You know how a sound or smell can bring up a memory? Today, I smelled something that took me back to Saturday dinners (known as lunch outside the South) at Maw and Pop’s house.

When I’d come in the carport door, the sound of the pressure cooker steam-rattling away on the stove was an immediate siren-song pulling me around the corner into the kitchen. Then came the smell of chicken strips frying in screaming hot Crisco that Pop dutifully got from Bobby Frank’s store over the hill a few minutes earlier.

Most of the time, nobody made it through the kitchen to the living room. We would gather around the table to talk and watch Maw work her magic until the food hit the table. I don’t think she ever made anything I didn’t like.

Her secret was her measuring spoon. Most people use teaspoons or tablespoons or measuring cups to divvy up ingredients when cooking. Maw used a metal, long-handle serving spoon for everything because there really isn’t much difference in a tablespoon of Crisco or margarine and a whop of whatever from her spoon.

The table would be packed with steaming Corning Wear dishes holding the results of her work, sitting on a group of mismatched trivets. Almost everything had somewhere between a pat and a whop of Parkay margarine. The Pict-Sweet creamed corn had at least half a stick of unnecessary Parkay. Every Sunbeam split-top roll had been pulled apart just enough to slip a pat of margarine between sections. The butterbeans would have golden droplets of melted margarine floating on the juice. And, the mashed potatoes had no telling how much margarine in them, but there was always a pat on top just to make sure you knew it was there.

She kept a gallon pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge at all times, and it never went dry. Just like the pitcher, nobody’s glass went dry either. It sat on the counter behind Pop and if she heard the ice rattle in a glass, she was on top of the refill.

Then, there was dessert. Her lemon meringue pies that we called lemon icebox pies were, as far as I was concerned, the best thing on earth. I even named a lab puppy I got right before she died Jewel Kathryn’s Lemon Pie.

Of course, after eating more than my fill and being absolutely miserable, barely able to breathe, I had to have one more buttery roll. You know… to get the sweet out of my mouth.

Then, we would disperse either to the living room or Pop’s shop or a tractor until it was time to go home or gather around for the leftovers at supper.

I appreciate how that smell today reminded me of one of my favorite memories.