My dad’s favorite food was gravy. Seriously!
Brown gravy, milk gravy, gravy made from sausage, chicken, burger, roast beef, lumpy gravy, runny gravy – it made no difference to him – he liked it all. When he cooked for himself, he sometimes sprinkled gravy mix out of a bag and cooked it in water. He thought that was even good.
Nothing much beats gravy on hot biscuits, mashed potatoes, or rice. He even ate it on those nasty green muffins he made from split pea soup.
One day when he came for a visit, I had some warm caramel icing on the stove that I was going to serve for dessert – open faced chocolate cake with that nice warm caramel poured over the top all soaked in with real cream poured on top. I do not remember exactly what I had cooked for supper, but I know there was some kind of meat – probably chicken or roast beef – that had good drippings for gravy, and mashed potatoes.
Daddy scooped a big pile of potatoes on his plate, walked over the stove, and poured some caramel on top. Boy, was he ever surprised when he took a bite! It wasn’t the kind of gravy he expected. Apparently, his taste buds didn’t complain too much because he ate all his potatoes (of course he would eat ANYTHING). I think he helped himself to another spoonful or two and put real gravy on top.
For dessert, he got another gravy ladle full of the other “gravy” and slathered it on his cake.
It was good both ways!