Mush Mash

I grew up a few streets over from my grandparents and that meant lots of sleepovers or afternoons spent scooter pootn’ (Scooter poot’n is a southern term that simply means running errands and seeing what needs to be seen.) On those Saturday mornings after our Friday night sleepovers, my grandfather would greet us with a small juice glass filled with orange juice and he would gently scratch our back to help us wake up and start our day. My sister and I would then get out of bed and turn the corner from the guest room right into the kitchen. Breakfast was usually a piece of toast, a canned biscuit, or a frozen waffle.

My grandfather was an inventor at heart. He was always coming up with something new in his shop in the basement. But long before I knew about any of those things, I knew that he had “invented” the most wonderful tasting breakfast condiment. Mush Mash.

Papa’s voice sounded like the texture of his stubbly facial hair. Once we were all seated at the small table that filled the tiny kitchen- you couldn’t open the fridge and unload the dishwasher at the same time- He would ask us, “Hey, you want some mush mash?” Who could say no to those puppy dog brown eyes and the buttery sweetness that was to come? A little pat of butter, a little squeeze of honey or molasses, He would add one or the other until  the mixture was just right. Eventually the two simple ingredients would be transcended into perfection. A good slather of Mush Mash would make any day better and a morning spent with my grandparents perfect.

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