From The Kitchen of Grace Bedford

Food plays a major role in southern culture and recipes are often passed down from generation to generation. And, if the cooks are anything like my mother or my Mema, they are so in tune with the recipes they make, that they don’t measure anything. It used to drive me bonkers until I realized that I had started to do it, too. lol

I also didn’t realize how much food played a part in my books. Take Grace Bedford, for example. The matriarch of the Bedford family, it seems she’s constantly feeding people. It’s her love language. So, it only seemed right to share a recipe from her point of view. Read on as Grace teaches her daughter, Charlotte, the tried-and-true family way of making a southern breakfast staple: biscuits and gravy.

This scene is © H.C. Bentley 2025. All Rights Reserved.

Grace Bedford was in her element.

Her Sunday morning was off to a promising start. From where she stood at her kitchen window, she watched the sun peek up over the mountains to greet clear blue skies. She heard her family laughing from where they’d gathered on the back porch. Her children, now grown with families of their own, made a point of coming back home once a month for a big family breakfast. Her sons liked to joke that it was because of the food, but Grace knew better. Well, she knew that the food was only part of it, but she liked to think that spending time with family trumped her breakfast menu.

Smiling, she turned to stir the potatoes frying in the cast iron skillet before turning down the heat. Her smile widened when she heard Emmy’s sweet voice, making Grace’s heart fill. Emmy had become her granddaughter when Grace’s youngest son, Colt, had married the girl’s mother.

“Nana?” Emmy called again as she hurried into the kitchen to peer up at her grandmother.

“Yes, sweet girl?”

“Can I have some orange juice?”

“Sure can.” Glancing down at the girl, Grace wrapped her free hand around the child’s shoulders for a quick squeeze. “Need some help?”

“No, I can get it.” Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw the girl chew her lip as she eyed the upper cabinets where the glasses were kept. “Well, maybe a little help.”

“I’ve got you.” Charlotte, Grace’s only daughter, stepped into the kitchen and up to the cabinet. Handing Emmy a glass, she supervised as juice was poured before the girl went back out onto the porch. Pouring a cup of coffee and doctoring it to her liking, Charlotte leaned back against the counter to watch her mother.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” she asked as Grace pulled a pan of biscuits from the oven.

“I’m fine.” Deftly, Grace tossed the hot biscuits into a basket lined with a towel, covering them up when she was done. “Just need to make the gravy, then we can eat.”

“You know,” Charlotte began as her mother gathered ingredients, “I’ve tried, several times now, to make your gravy.” She shook her head as she sipped coffee, then sighed. “It never comes out right. It’s either so runny you can drink it through a straw or it looks like lumpy glue.”

Grace gave a delicate chuckle. “I’m sure Landon appreciates the effort.”

“You don’t see the look on his face when he tries to eat it.” Charlotte grinned as her mother burst into laughter. “He tries to be positive about it, bless his heart, but I can tell he struggles to eat it.”

“Well, then. Maybe a lesson is in order?” Gesturing to the stove, Grace smiled. “I’ll teach you the way your Mema taught me.”

“Really?” Setting her cup aside, Charlotte approached the stove and gave the waiting pan a dubious look. “I’ve watched you make this hundreds of times. You’d think I’d know how to do it by now.”

“Watching isn’t the same as being given step-by-step instructions.” Wiping her hands on the dish towel, Grace gestured toward where the ingredients waited. “You’re going to want to start by browning a good breakfast sausage.” Grace tapped the package of ground meat. “This brand is my go-to.”

“How much?”

“However much you want. For just you and Landon, half a pound to a pound would work. But with this crew, I tend to do at least two pounds.” Grace watched as her daughter dropped the ground sausage into the pan and began to break it up with a wooden spoon. They sipped their coffee and chatted as the meat browned.

“Okay, now what?” Charlotte asked as she gave the meat another stir until it was in an even layer in the pan.

“You’re going to take the flour and sprinkle it over the meat until all of the sausage grease is absorbed.”

“How much flour?”

“Until it’s enough.” At her daughter’s bland stare, Grace laughed. “There’s no set amount, honey. You just sprinkle and stir until the grease is gone.”

“How will I know it’s enough?”

“You know that lumpy glue you were talking about?” When Charlotte laughed and nodded, Grace smiled. “Just a step or two beyond that. It’ll look… gloopy.”

“Gross, but okay.”

“Part of the process, baby girl.” With a keen eye, Grace supervised as Charlotte sprinkled the flour, stirring and adding more.

“What happens if I do too much?”

“That’s the beauty of gravy. Too much flour, you’ll add more milk. Too much milk, you add more flour.”

“Knowing me, I’ll have a gallon of gravy before it’s said and done,” Charlotte said with a snort.

“Oh, I know. The same happened to me when I first learned.” Grace gave a careless shrug. “There’s a learning curve, but once you get the hang of it, you won’t have that problem.”

“Good to know.” Charlotte eyed the pan, then her mother. “I think this is right?”

Grace peered into the pan. “Looks good. Now, you’re going to pour the milk in and stir constantly until it’s all smoothed out and starts to bubble.”

“How much milk?” Noting her mother’s pointed look, Charlotte rolled her eyes and sighed. “I know, I know. Until it’s enough.”

“Exactly.” Grace’s laugh was accompanied by a pat on the shoulder. “You know what the consistency should be, so keep pouring milk-in small amounts-and stirring until it looks right.”

Taking up her coffee cup, Grace drank as she watched her daughter meticulously finish the gravy. She kept her eyes on Charlotte as the younger woman took the wooden spoon, scooped up a bit of the gravy, and tasted it. Her heart swelled again, this time with pride, at the look of accomplishment on her daughter’s face.

“It worked.” Charlotte grinned as she did a little dance. “I freaking made gravy.” With a little shimmy, she spooned up more and offered it to her mother.

“Nicely done.” Nodding, Grace smiled broadly.

“Yeah, because you were here telling me what to do the whole time.”

“I’ll write it down for you,” Grace promised, “so you can do it at home.” Setting her cup aside and pushing off from the counter, Grace began to gather the platters of food from where they stayed warm in the oven. “Now, go get the others in here so we can eat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” On another little shimmy, Charlotte made her way from the kitchen.

Grace turned as her daughter called out to the others on the porch that breakfast was ready, and proudly proclaiming to her husband that she’d made the gravy. She heard the collective groan of the men, followed by Charlotte insisting that it was good, and laughed.

Her family streamed in from the porch. Her husband, their children. The spouses they’d taken, the grandchildren. And Ann, the mother-in-law she’d been blessed with. As always, everyone began to grab platters, plates, and silverware to take to the table. Once they were all gathered around and seated, Grace couldn’t help but sigh with happiness at the sight of those she loved in one place.

She watched as Landon took a single biscuit and added a small ladle of gravy. Unusual, since he usually ate at least two biscuits that would swim in gravy. Glancing over at Charlotte, she watched her daughter’s face as the girl she’d raised kept her eyes on her husband. She could see Charlotte hold her breath as he took a bite of the biscuit with gravy. The slow smile at the smug look on Charlotte’s face as her husband’s eyes went wide was priceless.

“You made this?” he asked his wife, pointing at his plate. “You.” Now he pointed at his wife before turning his finger back to the plate. “Made this?”

“Yes,” she said, laughing. “I did. With supervision, but I made it.”

“Grace?” Incredulous, he turned to his mother-in-law. “Are you sure you didn’t have a hand in this? Because it tastes just like yours.”

“I didn’t touch a thing. It was all Charlotte.” Grace toasted her daughter with her coffee cup.

“Bless you.” The words were said with feeling, much to the amusement of those at the table. Turning back to his wife, Landon grinned. “Honey, I love you more than anything but I don’t think I could’ve choked down anymore of your gravy.”

“I love you, too. And neither could I,” she added with a laugh. “It was horrible, but I think it’s going to get better. Mom’s going to write down her steps for me, just in case I need them again.”

The knowing smile her daughter sent her had Grace’s eyes stinging, even as she laughed at a story Clay told his father. Sighing with happiness, she sipped her coffee and ate her breakfast.

Yes, Grace Bedford was in her element and her Sunday was off to a beautiful start.

---

If you enjoyed this, you can read more about Grace and the rest of the Bedfords, starting with Grace’s story, From This Moment, available for free in my bookstore and on all major book retailers.