by Edward Lee
Charlie Wiggins built his own prosthetic leg out of wood and continued to build and repair cars, but he would never race again. He became a champion of African American race-car drivers long before Willy T. Ribbs became the first official African American driver to compete in the Indy 500, in 1991. Charlie Wiggins died in Indianapolis in 1979 at the age of eighty-two.
“They gonna try and bring back the Gold and Glory Sweepstakes, just one time, to celebrate the history,” my lunch companion tells me. “Right here in Indy.”
If they do, I’ll be there.
I jump in my car and tear down the highway to get to Brownstown. I cross the Muscatatuck River and turn onto the back roads to take a shortcut. I get there just in time to meet some of the racers before the qualifiers. I’m excited to talk to Justin Shaw, one of the most talented young drivers in the sport. He drives the number-two car, a late-model Chevrolet with a 604 crate engine that boasts 400 horsepower. On a quarter-mile track, he can hit top speeds of eighty miles per hour. When these cars hit the turn at those speeds on a dirt track, they pretty much slide out through the entire turn.
“It looks like we’re drifting, but we are really in control and steering the car back to straight,” Justin tells me.
Justin works by day and races on the weekends. Most of the racers here do the same. Justin is the grandson of the legendary mechanic and driver C. J. Rayburn, who is credited with inventing the modern dirt race-car chassis. Justin grew up in a mechanic shop in Whiteland, Indiana, immersed in and surrounded by racing cars. Even star stock-car racer Tony Stewart came around the house when Justin was a kid.
There was never a question of if Justin was going to race, only a matter of when. He started racing at sixteen. He has a winning record, and there are some high expectations, but he takes it all in stride. He is poised and quietly confident. He shows me the detail work that goes into making a car like this. It is a work of beauty. His car is painted black with pink trim because his daughter likes those colors.
Justin politely tells me he has to go. The races are about to start. I scamper back to the bleachers and find a seat next to group of men from Kentucky. Bobby is a racing enthusiast, and he’s got the racing gear and the cooler full of beer to prove it. He offers me a Miller Lite. The green light goes off, and the cars roar down the dirt track. Bobby tells me to watch how the tires spin out. He shows me how the outside car tries to sneak up on the lead car. There are no rearview mirrors on the cars, and the drivers can’t turn their heads too much, so they can see only as far back as their right shoulder.
The engines seem to be moaning in anger. The vibrations go right down my spine. I sit back and unzip my backpack. The qualifying races are short and thrilling. I take out my pastrami sandwich. My Dr. Brown’s Black Cherry soda is still cold. I offer Bobby half my pastrami sandwich in exchange for another beer. He gladly accepts the barter.
“Damn, that’s a good sandwich,” he yells to me through the engine roars.
“It’s from Shapiro’s, in Indy,” I yell back.
“I heard ’bout that place. Never been, though.”
“They been making pastrami for four generations. It’s a family business.”
“Family’s everything, man.”
We spend the rest of the evening occasionally yelling at each other about food and cars. It is dark by the time the races are over. Everyone is packing up their empty beer cans and heading to the parking lot. My eardrums are ringing, and there is a powdery layer of silt attached to my cheeks. Below each floodlight is a hive of bugs in frenzied flight. June bugs are making lazy patterns through the crowd. The katydids are singing loudly, happy not to compete with the scream of engines. Justin qualified, but he didn’t win the final race. He was gracious in defeat, though. He has to be; he is racing royalty here.
“He’ll get another chance,” Bobby tells me before he heads off. “Boy’s got racing in his blood.”
Beef Tongue Pastrami
Don’t be alarmed by the thought of eating tongue. It is a delicacy that has been eaten by many cultures throughout history. It is a decadent piece of meat that is easy to cook and meltingly tender. To start, you need to find a good butcher who can source whole fresh, not frozen, beef tongue. After that, the tongue needs an entire week to brine. This is a large cut of meat, so I offer you two different recipes to make with it—a simple sandwich and a composed first course. You can also slice the tongue thin and make tongue tacos (which are popular in Mexico) or cube some tongue and add it to a stir-fry. Once the tongue is brined and cooked, it can be frozen for up to a month.
Makes about 3½ pounds sliced beef tongue
brine
1½ pounds (2¼ cups) kosher salt
¾ pound (1½ cups) brown sugar
1½ tablespoons whole black peppercorns
1 tablespoon red pepper flakes
5 garlic cloves
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon juniper berries
1 gallon water
1 whole beef tongue (4 to 5 pounds)
braise
8 cups chicken stock
1 cup white wine
½ cup chopped onion
2 celery stalks, coarsely chopped
1 carrot, coarsely chopped
2 garlic cloves
2 bay leaves
spice rub
2 tablespoons ground coriander
2 tablespoons freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon smoked hot paprika
To make the brine: In a large pot, combine the salt, brown sugar, peppercorns, red pepper flakes, garlic, bay leaves, juniper berries, and water. Bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve the salt and sugar. Let cool, then refrigerate until cold, about 3 hours.
Pour the brine into a nonreactive container large enough to hold the tongue and submerge the tongue in the brine. You will need a plate or other weight to keep the tongue submerged. Refrigerate for 5 days; check on the tongue every day to make sure there is no mold growing on the top of the liquid. There is no need to turn it.
To braise the tongue: Preheat the oven to 300°F.
Remove the tongue from the brine and rinse it under cold water, removing any peppercorns or other remaining seasoning; discard the brine. Put the tongue in a roasting pan and add the chicken stock, white wine, onion, celery, carrot, garlic, and bay leaves. Cover with aluminum foil and braise in the oven for 3 hours, or until the tongue is tender and easily pierced with a fork. Let cool in the braising liquid for 1 hour at room temperature.
Meanwhile, to make the spice rub: In a small bowl, combine the coriander, black pepper, and smoked paprika.
The skin of the tongue must be peeled before serving. It is best to do this while the tongue is still warm. Remove it from the braising liquid and transfer it to a cutting board. Peel off and discard the tough outer layer of skin. Trim any remaining fat or gristle off the base of the tongue. Return the tongue to the braising liquid and let cool completely in the fridge.
Remove the tongue from the braising liquid and transfer to a platter. Keep the braising liquid for another use (it makes a great base for a hearty soup). Pat dry with paper towels. Rub the spice rub all over the tongue, coating it thoroughly.
Wrap in plastic wrap and transfer to the fridge. Keep it like this for at least 1 day. The pastrami is now ready to use. It can be sliced thin or thick. The pastrami will keep in the refrigerator for at least a week.
Beef Tongue Sandwich on Everything-Spice Sally Lunn Bread
Sally Lunn is an easy-to-make brioche-like bread that was originally from England but became popular throughout the American South in colonial times. Light and yeasty, it makes perfect sandwich bread. Traditionally it is baked in loaf pans, but for this recipe, I form the dough into baguette-shaped rolls that can be stuffed with the beef tongue, then sliced into bite-size portions for a delicious appetizer. The “everything spice
”—a traditional topping for New York City bagels—is an homage to Jewish delis everywhere.
Serves 6
bread
¾ teaspoon active dry yeast
¼ cup warm water (about 112°F)
½ cup whole milk
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled to tepid
2 large eggs
3 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon kosher salt
everything spice
1½ teaspoons sesame seeds
1½ teaspoons poppy seeds
1½ teaspoons fennel seeds
¾ teaspoon dried onion flakes
¾ teaspoon dried garlic flakes
½ teaspoon kosher salt
2 tablespoons finely chopped scallions
3 tablespoons prepared horseradish
1 cup mayonnaise, preferably Duke’s
1½pounds Beef Tongue Pastrami, thinly sliced
To make the dough: In a small bowl, combine the yeast and warm water and let stand for 10 minutes, or until foamy.
Add the milk and melted butter to the yeast mixture, stirring to combine. Whisk in the eggs until thoroughly combined.
Sift the flour into a large bowl, then stir in the sugar and salt. Add the yeast mixture and stir until a wet dough forms. Transfer the dough to a clean, oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let rise in a warm spot for 1 hour, until doubled.
Transfer the dough to a lightly floured work surface. Cut the dough in half and transfer to a baking sheet dusted with flour. Shape each piece into a baguette-shaped loaf, about 2 inches wide by 7 inches long, leaving space between the loaves. Let the dough rise again in a warm spot for 45 minutes. It will almost double in size.
To make the everything spice: While the dough rises, in a small bowl, combine the sesame seeds, poppy seeds, fennel seeds, onion flakes, garlic flakes, and salt. Set aside.
Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 325°F.
Brush the tops of the risen loaves with a little water, then sprinkle the everything spice evenly over the tops of the loaves.
Bake the loaves for 15 to 18 minutes, until lightly browned with a crusty outer layer. Increase the oven temperature to 375°F and bake for another 4 to 5 minutes, until the crust is golden. Remove the bread from the oven and let cool for about 15 minutes.
In a small bowl, combine the scallions, horseradish, and mayonnaise, mixing with a fork.
Slice open the warm loaves and slather the horseradish mayonnaise on both cut sides. Stuff the loaves with the beef tongue and close the sandwiches. Cut crosswise into 1-inch-wide slices and serve immediately.
Beef Tongue on Johnnycakes with Thousand Island Dressing
Unlike the tongue sandwiches, for this more elegant first course, it is important not to slice the tongue too thin; about ½ inch thick is ideal. The slices of tongue are seared on both sides in a hot pan until caramelized on the outside but still very tender on the inside. Johnnycake is a variation of cornbread, somewhere between a flatbread and a pancake, that is popular in the American South. The tangy Thousand Island dressing pairs beautifully with the rich meat. Use any extra dressing for potato salads and chicken salads and as a fun dip for French fries, too.
Serves 6 as a first course
dressing
1 cup mayonnaise, preferably Duke’s
1 tablespoon ketchup
1 tablespoon gochujang (Korean chile paste)
1 tablespoon grated onion
1 tablespoon chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 tablespoon minced dill pickle, plus 1 tablespoon pickle juice from the jar
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon grated fresh horseradish
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
johnnycakes
1¼ cups cornmeal
¼ cup all-purpose flour
1½ tablespoons ground caraway
½ teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1¼ cups buttermilk
1 large egg
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled to tepid
Vegetable oil, for cooking
12 ounces Beef Tongue Pastrami, cut into ½-inch-thick slices
Chopped fresh parsley or chives, for garnish
To make the dressing: In a medium bowl, combine the mayonnaise, ketchup, gochujang, onion, parsley, pickle and pickle juice, lemon juice, sugar, horseradish, Worcestershire sauce, cayenne pepper, and a pinch each of salt and black pepper. Whisk until well blended, then cover and refrigerate until ready to use.
To make the johnnycakes: In a medium bowl, combine the cornmeal, flour, caraway, baking powder, baking soda, and salt and whisk together with a fork.
In another medium bowl, combine the buttermilk, egg, and melted butter and whisk until smooth. Add to the dry ingredients and whisk together until a batter forms.
Heat a large skillet over medium heat and add about 1 tablespoon oil to the pan. Spoon about 2 tablespoons of the batter into the skillet for each johnnycake, leaving space between them. Cook as many as can fit in your skillet at one time. Cook for 3 minutes, until golden and crisp on the bottom. Flip and cook on the other side for 1 minute, until browned. Transfer to a paper towel–lined ovenproof plate and keep warm in a 180°F oven while you make the rest of the johnnycakes. If you have extra cakes, let them cool to room temperature and freeze them for a later date.
Heat a large sauté pan over medium heat and add about 1 tablespoon oil to it. Add the tongue slices and sear on both sides for 2 minutes, or until caramelized and warm in the middle.
Place a johnnycake on each plate and arrange a slice of tongue on top. Spoon a little dressing over the tongue. Garnish with chopped parsley and eat right away.
Chapter 16
A Tale of Two Cornbreads
In West Louisville, there is a soul food restaurant called Hosanna’s Kitchen, run by Janice. Hosanna’s is a small, white, one-story house that does not look at all like a restaurant. Until recently, there was no sign. Janice recounts the story to me one afternoon while I’m eating her fried chicken. The sign was a gift from a bus driver whose route stopped in front of her restaurant. He had been driving this same route for years and never knew that the little white house was a restaurant. One afternoon, a passenger got on the bus with a bagful of food, and the bus driver asked him where all those good aromas were coming from. When the passenger pointed to the white house, the bus driver parked the bus and took a look inside. Janice sent him back to work with pork chops and spaghetti. He was so thankful that he asked his wife, who worked at a sign company, to make up a sign for the building. He put the sign up on a day when the restaurant was closed, to surprise Janice. I ask Janice how a bus driver wouldn’t know about her restaurant after all these years.
“Well,” she says, “I guess ’cause he’s white.”
Hosanna’s Kitchen serves some of the best soul food in Louisville. Actually, Hosanna’s Kitchen serves some of the best food in Louisville, period. Yet it is a restaurant that very few people who live outside the West Louisville community have been to. I hate that some restaurants are categorized by race or class. The prices at Hosanna’s are below ten dollars for every item on the menu, so that makes it an affordable restaurant. But there is nothing in the plates of food Janice serves that is cheap or poor. Her food is thick with gravy, rich with love, and bountiful with flavor. A meal here can show you that a wealth of flavors can come from the humblest of restaurants.
I ask Janice who “Hosanna” is. She tells me she has no idea. The name just sounded good when she opened th
e restaurant. Janice is the kind of person who “dances by her own rules,” as she likes to say. She likes whom she likes, and she refuses to serve anyone she doesn’t. She didn’t like me at first. She thought I was suspicious. I asked too many questions. It was only after I visited with a mutual friend who was able to vouch for me that she warmed up to me. That was years ago. Nowadays, Janice always has time to come out from the kitchen to talk with me.
Inside her restaurant are two tables, an old TV in one corner, and a Magic Marker board with messages from people who’ve stopped by over the years. Next to the order window is a wall covered in business cards—everything from taxi companies to DJ services to tax help. Hosanna’s is more than a restaurant; it is where a community connects, whether to watch TV or talk politics or catch up with the neighborhood gossip. Over the course of a lazy lunch, I see people come in and ask how this person is doing, if that person’s mamma is still in the hospital. Who needs Facebook when you have Hosanna’s?
Janice has lived in Louisville her entire life. She started cooking as a child, helping her mother make dinner. Her father was a career waiter and her mother a domestic, so the world of food was always at the periphery. When I ask her how she learned to cook, she says she can’t recall. It was just something she picked up along the way, she tells me. Her mother and older sister were, in fact, better cooks. After her mother passed away, Janice found out from a relative that, as a young woman, her mother had dreamed of owning her own restaurant.
At twenty-four, Janice started selling food out of her home: fried chicken, fried fish, pork neck and sauerkraut, and sides of sweet potato, collards, and creamed peas. People liked her cooking, and business was good. Then, one day, someone tipped off the Health Department, and they shut her down. She’s pretty sure she knows who it was, but she doesn’t want to stir up trouble. She isn’t angry. She grins slightly, like a woman who has seen a lot in her life. Now sixty-seven, she runs her business with her daughter, Antoinette, who is in her late twenties. She is large and feisty and proudly wears blond curls on her head.