It’s once again time for Real Food Wednesday! Go by and see what everyone else is saying about real food!
The other day I was delighted to find this gem by Edgar A. Guest, at the advent of prepackaged cereals. He recalls the good old days when his mother’s country sausage was provided for breakfast instead of the shreds and flakes which (we’re learning) cause all kinds of health problems. (Notice that they were eaten with cream though!) Growing up in a family that housed an enormous fear of cholesterol, for years I adopted the idea that meat was bad for you. When I first married I was almost a vegetarian, I ate so little meat (lots of carbs, though). Being married to a confirmed carnivore changed my taste, and I enjoy meat now. Not only that, I also realize that meat from healthy, pastured animals is not just tasty, but so good for us too! One last note: I’ve recently changed my diet to one higher in protein and significantly lower in carbohydrates. It’s probably not enough to be considered low-carb, but I’m eating far fewer carbs than I have in the past. To my surprise, I am rarely hungry even though I am eating significantly fewer calories. Edgar A. Guest knew what he was talking about all those years ago!
You may brag about your breakfast foods you eat at break of day,
Your crisp delightful shavings and your stack of last year’s hay,
Your toasted flakes of rye and corn that fairly swim in cream,
Or rave about the sawdust mash, an epicurian dream.
But none of these appeals to me, though all of them I’ve tried–
The breakfast that I liked the best was the sausage mother fried.
Old country sausage was its name; the kind, of course, you know,
The little links that seemed to be almost as white as snow,
But turned unto a ruddy brown, while sizzling in the pan;
Oh, and they were made both to appease and charm the inner man.
All these new-fangled dishes make me blush and turn aside,
WHen I think about ths sausage that for breakfast mother fried.
When they roused me from my slumbers and I left to do the chores,
It wasn’t long before I breathed a fragrance out of doors
That seemed to grip my spirit, and to thrill my body through,
For the spice of hunger tingled, and ’twas then I plainly knew
That the gnawing in my stomach would be quickly satisfied
By a plate of country sausage that my dear old mother fried.
There upon the kitchen table, with its cloth of turkey red,
Was a platter heaped with sausage and a plate of home-made bread,
And a cup of coffee waiting, not a puny demi-tasse
That can scarcely hold a mouthful, but a cup of greater class;
And I fell to eating largely, for I could not be denied–
Oh, I’m sure a king would relish the sausage mother fried.
Times have changed and so have breakfasts; now each morning when I see
A dish of shredded something or of flakes passed up to me,
All my thoughts go back to boyhood, to the days of long ago,
When the morning meal meant something more than vain and idle show.
And I hunger, Oh, I hunger in a way I cannot hide,
For a plate of steaming sausage like the kind my mother fried.
~Edgar A. Guest, in his book Just Folks, Copyright 1917