Despite the fact that I have lived in the South for twenty-seven of my twenty-eight years, I am and have always been intimidated by traditional southern women. Perhaps I should refer to them as southern ladies as it’s the implication of the term ‘lady’ that unnerves me.
You see, I eat biscuits, but can’t bake them. While I consider myself well-mannered, I sometimes feel awkward at social gatherings. In the sun, I don’t glisten. I sweat, and, much to my chagrin, it does not smell like magnolias.
I will even confess to committing the ultimate sin of bringing store-bought goods to a potluck.
I know. I know. There are few things in polite southern society that will raise eyebrows faster than arriving at the family reunion holding a grocery store casserole…a casserole of shame.
Six years ago, my husband’s grandmother passed away. (Bear with me through this abrupt transition.) Agnes was a 50s era, stay-at-home doctor’s wife, an active member of her local baptist church, and the proud owner of a wardrobe of aprons.
Not long after her passing, an unexpected package arrived on our doorstep addressed to me. The box had weight to it and I unwrapped it right there on the front porch. Agnes, a fine southern lady if I ever knew one, had left to me her (now vintage) Dormeyer Mixwell, model 5100, standing mixer.
I briefly considered unloading it on Ebay, but my sentimental side won out and so I carried that tangible evidence of my inadequacy into the kitchen and I placed it in the cabinet, way back behind all the pie plates and bundt pans and muffin tins I received as wedding gifts still in pristine condition.
There it stayed until this week when we launched the #imadethis challenge here on Go Mighty and I decided it was time. Time to face my fears of flat meringue and filling of questionable consistency. It was time to bake a pie. A banana pudding pie.
I admit I had some help from my husband who turned his nose up at the store-bought graham cracker crust I came home with and insisted we make our own.
Guys. I made this and it was delicious. I think Agnes would be proud.