Writer's Workshop: Yum! Seriously. I Mean It. Trust Me!

 For this week's Writer's Workshop, I chose the prompt: Tell us about your favorite homecooked meal growing up. 

Easy peasy lemon squeezy! 

Stovers

What's that? You don't know what Stovers are? Well, I'm not surprised. I don't think I've ever met a person outside my own family who does. This could be attributed to a couple of things... 

1. My family is Scottish and though I was born on the North Sea, I grew up in the US. Stovers are Scottish.

2. In Scotland - at least most of the country, as far as I can gather - the dish is not actually called Stovers, but Stovies, so even if you're from there, you might look at me strangely if I said I was making Stovers. But that’s what my mama called ‘em, so that’s what I call ‘em. 

I also grew up believing there was ONE WAY and ONLY one way to make them. I've since discovered this is not the case (but my way [or my mother's way, really... and perhaps her mother's way, I don't know], is the best way. And I'll absolutely fight you on that). 

I should also tell you that they sound a bit... well... disgusting. But they're not. You have to trust me. Stovers is the most wonderfully warm, comforting, delicious dish, perfect for winter evenings. Also, everyone I've ever introduced to them has loved them (even though they looked a bit horrified at the prospect of actually eating them). 

They trusted me. Just sayin'. 

OK, so they have (in my house, anyway), only four ingredients. And they all hold equal importance. 

First, you need sausage. But it must come from the Scottish butcher (or just 'the butcher' if you're in Scotland). This is imperative. Do NOT even attempt to use American sausage made with pork. It is wrong. It will taste wrong. And I will not be held responsible for your Stovers Disaster, do you hear me? 

Anyway, the sausage must be in link format (encased in 'skin.' Nuh uh, sir. Don't wrinkle your nose at me). And you need about four links per person (more if you live with greedy people). 

Second, you need potatoes (or tatties, if you're in Scotland). Just plain old potatoes are fine, peeled (I suppose you could leave the skins on, if you prefer them that way, but I wouldn't mess with perfection). A bunch of them. I don't know how many. If they're small, maybe three or four per person (more if you live with greedy people). 

Third you need onion. One medium one per two people is fine. Sliced (not diced). 

Fourth, you need milk. Cold. And it needs to be cow's milk (plant-based will not work). If you're lactose intolerant, I'm really sorry for your luck. 

Oh, and you'll also need salt and pepper to taste. 

Throw the sausage, onions, and tatties into a big pot, cover them with water and some salt, and bring them to a boil. Let them simmer until the tatties are a bit mushy and the onions are soft (the sausage will be done by then, no worries). When everything is cooked through, drain the pot and divvy what's in it into bowls (not plates). Salt and pepper to taste (but more salt, just a wee bit of pepper). 

Now, here's where I'm going to need your trust, as it's where I lose most people. 

Brace yourselves. 

Pour the milk over the sausage, tatties, and onions in the bowl. 

I know. I KNOW. But you have to trust me. 

You trust me, don't you? 

Pour it. Pour the milk in the bowl. Do it. I promise you won't regret it. 

Did you do it? 

Basically, you should now have a milky sausage and potato soup that is BEYOND delicious. And? Because the cold milk took the heat from the just-boiled stuff in the bowl, you don't even have to wait to eat it! And you won't want to wait. You won't. 

I promise. 

Seriously. 

It. Is. So. Good. 

XO,