Southern café serves up biscuits, chicken and, best of all, love

Walking into the cozy Southern eatery, I found a comfortable spot to settle in and drink in the atmosphere.
A large round table and built-in countertop bar overlooked the cooktop and grill, where hands busily dipped chicken in batter and patted out butter-smothered biscuits. The cook provided the music, varying from a somber hymn to an uplifting Appalachian folk song. As the other diners anxiously awaited the promised comfort food, they chattered about their day; children ran through the kitchen, laughing. Sunlight filled the expansive room, adding to the warm energy and friendliness.
Soon, the cook delivered piping hot platters of broasted chicken and fluffy biscuits along with heaping bowls of butter-laden mashed potatoes, bacon-grease sawmill gravy and green beans seasoned with hambone. Salivating, I couldn’t wait to dig into this feast, but I remembered there was one thing we had to do first. I bowed my head as one of my dining companions prayed to thank God for our many blessings, including the food on our table.
Afterward, I took my turn, filling my plate with the Southern delicacies laid before me. My stomach growled. I was indeed thankful; who wouldn’t be for this dining experience? The chicken and its delicate batter melted in my mouth, and I closed my eyes to savor the rich flavor of the biscuits and peppery gravy. I ate until I couldn’t move, but the scent of the peach cobbler warming in the oven called my name. The cook tempted me with a scoop of the dessert topped with a mountain of vanilla ice cream melting down the sides. I sighed and accepted my fate, thankful I’d worn a baggy dress instead of my favorite pair of jeans. Full disclosure—I didn’t pay a dime for my food, and this wasn’t my first visit to this buffet of Southern comfort.
You’re probably wondering where I found this delightful café. It was my Granny’s kitchen every Saturday morning. I never had to worry about what I was wearing, and best of all, it was a short walk from my parents’ home. I’ll always remember the love my grandmother put into preparing every meal. Next to Jesus, she prioritized feeding her family until their pants were bursting at the seams. I don’t know of a soul who could say they left her house hungry. Thank you, God, for giving us this incredible matriarch to protect and love us. I know she’s watching us from Heaven now, waiting for the day that she can serve us up a humongous batch of biscuits and an even bigger hug.

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