Classification Essay Repost

Baked, Mashed or Fried? My husband, my two children and I are at one of most favorite restaurants. This restaurant is located in Linneus and we usually eat there two to three times a year. The restaurant is simply called “Grandmas”. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the middle of nowhere that attracts patrons from miles around because of the huge portions that they serve. The waitress comes to our table to take our order. “Would you like baked, mashed or fries with your broiled scallops?” “Baked, mashed, or fries…..baked, mashed, or fries”, I ask myself. Suddenly, I go back to my younger years and reminisce about the memories that come to mind when I think of baked, mashed or fries. I’m sitting at the kitchen table struggling with my algebra homework while mom is getting supper ready. I can see the baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil on the rack of the oven and mom is trying to get ahold of my father on his cell phone to see what time he’ll be home from hauling wood. She declares that it’s best to eat baked potatoes when they are fresh from the oven vs. reheating. She finally gets in touch with him and throws two or three potatoes in a bowl in the oven, turns it on “warm” and declares..”it never fails..whenever I bake potatoes your father is always late for supper.” This continues to be an omen in the family--dad is still always late for supper whenever mom bakes potatoes. My sister and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating supper with our parents. My sister is in fourth grade and her top “eye” teeth haven’t come through yet but she has her permanent top front teeth. Mom serves us some mashed potato along with steak and vegetables. My sister gives me the “look” and suddenly her two “eye” tooth holes become an automatic Play-Doh factory. She squirts the mashed potato out of the holes and they stream out of her mouth back like two thick pieces of spaghetti into her plate. My mother was totally disgusted; and of course, tried to reprimand us. We sure were bummed out when her permanent “eye” teeth came through. I often think of that memory when my two children are acting out at the supper table. French fries…stringy, soggy with vinegar. We eat them while walking along the strip at Old Orchard Beach after spending a hot day at the ocean. Crisp, slender French fries….I remember going to JJ Newberry’s lunch counter with my Nana when I was little and eating a hotdog with French fries. There were numerous conversations at the lunch counter with Nana that I dearly miss that were discussed while eating those crisp, slender French fries. Short, wide, steak fries that used to be served at the “Rose Bowl” restaurant in Lincoln. I remember going there on Christmas Eve for dinner with my parents, sister, Nana, my cousin and her husband. I must have been eight years old and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. It was a magical evening--everyone was happy, eating dinner, that was one of the best evenings of my life that I can remember as a child. I can’t remember what else I had to eat that evening but do remember the homemade steak fries. I suddenly snapped out of the flashback of all of the fond memories that I have experienced being surrounded by family. I looked at my family and smiled. I realized that “baked, mashed or friend” has been incorporated in most of the best memories of my life. Oh, sure, we all feel this way whenever we think about Christmas or Thanksgiving--we visualize a ham or turkey sitting on the table but sometimes the biggest and best things in life aren’t the hams or turkeys. Sometimes the best conversations and memories happen over small side dishes; such as baked, mashed or fried. My husband, my two children and I are at one of most favorite restaurants. This restaurant is located in Linneus and we usually eat there two to three times a year. The restaurant is simply called “Grandmas”. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the middle of nowhere that attracts patrons from miles around because of the huge portions that they serve. The waitress comes to our table to take our order. “Would you like baked, mashed or fries with your broiled scallops?” “Baked, mashed, or fries…..baked, mashed, or fries”, I ask myself. Suddenly, I go back to my younger years and reminisce about the memories that come to mind when I think of baked, mashed or fries. I’m sitting at the kitchen table struggling with my algebra homework while mom is getting supper ready. I can see the baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil on the rack of the oven and mom is trying to get ahold of my father on his cell phone to see what time he’ll be home from hauling wood. She declares that it’s best to eat baked potatoes when they are fresh from the oven vs. reheating. She finally gets in touch with him and throws two or three potatoes in a bowl in the oven, turns it on “warm” and declares..”it never fails..whenever I bake potatoes your father is always late for supper.” This continues to be an omen in the family--dad is still always late for supper whenever mom bakes potatoes. My sister and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating supper with our parents. My sister is in fourth grade and her top “eye” teeth haven’t come through yet but she has her permanent top front teeth. Mom serves us some mashed potato along with steak and vegetables. My sister gives me the “look” and suddenly her two “eye” tooth holes become an automatic Play-Doh factory. She squirts the mashed potato out of the holes and they stream out of her mouth back like two thick pieces of spaghetti into her plate. My mother was totally disgusted; and of course, tried to reprimand us. We sure were bummed out when her permanent “eye” teeth came through. I often think of that memory when my two children are acting out at the supper table. French fries…stringy, soggy with vinegar. We eat them while walking along the strip at Old Orchard Beach after spending a hot day at the ocean. Crisp, slender French fries….I remember going to JJ Newberry’s lunch counter with my Nana when I was little and eating a hotdog with French fries. There were numerous conversations at the lunch counter with Nana that I dearly miss that were discussed while eating those crisp, slender French fries. Short, wide, steak fries that used to be served at the “Rose Bowl” restaurant in Lincoln. I remember going there on Christmas Eve for dinner with my parents, sister, Nana, my cousin and her husband. I must have been eight years old and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. It was a magical evening--everyone was happy, eating dinner, that was one of the best evenings of my life that I can remember as a child. I can’t remember what else I had to eat that evening but do remember the homemade steak fries. I suddenly snapped out of the flashback of all of the fond memories that I have experienced being surrounded by family. I looked at my family and smiled. I realized that “baked, mashed or friend” has been incorporated in most of the best memories of my life. Oh, sure, we all feel this way whenever we think about Christmas or Thanksgiving--we visualize a ham or turkey sitting on the table but sometimes the biggest and best things in life aren’t the hams or turkeys. Sometimes the best conversations and memories happen over small side dishes; such as baked, mashed or fried.