Mashed potatoes and chicken gravy

As I lay dying the first time, of pneumonia, at a late point I could not even speak.

Oh, I could speak. But only in labored three-word sentences with breaths between them. It was a very real trial just to listen to me. So I had to choose words with extreme carefulness. I had to make each word count.

And that's just not like me.

The whole thing put a serious crimp on my style.

I lived near the center of town, going by the street map that is numbered, very close to Broadway, street 0 in one direction and Ellsworth, street 0 that crossed it. A few blocks from that bullseye spot. While my parents lived in the Foothills, my older brother lived near them and my younger brother lived in Englewood, a million blocks due south.

Possibly fifty blocks south.

Younger brother called and told me they were coming over to see me and he asked if he can bring anything with them. Thinking this might be the last thing I eat, I said, "Yes. Kentucky Fried Chicken mashed potatoes and gravy."

I knew the mashed potatoes are fake. And I knew the chicken gravy is fake. But I didn't care. That's what I wanted. It seemed like the perfect thing to eat. Kind of like hospital food. I thought about it a long time. And everything else had too much flavor, too much texture, too much acid, too much smell, too many spices, too much complexity, too much oil, took too many chews, too hard to poop out.

I hung up the phone. Time compressed. The next instant all three men are standing there and my brother was holding a bag with Kentucky Fried Chicken logo.

I'm laying back in bright blue leather recliner and covered in blankets. My duplex apartment is nearly empty. All three men stood there and regarded me thinking, "Man, you look really pathetic."

I read their minds. Their anguished expressions read volumes. I felt really bad for them feeling so bad for me. They couldn't believe what they were seeing. They couldn't accept it.

I tried to tell my dad how much I love him. But it was too hard to speak.

My dad said, "I know, Bo. I know, Bo. You don't have to talk."

Frustrated I shot back, "Let me finish!"

See? Three very well chosen words. He shut right up and all three stood there and listened. "This might be my last chance."

It is crucially important that he know what a truly great father he is. I had to tell him that. In front of my two brothers. Their faces were so packed with blood they could explode. They were tense. Anguished. They let me finish.

And those mashed potatoes were pure heaven. OMG, they are perfect.

They brought me the big size.

That made four meals for me.

It was perfection.

And I mean perfect perfection.

And now I am forced to recall that scene every time I eat mashed potatoes with chicken gravy.

As a meal.

It's one of my favorite meals, and odd as it sounds, it is one of my most cherished recollections.

So that's what I'm thinking when I tell you that I found a way to replicate that in just a few minutes.

This will certainly get you kicked out of culinary school.

But who cares? You're not in culinary school.

The method relies on your own homemade chicken stock that you always have on hand. And if you don't always have that on hand then ... well .. chuh ... just ... kah .. I don't even know what to do with you.

At least have some of the kind of chicken stock that comes in cartons and stored in your pantry. Surely you can manage that much. Always have that for emergencies. At least three cartons of that at all times.

Okay?

You must have chicken stock ready at hand.

Even if it comes in a tin.

Get with the program. This is an essential.

So the technique uses a roux made in the microwave.

1 minute.

Then stock added to that to boil.

2 minutes max.

There's your gravy right there.

The moment the mixture boils then it's done. Like magic. It becomes thick.

Roux is butter and flour in proportion 1:1

One tablespoon butter and one tablespoon flour, cooked together is roux. Mixed with one cup of chicken stock is gravy. By the microwave, made in an instant.

By instant I mean, like, three minutes.

Enhanced however you like; garlic powder, chile powder, dehydrated onions, liquid smoke, curry powder or paste, any herb, poultry spice, any spice that strikes your fancy. Or just plain like Kentucky Fried Chicken does.

Then ...

You're not going to believe this.

Instant mashed potatoes.

Another bowl with one cup of water. Heated in the microwave to boil, 2 minutes max. Then 1/4 cup instant potato flakes boom mashed potatoes just like that.

See? It says "now better tasting." 

The other kind I tried is Hungry Jack. 

This kind you have to add butter. And possibly a little milk.

The first kind is powder and the second kind are flakes. I bought the flakes to add to bread dough for things like hamburger buns. To make the bread softer. I was tired of peeling a potato, cooking it and ricing it just for dough. Then one time I tried them as mashed potatoes and I was surprised how good they are.  

The first package was given to me as part of a holiday meal the last Thanksgiving. And I thought, oh man, this is so no-class. Who would even think of a thing like this. Actually, every element in the care package box was similar. Tinned corn. Tinned cranberry sauce. A butterball type turkey. Instant gravy, tinned green beans, 5 LBS. white whole wheat flour.  I would not have purchased a single one of the elements in the box. I've come a very good distance since these types of things. In fact, I had already decided that I wasn't going to cook a turkey this year. But if I did cook one then it would be one of the fresh turkeys that I saw at Trader Joes. It would not be a frozen turkey. While still being completely amazed that young man so bright and shiny and athletic and so filled with energy could even carry a box that heavy for that distance filled with supplies including a fairly large turkey. 

A turkey! Just given to me. And he was doing that all day. With great cheerfulness.

Other people's kids make so proud. 

As if they're my own kids. 

Ew I could just squeeze his guts out. 

My mum used to do that on her own. She delivered frozen turkeys in advance of the holidays. It was her thing for several years. Even through snow storms. She was crazy single-minded once it was made up. All on her own. No organization involved. Her car, her cash, her effort, her satisfaction.  But that was for poor people. How she got their addresses, I haven't a clue. But the guy who delivered to me just showed up at the office downstairs and asked them who he could deliver his boxes to. The women downstairs in the office knew I was home and that I cook quite a lot. I take tons of stuff down to them. So they told him to give one to me. And it blew my mind.

Honestly. I still can't get over that.

Our country is filled with people doing things like this. It's total mind blowing generosity and consideration of others. Our society is constantly thinking and organizing about taking care of people who we think are less fortunate. And that comes from a very real sense of thankfulness. A true sense of thanksgiving. Thanks plus giving. Those two things combine in the DNA of our civilization. And when it's done for you, it just blows your mind. 

Because I didn't need any of that stuff. But there it is. 

And the boy bouncing off down the hallway suddenly stops and turns, looks back over his shoulder directly into my face and he says, "Oh. Have a nice Thanksgiving."