My thought at the beginning of the new year was to move on from the plains of Alabama, but not so fast. There is more to my story that originated in Alabama…my being able to cook. Someone asked me a couple of years ago if I could cook. My first reaction was to be insulted. I just answered, “Yes” and left it at that.

With my mother being the “Help” and more than likely tired of cooking when she got home; as the oldest, I became the designated cook…if you want to call a pot of Pinto Beans cooking. I was nine years old when my mother had me stand on a chair (now looking into the pot) to cook the beans while she was at work.

We didn’t have measuring spoons…just the regular utensils used for eating. Fortunately, there were tablespoons and teaspoons. The beans were soaked overnight, pretty much as you would do today, except I was told to add (two tablespoons of lard, two teaspoons of sugar, and 1 teaspoon of salt) and stir the beans to keep them from burning. Needless to say, I was up and down on the chair checking the beans and stirring. Burning them would mean a scolding and possibly ‘the switch’. Pinto Beans led to Butter Beans, Black Eye Peas…never any meat to speak of, except for Neck Bones and they were cooked in the same pot. There was an occasional meal with chicken. I don’t know to this day how my mother cut a chicken to feed eight people. I think most times she ended up eating the back portion.

Summer was special because farmers would come through selling fresh produce…almost always at ten cents a pound. A dollar meant good eating, If you had two dollars…Jackpot!!! Purple Peas, Okra, Pole Beans, Fresh Corn, Squash, Tomatoes and Watermelon…one cut to eat and one rolled under the bed for later. This is how we ate…meaning we were vegetarians (except for the occasional chicken) and didn’t know it; nor did we know beans were a very good source of protein. We were all very thin…quite thin. Unfortunately, we didn’t always have this to eat. Many days there was no food to eat. Having no food to eat almost cost my youngest brother two fingers and his right eye.

It was during the time we lived in the “Shot Gun” house…a Saturday morning. My mother was at work (she worked six days a week for a paltry sum of money). My stepfather was out early and gone who knows where. There we were the six of us…the youngest eighteen months old… left with no food to eat. There was sugar in the house and I had watched my mother make what she called a “Hoe Cake”…something like flat bread cooked in a cast iron skillet. We were all hungry and the baby didn’t have milk. I had also watched my mother reduce sugar (caramelizing), adding a little water to make syrup. I never should have tried it, but I did.

In the process of making the syrup, the baby was reaching for my dress tail to be picked up. (I had babysit him since he was nine weeks old). At that very moment, I was picking up the hot skillet without a very thin cloth burning my hand. What happened next was an accident gone very wrong. I dropped the hot sugar syrup on my younger brother. It splattered on his forehead (just above his right eye) and on the two middle fingers of his right hand. He literally went into convulsions..,screaming. In a panic…my heart beating out of my chest, I picked up my brother and ran with him continuing to scream to the neighbor (a ways up the road) that was always kind to us. I told her what happened. She called my mother’s employer and they brought her home. Needless to say, I cowered in the corner waiting for ‘the switch’ I just knew was coming. (Yet you are he who took me from the womb; you made me trust you at my mother’s breasts. On you was I cast from my birth, and from my mother’s womb you have been my God. Be not far from me, for trouble is near, and there is none to help.) Psalm 22:9-11 ESV. I don’t know if the neighbor said something to my mother, but she didn’t scold me nor did I get ‘the switch’. The burn was very bad (the thought of going to a doctor was out of the question) and it took a long time (with home remedies) to heal…leaving scars I am often reminded of to this day. That was the end of my making syrup from caramelized sugar…but not the end of of my cooking. I was still the designated cook.

The migration “up north” exposed me to different ethnicities as well as different foods. I was introduced to food I had never heard of at all…gone was the standard southern fare. I also had access to magazines, the newspaper and recipes. It was this exposure that changed my way of cooking…no more lard. Along with other books I began to read cookbooks…so fascinating. The fascination was the many different herbs (I never heard of) and combination of herbs to make for great tasting food I learned to cook and enjoy. In time, with my early days of cooking, my fascination for cookbooks and published recipes, I became what most would often say…”an excellent cook” and being asked to dinner was never declined. My baking skill developed over time, and that too from reading and trying different recipes along with questions to others who were good at it.

The introductory picture is a sourdough boule I recently baked. My first introduction to sourdough was in the mid-late 70’s with a loaf of “Amish Friendship” bread and a cup of sourdough starter along with it. I didn’t know what to do with the starter and found it rather daunting….in time it spoiled. I think it was due more to my work schedule and not having time to devote to it. Sourdough takes time and patience. I didn’t attempt sourdough again until the year of COVID…nothing but time. Here again, I read many different recipes and asked questions. It took a while (trial and error) before I was completely satisfied (as shown above). I think I have conquered my fear of sourdough and it has become a staple on the dinner table.

I have been cooking for many years…a LONG time. I can’t say I enjoy it now as much as I once did. When you have cooked for so long, just like anything else, it gets old. However, I’ve had the pleasure of entertaining many friends, relatives and pastors around the dinner table with a home cooked meal…and… I always have enough in the larder to make a meal. (Go, eat your bread with joy, and drink your wine with a merry heart, for God has already approved what you do.). Ecclesiastes 9:7 ESV

Vivian