Read an excerpt from Sisterhood in the Kitchen:
LEGACY AND TRADITION
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It is Saturday afternoon in the early 1980s, and a young girl about twelve years of age sits in front of the television set. She isn’t watching a favorite cartoon. Instead, she listens as the applause begins, and onto the screen walks a silver-haired, southern gentleman wearing his signature string bow tie, blue denim shirt, red suspenders, and straw hat. He removes his hat, hanging it on a peg on the wall, turns to face the studio audience and acknowledges their applause. Once the clapping dies down, the man speaks with a thick Cajun accent. “Whoo-wee! How ya’ll are? I’m glad for you to see me. I gar-on-tee.” The young girl sighs with an unexplainable feeling of contentment inside. Thirty minutes of uninterrupted, commercial-free education and entertainment had begun.
I was the young girl in the above scenario. Even though more than a couple of decades have passed and my life is far more complex that it was back then, I still experience that same, warm feeling of contentment when I take the time to sit and watch a cooking show on television today. In fact, I now have the delight of sharing that enjoyment with my children who love to sit and watch with me. Back then my favorite television, culinary personalities were Natalie Dupree, Julia Child, Justin Wilson, and Jacque Pepin. I’d watch their shows for hours on Saturday afternoon and learned so much about cooking and food preparation. Today, my endearing, real-life culinary giants are the people I know and love like my parents, grandmothers, and aunts. Like many of you, I hail from a long line of wonderfully gifted cooks, women and men alike, who know how to create magic at the stove. I’m talking about the kind of magic that casts a culinary spell the moment that first bite is savored. Those seated at the table who were once engaged in lively conversation are at a loss for words and no longer able to speak in complete sentences. I’ve watched this phenomenon take place many times.
After a prayer of thanksgiving and blessing is offered, the plates and serving dishes are passed as each plate is ‘fixed’ (a southern term for putting individual servings of food on the plate). Then, one by one, the laughter and bantering die down as each person takes that first bite. The spell has been woven and seemingly, all at once, there is dead silence — for just a brief, few seconds. Then, a jumble of muffled utterances proceeds forth between mouthfuls of decadent goodness: “Mmm, you put your foot in this!” “It’s all good,” and “Mm-mm-mm!” There is even the occasional smacking sound heard from fingers being licked. Believe it or not, dessert has yet to be served! Those who spent the time chopping, stirring, mixing, and baking now beam with pride and thankfulness — not because of their own accomplishment at preparing such an enjoyable meal. It’s because their labor and effort has brought so much joy and satisfaction to the faces (and stomachs) of those partakers.
Looking back over my life, my fondest memories from childhood revolved around my interaction with an older family member or friend (usually female) while she prepared something for me to eat or was enjoying a time of fellowship and food with someone else. My parents’ Georgia home was always the gathering place for family reunions and holiday get-togethers. Both of my parents are great cooks, but their philosophy on meal preparation and serving is very different.
My mom whipped up fantastic, flavorful meals week in and week out. As a registered nurse, she always worked long hours. Yet, I remember enjoying home cooked meals with great regularity, even during the week. My mother’s food wasn’t what you would call ‘gourmet,’ but it was always soulful and satisfying. It was the kind of food that family members, immediate and extended, would comment on year after year and look forward to eating at special family events.
My dad is the ‘great adventurer’ in the kitchen. He loves to experiment with ingredients and takes great delight in perusing the isles of gourmet food markets and discovering a new mustard or flavorful cheese. Daddy’s food is uncommonly delicious — emphasis on ‘uncommon.’ Nowhere is the dichotomy of my parents’ approach to cooking more evident than in the kitchen pantry.
As I grew into young adulthood and was cooking more of the family meals, it was a routine occurrence to venture into the kitchen with thoughts of what to prepare for dinner. My mood would determine from which side of the pantry I would retrieve my ingredients. If I was in the mood for down-to-earth, lip-smackin’ good, comfort food, then I would ‘shop’ on the right side of the pantry. This is where my mom kept all the pantry staples like flour, cornmeal, sugar, cooking oil, canned vegetables and fruits, pasta, crackers, canned tuna and salmon, long grain white rice, potatoes, and onions. I could make one hundred different meals by simply adding fresh meat or produce and an egg or two. If my palate was leaning more toward the exotic, I would shop on the left side of the pantry. Here, my dad had lined the shelves with couscous, flavored oils and vinegar, jarred peppers, jasmine rice, kippered snacks, barbecue sauces of varying heat, and kalamata olives. More often than not, I’d combine flavors from both sides of the pantry to create something wonderful…or not. I’ve learned from years of cooking that some ingredients just don’t jive together.
My approach to food is definitely a blending of both cooking philosophies, and I am a self-described ‘left AND right side of the pantry’ kind of cook. I have my dear parents to thank for that great balance.
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