Sunday, February 15, 2009


Listen here now, I was raised on Southern cookin. My granddaddy, the first love of my life, called me "Cookie". He would sit me on his lap at the dining room table, get a glass of milk, drop pieces of fried cornbread in it and feed it to me with a spoon. At that dinner table in my grandparents house, constantly surrounded by all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins, I indulged in eating the most wonderful, delicious food of my life. My Grandma Daisy had her dinner ready at noon. She started cooking at six in the morning. My Uncle Chic made the best damn biscuits you ever tasted, he literally sat by the stove while they cooked. Family and friends traveled hours to eat his biscuits. And, my Aunt Louise made the most wonderful banana pudding you have ever tasted, my mouth is watering just thinking about it. I ate grits, eggs, ham, and biscuits for breakfast. And......we would pour some real cane syrup on our plate, mix some real butter in the syrup with a fork, and sop it up with those biscuits, and take a bite of ham, and oh my goodness, now your talkin baby!!!!!

So, since my whole family lived on the same block, I could go from house to house grabbing something to eat. On the kitchen table at Grandma Daisy's you could always find a piece of bacon, or ham, or biscuit left over from breakfast. Dinner would be cooking on the stove. We had homemade cobblers, pound cakes that weighed ten pounds, collard greens, fried chicken, chicken and dumplings made from scratch, fried okra, green beans and tomatoes that they hand picked and canned themselves, homemade canned peaches from Georgia, pecans, peanuts, and so much more I can't remember it all. I'm just drooling about now.....

Every evening we gathered under the big tree behind Grandma Daisy's house. The grown-up's talked about their day, and the kids would play hide-n-seek. Aunt Louise would make homemade ice cream in the old type ice cream maker, the one you had to add rock salt and turn by hand. When her arm got tired she'd complain so we would help her turn. On many of those nights, and there were many, practically until I was a teenager, they told us the scariest stories about ghosts and goblins, and "Bloody Bones" who lived behind Aunt Florie's shed. We never played around that shed, never!!!!!

My paternal grandparents, Quinnie & Daisy Zeigler. Both born in Georgia, came to Miami, Florida in the 40's to start a new life with their seven children. Gran, that's what I called him, was a blacksmith for the City of Miami. Grandma Daisy took care of the home. The dress she has on she made herself, including the belt. She made all of her dresses. I never saw her in pants, and she always wore the same type of dresses, just different designs of material, with an apron on top. Grandma Daisy was a big, strong, loving, God fearing woman, and nobody messed with her. Family and friends who came to Sunday dinner could never find her when it was time to go home. Grandma Daisy never liked saying "goodbye", so she would go hide in the backyard until everybody left.
Here they are with two of their sons, Uncle Boby and my dad, Buster. They look like they'd been working in the yard or something. They were very hard working people.

Top row left to right, my dad Buster, Uncle Judson, Uncle Valder, and Uncle Boby. The oldest son, my Uncle Mims passed away not too long after they arrived from Georgia. Bottom row is my Aunt Nell, Grandma Daisy, and Aunt Louise.

Here you have four goodlookin' men.

Uncle Valder , my dad, Uncle Boby , and Uncle Judson.

Now give me some sugar,

Love, Cookie


  1. My comment disappeared!!! I was sayin' that I'm glad you found my blog so now I know about your wonderful blog. I really enjoyed readin' about your family while you were growin' up. We eat grits all the time here and hot biscuits with butter and molasses mixed together, slathered on a biscuit is pertneer the best vittle out there.
    Thank you so much for your kind email. I'm sure from checkin' out your blog that I'm gonna get some good recipes from you. I like your cuban dish in the previous post. Thanks.

  2. Oh and both my greatgrandmothers were full blooded Cherokee. You look more Indian than I do but my Mom looked very Indian. I read 'Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee' years ago too and never forgot it. Did I mention I really like your blog?

  3. Dear Rebel,

    Thank you so much for your comments. I look forward to keepin in touch with you, and reading your blog, too.

    Best wishes, Joyce

  4. That was a great story! You're so lucky to have all those old pictures!!


Do you have something you would like to say? Please do. ♥

Hollywood Beach Summer 2010