A Life of Good Taste 8/9/2020

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

I have purposely not written a whole blog about this because it seems, oh I don’t know, trivial, flippant or maybe even luxurious?  I don’t think I want to fight it anymore though. It is a legitimate topic especially to a southerner.  I want to talk about something that can pungently awaken memories and nostalgia.  The ability of this subject matter to transport one to another place and time is almost unparalleled.  I’d say this topic is near and dear to the hearts of most people (even quite possibly those not in this region of the country) in one way or another. Today I am going to talk about the way to a man’s (likely in the humankind sense of the term) heart. I want to travel down a lane of recollection and reflection.  We will speak of comfort and pleasure.  I shall pull from my southern experience for subject matter as I hope to take you on a brief journey to the table. Yes, we shall revel in all that a gloriously filled plate of food has to offer to the mind, body and soul.

I feel thoroughly obligated to begin with one of the most memorable meals of which I have ever had the joy of partaking. Everything about it was achingly southern.  I mean if this dish could speak it would have had a drawl that would have had Scarlett O’Hara clutching her pearls at the sheer dramatics of it all. I ate it at a fairly simple restaurant near the Gulf of Mexico in Florida. I am not even that much of a seafood fanatic like some people but the mere description on the menu made my eyebrows raise in fascination.  I shall now give you the description that caught the attention of both my eye and my taste buds. The dish was fresh gulf shrimp stuffed with imperial crab wrapped in Applewood smoked bacon on pecan crusted fried green tomatoes atop Gouda cheese grits. I mean, really. Have you ever in all your born days?!?! It was a description like music. It took everything that one could love about southern cuisine and artistically put it into one dish and tied it with a delicious bow.  The truly magnificent part was that it lived up to its own hype in flavor. Sometimes dishes don’t but taste of this one made me amazingly aware of things so many of us take for granted.   The crab stuffed shrimp suddenly made me feel as if I was infinitely more aware of the vast waters only steps from this restaurant door.  The sheer magnitude of the gulf’s size and its bounty seemed so much more real to me suddenly. So many other of the elements, of this dish in some strangely magical way transported me, I saw the rolling pecan orchards near my home. I could see plump green tomatoes on the vines of farms with contented swine lounging nearby.  Even the grits somehow conjured images of lush corn fields.  This plate so embodied all the glorious harvest of the south I can only describe it as a tribute.  It tasted like everything you love about your home.  Even if this isn’t a dish you would particularly enjoy you have to admit they took almost everything that this region has to offer and made it into a culinary symphony; each component played its part to perfection. I am sure my words have about this meal have proven woefully inadequate but I shall move on by saying this, this meal was at least 5 years ago and it still takes me on a mental adventure of all that is delicious to this day.

There are other foods that we enjoy that do not touch our hearts because they are some gourmet compilation of ingredients created in a master kitchen. They move us because of the hands that stirred. They speak to us not because they are the work of a great chef but because they are the concoction, no matter how simple, of love.  There are a couple of cakes that come to mind when I speak of recipes founded in such affection. One of several of these confections come from my husband’s family. The one I shall speak of is from his father’s side; his Granny’s strawberry cake.  Now, I have made this cake.  It isn’t particularly complex and I would say most anyone could follow the humble recipe and create a very delectable treat. But you see, the thing is, this delicious collection of moist pink layers swimming in a lustrous glaze of sugar and fruit and more sugar isn’t just a very good cake.  It is a physical expression of deep emotion.  It is the affection of his father’s mother who was a huge part of his growing up and all the special moments that they had together under a simple glass dome. She always insisted each time she made it that the glaze didn’t quite do right this time and that she hoped it was fit to eat.  It was always purely scrumptious and we assured her that her worries were unfounded.  It was the same song and dance every time and it was never any less delightful.  I am fairly certain she could have made that cake with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back and it still would have been magnificent because it was an opportunity to spoil her family with an exceptional treat and that was something she adored being able to do.

I am realizing now I have rambled on about a single dish and one cake and my words have proven many. Such is the story of my life.  The problem is I have more I want to say. We southerners take our food very seriously and I feel as though I shall be doing a disservice to some really significant edible components in my life if I don’t carry on with my poetic (hopefully) waxings of these edible tributes to life and love.  If you will allow me I shall continue this journey across a well set table next week.  There are more memories and love and joy and warmth on the plate and I can’t seem to stop here. Isn’t that just like a good meal though, when it’s really, truly that good, you don’t really want it to end.