Nickole Brown

Jane Goodman writes about her Alabama Granny

Granny was always a tough cookie to digest. If you weren't one of her many grandchildren or one of the gals from the gardening club, then you probably got the short end of the stick around her. But she meant well . . . tough love, I suppose. Granny was known for lots of things in our family. Some of my favorites: her classic dinner of fried salmon croquettes, green peas, and mashed potatoes; her perfect folded egg with "Granny toast" (soft bread with lots of butter); the fact that her floor was so clean you could literally eat off of it (gotta love her obsession with Clorox). There was also the signature Granny move, which consisted of handing out her all of her recipes to the children and grandchildren, but with the recipes tweaked just enough so that whatever anyone made would never be as good as hers. To this day, the frustration is tangible come Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter when the family attempts to recreate recipes only to get "so close," "almost there," "it's just missing one thing;" never quite hitting the mark of "Granny good." (Side note: the photo is of my Granny on Christmas Eve of 2010 dressed in some fabulous leopard print pajamas that one of her five children bought her as a joke. It was not only a Christmas miracle that we actually got her to wear them but also that we managed to get a photo of it.)