Friday Fictioneer is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and J.Hardy Carroll for this week’s prompt.
‘So, your Dad was a boxer?’ Mark turned to see Cecilia wiping away a tear.
‘Nah, he never boxed. Said he was too slow. But he loved the sport. Mantequilla was his idol.”
Across the street stood the old building owned by her father. It was his American dream-come-true. Then ICE came, banishing him from his home of 30 years.
‘Do you think you will be able to carry on his legacy? What do you know about running a business?”
Cecilia squeezed her husband Mark’s hand.
“I know enough,” said Cecilia. “I am my father’s daughter.”
Tell us about your favorite childhood meal — the one that was always a treat, that meant “celebration,” or that comforted you and has deep roots in your memory.
Back in the day, before bad Cholesterol, good Cholesterol, and Triglycerides, there was bacon grease. Bacon grease just makes things taste better and no Southern household south of the Mason-Dixon line would be without it. People are so health-conscience today that bacon grease typically goes in the trash, if bacon is let in the kitchen at all. But when I was growing up, the grease from the frying pan went straight to an old Crisco can sitting on top of the stove and used in just about every dish where a little oil was called for.
My favorite breakfast using bacon grease is what Grandma called ‘egg toast’. The recipe was simple: take a couple of whole eggs (yes, you have to include the yoke) and beat them you were scrambling eggs. Then, dip a couple of slices of Wonder White Bread (was there anything else?) in the mix, coating both sides. Slap the bread in the sizzling pan of bacon grease, frying on one side until golden brown, and then the other. Serve it up hot and it was the best thing in the world. Some of you might be saying, “hey, that’s nothing more than French Toast”, and you would be almost right. I didn’t realize there was anything called French Toast until I was an adult. I actually thought egg toast was some strange dish my Grandma made up. Poor Southern folks ate lots of strange meals. Granddad liked to mix cornbread in buttermilk and call it dinner. They also ate brains and eggs, which is too awful to describe. On those nights I was usually given an option of a Banquet frozen TV dinner. Fried Chicken was the best.
I don’t have any special memories tied to egg toast. It was just breakfast. Its one of those comfort foods it served my own family. I call it French toast now and my daughter puts pancake syrup on it, but the rest of the recipe is the same. It reminds me of a simpler time, of being a kid and eating this great tasting food, and wondering what the rest of the world ate for breakfast.