A Life of Good Taste: A Second Helping 8/16/2020

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

Last week I caved to the pressure of culinary fascination and wrote about food. It was wordy and I didn’t discuss nearly as much as I had hoped. I am forever saying far too little by way of far too much.  I did forewarn you though that I hadn’t yet exhausted my source material. But then again I talked about one meal and one cake so quite frankly that shouldn’t be all that difficult to believe. Also my excessive rambling shouldn’t be too shocking to you either if you’ve read this blog for any amount of time.  I appreciate you giving me the grace to continue on this edible journey this week. I hope your mind trails off to delicious memories wrapped in meals or special figures behind a pan or plate.  If nothing else I hope you get very hungry. I hope you want some quality cooking made by hands that are very dear to you. I hope you want to go immediately and taste the love.

Another kitchen that comes to my mind, as you continue to humor me and allow me to press on in my adventure for the taste buds, is that of my father’s sister.  She left this earth only a few weeks after my high school graduation so it has been many years since I have been able to live the experience that was Aunt Eunice’s cooking. I wish I could explain it to all of you but I assure you no justice will be done. But, as you have learned from my writing, such things won’t stop me from giving you an abundance of words in an attempt. I know her house had other rooms. I saw them briefly on rare occasions but everyone that came there lived in that kitchen. It could have just as easily have been called a living room because it was the room everyone lived in.  There was forever a fragrance in there; the aroma of something being or having recently been lovingly cooked.  She also usually held to the tradition that the food lover in me absolutely adores and that was there was almost always a cake of some kind sitting somewhere in that kitchen.  It was a mystery of delicious proportion to sneak over and lift the plastic cake plate lid and see what confection was there. Anyway, to revel in my Aunt’s dishes gives me quite a repertoire to choose from but there are a few that come to mind as especially outstanding.  The first and possibly the foremost is her chicken and dumplings.  I have a few relatives that have experienced this dish that are possibly reading this and all of their mouths just collectively watered as they smiled and nodded.  I cannot tell you what it was that made a creamy broth with shredded chicken and floating clouds of boiled dough so glorious. I wish I knew because I could possibly recreate it but alas I do not know how such a simple dish was so downright magical when she made it. But oh, it was. I daresay it was the affection that went into the dough, or maybe the handed down methodology that she likely used in seasoning the broth just so.  It was comfort food to the highest level. The contentment and peace was measurable in each spoonful.  As I’ve said though, this is a dish of hers that stands out but all of her dishes had the same palpable happiness. Joyous affection was an ingredient in her kitchen that she used often and liberally.

Writing about my Aunt Eunice has reminded me of several food traditions that I feel I will be remiss if I do not mention in this piece.  One is the pure unadulterated delight that is South Alabama cornbread.  Cornbread is cornbread, you may say. Nay, my good reader, south Alabama cornbread (and I believe it applies to South Georgia cornbread as well since I think they are similar in nature) is a different thing altogether. South Alabama cornbread (or at least the version of it that I am referencing with baited breath here) resembles a hush puppy. It is a beautifully golden fried, bite-sized mound of bread. It isn’t your average cornbread though it is made with powder-fine cornmeal that makes it enchantingly soft in the mouth and the fact that is deep fried of course lends to it the purely divine flavor that is something that has lingered just long enough in boiling hot oil to become its best self.  This isn’t the standard cornbread one finds sliced into wedges from a cast iron skillet that is marvelous in its own right but these are a beautiful combination of crisped outside with pillowy soft insides that burst on your palate with the flavor of corn and grease and happiness.  I cannot say enough about this region specific delicacy. Mainly though, I’ll say find someone who can authentically make it and offer them what it takes to make it happen for you. It will be well worth it.

I can still visualize little morsels like the aforementioned enchanting cornbread lying about in beloved kitchens from my family. As I ponder, there are many kitchens of grandmas, both my own and others’, that constantly had a little something squirreled away that was set aside specifically for those moments when an unexpected appetite came to call betwixt a set mealtime. I remember my mother’s mother almost always having a few patties of sausage and a biscuit or two lingering on the stove from breakfast.  I can clearly see in my mind’s eye that folded paper towel with those goodies upon it between the stove’s eyes. My aunt, my mother’s sister does the same now that I think about it.  It is the quintessential mama bear thing to do; making sure that even though you may have missed the meal, nourishment was at your fingertips at all times. Knowing my Granny, who has been gone many years now, and my Aunt who carries on this tradition, it is an extension of who they were and are. Constant carers and nurturers is just in their nature, and now that I think of it, the same is probably the explanation for there almost always being some sort of cake in the cake plate I spoke of earlier.  The pleasure of dessert shouldn’t be taken from any house guest whether they were there for the rest of the meal or not. I could go on talking of cornbread and biscuits and grits and red velvet cake and sausage gravy and fried chicken but I won’t, though may I just say that sounds like a plate of food I could THOROUGHLY get behind.  I will end this piece with an encouragement for you the reader to begin some culinary traditions of your own.  All these dishes and meals and treats were prepared to give those who enjoyed them pleasure. Whether it be at a fine restaurant or in a kitchen inhabited by grey hair and an apron these delectable moments give us memories we will cherish and that will stay with us as they overwhelm our senses with what love looks, smells and tastes like.  Do the same for those you care about today. If you feel so inclined make some beautiful layered pastry to live as an ever present harbinger of glee in your kitchen.  Or you may simply put out a glass of sweet tea and a tomato sandwich for someone who has been working hard.  But I invite you to put your devotion on a plate today. Edible affection is always delicious.