A Love Affair with Southern Cooking (34 page)

—
DONNA L. BRAZILE
,
COOKING WITH GREASE: STIRRING THE POTS IN AMERICAN POLITICS

“Oh, Mr. Martin,” I said…“I never had pork in my life.” And why wouldn’t it be good? It had fed on biddy-mash and skimmed milk and fluffy-ruffle petunias.

—
MARJORIE KINNAN RAWLINGS
,
CROSS CREEK

M
y brother never did take to southern food the way I did, especially when it came to vegetables. Complaining that everything was cooked with fatback or salt pork, he preferred the butter-and-cream–seasoned vegetables of our Illinois mother.

Bob was completely happy eating parsnips, rutabaga, turnips, and such. And although I did like my mother’s asparagus (which my schoolmates called “sparrow grass”), her cauliflower, her green peas with dumplings, and her spinach with nutmeg and sour cream, I never looked forward to broccoli, Brussels sprout, or parsnip days. My father disliked parsnips as much as I, so Mother usually made them for my brother whenever my father was away on business.

I don’t remember my mother ever cooking corn except on the cob, I don’t remember her doing anything with yellow squash other than boiling and buttering it, I don’t recall her cooking collards, certainly never okra, grits, or black-eyed peas. And rarely rice for that matter. When it came to starch, Mother preferred Irish potatoes. She may have baked sweet potatoes a time or two, but she never improvised upon them as Southerners often do.

The only southern sides my mother truly relished were what she called “congealed salads” made with Jell-O. Her southern friends and neighbors were forever giving her new recipes for them (a couple of the best are included at the end of this chapter).

This is not to suggest that my mother was a lousy cook. It’s just that she was a New England–educated Midwesterner who was accustomed to cooking vegetables most of my school chums had never heard of, let
alone eaten. Then, too, my father-the-botanist would occasionally bring home some “exotic” to broaden our palates. I remember avocados, in particular (a fruit, yes, but one treated like a vegetable). Daddy halved it at the dinner table with great ceremony, twisted out the seed, then scooped some of the buttery flesh onto our plates and told us to spoon a little of my mother’s oil and vinegar dressing on top. I wasn’t impressed—then. I also remember celery root, which my mother shredded like cabbage and dressed like slaw, and a Hubbard squash that Daddy split with an axe. Mother baked biggish chunks with brown sugar and butter. All are commonplace today but in the Raleigh of my youth, they were unknown.

I always liked to go home from school with southern friends whose mothers might serve a mess o’ greens for dinner, or fry up some yellow squash, or make a big batch of sweet slaw. To me these seemed more exotic than the vegetables we ate at home.

Over the years as I’ve traveled about the South, I’ve added many more southern vegetables to my repertoire: cymlings (patty-pans), mirlitons, salsify, turnip greens and collards, black-eyed peas, pole beans, and more.

Recipes and recollections follow.

The only good vegetable is Tabasco Sauce.

—
P. J. O’ROURKE
,
THE BACHELOR HOME COMPANION

NANA’S LIMA BEANS

MAKES
4
SERVINGS

There were only two girls in my neighborhood when I was growing up: Virginia and Nancy Mumford. Though both were a little younger than I, we had many things in common, not least of which was our fondness for the way their mother, Cleone Mumford, prepared butter beans or “limas” as the Mumfords called them. Nancy (now Nancy Mumford Pencsak) recently self-published a collection of favorite family recipes,
Footsteps in the Kitchen,
and there among the side dishes is Mrs. Mumford’s lima bean recipe. “Nana was famous for these,” says Nancy. Her older sister, Virginia Mumford Nance, adds, “My children would rather have had another bowl of lima beans for dessert than anything else. I’d often catch them making an after-dinner raid on the leftovers and the lima beans would go first. Perhaps the greatest compliment my children gave me was the time they said, ‘Mom, these are almost as good as Nana’s!’”

¼ cup diced ham or better yet, country ham (about 2 ounces)

1 teaspoon corn oil

4 cups water

3 cups shelled baby butter beans or one 16-ounce package solidly frozen baby lima beans

3 tablespoons “pot likker” (cooking water from the beans)

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour blended with
¹
/
₃
cup cold water (thickener)

1 tablespoon butter

1 teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon black pepper

Pinch of sugar

• 1.
  Sauté the ham in the oil in a large, heavy saucepan over moderate heat 2 to 3 minutes, stirring often, until lightly browned. Add the water and bring to a boil.
  
• 2.
  Add the limas, breaking up large clumps if you’re using frozen beans, and return to the boil. Adjust the heat so the water bubbles gently, cover, and cook for 20 to 25 minutes or until the beans are very tender.
  
• 3.
  Whisk the “pot likker” from the beans into the thickener, add to the limas, and cook and stir for 2 to 3 minutes or until lightly thickened. Mix in the butter, salt, pepper, and sugar and cook and stir 2 to 3 minutes longer until no raw floury taste lingers.
  
• 4.
  Ladle the limas and thickened “pot likker” into heated bowls and serve as an accompaniment to baked ham, fried chicken, or roast pork, turkey, or chicken.
  

And now, perhaps just for our diet’s healthy balance, a spoonful or two of those lima beans, as gay as April and as sweet as butter, a tomato slice or two, a speared forkful of those thin-sliced cucumbers…

—
THOMAS WOLFE
,
OF TIME AND THE RIVER

COUNTRY-STYLE SNAP BEANS

MAKES
4
TO
6
SERVINGS

My brother, Bob, used to make fun of the way Southerners cooked vegetables. “Turnip greens with fatback,” he’d say. “Collards with fatback, black-eyed peas with fatback, green beans with fatback.” He preferred the Brussels sprouts, Swiss chard, and parsnips that our Illinois mother cooked but I, on the other hand, loved the meaty flavor of southern greens and snap beans. I never got them at home but did at the home of Mrs. Franklin, a country-come-to-town woman who lived around the corner. I’d no sooner get home from school than I’d dash over to Mrs. Franklin’s to see what was left over from lunch. Usually there were snap beans prepared this way and corn pone for “sopping up the pot likker.” She served the leftovers at room temperature and I thought they were marvelous. Note:
Because of the saltiness of the fatback, these beans may need no additional salt. But taste before serving and adjust as needed.

2 pounds snap (green) beans, washed, tipped, and snapped in two

4½ cups cold water

4 ounces fatback, rinsed well to remove excess salt, then quartered

½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Salt, if needed to taste

• 1.
  Place the beans, water, fatback, and pepper in a large, heavy saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat. Adjust the heat so the water barely bubbles, cover, and cook for 45 minutes to 1 hour or until the beans are very tender. Taste for salt and season as needed.
  
• 2.
  Ladle the beans into small bowls and serve as an accompaniment to fried chicken or fish, roast chicken or pork, or baked ham. And don’t forget to put out a plate of corn bread, fresh from the oven.
  

SNAP BEANS WITH MUSTARD AND COUNTRY HAM

MAKES
4
SERVINGS

To many Southerners, green beans are “snap beans” because they “snap” when you break them. This recipe, my own, combines three southern favorites: green beans, mustard, and country ham. I like these beans best with roast turkey, grilled or roast chicken. But they’re equally delicious with pork chops or roast pork. Some southern supermarkets sell biscuit slices, slim rounds of country ham ready to cook and slip into biscuits. Others sell country ham by the piece or the pound. If not available in your area, see Sources (backmatter). Note:
Because of the saltiness of the ham, the mustard, and the broth, these beans are unlikely to need additional salt. But taste before serving and adjust as needed.

1 tablespoon butter, bacon drippings, or vegetable oil

3 ounces uncooked country ham, finely diced

6 medium scallions, trimmed and coarsely chopped (include some green tops)

1 pound tender young green beans, tipped and snapped in two if large

1½ cups chicken broth

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour blended with 2 tablespoons cold water (thickener)

2 teaspoons prepared yellow mustard

¼ teaspoon black pepper, or to taste

• 1.
  Melt the butter in a large, heavy saucepan over moderate heat, add the ham and scallions, and cook, stirring now and then, for 5 to 8 minutes or until lightly browned.
  
• 2.
  Add the beans and broth and bring to a boil. Adjust the heat so the broth bubbles gently, cover, and cook for 12 to 15 minutes or until the beans are crisp-tender.
  
• 3.
  Meanwhile, combine the thickener and the mustard and set aside. As soon as the beans are done, whisk a little of the hot broth into the mustard mixture, stir back into the pan, add the pepper, and cook, stirring constantly, for 3 minutes or until the broth thickens. Continue cooking uncovered, stirring occasionally, for 3 to 5 minutes or until the sauce has the consistency of a glaze.
  
• 4.
  Taste the beans for salt and pepper, adjust as needed, and serve straightaway.
  

While an eon, as someone has observed, may be two people and a ham, a fruitcake is forever.

—
RUSSELL BAKER