and nodded. “I’ve had it but never made one. Show me how.”
“You learn by doing, so switch sides with me – besides, that skillet is too heavy for me to lift, and I want some egg gravy toast.”
“I see.” – and she did. Heidi was going to do some of the ‘heavy lifting’ for the woman so she could have some of her favorites that she’d been unable to do on her own. The cast iron skillet had to be at least twelve inches across, maybe more, with a slick, seasoned surface that indicated it had been used faithfully for years.
“You want a heaping spoonful of drippings – in that can over there.”
“Should we use butter?”
“Heck no,” Mimi scoffed, swatting her on the arm. “You’re smarter than that. Think like you’re a pioneer woman so you don’t muck up the taste with some of today’s modern garbage. Today’s butter doesn’t melt – and youneed something that does. Grease, Crisco, oleo… and I prefer bacon grease or drippings.”
“Wait,” Heidi started, alarmed, “What do you mean ‘today’s butter doesn’t melt’…”
“Shh – when you cook, time is not on your side – not with a roux,” Mimi hissed in a hushed breath, her eyes focused on the skillet like a soldier about to rush the hill in battle. “You need another dollop…”
“We could measure it?”
“We are measuring it – now look and learn. It’s melting, but you don’t want it to burn… and now!”
“Now what?”
“It’s roux time, child. Flour? You put the flour in next and stir – I thought you said you’d made a roux before…”
“I’ve eaten stuff made with a roux…”
“I swear, children nowadays…” Mimi muttered under her breath, which immediately set Heidi to laughing as she sprinkled the quarter cup of flour that was shoved in her direction. “Get a fork and stir.”
“What about a spatula or a whisk?”
“Fork, Laura Ingalls – think pioneer style, remember? Do you think Laura Ingalls had a silicone spatula? Nooo, so you don’t either, or you’ll mess this up.”
“Yes ma’am,” she chuckled, grabbing the fork and working the tines in the flour as Mimi muttered something else unintelligible, moving to Heidi’s other side and grabbing her arm.
“Don’t scrape it or treat it like it’s a backscratcher – angle your fork, press the flour, mix it slowly, and work it. That pan was a wedding gift from my parents so if you ruin it there will be hell to pay, young lady… and I like you,” Mimi said sternly, but that soft smile cushioned her words as she hugged her with one arm, shoving her hand toward the skillet like a mother showing her daughter how to cook for the first time… except she wasn’t either. Her daughter – or inept.
“Work it… stir… and then comes the milk.”
“So we’re making gravy?”
“Hang tight and don’t get impatient on me…”
“Heidi, pay attention because you’re at the most important part,” a voice said from behind the two of them, which caused her to almost drop the fork in the roux mixture as she looked over her shoulder. Somehow, Jack had slipped into the house quietly without her knowing it, and as she looked at Mimi’s profile, the woman was smiling.
“Now it’s time for the milk and another dose of patience,” Mimi whispered. “Jack rushes the eggs and makes them all rubbery, which is why I’m teaching you instead… so you can teach your young’uns the right way, how it’s properly done.”
“Mimi…” she began, only to see the woman purse her lips as she shushed her once more. “Milk – and then stirring.”
