Recopies from Earls Kitchen of Chous

 

From Kitchen Chaos to Culinary Contentment: The Saga of the Stove and Uncle Bill's "Shit on a Shingle"

The early morning hours in my kitchen are often a whirlwind, a beautiful ballet of sizzling pans, fragrant steam, and the clatter of cutlery. Today was no exception, amplified by the specific request from none other than Uncle Bill for a dish that evokes a certain nostalgic charm – what some affectionately (or perhaps not so affectionately) call "Shit on a Shingle." Now, this wasn't a recipe straight from my own repertoire, mind you. This particular culinary journey was guided by the spectral presence of my brother Robbert, his instructions echoing in my memory as I navigated the intricacies of this savory creation.

The initial stage, as always, involved the coffee – the indispensable fuel for any kitchen endeavor. With that brewing, my focus shifted to the stove, a battlefield that often bears the brunt of my enthusiastic (and sometimes slightly chaotic) cooking style. Today promised to be no different. Even before a single ingredient hit a pan, I knew a thorough cleaning would be in order once Uncle Bill’s peculiar craving was satisfied. It's a familiar cycle: inspiration strikes, ingredients fly, flavors meld, and in the aftermath, a sticky landscape of splatters and spills remains. But that's the price of creation, isn't it?

Brother Robbert’s instructions for this rendition of "Shit on a Shingle" were surprisingly straightforward, yet held a certain improvisational spirit. It began with the fundamental roux – oil shimmering in the skillet, the nutty aroma of flour blooming as it mingled with the hot fat. This, Robbert always emphasized, was the soul of the gravy, the foundation upon which all other flavors would build. Slowly, deliberately, I whisked in the milk, the mixture transforming from a lumpy mass into a smooth, creamy canvas, the anticipation of the final dish beginning to stir.

While the gravy gently simmered, demanding constant attention to prevent scorching or sticking, the spotlight shifted to the sausage. This wasn’t just any sausage; it needed to be cooked until deeply browned and slightly crispy, rendering out its savory fat and adding a robust depth to the overall dish. The sizzle and pop filled the kitchen, a percussive accompaniment to the gentle gurgle of the gravy. Once the sausage reached that perfect state of culinary readiness, glistening with rendered goodness, it was time for its integration into the creamy embrace of the gravy. The kitchen now smelled intensely savory, a comforting and hearty aroma that spoke of home-cooked goodness.

But Robbert’s recipe held a twist, a unique element that elevated it beyond the standard fare: the biscuits. While the gravy and sausage mingled and melded their flavors on the stovetop, I embarked on the parallel task of baking a batch of golden-brown biscuits. The warmth of the oven soon joined the heat emanating from the skillet, creating a cozy and inviting atmosphere in the kitchen. Once baked to perfection, their fluffy interiors promising a delightful texture, these weren't simply served alongside. Instead, following Robbert's specific direction, I crumbled the warm biscuits directly into the sausage gravy. This unexpected addition created a delightful textural contrast, the soft, slightly crumbly biscuit soaking up the rich gravy and adding another layer of flavor to the already hearty mixture.

The final step was the seasoning, the point where personal preference could truly shine. Robbert always encouraged experimentation, a dash of this, a pinch of that. Today, I opted for a little black pepper, a whisper of garlic powder, and a tiny pinch of smoked paprika, just to add a subtle hint of warmth. As the concoction continued to simmer, the crumbled biscuits softened, the flavors married completely, and the dish transformed into the comforting, albeit curiously named, "Shit on a Shingle."

Throughout this culinary adventure, the stove, as predicted, had become a testament to the creative process. Splatters of oil, flecks of flour, and rogue crumbs of biscuit adorned its surface. But as the final spoonful of Uncle Bill's breakfast was served, a sense of quiet satisfaction washed over me. The mess was a small price to pay for the warmth and nourishment the meal provided. And, of course, the knowledge that another cleaning session was on the horizon.

Now, with Uncle Bill happily enjoying his rather unique breakfast, my attention will soon turn back to that trusty stove. The remnants of this morning's culinary escapade will be scrubbed away, the surface prepared for the next wave of creative cooking. But for now, there's a brief moment of respite, a moment to savor the satisfaction of a kitchen mission accomplished, guided by the memory of a brother’s recipe and the enduring appeal of a home-cooked meal, even one with such a memorable moniker.