My Scottish Grandmother is a diverse & vibrant lady.
Iris is amazing, she stills champions the bowels team, walks her little dog everyday, volunteers weekly at the local public hospital and Iris is 85 years young.
One of my favorite Gran stories goes like this:
Its World War 2, Gran is 17 years old and working with her girlfriends tending the wounded men. Along comes the dashing Dutch man, Jacob.
Iris & Jacob fall madly in love. Jacob proposes, then makes plans to go to a small village in the Scottish Highlands and ask James Miller for his lovely daughters hand in holy matrimony.
Only problem, Iris lied about her age when they first met and now has to inform the love of her life that her dear dad is not going to give permission for his underage daughter to wed.
I can only imagine the heart wrenching days and nights that Gran went through trying to pluck up the courage to confess knowing that there was a chance her prevarication could destroy her hopes of marrying Jay. Naturally Jacob was far to deeply in love and quite besotted with his bonnie Scottish Lassie to let age or a little white lie deter him.
But I digress for it is not love I am here to discuss it is Gran’s restaurant.
Memorable for many reasons
Maybe it was the crispy fried potatoes, cooked to perfection, or the steak Dianne. Maybe the garden salad with the Thousand Island Dressing or the creamy vanilla ice-cream topped with warm home-made chocolate sauce. The tall flickering candles in a pair of silver holders or the red checkered tablecloth. napkins. Yes all of the above could create the “best childhood meal’.
However it was Granny Iris.
Dressed in a full length apron, Gran would meet us at the front door and usher us to our seats. Using the HB pencil from behind her ear she would note down our orders on a little notebook found in her apron pocket. Calling us Sir and Madam, asking how we would like our steak cooked and whether we would want 6 potatoes or 10.
My younger brother would be stifling giggles behind starch linen napkins as I would place the orders with a big smile on my face. Gran never varied from her role, playing the perfect waitress with a delightful twinkle in her big brown eyes, serving up a delicious meal and only removing her apron once the table was cleared and my bother and I had blown out the candles.
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.