by Maya Angelou
The stench was horrible, but Momma never allowed me to leave the spot and return to the store where there were the aromas of oranges and apples. “You have to know how to do this, Sister. All poor people need to know how to do some of everything, and a poor colored woman even more so. Don’t turn your nose up at anything except evil.”
While I bustled about helping in the stinking miasmic odor, I tried to think of the rich stew that Momma always served with crackling bread. But it was the thought of crackling bread itself that made me forget the smell of raw intestines.
Momma salted and roasted a large pan full of pork skin, which would become so crisp that it crackled. The fat rendered from the meat was stored to be used later for cooking and making soap.
She always gave a few crispy pieces of the skin to her grandbabies and to Uncle Willie, but most of the cracklings were saved for her great beef stew or until she cooked and served a large pot of collard greens. Then she’d bring out a giant pan of corn bread filled with cracklings.
The greens and stew dinner, which was always served with raw onions, pickled beets, and a jar of pepper sauce, was one of my favorite winter meals.
Although two adults and two children would share the food, Momma never reduced the size of the bread she gave us. I preferred Momma’s crackling corn bread over other peoples’ Sunday cake.
Cracklíng Corn Bread
SERVES 8
2 cups white cornmeal
¼ cup sifted all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
½ teaspoon salt
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 ½ cups plus 2 tablespoons milk
2 large eggs, beaten well
2 tablespoons (¼ stick) butter, melted
½ pound crisp cracklings, * broken into ½-inch pieces
Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease an 8 × 8 × 2-inch pan.
Mix dry ingredients; stir in milk and eggs. Pour in butter, and add cracklings. Pour mixture into pan and bake for 1 hour, or until brown and firm.
* Cracklings are called chicharones in Spanish and can be found in Latino grocery stores.
Momma’s Rich Beef Stew
SERVES 8
3 pounds chuck, cut into bite-size pieces
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
½ cup all-purpose flour
⅓ cup vegetable oil
3 cups water
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
3 bay leaves
1 teaspoon fresh chopped parsley
1 onion, cut into large pieces
2 turnips, peeled and cut into large pieces
1 rutabaga, peeled and cut into large pieces
2 white potatoes, peeled and cut into large pieces
1 parsnip, peeled and cut into large pieces
3 carrots, peeled and cut into large pieces
1 green bell pepper, cut into large pieces
Season beef with salt and pepper, then dredge in flour. Pour oil in large pot over medium heat. Add beef, and brown all sides in oil. Add water, salt and pepper, bay leaves, and parsley, and cook simmering for 1 hour.
Add vegetables. Check seasoning, and bring vegetables and meat back to boil. Cover stew, and cook on medium. When meat and vegetables are tender, take stew off heat and let rest for 15 to 20 minutes.
Serve with good Italian bread or Crackling Corn Bread (p. 27).
Collard Greens
SERVES 4
2 smoked turkey wings
3 bunches tender collards (the greens are better if they are picked after the first frost)
1 sweet onion, chopped
2 hot red peppers
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1 tablespoon sugar
In large pot, boil turkey wings in water to cover for 1 hour.
Pick and wash greens, and discard large stems. Chop leaves coarsely.
Add all ingredients to pot. Simmer for 1½ hours, adding water if needed. When greens are done, they can be served with Crackling Corn Bread (p. 27).
WE WERE MEMBERS of the CME Church and for years I thought the initials stood for Colored Methodist Episcopal Church. Then I was told that the letters described the Christian Methodist Episcopal Church. Later I discovered I had been right the first time. But in Arkansas, and possibly in all the states, there were Presiding Elders, who were the crème de la crème, and they wouldn’t have it otherwise.
The pompous Presiding Elder who served our region would arrive in town on horseback or, on the rare occasion, in a car, always with someone else driving. He would stay with other parishioners, but at every three-month visit he told Bailey and me that until our arrival he was always put up by Mother Henderson and Superintendent Johnson. (Uncle Willie was superintendent of the Sunday school.) We never knew what to say. Did he think we should get back on the train and return to parents who obviously had no place for us in their lives?
To say Bailey and I hated the Presiding Elder could not describe our bitter loathing for the puffed-up man who had no sensitivity to two wayfaring motherless and fatherless children.
He didn’t sleep at Momma’s house, but he took every meal there, and took is the correct word. Because of him, Bailey and I spent the most embarrassing hour of our lives, and to add insult to injury we became very sick.
Piss Ant, as Bailey called him, came round as usual after Sunday services. I brought him a face basin with water from the well so he could wash, but he hardly dipped his hand in the water, nor did he say thank you. I turned to go in the kitchen to help Momma, but I saw Bailey had seen Piss Ant’s behavior.
Momma sent me to the garden to pick and wash lettuce. She had made her delicious potato salad. She chipped off a corner from a block of ice and pulverized it with a hammer. She put the lettuce in a pretty dish and laid crushed ice between the leaves.
When Momma called everyone in for Sunday dinner, the table was powerful with her delectables spread from end to end. There was the most golden-brown fried chicken, string beans with little potatoes, dark green turnip leaves with snow-white turnips, pickled peaches, and a platter of her buttermilk biscuits called cat heads because of their size. But the star of that show was the potato salad. Momma had mixed all the ingredients, then mounded the salad high above the top of the bowl. She had hard-boiled four double-yolk eggs and cut them in half and pushed them down into the potato mixture; then she placed crisp cucumber circles around the inside edges of the bowl.
Each person was supposed to pick up the fork in the lettuce bowl and take one leaf up, let it drip in the bowl, then place it on the salad plate just to the left of the dinner plate. Then a spoon of potato salad would be placed on the lettuce leaf. That was how we did it, how everybody did it except for the Presiding Elder. He glanced at the chicken and immediately took the three largest pieces. Then he used his own fork to serve himself potato salad.
Bailey cleared his throat and asked, “Would you like some lettuce?” Piss Ant was so used to ignoring children that he didn’t even look at Bailey. He picked up the potato salad and fished out three of the halves of double-yolk eggs and put them on his plate beside the chicken. Then he completed filling his plate with the salad.
His mouth was so stuffed we could hardly understand him. “Save me some greens, sure have a soft spot for greens.”
Bailey’s face was a mask of angry disgust, and I knew he was going to do something. Just what, I wasn’t sure. When Momma looked at her grandson, she also had a premonition.
Bailey hesitated only a second. Using the lettuce fork, he speared every leaf in the bowl, held it up to drip, and then put the whole thing on his plate.
Momma reared back and pursed her lips. She didn’t speak. She turned and started to prepare Uncle Willie’s plate. Bailey looked at me. I wanted to laugh but didn’t dare, but I was pleased that he had the nerve to get that Presiding Elder good. I did give Bailey a little nod and he nodded back. Then he took the whole stack of lettuce and started to put
it back into its receptacle. Momma said, “No, sir, little master, you will eat every bit of that lettuce before you get up from this table.”
Momma didn’t like the Presiding Elder either, but she was a stickler for the way to do things and the ways they shouldn’t be done.
Bailey sat back in his chair and surveyed the situation. Then he pulled up to the table, and taking one forefinger he flicked one of the leaves into his lap, slid it over to me, and got one more himself. He showed me how to roll the leaf like a cigarette and munch it.
We ate the entire bowl of lettuce—and only the lettuce—for Sunday dinner. After the Presiding Elder left, Momma and Uncle Willie sat on the porch laughing. They would not admit to us that they had been laughing at Bailey, but Momma called us outside.
“Now, young missy and young master, I know your stomachs are upset. I’ve seen how many times you went out to the little outhouse. You didn’t have to make yourselves sick. I have told you never be concerned at how much others may have. I always keep something in the kitchen for Grandma and the children.”
That evening she gave us chicken from the oven and potato salad from the icebox.
Cold Potato Salad
SERVES 6 TO 8
6 cups peeled, diced, cooked potatoes
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 cup finely diced celery
1 cup chopped dill pickles
1 cup sweet relish, drained
8 large hard-boiled eggs, 4 chopped, 4 whole
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1½ cups mayonnaise
Fresh parsley, chopped
Combine potatoes, onion, celery, pickles, relish, and chopped eggs. Season with salt and pepper, and add mayonnaise. Chill for several hours. Just before serving, halve the remaining 4 eggs, and place on salad as decoration. Dust salad with parsley, and serve at once.
Fríed Chicken
SERVES 4
One 2-pound chicken
1 cup lemon juice
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 cups Crisco oil
Wash and pat dry chicken. Cut into pieces, place in a container, and add lemon juice. Put in refrigerator, covered, for 1 hour. Rinse, dry, and season with salt and pepper. Dredge chicken in flour.
In a large pot, heat oil. Add chicken pieces, and cover. Fry on high heat until brown on both sides.
Reduce heat to low-medium, cover, and cook for 30 minutes.
Remove from heat, and drain on paper towels. Serve hot.
Snow- Whíte Turníps
SERVES 4
8 small turnips, peeled
6 whole cloves
⅛ teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons (¼ stick) butter
Place turnips, cloves, and salt in a heavy saucepan. Cover with water. Boil until turnips are tender, about 20 to 30 minutes. Remove from stove, drain, and discard cloves. Add sugar, and stir until sugar dissolves. Add butter, and stir to melt. Serve at once.
Mustard and Turníp Greens
wíth Smoked Turkey Wíngs
SERVES 6
2 smoked turkey wings
3 pounds mustard greens
1 pound young, tender turnip greens
½ teaspoon sugar
Salt, to taste
Place turkey wings in large pot, and cover with water. Boil until nearly tender, about 45 minutes to an hour.
Wash and drain greens. Put in pot with cooked meat. Add sugar and season with salt. Add enough water to cover, and simmer until tender.
Drain and reserve liquid, which is called pot liquor and will be very good the next day with corn bread. Remove meat from bones, chop, and add to greens. Serve at once.
Píckled Peaches
SERVES 6
6 medium nearly ripe peaches, peeled and pitted
¾ cup sugar
⅛ teaspoon salt
½ cup cider vinegar
1 cup orange juice
1 tablespoon whole cloves
2 cinnamon sticks
Put peaches in large pot, add sugar, salt, vinegar, juice, cloves, and cinnamon sticks, and cover with water. Boil for 30 minutes. Take off stove, and let cool. Put in refrigerator in its own liquid. Discard cinnamon and cloves. Serve cold.
Buttermílk Biscuíts
MAKES 2 DOZEN BISCUITS
4 cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
6 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup lard
2 cups buttermilk
All-purpose flour
Preheat oven to 375°F.
Sift flour with salt, baking powder, and baking soda. Cut in lard until mixture resembles coarse cornmeal. Add buttermilk, and stir until dough leaves side of bowl.
Turn dough out onto a lightly floured board, and knead until smooth. Roll out to ½ inch thickness, and cut into 2-inch rounds. If there is no biscuit cutter at hand, use a water glass. (Turn glass upside down, dust rim in flour, and cut biscuits.)
Bake on ungreased cookie sheet for 20 to 25 minutes, or until biscuits are golden brown.
IN STAMPS, WOMEN PRESERVED everything that would submit to the process. After the first frost, when men killed the hogs and cows selected for slaughter, Momma, with the aid of the missionary ladies of the Christian Methodist Episcopal Church, would prepare the meat for sausage. I enjoyed watching them. They would grind the raw pork, then squeeze their arms elbow deep in the ground meat, mixing it with gray nose-opening sage, pepper and salt, and red pepper. They often fried tasty little samples for all obedient children who brought wood for the slick black stove. The men chopped off the larger pieces of pork and laid them in the smokehouse to begin the curing process. They opened the knuckle of the hams with their deadly-looking knives, took out a certain round, harmless-looking bone (“It could make the meat too bad”), and rubbed coarse brown salt that looked like fine gravel into the flesh, and watched as the blood popped to the surface.
Throughout the year, until the next frost, we took our meals from the smokehouse, the chicken coop, the shelves of canned goods, and the little garden that lay cousin-close to the store. There were choices on the shelves that could set a hungry child’s mouth to watering. Green beans, snapped always the right length; collards; cabbage; juicy, sweet red tomato preserves that came into their own on steaming buttered biscuits; and sausage, beets, berries, and every fruit grown in Arkansas.
But at least twice yearly Momma would feel that her grandbabies needed fresh meat in their diets. We were then given money—pennies, nickels, and dimes entrusted to Bailey—and sent to the butcher to buy liver. The butcher shop was in the white part of town.
Crossing our area of Stamps, which in childhood’s narrow measure seemed a whole world, obliged us by custom to stop and speak to every black person we met. Bailey also felt constrained to spend a few minutes playing with each friend. There I felt a special joy in going through the black area with time on our hands and money in our pockets. (Bailey’s pockets were as good as my own.) But the pleasure fled when we reached the white part of town. Suddenly we were explorers walking without weapons into man-eating animals’ territory.
We never turned to look at the houses we passed, nor did we really speak to each other once we were in enemy territory. We solemnly moved forward to our goal.
At the butcher shop we were lucky if no one came in. All whites were served before us, even if the butcher was half into our order. He would put our meat on the side and serve the white customer. In fact, a black maid or cook would be served before us, because her order was intended for white people. Bailey and I would stand around, never looking at each other, until there were no more calls on the butcher’s time. Then we would get the liver Momma wanted to cook for our health and make our way back across the white zone I considered the frozen tundra, again wending through the black residential area where every house seemed to
sing “Welcome” and on to the store and Momma and the hot skillet. The aromas of fried bacon and onions told us that all of them—the skillet, the stove, and Momma—had been waiting for the liver.
The liver dinner marked the only time when my grandmother and Uncle Willie let us have the best parts of the meat. They both chose small portions.
Momma said, “You are all growing. Liver is good for your bones and your blood. So go on, eat it. You’ll be better for it.”
Twenty years had to pass before I could honestly say I loved liver well prepared. Bailey never came to accept it. But we chewed it and swallowed it, and it helped us to grow and maybe it did make us better human beings.