Kate, my mother-in-law, was a great cook. I learned so much about cooking, life, and wisdom in her kitchen. I also learned how to kiss her daughter in that kitchen, but that’s a story for another time.
Kate could make gravy out of anything: hamburger, meatloaf, baked chicken, roast beef, you name it. But my favorite gravy by a longshot was her fried chicken gravy. She took the “goody” (her term for the fried brown bits on the bottom of the pan, officially called "fond" by foodies) and added milk. She slowly heated the pan, using the back of her wooden spoon to melt the brown bits to make a delicious gravy. She then added a cornstarch slurry to thicken it.
Kate’s gravy transformed lowly mashed potatoes into a thing of beauty all their own.
Kates’ gravy was authentic. It took:
There was no artificial anything anywhere near Kate’s gravy. No instant anything. No shortcuts. No hacks.
Hope is like making gravy. It takes time, skill, patience, and practice. There are no shortcuts.
And like Kate’s gravy, hope makes life a thing of beauty.