Read A Love Affair with Southern Cooking Online
Authors: Jean Anderson,Jean Anderson
1
/
3
cup coarsely diced, well-drained bread and butter pickles or sweet pickles
SWEET-SOUR COLESLAW
MAKES
6
TO
8
SERVINGS
Down south there are three basic types of coleslaw: Sweet Slaw (shredded cabbage and sometimes carrots in a sweet and creamy mayonnaise dressing; at right), Barbecue Slaw (coarsely shredded or sliced cabbage in a peppery, reddish, oil-and-vinegar dressing;), and this distinctly Germanic oil-and-vinegar–dressed slaw containing onion and green bell pepper as well as cabbage. Was it introduced by German settlers funneling south from Pennsylvania and points north through the Shenandoah Valley? My research suggests so. This isn’t a fancy recipe and its flavor improves on standing in the refrigerator. Because it’s less likely to spoil than mayonnaise-dressed slaws, it’s a good choice for a picnic.
Coleslaw
8 cups (2 quarts) finely sliced cabbage (you’ll need a 2½-to 2¾-pound cabbage)
1 medium-size green bell pepper, cored, seeded, and finely chopped
1 medium-size sweet onion (Vidalia, Spanish, or Bermuda), finely chopped
Dressing
1 cup cider vinegar
¾ cup sugar
2
/
3
cup corn oil or vegetable oil
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon dry mustard
1 teaspoon celery seeds
SWEET SLAW
MAKES
6
TO
8
SERVINGS
To most of the country, coleslaw is crisp and sharp, but down south it’s sometimes so soft and sweet it might be dessert. The best sweet slaw I ever ate is that served at Mama Dip’s Kitchen in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. It’s
not
overly sweet; in fact the balance of sweet and tart is exactly right. Mama Dip (Mildred Council), a six-foot-two African American well into her seventies, has written two best-selling cookbooks,
Mama’s Dip’s Kitchen
(1999) and
Mama Dip’s Family Cookbook
(2005). This coleslaw, which I double-order every time I eat at Dip’s, appears in her second cookbook—a last-minute addition after I raved on and on about it.
8 cups (2 quarts) moderately finely grated cabbage (you’ll need a 2½-to 2¾-pound cabbage)
¾ cup firmly packed mayonnaise
¼ cup cider vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon salt, or to taste
EUGENIA DUKE AND THE SOUTH’S FAVORITE MAYONNAISE
When France’s Duc de Richelieu routed entrenched English troops from the port of Mahón on the Mediterranean island of Minorca in 1756, the duke, something of a gourmet, ordered his chef to come up with a special sauce to commemorate the victory. The chef combined egg yolks, olive oil, and vinegar,
et voilà!
Mahonaisse. Eventually, mayonnaise.
But in 1917, Eugenia Duke of Greenville, South Carolina, created a version that many mayonnaise lovers—especially Southerners—contend beats all rival brands nine ways to Sunday.
As World War One raged in Europe, Mrs. Duke decided to do her part for the war effort by making sandwiches for dough-boys training at Fort Sevier near Greenville. Spread with her homemade mayonnaise, Mrs. Duke’s sandwiches soon had the soldiers lining up for more.
Before long, a Greenville drugstore began selling Mrs. Duke’s sandwiches and then a grocery offered to stock her bottled mayonnaise. In no time, the demand was such that Mrs. Duke gave up sandwich making to concentrate on her creamy spread. C. F. Sauer, a condiment and spice company based in Richmond, Virginia, bought Mrs. Duke out in 1929, but her mayonnaise remains one of the Sauer mainstays.
A southern lady whose name, coincidentally, is also Eugenia, reminisced recently: “This may sound weird, but I used to love peanut butter and banana sandwiches made with Duke’s. Then weight gain and cholesterol caught up with me.”
When she moved from North Carolina to Florida, she couldn’t find Duke’s. “But Food Lion came to town,” she said, “and along came Duke’s.”
Not one to mince words, she added: “Of course, I now have to buy the low-fat crap. But there’s nothing like the real thing. And that’s Duke’s!”
BARBECUE SLAW
MAKES
6
TO
8
SERVINGS
I see this reddish slaw more and more often at barbecue joints across the South and occasionally order it instead of the classic—and more caloric—mayonnaise-based Sweet Slaw, which precedes. Like Sweet-Sour Coleslaw, Barbecue Slaw is a good choice for picnics and tailgate parties.
Coleslaw
8 cups (2 quarts) finely shredded cabbage (you’ll need a 2½-to 2¾-pound cabbage)
1 medium-size sweet onion (Vidalia, Spanish, or Bermuda), finely chopped
Dressing
1 cup cider vinegar
2
/
3
cup corn or vegetable oil
½ cup sugar
2 tablespoons ketchup or barbecue sauce
1 teaspoon salt
½ dry teaspoon mustard
½ teaspoon sweet paprika
¼ to ½ teaspoon hot red pepper sauce, depending on how “hot” you like things
SMOTHERED LETTUCE
MAKES
6
TO
8
SERVINGS
My first job right out of college was with the North Carolina Agricultural Extension Service, first as an assistant home agent in Iredell County, then, nine months later, as Woman’s Editor in the Raleigh head office. In this newly created position, my job was to cover the activities of 4-H Club girls and Home Demonstration Club women for newspapers, radio, and television. I was forever on the road, sometimes driving as many as 500 miles a day. I loved it, especially the tips passed along by the state agents who’d been crisscrossing the state for years. “Whenever you’re in Morehead,” they’d tell me, “be sure to eat at the Sanitary Fish Market.” “If you’re near Hillsborough, lunch at The Colonial Inn.” “If you’re headed to the mountains and it’s not out of the way, by all means stop at the Nu-Wray Inn in Burnsville.” I did, time and again. Only thirty miles north of Asheville and now nearly 200 years old, the Nu-Wray offers a glimpse of early mountain life. It fronts the town common and still serves some of the no-non-sense country cooking that made it famous. Whenever I visited, I’d order the inn’s famous smothered lettuce (some Southerners call it “wilted” lettuce). What follows is my approximation of that salad and I think it comes pretty
close. I like it with almost any meat or fowl. Note:
Iceberg is the lettuce to use here because it adds welcome crunch. It should be coarsely chopped—easy enough if you use this method: Halve the head of lettuce from top to stem end. Lay each half cut-side down, then slice from top to bottom, spacing the cuts
½
inch apart but not separating the slices. Give each half a quarter turn and slice at right angles to the first cuts, again spacing them
½
inch apart. That’s all there is to it.
8 slices hickory-smoked bacon, cut crosswise into strips ½ inch wide
2½ tablespoons cider vinegar
2 teaspoons sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon black pepper
8 cups (2 quarts) coarsely chopped iceberg lettuce (you’ll need about a 1½-pound head) (see Note above)
6 medium scallions, trimmed and thinly sliced (include some green tops)
MOLDED VEGETABLE SALAD
MAKES
8
SERVINGS
Does anyone love a gelatin salad more than a Southerner? I doubt it. Even my Yankee mother, who moved to Raleigh, North Carolina, after marrying my equally Yankee father, became quite southern in her adoration of “congealed salads,” although she took to few other things southern and in the forty years that she lived below the Mason-Dixon, always spoke with an Illinois twang. Never content to leave well enough alone, Mother was forever improvising with a molded salad recipe that she’d picked up from a neighbor, a friend, or a fellow club woman. Some, I have to say, were sweet enough to serve as dessert. My own favorites, however, were made with unflavored gelatin and contained plenty of fresh fruits or vegetables. This is one of the better molded salads that landed in my mother’s recipe file. Note:
This salad needs no dressing; the mayonnaise is built in.
2 envelopes unflavored gelatin
¼ cup cold water
1 cup boiling water
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons sugar
¾ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon hot red pepper sauce
1 cup mayonnaise (use “light,” if you like)
½ cup finely chopped yellow onion
½ cup coarsely chopped red bell pepper
½ cup coarsely chopped green bell pepper
½ cup finely diced celery
1 cup moderately coarsely shredded cabbage
1 cup moderately coarsely shredded carrots