Mama's Yorkshire Pudding

  Now I've been lately recollecting memories from my past,
And find that some are still quite clear while most are fading fast.
But one that comes to mind still brings a smile to this old face,
And starts my mouth to watering for a chance once more to taste
My mama's Yorkshire pudding on a plate with roast beef gravy.
Just thinking 'bout the way it looks and tastes just drives me crazy.

Now, it's only made from a little flour and the drippings from the roast.
Add a little salt, and eggs, and milk, some fire, and you can boast
 The best darn recipe there is, or ever hoped to be,
To go with roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes, and some peas.
It's hard, at first, to get it right, but, partner, when you do,
Your family will be asking for it every week or two.

Don't ask me why they call it pudding 'cause any fool can see
It ain't all cool and creamy like any pudding ought to be.
But this pudding comes from England where they do such things as that,
Like call a thing a bonnet when it should be called a hat,
Or call upon a bobby when a cop is what they need,
And here at home we're all just fine while they're jolly good, indeed.

This dish is kind of filling, in fact, that's how it came to be
As it was conjured up to fill the needs of those in poverty
Who needed something cheaply made, yet pleasing to the taste,
To serve before the main meal to be eaten in all haste
So that all the main meal staples on which all the world relies
Would stretch just that much farther as they were in short supply.

But here in post depression days with times so much the better,
Mom would put the Yorkshire pudding right there on the serving platter
With the roast beef and the onions, the cooked carrots, and the peas,
Add a bowl of mashed potatoes, and the gravy, just to please.
But now she rests in heaven and I'm left to contemplate
My mama's roast beef dinners with Yorkshire pudding on the plate.


searcher   searcher wrote
on 6/7/2008 2:38:17 AM
You speak the truth, for sure. I've told my kids many times over the years that they are missing out on the type of meals that I was raised boiled cow's tongue, eaten hot the first evening and cold in school lunch sandwiches until it was gone. When you buy a whole frying chicken in the supermarket today, you're missing several of the best parts: the neck, gizzard, heart, and liver....all staples when I was growing up. But, the household chefs of the Depression ere are dwindling, and I would guess that few of them are teaching their craft ever to their own children and grandchildren. I'm glad you liked the poem.

Moqui_Takoda   Moqui_Takoda wrote
on 5/18/2008 10:36:54 PM
these days there is no such thing as that kind of food, unless you know how to prepare it or have someone who does or knew someone who does or did ... its the way i cook, though, and since i have known hard times and know how to make a great meal from what would appear to folks these days, especially young ones as an empty kitchen, i am freed of certain things ... like never having had a decent taste of real chow in my whole life, which, unfortunately is the fate of many, so in many ways, hardship teaches resourcefullness and from that freedom comes gourmet skills and gourmet cooking and great food ... your grandma was a great lady, your poem shows this by things you talk about ... food, love of it, and the kind of meal only love can really prepare ... good for you ... this is a good poem, too

writing searcher
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