My friend Yolande was heading to a family reunion Sunday afternoon and had whipped up four batches of scrummy Mississippi Mud Brownies. She brought a batch to church for coffee hour that morning, and I just couldn't resist! When it was time to head home she handed me a plate full of the yummy morsels so that I could indulge in a little guilty pleasure once I was home.
This adulteration of the brownie is about the best choice there is when it comes to improving on perfection (I consider the brownie to be one of God's perfect foods). It also takes me down memory lane.
Back in the day when my grandmother was still alive and we were at Melrose, we would work in a visit to her cousin Alden, who lived about an hour away on an old family homestead (I'm talking old, here. A land grant from George III old). Alden was a wonderful cook, and she frequently made a batch of Mississippi Mud brownies for us to take home. They weren't called that at the time, we simply knew them as Alden's Brownies. But it didn't matter what they were called, because they were fabulous. Always.
Whenever I see these brownies I think of Alden, who died a few years ago. I remember meals in her kitchen, tea on her porch, and the day I married her granddaughter in the backyard (I do so enjoy family weddings). I think of her devotion to family, to God (she taught Sunday school until she was 95 at the local Presbyterian church), and to her heritage. She had a quick wit and wry smile, and I loved the sound of her laughter. She is missed, but through her brownies, as with so much more, she lives on.
Thanks, Yolande, for the memories.