One Thank You:

A special thank you for Warda for hosting a beautiful lunch in the sun. A chance for good food and good conversation.

(And just for Warda, I will risk my rusty French)

Un remerciement spécial à Warda pour accueillir une belle déjeuner au soleil. Une chance pour la bonne nourriture et la bonne conversation.

An International Menu With Local Flavor:

• An array of crostini-type bites with pesto, sun-dried tomato and brie, by Shane of Fruitcake or Nuts
• Lamb tagine with cous-cous so fluffy they floated above the plate, by our hostess Warda of the 64 Sq Foot Kitchen
• An Uruguayan I think it was Uruguayan -- blogger women, correct me if I'm wrong -- dish whose name I've forgotten that resembled a savory bouche-de-Noel; filled with bechemal, tuna and sardine paste, by Gina-who-does-not-yet-have-a-blog (but will, I am confident)
• Salad of local greens and fennel by G3's own Shana
• A loaf of olive bread from Avalon Bakers and a bottle of Sex, brought by yours truly, who didn't have time to cook that weekend
• Mango tart, by Christine of Hot, Sour, Salty, Sweet. And Umami. She -- I suspect some obsessive tendencies here -- complained a lot about the tart cracking. The rest of us ate with great pleasure.

Two meals worth considering:

A dinner that's quick and easy enough for Friday after work but feels pretty special:

Risotto with a tomato-saffron broth, topped with seared scallops. I had never made a tomato broth before. It was a very pleasing process of sauteeing some onions and saffron, adding garlic and tomatoes (both fresh and canned) along with a little fennel seed and orange zest. I let this meld for a few minutes, added a couple of cups of chicken broth and let simmer for half an hour before passing the whole thing through a chinoise. Delicate and flavorful. Pour a nice puddle of it around the risotto and lay some scallops on top. (I wanted monkfish but none had arrived at Monahan's that day).

A dinner that's fast enough to prepare between a toddler's dinner and his bed time, but impressive enough to serve to friend's on a Saturday night:

Fennel rubbed, grilled pork chops (there are some nice Berkshire, heritage chops for sale at Sparrow's these days) with a lemon-sage vinagrette, courtesy of Bobby Flay (olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, honey, shallot and a bunch of fresh sage given a whirl in the blender), served with braised fennel (suggested by Shana and guided by Molly. Listen well to the recipe's advice to "gild" the fennel before popping it in the oven; it's well worth the wait). We started with some individual goat cheese souffles suggested by The Kitchen Diaries and finished with some expensive dark chocolate. Very nice indeed.

Eight Three books you might want to spend some time with:

The Taste of Country Cooking: 30th Anniversary Edition . Edna Lewis, Knopf, 2006.

I wasn't expecting to like this. I know Southern cooking is like all authentic American, and I'm as big a proponent of regional foodways as the next earnest food-blogger. But, really, even though I lived for a while in the South, I've never quite cottoned to its food. Sure, I can eat fried chicken and biscuits as happily as any other Yankee, but greens in pot liquor (licker?), grits, and all manner of smothered foods? Pass the baked beans and brown bread, please. But Edna Lewis' prose is so charming and evocative of a lost time when life was lived close to the seasons and food marked each important event of the year, that I was entirely seduced. I'm threatening my family with fried shad with roe and ham with heavy cream for breakfast. I'm getting out my five gallon pot to raise some biscuit dough over-night. And I am definitely, definitely starting my next Christmas morning with a little snort of bourbon.

Chez Panisse Vegetables. Alice L. Waters. William Morrow Cookbooks; 1996.

A book that will be helping me make my way through the farm share this year. Just what you would expect. Reverence for the integrity of the ingredients, some simple preparations that are more about basic skills than recipes, and the occasional flight of Chez Panisse fancifulness that makes you think "not in my kitchen, not in this millennium." Because it showcases vegetables, and vegetables have a somewhat intractable vegetable nature to them, there's a lot less of those flights than in some of the other C.P. books I've looked at. This one works well for the home cook. I think the next few months are going to have some gratins in them. Alice likes gratin.

Simple French Food. Richard Olney. Wiley, 1992.

Like Chez Panisse Vegetables, this was a recommendation from Matt Morgan. I was prepared to love it and thought I'd be spending some time hunkered down with it in my favorite reading chair and then in the kitchen. My verdict, after two attempts? Unreadable. Uncookable. Not simple. Very French. Nothing that leads me into the recipes. Still. I suspect that I am the problem, not the book. I'm simple-minded. I want stories. I want to become part of a whole world or way of living through my cooking. This books seems much more rigorously about the food. Maybe I'm just not ready for it. Or for lettuce custard. Or for Sauteed Lamb's Hearts and Liver A La Provencal. Seriously, I do think it's probably a good book. Just not a very readable one.

Say twelve now. Say twelve

Now I am sure it is quite obvious by now that the husband and I have a little communication problem. We seem to enjoy rather large periods of silence interspersed with talking in a different language, especially when it come to the kitchen. Like the pudding incident, I asked my husband if he wanted me to make him some Tomato soup and he said, yes. He assumed that this would involve a can-opener and a can of soup. He also assumed that because I stepped away from the kitchen for a moment he would be heating the soup.

This is why I found my husband in the kitchen about three feet from taking a can-opener to a can of tomato soup when I walked in the room, horrified at the site. Opting not to say anything as I was sure he had a fever of sorts that rendered him delirious. It was obvious that he didn't have a clue who's kitchen he was in, so I quickly came to the rescue. In two seconds he was disarmed from the can-opener and the can of soup was put on the top shelf waiting to expire.

He asked, what are you doing?

Well dear, I am saving you from a ho hum meal.

He replied, I've been eating soup from a can for years, I don't mind.

Well I do, and it would be my pleasure to make some homemade tomato soup for you.

But you are cooking Southern and tomato soup isn't Southern. How are you going to manage this?

Tomato soup certainly is Southern and I have a recipe or two to prove it.

He caved, If you want to go to the trouble, that's fine by me.

Really, I am almost as baffled to his reaction to my cooking as I am to the squirrel in Brunswick stew. It just doen't make sense. Why have a can of soup when you can have homemade soup?

So, along with the tomato soup I thought a cornmeal muffin would fit the bill. Little did I know that it was not that simple? Without thinking I grabbed a recipe. Then I began to bake using a recipe I might add that yielded a dozen great muffins. They just weren't Southern cornmeal muffins. They were a muffin and they had cormeal, but they weren't Southern. How can this be, I wondered? A little research better late than never, and I learned something new.

What I first discovered was that the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in 1989 declared in Section 28, that the corn muffin shall be the official muffin of the commonwealth. Being shocked and having searched high and low I cannot find the recipe that went with this bill. How can you pass a bill for an official muffin without a recipe? How would I know if I were eating an official versus an unofficial corn muffin? My curiosity has gotten the best of me. I am going to do a little research to see who introduced this, and ask them for the official recipe, surely they must have it?

This also got me to thinking. What if the Southerners have been claiming fame to their muffin when this is the rightful claim of the North? Everyone knows that corn muffins are Southern, right. Wrong, corn muffins are not Southern. Cornmeal muffins made a certain way are Southern. There is a distinct difference.

Cornmeal muffins are made with little or no flour unlike their Yankee counterpart. They also do not have sugar added to the recipe. Southern cornmeal muffins are rich in taste and savory, often cooked in a cast iron pan with or without buttermilk. As a Yankee in the Southern kitchen, I feel caught in the middle but I dare say I am leaning this side of the Mason-Dixon line on this one, especially since Section 28 does not include the recipe.

Simple, savory rich buttery cornmeal muffins let me know that I am eating a Southern Cornmeal Muffin. A muffin I might add that was eaten the same way hundreds of years ago. It is authentic and in this busy world who doesn't need authentic. Mind you, it is going to take some time for my taste buds to develop to my new way of cooking. I think in the long run it will be worth it. The closer we eat to the earth, the better the food my friend and the better the earth. Armed with my new discovery I went back to the kitchen to whip up a batch of good ole Southern cornmeal muffins, and am that much happier for it.

Tomato-Basil Soup

Adapted from: Scott Peacock & Edna Lewis, The Gift of Southern Cooking

5 Tablespoons butter

1 medium onion

1 cup carrots

1 cup celery leaves and all

2 teaspoons kosher salt

29 oz can good quality tomatoes, if fresh not available

3 tablespoons sugar

4 cups water

1/2 cup fresh basil

15 oz can evaporated milk and or cream

• Heat the butter in a nonreactive pot adding the chopped onions, chopped carrots and chopped celery.
• Stir well for about 5 minutes to lightly wilted.
• Add tomatoes, sugar, salt and pepper.
• Cook for about 5 more minutes and then add the water.
• Cook for another 15- 30 minutes till vegtables are tender and cooked.
• Add basil, and remove soup from heat allowing to sit for 10 minutes.
• In small batches puree in the blender, returning to the saucepan.
• At this point you can do 1 of 2 things, serve soup as is hot or cold. Or you can add a combination of evaporated milk and or heavy cream to pot.

Corniest Corn Muffins

Dorie Greenspan, Baking from my home to yours

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup yellow cornmeal-stone ground

6 tablespoons sugar

2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

1 cup buttermilk

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

3 tablespoons corn oil

1 large egg

1 large egg yolk

1 cup corn kernels (I used Cope's since it is not corn season yet)

• Center a rack in the oven and preheat to 400 degrees F.
• Butter 12 regular size muffin tins.
• In a large bowl, whisk together dry ingredients.
• In a large glass measuring cup mix wet ingredients until well blended.
• Pour wet ingredients into dry ingredients and with a whisk or rubber spatula, gently but quickly stir to blend. Don't worry about the lumps they should be there.
• Stir in corn kernels.
• Divide batter evenly amoungst tins.
• Bake for 15 to 18 minutes, until tops are golden and a think knife comes out clean.
• Transfer pan to a rack and cool 5 minutes.
• Then remove muffins from tin, being carefull.

Southern Cornmeal Muffin

Scott Peacock & Edna Lewis, The Gift of Southern Cooking

1 3/4 cups stone ground cornmeal

1/3 cup all-purpose flour (White Lily if available)

1 tablespoon plus 1 1/2 teaspoons of homemade baking powder

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

5 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 eggs

2 1/2 cups milk

Lard or unsalted butter to grease tins.

• Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.
• Generously grease 12 muffin tins.
• Put dry ingredients in a large bowl and mix until well blended.
• Using your fingers work till butter resembles fine cornmeal mixture.
• In a separate bowl, whisk wet ingredients until mixed.
• Add wet to dry ingredients mixing just until batter is smooth and free of lumps.
• FIll each tin with 1/2 cup batter.
• Bake for 15-20 minutes until golden brown and crusty.
• Cool on rack for 2 minutes before turning out to serve with lots of butter.
• If needed use a thin knife to release the muffins if some are a little stubborn and want to stick.

Cook's Note: The Southern Cornmeal muffin I have been talking about; well it seems that the cold the husband had founds it's way to me, so sorry no pictures folks of the Southern cornmeal muffins.  I have been feeling under the weather and haven't been thinking clearly. Batteries are being recharged and just as soon as I am feeling better, I am planning on posting a good picture of the Southern version. Why a good picture I am sure you are asking? Guess who got a macro lense in the mail yesterday?

Sunday while I prepared my afternoon buffet, I listened to Andrea Bocceli as I cooked and baked. The music was invigorating and kept my mind off of mindless chatter. It allowed me to flow into a rhythm that was joyful. Frankly I think my food as

well as my afternoon was that much better for it. I took my time while juicing the lemons. I was gentle with the biscuit dough. Taking time to think if all was well in my bowl of dough before I added more flour was certainly a change of pace for me. Not to mention a better biscuit for it.Slowing down is important for many reasons. Learning to cook Southern is one of them. The other is trying to prepare myself for God's call. How can I hear the call if I am rushing? Yesterday I mentioned Laundry and Tosca, now is the perfect time to return to this film.  I will just tell you a little about the theme and Marcia Whitehead whom the film is about. Not one to want to ruin the end of something. I will keep  the outcome a secret.

Someone said, Laundry and Tosca is a poetic investigation of what it means to be called by God to a life that appears impossible. I might add that the difference with Marcia's response to God's call and mine is that she is living her calling with much grace. I on the other hand seem to be deaf, ungrateful and obstinate despite my attempts to be otherwise.

For most of her adult life, Marcia Whitehead has lived in a little garage apartment in Southern California and worked a modest-wage job (Never earning more than $12/hour). Like most of us, she lives paycheck to paycheck, and has more debt than savings. And, like most of us, she dreams of an abundant life, beyond the ordinary.

It is said only 40 women in the world have the body and musculature to be a lirico-spinto soprano. Marcia is one of them. Marcia never liked Opera. Marcia sang opera because she heard God tell her to. She still hears that voice that tells her to sing opera and has grown to appreciate the music and stories of opera. Marcia spends all her money on voice lessons which she took after a long day at work and on weekends for over 20 years. 

A random acquaintance arranged a hearing for Marcia with Maestro Franco Iglesias who once had as a student the world renowned Placido Domingo. Maestro would judge her chances at a career in opera. In the time that follows, it becomes clear that Marcia's dream of an abundant life has already come true.  

I want what Marcia has. I want her peace, her joy. I can not shake the impact these two women have had on me. The part of me that is surrendered to God fully grasps the message. The other part of me that frets about bills, careers, success, and getting passed over for the Gingerbread Lady; so doesn't get the message they share.

God has a lot of work when it comes to transforming this stubborn soul. I doubt more than I care to say even after all these years of God's faithfulness and love towards me. I should know better. Having 53 years of experience should be enough. Unlike Marcia whom I believe will hear these words, well done my faithful servant when she goes to heaven.  I will hear, my dear child you missed the blessed life I offered you, while looking for the joyful life you thought I forgot to give you. That is unless I change the way I look at life and God.

To recap an evening spent with Laundry and Tosca the format is as follows. First you watch the film which has everyone in the audience sobbing after the first 5 minutes, and that is only if they are hardened. Most begin crying sooner than 5 minutes. After the film Lauralee Farrer the author of this award winning film, who also is a brilliant writer tells the story through her writing. I have goosebumps just thinking of her words. Then as if that wasn't enough to knock loose my grip on the meaningless world I cling to. Marcia Whitehead sung for us. More tears followed. Then a question and answer session came, with one of the last questions to Marcia being, What are you doing now with your career?

Keeping true to my desire not to tell you how the story turns out, you must see it for yourself. They tour all over the country visiting colleges, theological seminaries, churches and have featured in all the major film festivals.  Both Lauralee and Marcia are devout Christians, but do not let that stop you if your faith is different. This is a message for everyone. I say this because, I have heard that they leave audiences in film festivals teary eyed and speechless regardless of their beliefs. They go in to watch a film as they are. They come out a different person for watching and experiencing this film. This is a message for all of humanity.

Wait you say, this is a food blog. What does this film have to do with cooking? Well it has everything to do with it. I have been led to cook and write about cooking.  So, what if cooking and writing is my calling? What if God is waiting for me to realize this? What if God is using the kitchen as a way to transform me? I am beginning to suspect that while I transform some flour and butter along with a little cream into a great biscuit; God is transforming me and the way I look at life.

Realizing that stomachs are growling and you all are getting thirsty. Perhaps now is a good time as any to move to the recipes at hand. This biscuit recipe is my favorite so far.  It is the one to be topped, which I haven't seen done yet. The recipe is courtesy of The Flying Biscuit a local place in Atlanta. Their biscuits fly out the door. I think heaven has a standing order for their biscuits every Sunday. They are that good.

Homemade Lemonade

Scott Peacock & Edna Lewis; The Gift of Southern Cooking

2 cups granulated sugar

1 1/2 cups freshly squeezed lemonade

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 quarts bottled spring water, chilled

2 lemons thinly sliced

• Put granulated sugar, freshly squeezed lemon juice, salt and water into a large bowl or pitcher.
• Stir well until sugar is dissolved.
• Then add lemon slices.
• Refrigerate until ready to use.

Flying Biscuits

Adapted;The Flying Biscuit Cookbook

3 cups all-purpose flour, White Lily works best

1 tablespoon plus 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder (make homemade, see note on home page of site)

3/4 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons plus 1 1/2 teaspoons sugar

6 tablespoons sweet butter room temperature 

2/3 cup heavy cream

2/3 cup half and half

2 tablespoons half and half for brushing top of biscuits

1 tablespoon sugar for top of biscuits (if making a sweet biscuit)

Adapted Version:

4 slices of cooked bacon, coarsely chopped

1/4 cup finely chopped chives or any other herb

• Preheat oven to 375F
• Line sheet pan with parchment paper
• Place dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl.
• Cut butter into 1/2 tablespoon-sized bits and add to flour.
• Using your fingertips or a pastry cutter, blend till mixture resembles coarse meal.
• Add bacon and chives.
• Make a well in the center of the ingredients and pour in the creams.
• Stir with a wooden spoon until dough just begins to come together into a ball.
• Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead 2 or 3 times to form a cohesive mass.
• Do not overwork the dough.
• Using a rolling pin, roll the dough to a 1 inch thickness.
• The correct thickness is key to turning out a stately biscuit.
• Dip a 2 1/2 inch biscuit cutter in flour then cut the dough.
• Do not twist when cutting, a simple up down motion is correct.
• Scraps can be gathered together and rerolled one more time.
• Place biscuits on a prepared sheet, 1/4 inch apart.
• Brush tops with cream.
• If not making an bacon chive biscuit you can sprinkle sugar on top of biscuits after brushing on cream.
• Bake 20 minutes until lightly browned.
• Makes 8-12 depending on size of cutter.

This is a light flakey biscuit with just a touch of sweetness to the dough. It worked just as well adding the bacon bits and chives to it. I enjoyed my afternoon, and found myself at peace if for only a little while. Somehow I sensed God smiling down on me while I baked and enjoyed the story of Laundry and Tosca again. I smiled back at God. It was a good feeling, I might add.

It just isn't my style to tell a story without good food to go with it. So along with the story of what pushed me over the edge and made me do something drastic like deciding to cook Southern for a year, we will have Baked Eggs with Cream for Sunday Brunch. But first the story.

 A Yankee In A Southern Kitchen

Being woken unexpectedly  at 5:30 am for a few weeks now has left me bright eyed and ready to go.  I rise early in the morning, but of late have had to rely on the alarm to make sure I am out of bed by 6:30am.  Early morning has been my alone time in the world, my best time of the day.  The daunting task of going to work has slowed me down as I attempt to avoid the inevitable.........going to work and dealing with a difficult situation.

When I am woken extra early it has meant that God is at work in me and not wasting at time at the task. This is a pattern I can rely on. Being woken early with this kind of energy typically means God is about to do something great. Something like change a bad attitude I am holding on to. Laying on my heart to prayer more fervently or simply to start praying with a fresh spirit once again.  Sometimes, and this is the most exciting. I am being woken early in preparation for being creative. Morning is my creative time, and I hope this is what God has in mind. Whatever the reason, I believe God is helping me find my way out of the pit. This is his Grace.  God is extending a hand; I am grabbing hold while keeping my eyes ahead, and I do not know where I am going.

So here is what I have been waking up with in the morning......................Pimento Cheese. Yep, you heard me right, Pimento Cheese.  Pimento Cheese is in my head and it is not budging one bit.

Having lived in the South since 1978 moving to Charleston in 2000 from Atlanta, I have not made any attempt to try and cook Southern. I can make descent biscuits and butter-beans but that is it! I have no idea about the culture, why they ate like they did, what they eat, what season produces what food, nothing.......... zip.  Shame on me; as I have even had the distinct pleasure of having a 7 page spread of myself and my dinnerware featured in Southern Lady a few years back. You would think fame lurking in the background would have prompted me to get with it in the kitchen and embrace my new culture.  A Southern home worth its salt has a crock of this good food tucked away in the refrigerator just in case someone should have a hankering for a Pimento Cheese sandwich. My cupboard is bare of this simple food.

Well, Gourmet Magazines recent tribute and article on Edna Lewis and Scott Peacock prompted me to purchase their book; The Gift of Southern Cooking a month ago. Coincidentally one of the first blog comments other than my family came from a woman named Bailey Barash. Bailey did a wonderful documentary on Edna Lewis titled Fried Chicken & Sweet Potato Pie. It is a great piece and I encourage anyone who reads this post to visit her site or Gourmet Magazines site and watch the short film at www.bbarash.com. Unfortuneatly my work schedule did not allow me to attend a presentation and feast by Scott Peacock while he appeared at the Charleston Food & Wine Festival last week.  

I am taking all this information as a sign as to where I should be going. I am heading to the South. The South you say, aren't you already in the South? You bet, I am here but have not been present. I have had my head in the pit. At the very least my head could have been in the sand seeing that the beach is a mere 5 miles from my house.  I am A Yankee in a Southern Kitchen. A woman clueless to the wonderful world of Southern cooking and the heritage that surrounds me. A woman who 25 years ago washed laundry for five by hand while on a luxury holiday in lieu of Bahamian Cooking lessons. I've lived here for over 7 years and haven't had the sense to learn to cook to much of anything in the South.

I need a miracle or two and while I wait for God to do whatever God has planned. I am going to become as close to being a Southerner as I can short of a blood transfusion and a mint julep.

This is what I am going to do while I wait for God, or while God waits for me. I am going to cook Southern. This is a feat that is going to require a change of heart, perseverance, good humor and a new-found appreciation for all that is Southern. You can read the guidelines to my year long sabbatical on the Southern Kitchen Rules page.

Southern is all about hospitality, so we are going to eat well, enjoy the finer things in life. I promise you when the year is over, you will be saying y'all while making the best Southern Biscuits, Buttermilk Fried Chicken and Butter Beans you have ever had. 

What's in it for me? I don't know.........but I am certain GOD does.

Southern Baked Eggs with Cream & Ham

Adapted from; Gourmet Magazine, January 2008

I improvised a lot as I was minus a few ingredients. It did not matter as this dish was the perfect meal after returning home from church.  A fresh pot of hot coffee was made to go with it. What is that hiding next to the eggs you ask? Stop by tomorrow and find out.

1/4 cup thinly sliced ham or chopped cooked bacon

1/3 cup heavy cream

3 tablespoons finely chopped sweet onion

1 chopped scallion with some of the greens

1/2 teaspoon finely chopped garlic

3 tablespoon of fresh chopped parsely

2 large eggs

• Preheat oven to 390 degrees with rack in middle.
• Bring bacon and cream to a boil reducing till thick and creamy.
• Cook chopped onions in 1 tablespoon of butter till softened.
• Add chopped parsely to mixture.
• Divide onion mixture between two ramekins
• Add 1/3 of the bacon cream mixture to it.
• Crack an egg into each ramekin, seasoning with salt & pepper.
• Spoon remainder of cream mixture between the two ramekins.
• Set ramekins in a shallow baking sheet and bake for 15minutes. 
• The original recipe called for spinach an ingredient I was out of. I also am a little funny about eggs and usually only eat omelets or frittatas. Therefore I added more of the ingredients to the eggs. Gourmet's recipe courtesy of Scott Peacock was much lighter than my version.

It is beautiful and sunny here today in Charleston, with a nice cool spring breeze. Most appropriate for an outing to a Strawberry Farm.........................

Photographie d'Edna Lewis par John T. Hill 

Le magazine Gourmet vient de publier récemment un essai écrit par la grand dame de la cuisine du sud, Edna Lewis. Cet essai, jamais publié, fut retrouvé par hasard, dans un carnet aux feuilles jaunies.  

Petite fille d’esclave de la Virginie, Edna Lewis est devenue une des cuisinières noires les plus respectées de sa génération, tout autant qu’une écrivaine culinaire éloquente.

Cet essai, intitulé “What is Southern?” capture toute la beauté du sud à travers le regard d’une femme sensible à la richesse et à l’authenticité de sa région natale, et à jamais imprégnée des fêtes qui célébraient la nourriture, des pique-niques et “des diners après la messe où l’on dressait de longues tables parées de nappes blanches.” Des haricots verts cuits dans le bouillon de porc, du poulet frit et des “biscuits”, des confits de pastèque et de “cantaloupe”, des soupes de tortues.

“Southern is an evening of turtle soup », écrit-elle. « We would find the turtle, having been washed out of the stream in a thunderstorm, crawling toward the house, so we would pick it up, keep it for a few days, then clean and cut it up.”  

A un autre moment de son essai, Edna Lewis parle de la lumière du sud: “Southern is a sun dog—something like a rainbow, or the man in the moon—on a late summer afternoon.”  J’ai depuis appris que le sun dog décrit la lumière blanche qui filtre à travers les nuages fins, tels les Cirrus, à l’horizon, lorsque le soleil est bas.  

 Edna Lewis s’est éteinte à l’âge de 89 ans, en 2006. Je ne sais pas de quand date cette photographie mais je la trouve lumineuse. Symbolique de la beauté des choses simples qu’on a su conserver. « We are now faced with picking up the pieces and trying to put them into shape, document them so the present-day young generation can see what southern food was like. The foundation on which it rested was pure ingredients, open-pollinated seed—planted and replanted for generations—natural fertilizers. We grew the seeds of what we ate, we worked with love and care.” 

I should probably give Wild Oats a call, and I welcome advice from Hoosiers. I tried O'Malia's downtown and Sunflower Market in Broad Ripple. If I can't find the white ones, should I go ahead and make the yellow ones? I already bought the shrimp.

Update: This story has a very happy ending. Chris at Goose - The Market on Delaware was able to hook me up with some white stone ground grits. They were the creamiest, smoothest grits I've ever had. A little butter and a little cream - a lot of stirring, like 1 hour and 20 minutes- and a spoonful of a buttery shrimp mixture (see recipe link above) made those grits supreme. Totally worth the trouble. Thanks Chris!

My grandparents were Arkansas farmers from Center Hill who raised supreme examples of everything – tomatoes, corn, peas and greens of all kinds, okra, watermelons, raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, peaches, and apricots, even peanuts. You get the picture. And this doesn’t even begin to describe my Mamaw’s flower garden, an acre of texture and color that might have illustrated the lushest of seed catalogues.

My grandparents' garden at Center Hill was special, but it wasn’t an uncommon sight in that part of the world. A lot of my friends had similar garden experiences when they visited their families. At the time I never thought about what it would be like not to have a family farm. I was too busy moaning as I sat on an overturned milk crate beneath the blazing sun to anyone within earshot about having to pick what seemed like enough strawberries to fill a box car (as my great-grandmother would happily pick row after row while standing bent at the waist).

I also didn't realize that my Missionary Baptist grandparents and their place were part of a budding organic movement back in the 1970s that had at least a philosophical connection to Alice Waters and her seminal Berkeley restaurant Chez Panisse, where the mantra, now more powerful than ever, was that food should be locally grown, seasonal, organic and beautiful.

On the other side of the continent in 1973, by then living in New York and calling Richard Avedon and Truman Capote long-time friends, Virginia-born Edna Lewis was writing a book I’m now reading called A Taste of Country Cooking, a memoir/ cookbook of Southern food that unconsciously extolled the virtues of, you guessed it, locally grown, seasonal, organic and beautiful food; oh, and lard.

As I read Lewis’s book I feel a nagging sense of having been cheated out of my organic food birthright. Somehow, from their outpost in White County, AR, my grandparents were swept up by the early winds of that movement--composting (God help us if we tried to throw a way a tomato peel in the presence of my grandmother), minimally invasive pest treatments, and award-winning produce to show for it. Like a Mughal prince, I was rich beyond my wildest dreams but had no idea because it was all I’d ever known.

For me, calling Lewis’s Taste a cookbook sort of misses the point, since much of my fascination with it comes from glimpsing a year in the life of a Virginia farmer’s daughter, the grand-daughter of a freed slave. Why not make the focus of a book about a day in the life from that time and place about food, since sustaining a family essentially revolved around growing it, preparing it and eating it.

Edna Lewis died last year. She left this world very well. In her later years she met a young chef from Alabama named Scott Peacock, now the beloved head chef at Atlanta's Watershed restaurant. I say young. Like me, he’s in his 40s, and since I still feel young I declare that he is, too. For her final seven years Miss Lewis, as he called her, lived with Scott in Atlanta, deepening what sounds like a profound friendship and cooking up a storm.

Together they wrote one of my favorite books, The Gift of Southern Cooking, in which wonderful things result from the intermingling of generations and the respect Miss Lewis and Scott show for people, place and the best quality seasonal ingredients. I know from experience that folks who love people and cooking that much typically also create incredibly tasty food.

I am keenly aware that I have much more in this life than I will ever deserve, but I must confess that reading about Edna Lewis and Scott Peacock’s work and life together gives me a hopeful and greedy sense that someday I will be rich again, the way I used to be.