My daddy has been dead a very long time. Since 1990, so how long is that? Wow, that’s 21 years. I can hardly believe it.
In those 21 years, I’ve had a jar of Golden Eagle Syrup in my cabinet for most of that time. I’m not sure if I have any right this minute, but if I don’t, I’ll go buy some.
Why? Because it reminds me of Daddy. That’s why.
Daddy would take his knife, cut off two or three or four pieces of margarine (back when we thought that was better than butter), open the jar of Golden Eagle and pour a big glob of the topaz glaze on top.
Next, he would take his fork and mash the tines into the oleo repeatedly, swirl the broken up oleo and syrup together, and end up with an opaque mixture perfect for dipping Mother’s homemade biscuits into.
As a child, I always thought this was pretty disgusting, and I couldn’t understand why he ate it. After all, biscuits were made for butter and jelly as far as I was concerned.
I’m pretty sure this was a holdover from his own childhood since the product was invented and produced down the road from where he grew up.
I do know that when I mix up this concoction my own self, I’m sitting at the kitchen table again with my daddy.
I don’t even particularly like the way it tastes–but I sure do like the way it makes me feel.