Devonne Brown

Image generated with AI.

The house smelled like breakfast. The sausage left a little grease in the pan, but it was pungent and spicy enough to make gravy. Mom added a little butter and the sweet nutty smell peppered the air, then she mixed in flour, enough to soak up the grease and butter to make a roux. She used the tines of a fork to mash the gloopy mess around the skillet before adding milk. 

Gravy making was a delicate dance. Mom knew to have the big glass measuring cup full of water ready before she added milk to the skillet. The fire had to be high, the roux had to be brown, and once the milk went in, she had a very small window in which to work the glob of goo into a creamy sauce with the additions of more milk and a little water. Speed was of the essence.

Proper sausage gravy is sweet and savory, but it has to be worked and stirred constantly while on the heat or it will scorch. Scorched gravy looks perfect, but it will ruin the biscuits, potatoes, eggs, and sausage too. That taste of burnt milk permeates everything. It’s like sprinkling ashes directly from the trash barrel over everything. 

Mom only had one shot at making flawless gravy, she had to use what was left in the skillet from the breakfast meat. There was no room for error. She splashed the last of the water in the skillet and took it off the stove.

Before she let anyone touch it, Mom tore the corner off of one of her tender, flaky biscuits, and dipped it in the creamy sauce. Her verdict would determine whether or not the family had a complete breakfast. Sausage, eggs, fried potatoes, and biscuits just aren’t the same without gravy. Too bad she’d burnt it.