The annual Christmas Eve party at our house started because the choir and clergy couldn’t go to other parties–between the early children’s pageant service and the not-quite midnight concert and subsequent worship service.  So for several years (pre-Seminary) Steve and I had a big dinner buffet.  I usually served my favorite main dish, Country Captain, an oddly named chicken dish which probably derives from the trade between Savannah, Georgia and India–the ships left loaded with cotton and came back with spices.  When I watched my friend Sameer eat it for the first time, I was gratified to see the shock of recognition and pleasure on his face.  The curry is toasted in a pan separate from other ingredients, reminiscent of an Indian Tadka.  It is served with chutney, with a variety of classic garnishes (crumbled bacon, sliced green onion, currants, chopped egg white, chopped peanuts) optional.  My recipe is adapted from The Gift of Southern Cooking by Scott Peacock and Edna Lewis (New York:Knopf 2003).  It is easy to make ahead and keep warm in a chafing dish.  Though one of my favorite dishes, I hadn’t made it in ages until my friends Gia and Melville came for dinner.  Having shared it with them, I am now sharing it with you.  It is good with rice, coconut rice, and cheese grits (in ascending order of festivity).

I served it with a dish that is my only happy memory of working with a home accessories company.  I went to High Point, North Carolina, to work (for fourteen hours a day) at the international furniture show.  I was hoping at least to eat well while I was there–but I was disappointed until one of the hospitable locals invited me to another showroom for lunch.  If it didn’t actually save my life, that meal at least restored my will to live.  Barbara, the wonderful cook, yielded to my pleas and shared her recipe for sweet potato casserole.  If you make this yourself you will be very glad that she did.

I generally round out this meal with green beans.  For a large group, I blanch the beans in advance (keeps ‘em bright green) and then at the last minute throw them into boiling water to cook a bit more, drain, and toss with vinaigrette dressing.  For dessert I usually buy a cake (from Miette at the Ferry Plaza in SF!).

Here are the recipes–all tried and true!

Country Captain:

A three and a half pound chicken, cut up.  Ask the meat cutter to cut the half breasts in half again (better serving size).  Brine the chicken overnight (1/4 cup kosher or sea salt not table salt per gallon of water, to cover) in the refrigerator. To cook: rinse and pat dry with paper towels, sprinkle with 1 teaspoon dried thyme, and a few grinds of black pepper.  Heat 1/4 cup vegetable oil in a large saute pan until hot (not smoking) and place chicken pieces skin-side down and cook, turning once, until golden brown.  Remove chicken pieces and set aside.  Pour out cooking oil, and put in fresh oil.  Add 2 1/2 cups chopped onion and cook for 5 minutes.  Add 1 cup chopped celery, (2 cups diced green bell pepper if you like it), and cook 5 more minutes.  Drain a large can of tomatoes, reserving liquid.  Chop tomatoes and add them with the juice to the pan.  Simmer at low heat, partly covered for 10 minutes, stirring often.

In a separate pan, melt 2 Tablespoons butter until hot and foaming.  Stir in spices and cook–a total of 2 Tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons of either: all curry, or 2 Tablespoons curry and 2 teaspoons cinnamon (or you may substitute some Garam Masala spice blend for some of the curry).  Add 1 Tablespoon finely chopped (or mashed with a mortar and pestle!) fresh garlic.  Add the spices and garlic to the tomato/vegetable mixture.  Add 1/3 cup of currants, and 2 bay leaves.

Simmer the tomato/vegetable/spice mixture for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.  When done, check for seasoning, adding salt and pepper if necessary.  Ladle about one cup of the sauce into the bottom of an ovenproof casserole large enough to hold the chicken in one layer.  Arrange the chicken pieces over the sauce and spoon the remaining sauce on top of the chicken.  Place a sheet of parchment directly on top of the chicken and sauce, top with a layer of aluminum foil and crimp to tightly cover.  Bake in a preheated 325 degree oven for approximately one and a half hours.  Serve hot over rice with chutney, and other condiments mentioned above if desired.

Barbara’s North Carolina Sweet Potato Casserole:

3 cups of sweet potatoes–wash and place on foil-lined baking sheet.  Bake in preheated 350 degree oven for one to one and a half hours. Remove from oven and allow to cool briefly.  Peel and put sweet potato into the bowl of an electric mixer.  (Can substitute canned sweet potatoes if convenience is a priority).

Beat potatoes in mixer with the paddle attachment gradually adding: 1 cup of sugar, 1/2 cup of butter, 2 eggs (beaten), 1 teaspoon of vanilla, 1/3 cup of milk.  Spoon into an ovenproof baking dish.  (I often use a souffle dish, but a wider shallower dish allows a better proportion of filling to topping). (Actually this is the dish you see in the blog banner above…)

Mix 1 cup brown sugar, 1/2 cup flour, 1/3 cup butter, 1 cup chopped pecans.  Distribute the topping over the surface of the sweet potatoes in a smooth layer.

Cook for 30 minutes in a preheated 350 degree oven, uncovered.

All I can say is that these are really two of my best dishes, as many of my friends can attest.  Let me know what you think!

Nowadays, anyone who didn’t already know and revere Julia Child has seen or heard of the movie Julie & Julia.  If you have seen the movie, you have heard a much less famous name mentioned: Judith Jones.  There are a couple of brief scenes showing the now-legendary editor testing recipes and shepherding Julia through the publication process.  But there is more to Judith Jones than her connection to Julia Child.

She was raised in a well-to-do New York household, which according to her memoir was joyless on the subject of food.  It was considered bad form to even mention what you were eating, and any “noises” (like YUM!) would get you banished from the table.  After Bennington (and the end of WWII) she went to Paris and wouldn’t come home for five years.  When she did she took a job as editor with various publishers, finally settling in for a long stint at Knopf.  At first she focused on French translations.  There were other notable discoveries–she found and published Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl.  But then Julia Child came along and Judith’s career became identified with cookbooks.

But she didn’t only work with Julia.  Mrs. Jones developed an insight that the best cookbooks were written by amateur cooks–almost always people who grew up eating a particular cuisine who then left the place where they grew up.  Someone who had “grown up in a household where food was honored, and [who] felt compelled to recover those food memories.”  Something about being removed from home–the culture, the people and the food, made a person–the right person–able to translate that cuisine into a living document: a cookbook.

Who? You might be wondering.  Who did she find and publish?  The list of authors is an honor roll of influential food writers: Claudia Roden (Middle Eastern), Roy Andries De Groot (an early proponent of seasonal cooking), Marcella Hazan (Italian), Madhur Jaffrey (Indian), Irene Kuo (Chinese), Nela Rubenstein (Polish) (I can’t resist adding here that her husband was Arthur Rubenstein and Cary Grant was a huge fan of her cooking), James Beard (American), Marion Cunningham (American–the new Fannie Farmer). And my favorite–full stop–Edna Lewis, the queen of Southern Cooking.

Edna Lewis wrote a beautiful book called The Taste of Country Cooking (now in paperback) about growing up in Freetown, Virginia, a community built by freed slaves.  The place is now only a memory with ruined chimneys, but it comes alive in her stories about the food and celebrations–all arranged seasonally.  Her big cookbook, written with her beloved friend, chef Scott Peacock, is called The Gift of Southern Cooking. It is my favorite, and I am so grateful to Mrs. Jones for her part in the publication of these books.

Judith Jones is amply capable of speaking for herself, and much of the above information was gleaned from her book: The Tenth Muse: My life in food which was published in 2007. By Knopf.  Brillat-Savarin is responsible for the title.  He wrote: “Gasterea is the tenth muse.  She presides over all the pleasures of taste.”  Mrs. Jones even includes a chapter engaging the question: “What is taste?”  And her final chapter includes a number of her recipes.  It may seem incongruous that a seminary student is so interested in the ministry of the table–oh, maybe it isn’t.  Mrs. Jones includes this in her final chapter:

“Several summers before he died, Evan had posted on the refrigerator door–a catchall for food notes in our house–this quotation from Alfred North Whitehead: ‘Cooking is one of those arts which most requires to be done by persons of a religious nature.’ [...] He knew that I have always felt that the preparation of food is one of the most joyous and inwardly satisfying of all activities that we as human beings are peculiarly privileged to indulge in daily.  Other creatures receive food simply as fodder.  But we take the raw materials of the earth and work with them–touch them, manipulate them, taste them, glory in their heady smells and colors, and then, through a bit of alchemy, transform them into delicious creations.  Cooking demands attention, patience, and, above all, respect.  It is a way of worship, a way of giving thanks.”

As i mentioned in the last post, I’ve been helping out at the Green City farmer’s market for the last few weeks.  Often at closing time, there’s usually a little something left that’s probably too much of pain to pack up and lug back to the farm.  This is when favors come into play, as in “do me a favor and take this home so I don’t have to deal with it.”  Which is how I came into 15 ears of corn yesterday.  Always happy to oblige.

I don’t remember loving sweet corn all that much as a kid.  Sure, we ate it and it was good but I don’t recall wanting corn with every meal.  It wasn’t even my favorite vegetable.  A lot was the Birdseye kind, very respectable for a frozen vegetable.  I remember having corn on the cob in the summer but nothing earth shattering.  I was an indifferent corn eater.  Then I moved to the Midwest, sweet corn capital of the world, and it was a whole other ballgame.  I discovered REAL sweet corn, not much more than 24 hours from picking.

The thing with corn is that it’s at its peak moments after picking.  The natural sugars start to break down right after that so it is literally at it’s best right there in the field.  As corn sits, the sugars start converting to starch and the sweetness diminishes, little by little.  I imagine the corn I was eating as kid in Arizona was weeks off the stalk by the time it got to us.  But the stuff here … whoa baby.  I can do some serious damage during corn season.  I’ll be the first to tell you that 3 or 4 ears makes a really nice dinner.  I’ve also been known to eat it raw right off the cob if I’m too lazy and/or too hot to fire up the kettle.  If it’s fresh, it’s really very good raw.  Turn up your nose and I bet you’ve never had good corn.

So after you’ve eaten your fill of steamed corn with lots of butter and coarse salt and still find yourself with 10 ears, what to do?  Scanning my cookbooks shelves, the Grand Dame of Southern cooking caught my eye …. Edna Lewis.  Ah, Miss Edna would know what to do with a glut of sweet corn.

If you’re not familiar with Edna Lewis, you should be.  She was quite a remarkable lady.  The granddaughter of freed slaves, she grew up to be a great chef, culinary ambassador, and caretaker of genuine Southern cooking.  She inspired a generation of young chefs and ensured that the traditional Southern foods and preparations would live on.  At 16, Edna left Freetown VA for Washington DC and later New York City.  In New York, after a series of jobs, she opened a restaurant and became a local legend cooking for the likes of Tennessee Williams, Greta Garbo, Howard Hughes, Salvador Dali, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Truman Capote (doesn’t that just sound like a hoot??!)  In the late ’40s, female chefs were few and far between and black female chefs even less so, yet she became well known and beloved for her simple but delicious Southern cooking.  She went on to write several cookbooks and in the mid-1990’s, started the Society for the Revival and Preservation of Southern Foods.  Edna passed away in 2006 at the age of 89 and left behind one hell of a legacy.

Now back to that corn problem.  Strangely, there were only 2 corn recipes in The Taste of Country Cooking but they both sounded delicious – fried corn and corn pudding.  I went with the pudding and it is easily one of the simplest tastiest things I have ever whipped up.  I’m serious – I whipped this together in less than 10 minutes with ingredients I had on hand.

The result?  It was the pure essence of everything that is so fantastically great about fresh sweet corn enveloped in a silky smooth custard.  I will most certainly be making this again, especially if I keep doing “favors” and taking it off other peoples hands.  I haven’t tried it but I have a feeling this would be really good with some cheese – parmesan or cheddar – folded in.  I don’t know if Miss Edna would approve but I bet it’d be really tasty.

Sweet Corn Pudding – adapted from The Taste of Country Cooking

Serves 6

2 cups of corn kernels from the cob (about 3-5 ears depending on the size)

1/3 cup sugar

1 teaspoon kosher salt

1/8 teaspoon cayenne

½ teaspoon freshly ground pepper

2 large eggs, beaten

2 cups whole milk

3 Tablespoons melted butter

½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F and set a pot of water to boil (you’re going to bake in a bain marie or water bath.)
2. Lightly grease a 1 ½ quart casserole dish with softened butter.  Place in a large roasting pan and set aside.
3. Cut the corn kernels from the cob, using a serrated knife and cutting from the top to the bottom of each cob.  Cut only half of the kernel – if you get too close to the cob you’ll get some of the tough bits.
4. Use the back of the knife to scrape the cobs right into the bowl for the creamy bits and corn liquid.  According to Miss Edna this gives the pudding a better texture.
5. Add the corn to a large bowl with the sugar, salt, cayenne and black pepper and stir to combine.
6. Combine the milk and eggs then add to the corn mixture, mixing well.
7. Add the melted butter, stir to combine.
8. Pour the mixture into the prepared casserole dish.
9. Sprinkle the nutmeg on top.
10. Now then, you’ve got to get that boiling water into the roasting pan but not the casserole.  I find the easiest way to do this is to put the unfilled pan into the oven and then carefully pouring the boiling water into the roasting pan to come halfway up the side of the casserole.  If you’re brave – and steady – you can fill it outside of the stove and move the whole hot thing into the oven.  Be careful not to slosh hot water into the casserole.
11. Bake for 45 minutes until a tester comes out clean.
12. Let cool for at least 15 minutes before serving.  Pudding best served warm or room temperature and will keep in the fridge for a few days.

Note:  the few times I’ve made this, a clear liquid would seep out after I’d taken a scoop.  Usually this a sign of a broken custard but when tasted, it was pure corn flavor.  I think that this has to do with the freshness of the corn I was using – high sugar, high moisture, low starch.  Makes perfect sense so if yours does this, not to worry.  It’s pretty delicious.  If it bugs you, I suppose you can add a Tablespoon of cornstarch to thicken up any juices but I like it just the way it is.

One of my all-time favorite restaurants is Watershed in Atlanta — owned by Emily Saliers of the Indigo Girls and run by chef Scott Peacock, a James Beard Award winner. This place has the best Southern food I’ve ever had; hands down. And one of the best dishes on the menu is the shrimp grits with toasted pullman plank. The flavorful coarse-ground grits — prepared with butter, cream, sherry, lemon juice and a dash of cayenne — are blended with with chunks of fresh shrimp for a rich treat atop a crunchy piece of toast.

I decided to take a crack at recreating the dish at home, and I have to say it turned out pretty well for not having a blender or quality stone-ground grits to work with. The dish is concocted in two parts: the grits and the shrimp paste. Then you blend the two together.

Scott Peacock & Edna Lewis’ Shrimp Paste

2 sticks of butter

1 pound of shrimp

1/2 teaspoon of salt and pepper

1/4 cup sherry

2 tablespoons of fresh lemon juice

1/4 teaspoon of cayenne pepper

(1) Heat 6 tablespoons of butter in a skillet until it’s hot and foaming. Then add the shrimp, salt and pepper and cook over high heat for 4-7 minues.

(2) Remove shrimp with a slotted spoon to a blender (or chop on a cutting board if not blending).

(3) Add sherry, lemon juice, and cayenne pepper to the skillet and reduce over medium-high heat until syrupy.  Then add the liquid to the shrimp in the blender or food processor.

(4) As you blend the shrimp and juices, add the remaining butter in small pieces.

*Blend one cup of hot grits per 1/4 cup of shrimp paste to make the shrimp grits.  You can prepare the grits any number of ways, using cream, butter, chicken broth and/or other herbs and spices. After combining the paste with the grits, sprinkle with chives before serving.

*The shrimp paste recipe above makes 2 1/2 cups of paste — enough to feed 8-10 people when combined with grits.

Dana Seith! Dana is the twin sister of one of my very closest friends. We discovered a few months ago that our lives are taking somewhat parallel courses, and we really should stay in touch and exchange jam. Actually, the jam didn’t have anything to do with anything, but it was fun. So, here’s Dana on her current adopted city of Atlanta. You can continue to follow her here…and read my guest post for her!

A Taste of Atlanta
A few years, ago one of my editors summed up Atlanta with this metaphoric phrase, “we are the bratty little sister.” And unless you actually live here, you certainly wouldn’t understand what that really means. But, it’s the honest truth. We’re brats. We look to imitate our older siblings – like New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Miami – while trying to outdo them at the same time – and I think we are often successful.

I moved to Atlanta nine years ago, and it’s taken me about that long to fully grasp the true heart of this city – distracted as I was at first by simple appearances – dogwood-lined streets (most of them with names that include some form of the word Peachtree), bungalow homes complete with porch swings, and the surprising lack of the stereotyped images I held of the South – antebellum estates and Spanish moss. To find the true South, you have to travel west to Birmingham or east to Savannah or Charleston.

So now, on closer inspection, I’ve discovered the heart and soul of this city and found that I love it. I especially like Atlanta’s little neighborhood nooks – Inman and Candler Parks, Virginia Highlands, Midtown, and Buckhead, each with its own distinctive personality.

Another surprise? Atlanta is an incredibly transient city. Because so many large companies (UPS, Coca-Cola, Turner, Delta, Home Depot and Southern Company, among them) make their home here, they draw people from all over the world making Atlanta a melting pot. A little less concentrated than maybe NYC, but still, distinctly there. The natives you will find are few and a very tight-knit group.

That makes this a city whose sense of self constantly ebbs and flows with the influx of new ideas and new blood. We have myriad homegrown ideas and some amazing natural wonders that those cities can’t even aspire to. This city is remarkable for its seamless integration of urban and country. The pace of the city suits me, as does its size. It’s just big enough to feel like a major metropolis, but not so big that you’re swallowed up in it.

But, really, what I adore the most is springtime in Atlanta – there’s no other spring quite like it.  After a mild winter (to say the least in comparison to Vermont), Atlanta comes alive by late February and early March – and its perfect patio weather can often last clear till June. Those Saturdays where you can garden and be outdoors all day, then cook something great and eat al fresco… Heaven on a plate.

That leads me to Atlanta’s culinary scene – the chefs and the farm-to-table movement that predominates on many restaurant menus are right up my alley. Below is a recipe from one of the best chefs to come out of the South – Ms. Edna Lewis. Lewis is largely responsible for teaching Chef Scott Peacock – Southern Living columnist and owner of The Watershed – the famous Decatur Georgia restaurant owned by one half of the Indigo Girls.

Now, back to Edna Lewis – below is her recipe for lemonade. Because, it’s just perfect for a nice, spring day in Atlanta, or wherever you are.

Lemonade
2 cups sugar
½ gallon well water (bottled spring water)
1 ½ cups freshly squeezed lemon juice
Ice
1 lemon, sliced into thin slices
Fresh mint (optional)

Dissolve the sugar in the well water. Add the lemon juice, a solid piece of ice, and lemon slices. This can be put into a stone crock or a glass ice bucket and decorated with mint, if desired.

Dana Hazels Seith is a journalist who lives and works in Atlanta, Georgia. She is founder and editor-in-chief of danapop, a mashup of all things culture, life, food & drink, and travel.

By Scott Anderson

We spent a few days down south recently and I finally picked up a copy of Edna Lewis’ book The Taste of Country Cooking. This is the 30th anniversary edition of the 1976 “Great Southern Classic” with a forward by Alice Waters. I have now had some quiet time to go through it and I wish I had bought it much earlier.

Edna Lewis, the descendent of slaves, spent her childhood in a Virginia Piedmont community of similar families called Freetown. Although this is very much a cookbook, there are long narratives in which Lewis, who died in 2006 at 89, describes an idyllic childhood in a warm and loving community where neighbours helped neighbours and virtually everything they ate came from the countryside and was provided either by the labour of their own hands or, the free bounty of Mother Nature.

It’s hard to imagine that life could be as wonderful as that, but it’s nice to have happy memories, even if they are an amalgam of events real and imagined.

Waters, the locavore godess,  gushes in her introduction, calling Lewis’ Freetown a “lost paradise.” She  points out that when the book was written in 1976, people found it hard to imagine this simple life was real.

“Thanks to this book a new generation was introduced to the glories of an American tradition…of simplicity and purity and sheer deliciousness that is only possible when food tastes like what it is, from a particular place, at a particular point in time.

“Back then [1976], the possibility that many Americans might once again strive to eat only local, seasonal foods raised or gathered or hooked by people they knew seemed distant.”

The emphasis in that quote is mine. It’s a bit of a stretch to think that people in America once ate only local food. There’s evidence that even aboriginals traded for food and, while their carbon footprint from transportation was just that – a footprint, they still had a hankering for the exotic.

Lewis does focus on the local and the fresh, but she also remembers that taste has a big part to play as well. As much as Waters tries to make her part of the 100-mile diet club, Lewis resists.

And the proof is in her recipes. You don’t have to go far into the book (Page 8, in fact) to find the first departure from an entirely local diet. The “early spring dinner” menu calls for braised forequarter of mutton made with a half cup of “peeled, seeded and chopped fresh tomatoes.”

Now, I just got back from Virginia – it’s already mid-spring I didn’t see any fresh local tomatoes. It’s far too early for that.

Edna Lewis isn’t around to confirm it, but I strongly suspect that those tomatoes were added to that recipe much later in her life and that they were added because they simply taste better.

But that’s ok. Edna had the right idea; eating locally produced is great. Shaking the blood-stained hand of the man who butchered the pig you’re about to eat a part of  – or at least who met the farmer whose hens laid your eggs  – is a wonderful way to feel closer to your food. And, if that makes you feel better about the food you eat, you’ll likely feel better about yourself. And that, as one of our famous food felons says, is a good thing.

But, we have to remember that the 100-mile diet is just that, a diet. All diets are fads as far as I can tell and many can be harmful if followed too closely. And, while there’s a lot of sense in eating locally, we can take it too far.

Let’s not forget that we’ve always improved our meals  with things from elsewhere – things that you can’t grow or gather or hook at home. Taste is important too

Edna Lewis knew that.
Steamed Chicken in Casserole (From The taste of Country Cooking)

This recipe can be quickly made and cooked without too much watching. Serves 4 to 5.

1 2 1/2 pound chicken with a few extra wings

1/2 cup (1 stick) butter

2 medium-sized onions, chopped fine

1/4 teaspoon thyme

1 bay leaf

1/2 cup sliced carrots

1/2 tablespoon chopped fresh tarragon

Salt and pepper

Have the chicken cut into 8 pieces. Wash off and dry with a clean cloth. Into a heavy pot or saucepan put the butter and heat to the foaming stage. Add the onions. When the onions are quite heated through, add in the chicken. Raise the flame and brown the chicken and onions well, without burning. When the chicken is well browned, turn the burner as low as possible, add the thyme, bay leaf and carrots, cover with a closely fitting lid, and simmer for 1 1/2 hours. Stir by shaking the pot around. The pot can be set into a preheated 250 degree oven. Be sure it’s quite hot when set into the oven. Cook for 45 minutes. If you have fresh tarragon add 1/2 tablespoon about 15 minutes before removing from the oven, then salt and pepper to taste, and swish pot around to blend in the herb. Adding the tarragon at the last gives a better flavor than if it is cooked in from the beginning. Don’t use dried tarragon; it’s too strong. The chicken wings can be removed if you like; they are added really to give thickness to the sauce, which comes from the two last wing joints.

So, I was doing a search for websites on African American food, using that search term specifically, and essentially came up with nothing.  Most of  the entries ended up being redirected to sites about soul food, which while encompassed under the umbrella of African American food is really, it seems, more of a concept than anything else that conjures images of black folks dancing, singing, and eating chicken, at least for me.  I think the reason I have a problem with that term is that  it tends to force the food that African Americans eat into a box that has no room for the sheer diversity of  ingredients, techniques, or regions that exist, ultimately leading people (most notably African Americans themselves) to accept/believe that all African Americans eat is fried chicken or catfish (and we only eat catfish and occasionally fried shrimp), greens, biscuits, chitlins, candied yams, and, of course, peach cobbler for dessert.  In the summer, we can throw in some barbecue, but otherwise, forget it.  Of course all of this ish is delicious but that’s beside the point.*

I’ve already discussed in an earlier post, how this myth is debunked by the late, great Edna Lewis in her seminal The Taste of Country Cooking. The creation of soul food as a concept in and of itself came to be in Amiri Baraka’s 1962 essay “Soul Food.”  I am simplifying (mostly because I’m feeling lazy right now), but like most things culturally African American the concept made it to the mainstream and the script was flipped until we ourselves began believing that the dishes mentioned above were all with which we could fill our tables and our bellies.  Sigh.

But I have digressed far further than I meant to…

So let me get back on track.  Alright.  I took a peek at a few of these websites and found that every one of them had one or more recipes linked to Mama, Big Mama, etc.  There is “Mama’s Fried Catfish” and the enticing “Slap Yo Momma Meatloaf” both at www.soulfoodcookbook.com and a recipe for “Mama’s Pecan Pie” at www.washingtonpost.com, just to name a few, but this is just on the web.  I have an entire book called Soul Food by Sheila Ferguson that has recipes with titles like: Roast Pheasant with Wild Rice Stuffin’ (emphasis on the stuffin’) and lines like:  “It’s that shur-’nuf everlovin’ downhome, stick-to-your-ribs kinda food that keeps you glued to your seat long after the meal is over…Yes suh!” [sic]  The book even has a whole section on how black people speak.  It was written with a British audience in mind primarily but this annoys me even more.  And I’m sure that somewhere there is an entire book of “Big Mama’s” recipes floating around somewhere.  I have to say that I do not have a Big Mama.  I have a feeling that if I had ever called my Grandmother that, she would have looked at me like I was crazy and let me know the bid’ness, like the time I asked her why she never baked any cookies.  Needless to say, I never questioned her domesticity again.  

Doris Witt wrote a great book exploring all of this called: Black Hunger: Soul Food In America.  I recommend it to anyone interested in the topic.

Maybe I am all fired up over nothing, because yes, this is a pattern of speech among some black folks, and yes, as with any culture mothers and grandmothers are usually held in the highest esteem when it comes to cooking but…Why? Why “Slap Yo Momma Meatloaf?” Why?  I will never understand this.  And why do they always have to be big?  We’re not all big…damn.

*I can speak with authority on everything except chitlins.  I haven’t ever tasted them.  When my great Grandmother was still alive she once tried to bribe me, offering me $20 to take just one bite and I still wouldn’t do it.

“What Is Southern?” is a beautiful essay by Edna Lewis (considered by many to have been the Grande Dame of Southern cooking),which was originally published in Gourmet Magazine.  Though the choice of title might seem strange for an essay mainly about cooking, I think the essay does a lovely job of showing how food and family and a sense of place are all so closely tied together.

I have been reading Edna Lewis’ classic The Taste of Country Cooking and realizing how perceptions of African American food are painfully limited.  The scope of what this food can be is so limited, this bothers me, because it has also limited the scope of what African Americans seem to think of as African American food.  I am guilty of the same circumscribed thinking…  

The argument that the concept of Soul Food (and it really is a concept) is not new.  Chefs, writers, scholars who are passionate about African-American food and culture have debated it quite a bit in the  years,since the term first appeared in the 1960s to describe the food.  Then it was a rallying point, it provided a sense of pride, ownership, and belonging in the community.  It was ours and it was (is) delicious.  The term/concept, however, didn’t seem to take into account the diversity of the African American culinary experience or repertoire and it certainly didn’t explore origins, from what I can see.  Soul Food, as most people think of it includes dishes like fried chicken, barbecue, greens, of course, chitlins (something that pretty ubiquitous across cultures actually), cornbread, peach cobbler, etc.  Sadly, this list doesn’t really go on much further in popular consciousness.  

While I am not vehemently opposed to the term, I count myself as part of the camp that rejects the it, but to explain why would require a much longer post.  I’ll just say that it seems to render the food I grew up with and way that I cook, something of a novelty.  

But back to Edna Lewis and Country Cooking.  One of the things I love about this book is that it broadens the scope of what has always seemed possible with African American food.  In the book recipes call for fresh thyme, sage, chervil, and parsley.  Dark leafy greens (not just collards) abound.  Fresh fruit, fresh, wholesome dairy products, pork, beef, lamb, mutton, poultry, and game, shellfish.  Fried, braised, baked, grilled.  Soups, stews, salads.  Everything is fresh and prepared from scratch, of course the book is also an account of her years growing up in a small Virginia farming community, but the point is that it shows a diversity of ingredients and cooking techniques.  But really all of this is what African American food has always been.

For a long time, in my own kitchen, I saw the use of some of these ingredients or cooking techniques as something new and different from what I assumed the African American culinary canon to be.  But, along with my reading of other African American heritage cookbooks I have come to see that African American cooking is really the epitome of the slow food philosophy of cooking:  the use of  fresh, seasonal, local ingredients cooked in simple ways that maintain and enhance flavor and the most healthful aspects of what the land has to offer.  Getting back to this would undoubtedly mean a reduction in the incredibly high rates of high blood pressure, obesity, and diabetes in the African American community.

It’s a shame that this philosophy of cooking has been all but lost in the African American kitchen but I am hoping that the spirit of change can touch our kitchens, grocery lists, and dining tables too.

This is a serious question since I want to write another cookbook and I am racking my brain to figure out a topic that hasn’t been considered. I went to Barnes and Noble tonight to look for a new and exciting cookbook. I found tomes exclusively devoted to macaroni and cheese, bacon and cookies. I found books all about casseroles that included recipes for paella, which really isn’t a casserole in my mind, but I guess the author ran out of good recipes for chicken divan casserole or hash brown casserole. I found a gazillion Rachel Ray books with really stomach-turning recipes. I found the really good cookbooks that I’ll never have enough knowledge to attempt: books by Mario Batalli, Thomas Keller, Rick Bayless, Marcella Hazan and Julia Child,  just to name a few.  I found novelty books like One Hundred Ways to Cook Hamburger and 365 Days of Vegetables (actually, I made those up – maybe I should consider one of those as my new title).

But I can’t figure out anything truly new. My inclination is toward Southern cooking. There are a boatload of books already out there. Can I beat Edna Lewis? No way. John T. Edge, John Edgerton (could they be long lost brothers?), James Villas – all giants. And those great community cookbooks published by Southern Junior Leagues are better than anything I can imagine.  If you haven’t picked up your copy of Notably Nashville by the Nashville Junior League, do yourself a favor and click here to get your copy.

So I’m in limbo. What’s the next great thing? Actually, tonight I made up something that’s not a book, but it was good eats.  I made quesadillas from leftover cabernet marinated pot roast, Cheddar cheese and caramalized onions. My son and his study partner gobbled them down. Maybe that’s enough for now.

This post is part of a series on cornbread; the simple yet widely variable staple of the Southern table.

If you follow this blog you may have been wondering what business I have writing a blog called Syrup and Cornbread without actually blogging about cornbread. I admit it, I’ve been dancing around this for a while and I have a confession to make: I don’t yet have the perfect cornbread recipe. Unlike some of my friends, we didn’t really eat cornbread much in our house growing up; although my  mom hails from Memphis, her family were German immigrants from Cincinnati. In my dad’s family there was always cornbread, but it’s just not something for which you’d pass down a recipe. Since my mom did most of the cooking when I was growing up, I was never really given the tutorial on how to properly cook it. Inspired by my friend and fellow cornbread-lover Katy, who has just returned from a trip to Mississippi, I’ve decided to embark on a series of posts about my search for the perfect cornbread recipe. I hope that this series will take me further into my own families recipes (I’ve simply never thought to ask), as well as other people’s.

Cornbread is a pedestrian bread; it is very rarely the star of the show, but people are passionate about it. In the South cornbread is not sweetened at all. Here in New England all cornbread has sugar in it. This is wrong. Cornbread, if made properly, should be thin, crumbly, have a nice dark crust on the bottom, and be made with bacon grease or butter.

For my first attempt I turned to my favorite Southern cookbook, The Gift of Southern Cooking. You all know how much I love Scott Peacock and Edna Lewis, the authors of this cookbook. I have the utmost respect for them both and came very close to actually swooning over the dinner I had at his restaurant Watershed (oh, and don’t forget when I was spying on his biscuit-making at Slow Food Nation ‘08). Well, I tried their favorite cornbread recipe and was underwhelmed; it turned out too egg-y. You might be able to see in the picture (my fancy camera is on the fritz so you have to make due with the point-and-shoot) that there’s a layer of egg on the top. This was unexpected, and I’m not sure I like it; maybe I did something wrong, although I can’t figure out what.

The only substitution I made in the recipe was bacon grease for butter. I just keep a jar of bacon grease in the door of my refrigerator. It keeps forever and is perfect for getting that nice bottom crust that all cornbread should have. His technique, from what I can tell, is pretty standard. You melt the grease in a cast-iron skillet in a hot oven. Then, once it’s melted, you pour it into the batter, stir, then pour the batter into the skillet. Katy told me this is what her mom does, and it’s pretty close to the method I use.

Don’t get me wrong, this cornbread turned out really good; I realized that I do like buttermilk or sour milk, but this particular recipe just didn’t it the mark. I want a bit more crumb and certainly less egg. The search continues.

Our Favorite Sour Milk Cornbread
From The Gift of Southern Cooking by Scott Peacock and Edna Lewis

1 1/2 c. fine-ground white cornmeal
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking powder
1 3/4 c. soured milk or buttermilk*
2 eggs, lightly beaten
2 tbsp. unsalted butter (I used bacon grease)

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Mix the cornmeal, salt, and baking powder together in a bowl. Stir the milk into the beaten eggs, and pour over the dry ingredients in batches, stirring vigorously to make a smooth glossy batter.
Cut the butter into pieces and put in a 10-inch cast-iron skillet or baking pan. Put the skillet in the preheated oven, and heat until the butter is melted and foaming. Remove from the oven, and swirl the butter all around the skillet to coat the bottom and sides thoroughly. Pour the remaining melted butter into the cornbread batter, and stir well until the butter is absorbed into the batter. Turn the batter into the heated skillet, and put in the oven to bake for 3040 minutes, until cornbread is golden brown and crusty on top and pulls away from the sides of the skillet.
Remove the skillet from teh oven, and turn the cornbread out onto a plate. Allow to cool for 5 minutes before cutting into wedges. Serve the cornbread while it’s hot.

*I didn’t have buttermilk, so I soured some milk according to their note: “A Quick Sour Milk It only takes about 10 minutes to make this tangy substitute for buttermilk. Stir into 1 3/4 cups sweet milk 2 tsp. lemon juice and 2 tsp. cider vinegar. Let sit until curdled.

Edna Lewis, Chef (Photo credit: John T. Hill)

Who was Edna Lewis? Why call her an American Idol?

Before she wrote The Edna Lewis Cookbook, The Taste of Country Cooking, In Pursuit of Flavor, and co-authored that recent jewel of a book, The Gift of Southern Cooking with chef Scott Peacock, well, Edna Lewis did many things in her long, experience-rich life, including campaigning for Franklin Roosevelt.

But she always cooked—what Southern girl from her background didn’t? After all, she was the granddaughter of freed slaves who helped found Freetown, Virginia.

Miss Lewis stood on the shoulders of those giants, cooks like her female slave forebearers. But she also harkened back to the work of several African-American cookbook authors: A Domestic Cook Book Containing a Careful Selection of Useful Receipts for the Kitchen, by Mrs. Malinda Russell, an Experienced Cook (1866), What Mrs. Fisher Knows about Old Southern Cooking (1881), and Rufus Estes’ Good Things to Eat: The First Cookbook by an African-American Chef (1911).

This chef got her start in the usual way—by cooking.  Because she cared about cooking and freshness and people, all homey everyday things, her cooking brought her fame and deep friendships.

At a time when a black female chef was as rare as a chicken with incisors, or nearly so, Edna Lewis cooked in the Café Nicholson in New York City. Homesick Southerners like author Truman Capote used to hang around the back door, hoping for a fresh biscuit or some buttermilk cookies.

In today’s world, where a frozen pie crust suffices, Edna Lewis insisted on making her own pie crusts, so much so that once, when she was to prepare hundreds of pies for a reception in Georgia, she lugged a hundred pounds of her own pie dough with her on the train. She made her own baking powder, too, cream of tartar and baking soda. You can see her heritage in the cookbooks left by Martha Washington and Mary Randolph, Virginia aristocrats who enjoyed the cooking of black female slaves like Edna’s grandmothers and great-grandmothers, no doubt.

Her gift to us was that insistence on the fresh, the natural, the personal touch that doesn’t come out of a box or a can or a jar (unless she canned it herself). Getting it right and taking care. It was all about those kinds of old-fashioned values. Like a tot of Southern Comfort on a crisp fall night.

Lord knows, we need more people like Edna Lewis in our world today.

Pound Cake (Used with permission.)

Pound Cake

From The Virginia House-Wife, by Mary Randolph (1824)

Wash the salt from a pound of butter and rub it until it soft as cream, have ready a pound of flour sifted, one of powdered sugar, and twelve eggs well beaten ; put alternately into the butter, sugar, flour, and the froth from the eggs ; continuing to beat them together till all the ingredients are in, and the cake quite light ; add some grated lemon peel, a nutmeg, and a gill of brandy [1/4 of a pint or 4 ounces] ; butter the pans and bake them. This cake makes an excellent pudding if baked in a large mould, and eaten with sugar and wine. It is also excellent when boiled, and served up with melted butter, sugar, and wine.

To Make an Excellent Curran Cake

From Martha Washington’s Booke of Cookery (dating to the 17th century)

Take 2 pound of butter and wash it in rose water, casting ye water out. Then take 2 pound of flower & 2 pound of sugar, mix ye flower and sugar together, deviding it into 2 parts, & putting in some into a dredging box. & shake it into a trey till halfe be shaked in, beating ye butter all ye while with ye hand. Ye take 6 eggs to a pound of sugar & flower (takeing out 2 of ye whites), 6 spoonefulls of rose water, some mace beaten. Yn put in ye other halfe of ye sugar & flower, & 2 pound of currans, picked & rubbed verly clean. Yn butter yr pans & fill them halfe full, & set them in a moderate oven.

Malinda Russell’s Plain Pound Cake

This recipe reads a lot like the one in Mary Randolph’s The Virginia House-wife, which Mrs. Russell used, since she spent time in Lynchburg, Virginia, on her way to settle in Liberia.

One lb sugar, one lb flour, one nutmeg, 3-4ths lb butter, twelve eggs, half gillbrandy. Paper and grease your pans well ; bake in a moderate oven.

Vanilla Pound Cake

Serves 8-12, depending on appetite and girth
Adapted from The Taste of Country Cooking by Edna Lewis, who said “The keeping quality of pound cake made it a popular favorite, plus the fact that the main ingredients were always available: butter, eggs, and flour. Sugar and flavoring were nearby at Lahore store. All the grownups had their own way of measuring, be it on a dime, nickel, teacup, or sifter, and their cakes were perfect. It was my dream to make a pound cake equal to theirs. I learned that the formula for a good pound cake is a slow oven, cold butter, carefully measured flour (too much flour will cause the cake to crack on top), and proper mixing of butter, sugar, and eggs.” The original recipe calls for beating the butter with a wooden spoon for 5 minutes – true, the beaters might make the butter a tad bit too warm, but 5 minutes of beating causes my arm to fall off. Hence the mixer.

Ingredients

1 cup (1/2 pound) cold butter
1 2/3 cups sugar
1/4 teaspoons salt
5 eggs (medium to large but not jumbo)
2 cups sifted unbleached flour
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon fresh-squeezed lemon juice

1. Beat the butter with a hand-held mixer in a large bowl until it becomes smooth and pliable, about 5 minutes. Add the sugar and salt and continue to beat sugar and butter together until light and fluffy.

2. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. After the third egg has been incorporated, add 2 tablespoons of flour and stir well. This will keep the batter from separating and curdling. Add the fourth and fifth egg and continue to stir, then the rest of the flour in four parts, stirring well after each addition. Finally beat in the vanilla and lemon juice.

3. Grease and dust with flour a 9-inch tube pan on the bottom only (Bundt or Angel Food cake pan). Spoon the batter into the pan-it will be thick.

4. Put into an oven that has been preheated to 300°F. Bake 40 minutes at that temperature, then raise the temperature to 325°F for 20 minutes.

5. Remove cake from the oven, run a knife around the sides of the pan, turn out right away on a wire rack, and turn face up. Cool uncovered for 15 minutes, then cover with a clean towel; otherwise the cake will become dry and hard.

6. When cold, store in a clean metal cake tin. Plastic containers develop an undesirable odor.

© 2008 C. Bertelsen

Originally Posted by Paper Palate (paperpalate.net) on April 11, 2008.

Tomato- Basil Soup served with a good Southern cornmeal muffin was the makings of an early Monday dinner, just in time for basketball. Tomato soup is a close cousin to ketchup in my husband’s mind. He was in the mood for his favorite soup as he was feeling a little under the weather from a spring cold; tomato soup is his comfort food and just what he needed to watch the Final Four.

Now I am sure it is quite obvious by now that the husband and I have a little communication problem. We seem to enjoy rather large periods of silence interspersed with talking in a different language, especially when it come to the kitchen. Like the pudding incident, I asked my husband if he wanted me to make him some Tomato soup and he said, yes. He assumed that this would involve a can-opener and a can of soup. He also assumed that because I stepped away from the kitchen for a moment he would be heating the soup.

This is why I found my husband in the kitchen about three feet from taking a can-opener to a can of tomato soup when I walked in the room, horrified at the site. Opting not to say anything as I was sure he had a fever of sorts that rendered him delirious. It was obvious that he didn’t have a clue who’s kitchen he was in, so I quickly came to the rescue. In two seconds he was disarmed from the can-opener and the can of soup was put on the top shelf waiting to expire.

He asked, what are you doing?

Well dear, I am saving you from a ho hum meal.

He replied, I’ve been eating soup from a can for years, I don’t mind.

Well I do, and it would be my pleasure to make some homemade tomato soup for you.

But you are cooking Southern and tomato soup isn’t Southern. How are you going to manage this?

Tomato soup certainly is Southern and I have a recipe or two to prove it.

He caved, If you want to go to the trouble, that’s fine by me.

Really, I am almost as baffled to his reaction to my cooking as I am to the squirrel in Brunswick stew. It just doen’t make sense. Why have a can of soup when you can have homemade soup?

So, along with the tomato soup I thought a cornmeal muffin would fit the bill. Little did I know that it was not that simple? Without thinking I grabbed a recipe. Then I began to bake using a recipe I might add that yielded a dozen great muffins. They just weren’t Southern cornmeal muffins. They were a muffin and they had cormeal, but they weren’t Southern. How can this be, I wondered? A little research better late than never, and I learned something new.

What I first discovered was that the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in 1989 declared in Section 28, that the corn muffin shall be the official muffin of the commonwealth. Being shocked and having searched high and low I cannot find the recipe that went with this bill. How can you pass a bill for an official muffin without a recipe? How would I know if I were eating an official versus an unofficial corn muffin? My curiosity has gotten the best of me. I am going to do a little research to see who introduced this, and ask them for the official recipe, surely they must have it?

This also got me to thinking. What if the Southerners have been claiming fame to their muffin when this is the rightful claim of the North? Everyone knows that corn muffins are Southern, right. Wrong, corn muffins are not Southern. Cornmeal muffins made a certain way are Southern. There is a distinct difference.

Cornmeal muffins are made with little or no flour unlike their Yankee counterpart. They also do not have sugar added to the recipe. Southern cornmeal muffins are rich in taste and savory, often cooked in a cast iron pan with or without buttermilk. As a Yankee in the Southern kitchen, I feel caught in the middle but I dare say I am leaning this side of the Mason-Dixon line on this one, especially since Section 28 does not include the recipe.

Simple, savory rich buttery cornmeal muffins let me know that I am eating a Southern Cornmeal Muffin. A muffin I might add that was eaten the same way hundreds of years ago. It is authentic and in this busy world who doesn’t need authentic. Mind you, it is going to take some time for my taste buds to develop to my new way of cooking. I think in the long run it will be worth it. The closer we eat to the earth, the better the food my friend and the better the earth. Armed with my new discovery I went back to the kitchen to whip up a batch of good ole Southern cornmeal muffins, and am that much happier for it.

Tomato-Basil Soup

Adapted from: Scott Peacock & Edna Lewis, The Gift of Southern Cooking

5 Tablespoons butter

1 medium onion

1 cup carrots

1 cup celery leaves and all

2 teaspoons kosher salt

29 oz can good quality tomatoes, if fresh not available

3 tablespoons sugar

4 cups water

1/2 cup fresh basil

15 oz can evaporated milk and or cream

• Heat the butter in a nonreactive pot adding the chopped onions, chopped carrots and chopped celery.
• Stir well for about 5 minutes to lightly wilted.
• Add tomatoes, sugar, salt and pepper.
• Cook for about 5 more minutes and then add the water.
• Cook for another 15- 30 minutes till vegtables are tender and cooked.
• Add basil, and remove soup from heat allowing to sit for 10 minutes.
• In small batches puree in the blender, returning to the saucepan.
• At this point you can do 1 of 2 things, serve soup as is hot or cold. Or you can add a combination of evaporated milk and or heavy cream to pot.

Corniest Corn Muffins

Dorie Greenspan, Baking from my home to yours

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup yellow cornmeal-stone ground

6 tablespoons sugar

2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

1 cup buttermilk

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

3 tablespoons corn oil

1 large egg

1 large egg yolk

1 cup corn kernels (I used Cope’s since it is not corn season yet)

• Center a rack in the oven and preheat to 400 degrees F.
• Butter 12 regular size muffin tins.
• In a large bowl, whisk together dry ingredients.
• In a large glass measuring cup mix wet ingredients until well blended.
• Pour wet ingredients into dry ingredients and with a whisk or rubber spatula, gently but quickly stir to blend. Don’t worry about the lumps they should be there.
• Stir in corn kernels.
• Divide batter evenly amoungst tins.
• Bake for 15 to 18 minutes, until tops are golden and a think knife comes out clean.
• Transfer pan to a rack and cool 5 minutes.
• Then remove muffins from tin, being carefull.

Southern Cornmeal Muffin

Scott Peacock & Edna Lewis, The Gift of Southern Cooking

1 3/4 cups stone ground cornmeal

1/3 cup all-purpose flour (White Lily if available)

1 tablespoon plus 1 1/2 teaspoons of homemade baking powder

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

5 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 eggs

2 1/2 cups milk

Lard or unsalted butter to grease tins.

• Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.
• Generously grease 12 muffin tins.
• Put dry ingredients in a large bowl and mix until well blended.
• Using your fingers work till butter resembles fine cornmeal mixture.
• In a separate bowl, whisk wet ingredients until mixed.
• Add wet to dry ingredients mixing just until batter is smooth and free of lumps.
• FIll each tin with 1/2 cup batter.
• Bake for 15-20 minutes until golden brown and crusty.
• Cool on rack for 2 minutes before turning out to serve with lots of butter.
• If needed use a thin knife to release the muffins if some are a little stubborn and want to stick.

Cook’s Note: The Southern Cornmeal muffin I have been talking about; well it seems that the cold the husband had founds it’s way to me, so sorry no pictures folks of the Southern cornmeal muffins.  I have been feeling under the weather and haven’t been thinking clearly. Batteries are being recharged and just as soon as I am feeling better, I am planning on posting a good picture of the Southern version. Why a good picture I am sure you are asking? Guess who got a macro lense in the mail yesterday?

As I continue my journey into Southern cooking while waiting for God’s call, I find myself slowing down a little more each day. Taking the time to enjoy a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade while giving another go at making a great biscuit is part of my attempt at being present. Being still while trying to master the art of a truly fine Southern biscuit is hard work. So much of me wants to be anything but still.

Sunday while I prepared my afternoon buffet, I listened to Andrea Bocceli as I cooked and baked. The music was invigorating and kept my mind off of mindless chatter. It allowed me to flow into a rhythm that was joyful. Frankly I think my food as

well as my afternoon was that much better for it. I took my time while juicing the lemons. I was gentle with the biscuit dough. Taking time to think if all was well in my bowl of dough before I added more flour was certainly a change of pace for me. Not to mention a better biscuit for it.Slowing down is important for many reasons. Learning to cook Southern is one of them. The other is trying to prepare myself for God’s call. How can I hear the call if I am rushing? Yesterday I mentioned Laundry and Tosca, now is the perfect time to return to this film.  I will just tell you a little about the theme and Marcia Whitehead whom the film is about. Not one to want to ruin the end of something. I will keep  the outcome a secret.

Someone said, Laundry and Tosca is a poetic investigation of what it means to be called by God to a life that appears impossible. I might add that the difference with Marcia’s response to God’s call and mine is that she is living her calling with much grace. I on the other hand seem to be deaf, ungrateful and obstinate despite my attempts to be otherwise.

For most of her adult life, Marcia Whitehead has lived in a little garage apartment in Southern California and worked a modest-wage job (Never earning more than $12/hour). Like most of us, she lives paycheck to paycheck, and has more debt than savings. And, like most of us, she dreams of an abundant life, beyond the ordinary.

It is said only 40 women in the world have the body and musculature to be a lirico-spinto soprano. Marcia is one of them. Marcia never liked Opera. Marcia sang opera because she heard God tell her to. She still hears that voice that tells her to sing opera and has grown to appreciate the music and stories of opera. Marcia spends all her money on voice lessons which she took after a long day at work and on weekends for over 20 years. 

A random acquaintance arranged a hearing for Marcia with Maestro Franco Iglesias who once had as a student the world renowned Placido Domingo. Maestro would judge her chances at a career in opera. In the time that follows, it becomes clear that Marcia’s dream of an abundant life has already come true.  

I want what Marcia has. I want her peace, her joy. I can not shake the impact these two women have had on me. The part of me that is surrendered to God fully grasps the message. The other part of me that frets about bills, careers, success, and getting passed over for the Gingerbread Lady; so doesn’t get the message they share.

God has a lot of work when it comes to transforming this stubborn soul. I doubt more than I care to say even after all these years of God’s faithfulness and love towards me. I should know better. Having 53 years of experience should be enough. Unlike Marcia whom I believe will hear these words, well done my faithful servant when she goes to heaven.  I will hear, my dear child you missed the blessed life I offered you, while looking for the joyful life you thought I forgot to give you. That is unless I change the way I look at life and God.

To recap an evening spent with Laundry and Tosca the format is as follows. First you watch the film which has everyone in the audience sobbing after the first 5 minutes, and that is only if they are hardened. Most begin crying sooner than 5 minutes. After the film Lauralee Farrer the author of this award winning film, who also is a brilliant writer tells the story through her writing. I have goosebumps just thinking of her words. Then as if that wasn’t enough to knock loose my grip on the meaningless world I cling to. Marcia Whitehead sung for us. More tears followed. Then a question and answer session came, with one of the last questions to Marcia being, What are you doing now with your career?

Keeping true to my desire not to tell you how the story turns out, you must see it for yourself. They tour all over the country visiting colleges, theological seminaries, churches and have featured in all the major film festivals.  Both Lauralee and Marcia are devout Christians, but do not let that stop you if your faith is different. This is a message for everyone. I say this because, I have heard that they leave audiences in film festivals teary eyed and speechless regardless of their beliefs. They go in to watch a film as they are. They come out a different person for watching and experiencing this film. This is a message for all of humanity.

Wait you say, this is a food blog. What does this film have to do with cooking? Well it has everything to do with it. I have been led to cook and write about cooking.  So, what if cooking and writing is my calling? What if God is waiting for me to realize this? What if God is using the kitchen as a way to transform me? I am beginning to suspect that while I transform some flour and butter along with a little cream into a great biscuit; God is transforming me and the way I look at life.

Realizing that stomachs are growling and you all are getting thirsty. Perhaps now is a good time as any to move to the recipes at hand. This biscuit recipe is my favorite so far.  It is the one to be topped, which I haven’t seen done yet. The recipe is courtesy of The Flying Biscuit a local place in Atlanta. Their biscuits fly out the door. I think heaven has a standing order for their biscuits every Sunday. They are that good.

Homemade Lemonade

Scott Peacock & Edna Lewis; The Gift of Southern Cooking

2 cups granulated sugar

1 1/2 cups freshly squeezed lemonade

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 quarts bottled spring water, chilled

2 lemons thinly sliced

• Put granulated sugar, freshly squeezed lemon juice, salt and water into a large bowl or pitcher.
• Stir well until sugar is dissolved.
• Then add lemon slices.
• Refrigerate until ready to use.

Flying Biscuits

Adapted;The Flying Biscuit Cookbook

3 cups all-purpose flour, White Lily works best

1 tablespoon plus 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder (make homemade, see note on home page of site)

3/4 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons plus 1 1/2 teaspoons sugar

6 tablespoons sweet butter room temperature 

2/3 cup heavy cream

2/3 cup half and half

2 tablespoons half and half for brushing top of biscuits

1 tablespoon sugar for top of biscuits (if making a sweet biscuit)

Adapted Version:

4 slices of cooked bacon, coarsely chopped

1/4 cup finely chopped chives or any other herb

• Preheat oven to 375F
• Line sheet pan with parchment paper
• Place dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl.
• Cut butter into 1/2 tablespoon-sized bits and add to flour.
• Using your fingertips or a pastry cutter, blend till mixture resembles coarse meal.
• Add bacon and chives.
• Make a well in the center of the ingredients and pour in the creams.
• Stir with a wooden spoon until dough just begins to come together into a ball.
• Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead 2 or 3 times to form a cohesive mass.
• Do not overwork the dough.
• Using a rolling pin, roll the dough to a 1 inch thickness.
• The correct thickness is key to turning out a stately biscuit.
• Dip a 2 1/2 inch biscuit cutter in flour then cut the dough.
• Do not twist when cutting, a simple up down motion is correct.
• Scraps can be gathered together and rerolled one more time.
• Place biscuits on a prepared sheet, 1/4 inch apart.
• Brush tops with cream.
• If not making an bacon chive biscuit you can sprinkle sugar on top of biscuits after brushing on cream.
• Bake 20 minutes until lightly browned.
• Makes 8-12 depending on size of cutter.

This is a light flakey biscuit with just a touch of sweetness to the dough. It worked just as well adding the bacon bits and chives to it. I enjoyed my afternoon, and found myself at peace if for only a little while. Somehow I sensed God smiling down on me while I baked and enjoyed the story of Laundry and Tosca again. I smiled back at God. It was a good feeling, I might add.