Don’t lump Fay in with all those mee-maws and moo-moos and whatnot, alright? She sends her recipes to Ole Time Favorites magazine because they pay fifty dollars. But she wishes they’d put a big fat asterisk by her name and write, “nobody’s Gran.”
The gals at church talked Fay into it. Said she’s got the touch. Who else would think to put Old Bay Seasoning in the pasta? Turned the whole thing the color of Elmo, the kids said. Fay just said it was awful red. She asked the pastor if they could call it God’s Wrath-ioli. That didn’t fly. But there wasn’t a glob left after the potluck, and then Ole Time Favorites put it on the cover.
Soon Fay was sending in all her concoctions. Seems like nobody ever tried nutmeg and maple syrup in cottage cheese and smeared it on an onion bagel. Sounds deranged. Fay knows. Just take a bite before you run your mouth. People should slap more things together and see what happens. This isn’t particle physics.
Ole Time Favorites doesn’t like Fay’s recipe names. They changed Conniption Fit Dip to Creamy Dream Bowl, and Hot Fondude became Mom’s Mini Mousse. Fay sent back her fifty dollars for that one. Who is Ole Time Favorites to assume she’s got kids?
But Fay can’t get too consternated. Ole Time Favorites’ meal tickets are mommas and mee-maws and moo-moos. She knew what she was signing up for. Sometimes she just gets a twitch in her eyebrow when she sees what she’s up against.
Ole Time Favorites makes you submit a two-line introduction to your recipe, subject to editing. They all sound the same. Fay could write them in her sleep. All the Perlenes and Lurlenes say their cabbages and tapiocas are zesty and sassy. Then they get into the begats. It’s like friggin’ Leviticus. “My thirteen children and forty-eight grandchildren love my partytime beans!”
Fay doesn’t need to brag that the whole church compliments her slop. They call her their Fay of Light, which is funny, but she’s not gonna slobber about that for Ole Time Favorites. Fay just writes, “If you don’t want seconds of this pie, there’s something wrong with you.” Or, “I would be an atheist if not for Arby’s, but this cheesy mac is better than theirs.”
And another thing. Fay will never say her cakes are “sinful.” Use that word where it counts. There are people abusing kids and testing eyeshadow on kittens out there. There are some churches that will grab the bread back out of your mouth if they don’t like the way you comb your hair.
But for God’s sake, I mean literally God’s sake, let’s not sneak lava cakes into the Book of Revelation. It’s just butter. Life is hard. Eat three. Ole Time Favorites actually let Fay keep the name of her best pudding, Holy Molten Miracle. Fay would like Lurlene and Perlene to think about that for a long time.
Fay doesn’t actually want to meet the mee-maws. Now that she’s been in Ole Time Favorites fifty times, she’s considered one of their “Blue Ribbon Chefs.” They keep inviting her to get together with the other BRCs, to talk about … what? The merits of small-curd versus medium-curd cottage cheese? How to feed five thousand great-grandchildren with five loaves and three fishes? How to keep pee-paw occupied until dinner?
Well, there is just one Blue Ribbon Chef Fay would kind of like to meet. He’s a little blueberry in that great big tureen of heavy cream. Lloyd G. lives in assisted living. He tells you that before every recipe. He always submits crumble bars. Brown sugar, oatmeal, you know. But every so often he’ll do something crazy. One of Lloyd’s bars had blueberry jalapeno jam. He admitted “it’s not for everyone.” Well, Fay made it for church, and there wasn’t one oat left. The pastor had a coughing fit at the first bite, but he said she should make it again. Fay is glad Lloyd G. is out there being dangerous in assisted living.
Fay could attend a BRC convocation if she wanted to. She could have some fun with it. She could walk right up to Lurlene and say, “I never spawned a human larva, but my cats know the difference between butter and margarine.” She could make Perlene look at fifty pictures of Classy Moe and Sassy Moe. She could make everybody laugh.
Instead, Fay tells Ole Time Favorites to stop inviting her. “Just heads me up if you accept one of my recipes.” Just send the fifty dollars. Fay will jam it in the special offering box. Of course she drops her check in the plate every week. Gotta keep the lights on and the pastor fed. But Fay likes the special offering box better.
When unsavory characters show up at the door, the church reaches into the special offering box. Go buy a sandwich. Nobody follows them to make sure they do. Some people think the church should buy the sandwiches in advance so there’s no funny business. But supposedly goodness and mercy are following those people around, just like everyone else, so Fay is fine with them taking her fifties. She asked the pastor if they could label the special offering box “Whiz-Bang for Waifs n’ Strays,” but that didn’t fly.