My Choice a Pork Chop

By Brenda S. Brown


Ruby T. Scott, my paternal grandmother, believed that the consumption of an enormous sized, succulent and juicy, country-fried pork chop could either alleviate the tribulations of the world, or at least provide a temporary feeling of satisfaction that momentarily allowed you to forget your encumbrances. 

Personally, I agree with her general hypothesis, however, I do not believe that the segments we purchase today, known as the other white meat, have the vigorous flavor as those homegrown segments of her era. 

During my formative years our Scott grandparents resided on a farm in rural Terrell County, less than thirty minutes driving time from our home to theirs, but when I was a young teenager, Granddaddy Scott was injured during a robbery at the country store he owned and operated and was never able to return to work.  After a long period of convalescence, Daddy announced that they were relocating to Richland for his recuperation; a situation our family considered temporary transformed into a permanent one.  

Personally, I was delighted to be able to visit them in a moment's notice and Nanny and I secretly plotted to spend as much quality time together as possible.  When I was grown, married and then had two sons, Nanny was always nearby with support, advice, assistance, and comfort. 

Nanny seemed to recognize when I was having an especially difficult day, one that overflowed with unpleasant events; and frequently on those extraordinary mornings, she telephoned the office and invited me to come by for an early lunch.  I knew without asking what she planned to serve and before eleven o'clock my mouth was watering just thinking about the promised banquet. 

The pork chop morsel was presented on a warmed plate and waiting at my place at the table when I arrived; frequently resting at the back of the stove was the first cousin to the entree, thick strips of fried side- meat.  The accompanying menu was inconsequential as long as cat-head biscuit were available; thinking about it makes me hungry.  But, like all those ladies who grew up in the south, Nanny presented a plethora of vegetables; string beans with new potatoes squash fried-up with sweet onions, lady-finger peas with okra pods, and turnip greens with chopped roots.  

Nanny did not like turkey, granddaddy despised beef, daddy disliked chicken, and momma did not eat fish but there was main ingredient in which we all agreed, pork; that is what we preferred for dinner.   


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