CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- Grandma George was a gray-haired, stoutly built, loving lady of 65.

On the day that I am recollecting, she was wearing a homemade cotton green dress with yellow flowers over which she wore a white-bibbed apron with the ties twisted in the back and bow-tied in front. Flung over her shoulder was a dishtowel used while cooking and draped through the tied apron strings in the front was a hand towel. Her shoes were black lace-ups, and she wore bifocal eyeglasses.

A panoramic view of her kitchen told its age. The walls were painted a cream color with homemade white curtains trimmed in embroidered variegated colored flowers. The floor was covered with linoleum. The white, shallow cast-iron sink, draped with an oilcloth skirt, hung off the wall in the corner.

The Home Comfort coal-heated cook stove had four burners, a warming oven above the burners, a large oven below the burners and a water-heating tank on the side. The icebox was kept cool with a large block of ice. White cabinets and countertops were handcrafted by Grandpa. Beside the back door sat a stool, referred to as the visitor's stool. Anyone who came to visit while Grandma was cooking sat on the stool.

Grandma loved to cook. As she moved about the kitchen, she mixed the yeast bread dough and allowed it to rise twice before pinching it out into rolls. She dipped the rolls into melted, home-churned creamery butter and set them in the warming oven wrapped in a tea towel for the final rising before baking. The smell of the bread baking made my mouth water.

From Grandpa's vegetable garden, Grandma strung, broke, washed and cooked half runner beans. She added ham hock and new graveled potatoes also from his garden as she finished cooking the beans.

For me, Grandma's fried chicken, seasoned strongly with black pepper and cooked to perfection in a cast-iron skillet, was the best part of the meal.

The clucking in the henhouse came alive when Grandpa entered to select and fetch a plump young hen. I have spared you the gory details of the wring of the neck, scalding, plucking, censing and gutting the hen before its arrival to the kitchen.

Grandma cut the hen into pieces, soaked the pieces in salt water, rinsed and patted each piece dry. She heated lard in an iron skillet until it sizzled. Then dipping the pieces in fresh egg batter, rolling each piece in flour, salt and pepper. Piece by piece she fried the chicken, after which she placed them in another skillet to finish frying.

The little green onions and leaf lettuce salad with scalded vinegar dressing made me salivate. Lemon chiffon cake drizzled with lemon glaze icing completed the menu.

Grandma removed her apron, combed her hair, her face beaming with pride as she came into the living room and invited us to a beautifully appointed table with a crisp white tablecloth and napkins. Fostoria glasses were filled with ice tea. Seyei Rose china and Gorham Rose Tiara flatware rounded out the table dressing. The succulent aromas of the food beckon me to dine.

Those were the days my friend. No indeed! No fast food on her table.

Mary Trotter of Scott Depot may be emailed at MWT110...@aol.com.