by Bob Francis
My grandma kept the Kellogg’s Corn Flakes in the refrigerator. They were crisp and cold and terrific with a spoon of sugar on top and bathed in whole milk. Orange juice was served in small glasses. I didn’t drink coffee, but my Grandma would open the can of Folgers and let me smell it before she filled the tin coffeepot on the stove.
Grandma slipped a tall pile of Roman Meal wheat toast onto the table with a saddle-shaped lump of butter. Grandpa didn’t slice the butter from the side, but scraped the top with a serrated knife. Small curlicues would melt evenly across the surface of the bread.
There is a fine line between crisp bacon and burnt. Grandma’s bacon was crisp. It crumbled in your mouth. Grandma would use the grease from the bacon to cook up the eggs, whipping them with a fork on an iron pan that almost glowed red. Only an instant would pass and there were plates of “scrambled eggs” set down in front of us.
Bob Francis is a writer. He lives in Belvidere, IL.