Gravy School Dropout

So I get back on the phone with Deedar because I had it in my head to make country fried steak with white gravy last night. However, I ended up staying late at work, had a small lunch, and was famished by the time I got back, so that idea flew out the window. I thought I'd save it for another day. But I was going to go ahead and practice with the gravy since my previous gravy didn't turn out so great.

Deedar starts telling me to leave some oil in the pan from the steak, but like I said I didn't do that, so I just got out the ol' grease tin and spooned out some bacon grease. I think it was about two tablespoons worth. Then she says to add the milk. No quantity, just "the milk." I really truly admire those that can just whip something up with no recipe and it come out tasting fantastic, but I'm not one of those people yet. Anyway, I just throw some milk in there and start stirring. I'm always afraid of scalding milk, so as soon as I see a tiny bubble, I throw "some flour" in the mix and keep stirring. She tells me to try it, and try it I did. It tasted like paste. So I add some more milk and keep stirring. Now, it tastes like oil. Milk equals oil now? Geez.

I ended up throwing the "gravy" away because it was just awful! I didn't have the heart to call Deedar back up and say I failed the gravy lesson since she's already sounded exasperated that I had to call a second time. She's also threatening to school me in the ways of southern cooking. Although, let's face it. I could use it right about now. I can't even make a simple gravy. *shame*

My Sister, the Original

I visited my sister, Deedar, over the past weekend and reconnected with family I haven't seen in several years, which was nice. This family included my youngest brother Rock, my dad's sister, my niece (older sister's kid), and her two kids which are my great niece and nephew. That's fun to point out since I'm only in my 20s. That's what happens when your oldest sister is approximately 23 years older than you and her eldest daughter is 2-3 years older than you as well. Anyway, on this trip, stories were shared, recipes swapped, and the baby sister was made fun of immensely. That'd be me.

Rock and Deedar

Let me start by saying that my sister Deedar is the original tomboy housewife. I was completely unaware of this until last weekend. She's twenty years older than me and I've spent a collective 5 years around her since I was born, but we're pretty much identical. She would rather mess with cars than paint her nails, she used to get kicked out of school for fighting (never got kicked out of school and only got in one fight that ended after one punch), and she hates, above all else, shopping (don't mind it as long as I have a list and/or the time). Especially for groceries, which was why when I first arrived, I didn't eat until about 11 the following morning when her husband took pity on us and bought us Subway. Thanks, Croc. I owe you one. Well, two. He took me for a ride in his newly purchased 1968, in perfect condition, Camaro. I think there's still a pile of drool in their garage from when I first saw it.

Croc and his 1968 Camaro

When I had to leave on Sunday, the original intent was to grill, and Croc wanted steak. However, this meant that one of them was going to have to go the store again since I had already been out once and was still trying to enjoy my sister's company before I had to leave. So grilling was out. But after inventorying the previous night's purchases from Kroger, Deedar settled on pork chops.

Her secret is to completely cover the flour mixture with Tony Chacere's and garlic powder. In the egg mixture, she puts Paula Deen seasoning and hot sauce. Dip the chops in both of those and you're ready to throw them in the oil for frying.

My oldest niece and me

I decided I'd try this last night since I had seen it done and they were amazing. Sidenote: I actually don't like pork all that much, but a general rule of thumb with me is I'll eat anything fried. Anyway, everything's going great until I decide to slice into one and instead of staring into the other white meat, I'm looking at a basically raw pink pork chop center. So they had to go in the oven and lose all their crispy goodness.

The next plan was to make gravy like Deedar had taught me (with water of all things. This was a totally foreign concept.) since I had decided I was going to try my hand at my momma's biscuit recipe. Now, those turned out find except I rolled the dough out a little too thin and they were a little dense. Still ate them though. Anyway, back to the gravy. I'm stirring and I'm throwing stuff in the pan and everything's going smoothly because the roux is now the perfect gravy color. So I start adding water. The only lesson I got out of this gravy experience is water equals sludge. The gravy ended up looking like pudding. I added more oil and then more water, but never did get it to a pourable consistency. I'm going to try to pass it off on Giraffe and hope he likes chunky gravy. Blech.