My mother and aunt had a secretive Thanksgiving gravy-making tradition. It wasn’t a secret recipe, but more of an unspoken understanding. Sour cream was a key ingredient, vehemently opposed by my uncle (or so he thought). He loved their gravy, oblivious to its creamy secret. This secrecy likely contributed to the lack of a written recipe; preserving plausible deniability regarding the sour cream “betrayal.”
My sister and I inherited this tradition, albeit less intentionally secretive. Our hushed tones stemmed from a nagging feeling of forgetting a crucial element, lost in the hazy realm of culinary memory. To finally break the cycle, I documented the process. While there’s room for personal adjustments and seasoning experimentation, the core essence is preserved. Embrace the quiet muttering, a seemingly essential part of this gravy’s charm.
The beauty of this gravy lies in its adaptability. Feel free to tweak the seasoning, add a touch more of this or that, and make it truly your own. But remember, the whispered consultations, the shared glances over simmering pots, are as much a part of the recipe as the ingredients themselves. It’s a culinary dance passed down through generations, a tradition steeped in both flavour and family secrets.