Here I am, enjoying one of the best meals that I adore. I’ve written about Luby’s before but I felt it pertinent to write again, perhaps from a different angle.
Sometimes I wonder why we like the things we do. I’ve eaten at many wonderful restaurants and have had some extremely good dishes done wi such precision and thoughtful composition, I wonder why it is, I still consider a square of fried fish, corn and macaroni & cheese amongst my top meals that I want to take to Heaven with me.
Sometimes nostalgia counts for more than taste. I mean, fried plank o fish, in a shape that no fish known to man exists in, served with carbs. I eat them in a certain order, in a certain way, and every time I am brought back to the mid-1980s. I can still see it: the dark wood interior of my childhood neighborhood Luby’s, my parents making it feel special. The coffee lady, the cubes of jello, the shiny pies and the heat lamps making the place smell a little burnt, but home style in their own right.
It was also how grown-up it made me feel. I remember the faded dark green napkin rolls, and the inevitable moment where my sister would drop one of the utensils on the floor in her need to consume macaroni & cheese as soon as possible. I used to get my own tray, and remember when I was old enough to carry it myself. As a young tot, I once wore a mink stole my dad brought home from a tag sale, to Luby’s. Clearly, this was fine dining for me.
So the one lapse in good dining my parents once experienced included a carefully worded letter to Luby’s Corporate Office from my father. This letter, which I wish I had a copy of, included phrases that still get my mom and us girls laughing with the drama they imply, “the only part of the meal that approached warm…was the green salad.”….amongst others. That said, Luby’s made up for it by comping the meal, and I learned to speak up to companies when they don’t deliver.
So I continue to return. Perhaps the roaming coffee service has been replaced by traditional service staff. The interiors are brighter and less fancy than they used to be, today’s moms don’t have to deal with wheeled wooden chairs kids can have way too much fun in. (A small win for my own mother I’m sure) But the heat lamps, the cloth napkins, the real whipped cream piped onto pie crusts…stand the test of time.
Each time, I sit down my tray, remove the same whitish grey plates, unroll my silverware, and take a bit of corn. It’s canned corn, it’s the same though, since 1981. Or before then, I just didn’t chew before then really. I find myself in this spot any time I need a mental reset, a moment to not emotionally eat, but to remember a time when I was a kid, when life, and the world even, was simpler and less complicated. That calm and peace, beats grilled octopus with chimichurri and blanched asparagus with crab bearnaise any day.
Today I bring you comfort food, but however you find your peace, I hope you find it.
My Own Macaroni and Cheese (as close to Luby’s despite their own recipe being out there.)
Luby’s Fried Fish & Tartar Sauce – From JustAPinch.com
Ingredients
1 c flour
2 1/3 c finely crush saltine crackers
1 c buttermilk
3 eggs
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
6+ cod pieces (i use kroger brand)
Tartar Sauce
1/4 c finely minced yellow onions
1/4 c finely minced fresh parsley, stems removed
1/2 c dill pickle relish, drained
2 c mayonnaise
Directions
Place flour in a bowl and place crackers in another bowl. (Make sure bowls are big enough so you have enough space to coat fish)
In medium bowl, wisk together buttermilk, eggs, salt and pepper.
Coat fish pieces with flour, shaking off excess. Dip into buttermilk mixture, then crackers, coating evenly and pressing crackers firmly onto fish.
Deep fry in oil (350-365) till done & gold brown.
For tartar sauce: In a medium bowl mix onions, parsley and relish. Using a rubber spatula, fold together mayonnaise and the onion mixure. Refridgerate to chill before serving.
I always make the tartar sauce ahead of time so the flavors can blend.
[delay + 5 days]
Saying Goodbye to My Grandmother
I know that my grandmother was born and, as she puts it, “came over on the boat” to America. She
came from a big family, with lots of struggles, and plenty of stories, most of which I think we should write a book about, because surely I’m the only one with a great uncle who lived in a pig sty.
When she passed away yesterday, gone is almost a century of an amazing life led by a woman who was a legend in my book. I have lived in Texas my entire life, and only saw my grandmother a few dozen times. That said, there are characteristics I have in my genetic makeup because of her, and I’m proud to know that even if she’s gone, I have that spirit inside me.
She was a hard worker, something that I value very highly in my own life. When asked about her favorite job, she really doesn’t pick one, despite having been a myriad of things – including my own dream job, a baker. She was also a quality checker at the Anchor Hocking glass factory. What she explains is that you just do a good job, and “they” (I suppose “the boss”) likes you, and that’s that. I envy that attitude – in today’s business world it doesn’t take “just doing a good job” anymore – politics and caste systems and so many other dimensions come into play. I’m glad she found success in what she did, it took her no-nonsense way of doing things, and provided what she could for her family.
Sh
e did what she could to host those in her home. Burnt into my memory is an Easter dinner that I visited for. I arrived there Good Friday to find a houseful of family, and Mayor perched in his recliner. All I heard was , “Pinky, I’m hungry” coming from his mouth. What I witnessed next is a dining room that filled with dishes that seemed to materialize out of thin air. Fried chicken, pasta salad, green salad, green beans, pierogi, and it continued. She knew how to fill her home, fill the table and fill bellies. She loved to host and feed people, something I think we could all do more often to spread the wealth.
My aunt quipped once, in her thick Yankee accent and accompanying sarcasm, that she spoke to Gram, telling her, “You have 50 pictures of yourself in the living room Mommy, and none of me.” She knew that she was beautiful. And she was, I remember thinking as a kid that my mom had framed photos of a true Hollywood star in her living room. That was Grandma, at her wedding, perfect pin curls and features that gave her fire and femininity in one package. I could probably learn to love myself that way, most of the women I know could…to know we are beautiful, just as we are.
She rebelled against the era she was born into, she wore red leather pants. Tanned on the front lawn in a gold bikini. By the way, did I mention she was in her 60s when she did? And at my parent’s wedding in the mid-70s, she wore a stunning blue floor length beaded dress with a coat that included feathered cuffs. She took chances in days and ages that things were faux pas and was fearless to let the person she was inside, out.
After one husband who gave her four children, she departed a tumultuous marriage and found the love of her life. My grandpa Mayor loved my grandmother…gosh did he. She used to roll it all into one statement…”He bought me a house.” While I know how that sounds, I think she knew he made a whole life for her. He put a roof over her head and smiles on her face. I cannot wait to find someone who smiles about me the way he would chuckle when he thought about her.
One thing she was very certain about, she was not a Republican. In fact, a devout Democrat so much so that she doesn’t mention much about my Catholic-raised mother marrying a Protestant. However, she definitely put a lot of passion into telling me that she wasn’t so happy that Mom married a Republican. She explains in a way that I can’t argue with either – when FDR was in office, she had shoes. When Hoover was in office, they were too poor for shoes. And it’s best you just agree with her. It’s what I love about her – she knew who she was, and she stayed true to that.
I’d like to think that she’s arrived to Heaven’s red carpet in something floor length in a leopard print, leg slit and sequins, with a great pair of high heels that she had to give up when she had the first stroke. I can only imagine Mayor is overwhelmed that dinner will “finally” be good tonight since Grandma has arrived, and he’s invited the neighborhood over to join in. She will undoubtedly be in all of her glory, doing all the things she loves to do again – without the limits she fought so hard to overcome.
All my love Grandma, I’m happy you finally made it to the place that can give you everything you want.
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