Chicken 'n' dumplins bring back all kinds of warm, glowy memories for me. First of all, cause my Mimi made them. And there are countless beautiful memories tied to her. Wild violets growing in her yard. The dainty lilies of the valley growing in the shade by the front porch. Pear tree in bloom looking like it was covered in snow. Lazy warm breezy Tennessee summer afternoons reading on a blanket under the hackberry tree.
And her singing silly little made-up ditties while she was making magic in the kitchen. Her biscuits with her pale pink plum jelly. Or honey. Or just her biscuits. The smell of coffee from that old percolator. There was always something happening in Mimi's kitchen. Just like mine.
And her singing silly little made-up ditties while she was making magic in the kitchen. Her biscuits with her pale pink plum jelly. Or honey. Or just her biscuits. The smell of coffee from that old percolator. There was always something happening in Mimi's kitchen. Just like mine.
Just so we're clear, these are not dumplings.
These are biscuits.
These are not dumplings, either.
These are noodles, and not good ones. They're hard and lumpy. Ugh.
THESE are dumplings:
Y'all come getcha some. I dare you to have the patience not to blister your mouth.
