I grew up in the South where the the last meal of the day was called supper. Bread and butter was served at every meal. Many of the evening meals were composed of fried meats with gravy. And we had dessert after every supper. Supper meant family and conversations and laughing (sometimes fighting between brothers) and love. It didn't matter what exactly we were served on our plates, the love of our family served right into our hearts at those meals would carry us through the night or the next day or the week until we were able to come together as family again. The food would sustain our bodies and the love would sustain our souls. Food meant family and family meant love.
I live in Montana now with my husband and our four wild kids. Though I try to have more vegetables than meat at the meals I serve (and not many fried dishes), we still call our last meal supper. And my husband and I gather our children each evening to share our laughing and stories and fun and sad times of the day...... and to eat. It's sustaining. It's magical. It's supper. It's family. It's love.
I started this blog to share our family tales with our extended families who don't get to live next door. I wanted them to share in our Chicken Fried Happiness.