Best Screen Doors and Sweet Tea: Recipes and Tales from a Southern Cook

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Any time of the year that I pick up this lovely book, I am transported to a place and time. It looks like this: I'm wearing a pastel-colored cotton dress, my hair is newly washed and hanging down my back, the rocking chair I am sitting in, on Great Aunt Sallie's screened-in back porch, is slowly creeping across its gray-painted wooden floor. I hear her dog (sleeping at my feet) chasing a rabbit in his dreams and I (impatiently) wait for Aunt Sallie to bring me the latest confections that will soon be coming out of her oven, judging by the intoxicating smell of sugar and butter that fill the air. This book takes me back to this time as an 8-year old Southern girl.

As a typical Boomer, I went through lots of changes during the 60's. Now, looking over the cubicle wall at retirement, this charming book takes me back to a time when I can see my mother's white gloves saved for Sunday church or a funeral. I hear my dad poking holes in the lid of a mayo jar so my brother and I can catch fire-flies on a summer evening. I remember entering my aunts' homes (had lots of aunts!) and not understanding when they said, "Oh, my house is such a mess today," and everything seemed to be in perfect order to me. I remember the first bridal shower tea to which my mother took me, thinking I might finally be mature enough to attend. I watched the rites and formalities of things like silver punch bowls, how the punch cups must be set out in a line, the pastel beauty of fragrant round mints in a cut-glass bowl, and wondering if I would ever fit into this dignified, orderly lady-like world when I felt such a tomboy at the time.

Now, thanks to Martha's book, I can re-enter that clean, polite tucked-in-with-a-kiss-at-night world where almost everyone was called Miss Flossie or Miss Rowena or Miss Callie once their hair turned white, no matter how many grandchildren they had. The final truth came to me at the age of 13 one Thanksgiving. My father entered the kitchen peopled by my mother, two of her sisters (all over 50) and a non-relative everyone just called Aunt Mac (60 or 70+ years old.) Daddy said, "How are you girls coming? Will we be eating soon?" I broke out laughing and questioned, "Girls???" The women all silently turned and glared at me while my father explained, "No matter how many birthdays a lady has, she is always a girl." Having become A Lady of a Certain Age, I can testify to the fact that I am still a girl and this book helps me re-enter, re-call and re-live that time. Thank you, Martha, for your breath of fresh air and making me wish I had paid more attention now during those teas, showers and dinners.

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