by Whalehead King

Created on: October 29, 2008   Last Updated: March 28, 2011

There's nothing like much ado about little to get the blood boiling and blood is thicker than water. Gravy, of course, is made of grease and pan drippings. If it were made of broth, it would be soup and then, by definition, not gravy at all.

I'm not against thin gravy but I am against overly thin gravy, the kind of gravy that just gives a hint of color and a whiff of flavor to whatever it is poured on. That isn't gravy. It is seasoning. Gravy adds gravitas to a meal. It sticks to the ribs, soothes gullets, calms coughs and lends that extra bit of oomph that tells you a meal is complete. Gravy, that most brown of condiments, so lovingly prepared, is what separates a simple meal from a sumptuous feast.

Hunger may make the best sauce but a good, thick gravy rises to the top of the menu. A good gravy doesn't lord over the other dishes, it supports them. It cannot do that without a bit of heft. A thick gravy has the strength to carry the day. People who eat biscuits and gravy for breakfast know this. People who give thanks to the Lord for a good turkey full of plump giblets and fat know it too. Anyone who loves mashed potatoes loves a thick gravy. To love a thin gravy seems a bit fey.

Real men like thick gravy. Real women like it too. Gravy should drip like molten wax off a spoon in droplets iridescent with caloric nutrition sufficiently spiced to complement whatever vegetable or meat with which it comes in contact. I am not referring to lumpy, flour-heavy gravy. I am talking about gravy as rich as a millionaire's purse and as succulent as the first apple of autumn. Gravy makes a hungry person sigh for more while loosening their belt. That is the spirit of gravy. It makes you want more no matter how content you are with what you have already eaten. Good gravy stimulates appetites as much as it satisfies them.

I've had some thin gravy in my day, some of it so thin I could see what I was eating. It was okay but never more than that. A pinch of salt or a twist of the pepper mill would have sufficed. The company around the table is one of he most important parts of meal, but isn't that what good gravy is in its way? Good gravy is good company on the plate. Good, thick gravy complements whatever it is paired with. It doesn't subsume its identity but it also isn't overly assertive. Like a good guest, it is boisterous and outgoing without overshadowing its companions. Remember: we are discussing good gravy, not mass-produced gravy or gravy prepared by inferior chefs who think a handful of spice is better than a smidgeon. Good gravy is outgoing and toothsome but not domineering. Good gravy is a friend that ties up loose ends and covers mistakes. It isn't an acquaintance that hogs all the glory and attention at the banquet. It isn't the star of the show but neither is it the wallflower that thin gravy pretends not to be.

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