by Jan Karon
“Do, too!”
“Prove it!”
“I shall. I’m serving you dinner tonight, Puny made chicken and dumplings.”
“Chicken and dumplings!” she crowed.
“With fresh lima beans.”
“I’m your slave!”
“I’ll remember that,” he said.
A Common Life, Ch. 4
IN HER HOME a half mile from town, Puny Guthrie crumbled two dozen strips of crisp, center-cut bacon into the potato salad and gave it one last, heaving stir. Everybody would be plenty hungry by six or six-thirty, and she’d made enough to feed a corn shuckin’, as her granpaw used to say. She had decided to leave out the onions, since it was a wedding reception and very dressy. She’d never thought dressing up and eating onions were compatible; onions were for picnics and eating at home in the privacy of your own family.
Because Cynthia and the father didn’t want people to turn out for the reception and go home hungry, finger foods were banned. They wanted to give everybody a decent supper, even if they would have to eat it sitting on folding chairs from Sunday school. What with the father’s ham, Miss Louella’s yeast rolls, Miss Olivia’s raw vegetables and dip, her potato salad, and Esther Bolick’s three-layer orange marmalade, she didn’t think they’d have any complaints. Plus, there would be ten gallons of tea, not to mention decaf, and sherry if anybody wanted any, but she couldn’t imagine why anybody would. She’d once taken a sip from the father’s decanter, and thought it tasted exactly like aluminum foil, though she’d never personally tasted aluminum foil except when it got stuck to a baked potato.
A Common Life, Ch. 8
“MIZ KAVANAGH, IS it all right t’ give Timothy some of this candy fruit?”
“Two cherries!” he said, extending both hands. Why did Peggy have to ask his mother everything? If it was up to Peggy, he could have almost anything he wanted.
“Please,” he remembered to say.
“Very well,” said his mother, “but only two.”
He also wanted raisins and a Brazil nut, but he would ask later. He liked a lot of things that went into the fruitcake his mother and Peggy made every year, but he didn’t like them in the cake, he liked them out of the cake.
Coffee perked on the electric range, a lid rattled on a boiling pot, he smelled cinnamon and vanilla….
At the kitchen table, his mother wrote thoughtfully on a sheet of blue paper. “There’ll be the Andersons, of course,” she said to Peggy, “and the Adamses.”
“What about th’ Judge?”
“The Judge goes without saying. We always have the Judge.”
“An’ Rev’ren’ Simon.”
“Yes, I think his influence is good for Timothy.”
“Ain’t you havin’ th’ Nelsons?”
“Oh, yes, and the Nelsons. Definitely!”
“Them Nelson boys’ll be slidin’ down yo’ banister an’ crawlin’ up yo’ curtains,” Peggy muttered.
He dreaded the Nelson boys; when they came, it was always two against one.
“Can Tommy come?” His father had never allowed Tommy to come in the house, but since this would be Christmas…
“No, dear. I’m sorry. Perhaps another time.”
His mother furrowed her brow and looked at the rain lashing the windows. Peggy stirred batter in a bowl, shaking her head.
“What shall we serve, Peggy? Certainly, we want your wonderful yeast rolls!”
“Yes, ma’am, an’ Mr. Kavanagh will want his ambrosia and oyster pie.”
His mother smiled, her face alight. “Always!”
“An’ yo’ famous bûche de Noël!” said Peggy. “That always get a big hand clap.”
“What is boose noel?” he asked, sitting on the floor with his wooden truck.
“Buoosh,” said Peggy. “Bu like bu-reau. Buoosh.”
“Boosh.”
“No, honey.” Peggy bent down and stuck her face close to his. He liked Peggy’s skin, it was exactly the color of gingerbread. “Look here at my lips…bu…”
“Bu…”
“Now…law, how I goin’ t’ say this? Say shhhh, like a baby’s sleepin’.”
“Shhhh.”
“That’s right! Now, bu-shhh.”
“Bu…shhh.”
“Run it all together, now. Bu shhh.”
“Bu shhh!”
“Ain’t that good, Miz Kavanagh?”
“Very good!”
Peggy stood up and began to stir again. “Listen now, honey lamb, learn t’ say th’ whole thing—bûche de Noël.”
“Bûche de Noël!”
“He be talkin’ French, Miz Kavanagh!”
He was thrilled with their happiness; with no trouble at all, he’d gotten raisins and a Brazil nut for talking French.
“What does it mean, Mama?”
“Log of Christmas. Christmas log. A few days before Christmas, you may help us put the icing on. It’s a very special job.”
“Icin’ on a log?”
“A log made from cake. We had it last year, but you probably don’t remember—you were little then.” His mother smiled at him; he saw lights dancing in her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am, and now I’m big.”
“You ain’t big,” crowed Peggy, “you my baby!”
He hated it when Peggy said that.
Shepherds Abiding, Ch. 4
ALOUD, HE COUNTED heads for dinner on Christmas Day.
“Dooley, Sammy, Lon Burtie, Poo, Jessie, Harley, Hélène, Louella, Scott Murphy, the two Kavanaghs…eleven!” Who else?
“Lord, we have room for one more!”
Oysters…
But how many? Chances are, his favorite thing on the menu wouldn’t be so popular with this assembly.
Two pints, he wrote.
Heavy cream
10-lb ham, bone in
…He would bake the ham; Cynthia would trot out her unbeatable oyster pie, a vast bowl of ambrosia, and a sweet potato casserole; Hélène would bring the haricots verts, and Harley had promised a pan of his famous fudge brownies. What’s more, Puny was baking a cheese-cake and making cranberry relish; Louella was contributing yeast rolls from the Hope House kitchen; and rumor suggested that Esther Bolick was dropping off a two-layer orange marmalade…
…altogether a veritable minefield for the family diabetic, but he’d gotten handy at negotiating minefields.
Shepherds Abiding, Ch. 7
STEAK, OVEN FRIES, and arugula dressed with a hint of orange and walnuts. He had checked his sugar, and not only would he have some of everything, he would also have a hot roll. What’s more, he would butter it, hallelujah.
As the steak platter passed from Lace to Dooley, he felt Dooley’s mood brighten. His own spirits brightened, as well.
“Man!” said Dooley, forking the steak he’d earlier chosen as it came from the butcher’s paper.
Cynthia passed the potatoes, arrayed on a blue and white platter. “I’ve slaved over these fries,” she confessed, “and I think, I hope, I pray I got it.”
“I think you got it,” said Dooley, hammering down on the fries.
“Crispier on the outside?” asked Cynthia.
“Yep.”
“Softer on the inside? More golden in color?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Dooley Barlowe! I can’t believe you called me ma’am.”
Lace laughed. “That’s really good.”
“I know I’m a Yankee, and such things aren’t supposed to matter, but would you continue to call me ma’am? I love the sound of it.”
Dooley laughed the cackling laugh that Father Tim loved to hear.
“How did you do it?” Lace asked the cook.
“Bottom line, it’s the pan. I’ve been using a lightweight pan, which caused the fries to look very pale and boring. So Avis suggested I use a heavy pan, and there you have it—the heavier pan conducts heat more evenly, and gives this lovely golden crust into the bargain.”
“Well done!” exclaimed Father Tim.
Light from Heaven, Ch. 4
GOOD FRIDAY WAS a fast day, and though Cynthia later vowed she’d asked for something “very simple,” Lily-who-cooks-for-parties had done herself proud.
Cheese grits, bacon, fried apples, scrambled eggs, drop biscuits, and cream gravy sat in bowls and platters on the pine table. She had also fried up half the sausage she’d toted as a gift from the sausage-making operation, and set out two jars of jam from the farm coffers.
His wife trotted in from the laundry room and gasped. “Is this a dream?”
“Hallelujah and three amens!” said the vicar. He’d better call the Mitford Hospital and reserve a room.
Light from Heaven, Ch. 9
THE CONTRIBUTIONS OF early arrivals had been placed on the rose-colored cloth.
In the center of the table, Miss Martha’s German chocolate cake was displayed on a footed stand next to Lily’s three-layer triumph. Also present were Lloyd’s foil-covered baked beans, Cynthia’s potato salad made from Puny’s recipe, Father Tim’s scandal to the Baptists—a baked ham with bourbon sauce, Agnes’s macaroni and cheese, and Granny’s stuffed eggs.
“Granny,” said the vicar, “how are stuffed eggs different from deviled?”
“Th’ diff’rence is, I don’t call ’em deviled,” Granny declared. “They’s enough devilment in this world.”
“Amen!” he said.
At the far end of the folding table, the vicar’s surprise gift stood tall and gleaming, perking into the air an aroma fondly cherished in church halls everywhere.
“French roast,” he told Lloyd, tapping the percolator. “Freshly ground. Full bore.”
“Hallelujah!” said Lloyd, who didn’t think much of church coffee, generally speaking.
Sammy had cut an armload of budding branches from the surrounding woods, and delivered them to Cynthia for a table arrangement. Removing himself from the fray, the vicar trooped into the churchyard to greet new arrivals and contemplate the view with Granny. A chill wind had followed the long rain; the ocean of mountains shone clear, bright, and greening.
“Robert! Good morning to you!”
Robert wiped his right hand on his pant leg before shaking.
“Thank y’ f’r th’ eggs, I didn’ bring nothin’ f’r th’ dinner.”
“No need, we have plenty. Can you sing, Robert?”
“Ain’t never tried.”
“Try today! We’ve got to crank up the singing around here, to help keep us warm. Just get in behind me and go for it. I’m not much to listen to, but I can keep us on key at any rate.
“Sparkle! You’re the very breath of spring.”
“Yeller, blue, green, purple, an’ pink, topped off by a fleece jacket! If anybody’s havin’ a tacky party today, I want to be th’ winner!”
“Where’s Wayne?”
“Down on his back, rollin’ around under a piece of junk he calls a car.”
“Tell him to get up here, we need his fine baritone.”
“If Wayne Foster ever shows ’is face up here ag’in, I’ll drop over. He didn’t know doodley-squat about what was goin’ on last Sunday. He thought your kneelers was somethin’ to prop his feet up on.”
“A good many Episcopalians think the same! What is that heavenly aroma?”
Sparkle held forth her foil-covered contribution “Meat loaf!” she declared. “My mama’s recipe. You will flat out die when you taste it.”
“A terrible price to pay, but count me in.”
Light from Heaven, Ch. 12
The Quintessential Mitford Menu: Digging In
* * *
The Quintessential Mitford Menu
LOUELLA’S FRIED CHICKEN
PUNY’S POTATO SALAD
LOUELLA’S DEVILED EGGS
CYNTHIA’S CRISPY GREEN BEANS WITH CANADIAN BACON
LOUELLA’S YEAST ROLLS
LOUELLA’S CINNAMON ROLLS
CYNTHIA’S RASPBERRY TEA
ESTHER’S ORANGE MARMALADE CAKE
* * *
Truth be told, not everyone in Mitford is a great cook. And lots of people don’t cook at all. That’s because most people in Mitford live like we live—after working all day, they lack even the slightest desire to chop, dice, sauté, bake, or fry.
So they get takeout in Wesley, or fast food on the bypass, or maybe they come home and microwave a mac and cheese, or eat leftover pizza and a half-quart of Ben & Jerry’s. But that’s most people, not all people in Mitford.
Puny still cooks (but only after the diapers are washed and folded). Marge Owen still cooks. Cynthia and Father Tim still cook. Andrew Gregory’s gorgeous Italian third cousin and second wife, Anna, cooks every day. Avis Packard most certainly cooks. Louella would if she could. And Hope Winchester Murphy is learning.
By the way, Percy Mosely, who cooked for the public for nearly four decades and is now retired, makes breakfast every Saturday morning but that is absolutely, positively IT. In short, he is totally over cooking and so, incidentally, is his wife, Velma. Except for their big Saturday cook-off, they’re currently subsisting on grape Jell-O, pimiento cheese, buffalo wings from the bypass, Snickers bars, cheese popcorn, canned chili, canned tuna, loaf bread, ice cream sandwiches, vacuum-packed Southwestern-style chicken pieces, and Cheerwine (which, by the way, has nothing to do with wine).
Their children argue that they are ruining their health, and are trying to talk them into a sensible diet of tofu, whole grains, and fresh fruit—a ridiculous idea that is met with derision, to say the least.
Anyway, some people still cook and in case you do, I wanted to create a menu that would make you feel, so to speak, at home in Mitford.
Indeed, this menu represents the quintessential Mitford.
For example, it’s what Esther Bolick will soon be making for her three cousins, Edna, Grace, and Mamie, who occasionally visit each other’s homes now that they’re all widowed.
It’s what Puny is thinking of making for Joe Joe’s grandma and grandpa, Esther and Ray Cunningham, if Esther and Ray ever come home from their trip in the RV.
It’s what Marge Owen made after her year in France, as soon as she got over jet lag.
And it’s definitely what Louella would make for Miss Sadie if Miss Sadie were still alive and things were like they used to be.
If you’re the kind of cook who’d prefer things to be like they used to be, you will especially enjoy this menu. There is nothing to sear in triple-virgin olive oil, nothing to marinate in white wine, and certainly nothing to brine or deglaze.
In fact, to begin this meal, you don’t even have to say bon appétit or anything in a foreign language.
You just say Dig in.
After you say the blessing, of course.
LOUELLA’S FRIED CHICKEN
1(2½-to 3-pound) broiler chicken, cut up and soaked in brine
1 quart buttermilk
2 cups White Lily self-rising flour 1½ teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
½ cup bacon drippings ¾ to 1 cup lard
Place the chicken pieces in a large bowl, pour in the buttermilk, and place in the refrigerator to soak for 2 to 4 hours.
Combine the flour, 1½ teaspoons salt, and pepper in a shallow dish such as a pie plate. Drain the chicken and dredge in the flour mixture. Shake off excess flour.
Heat the bacon drippings and lard in a black iron skillet over medium-high heat until a small bit of flour pops when dropped in the fat. Add the chicken, a few pieces at a time, skin side down. Cover and cook the chicken for 15 to 20 minutes. Remove the cover and turn the chicken over. Cook for another 15 to 20 minutes. The chicken is done when it is a light golden brown color.
Drain the chicken on paper towels before serving.
4 to 6 servings
PUNY’S POTATO SALAD
7 medium russet potatoes
1 tablespoon plus 11¼ teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons bacon drippings
4 medium hard-cooked eggs (see p. 97),
mashed
2 tablespoons red onion, chopped
½ cup thinly sliced celery
1¾ cups Hellmann’s mayonnaise
2 teaspoons prepared mustard
2 tablespoons sour cream
2½ teaspoons apple cider vinegar
teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
6 slices cooked bacon, crumbled
Parsley flakes, for garnish
Paprika, for garnish
Peel and cube the potatoes. Place the potatoes in a large saucepan, and add water to cover along with 1 tablespoon salt. Bring to a boil over high heat, reduce the heat, cover, and simmer until the potatoes are just tender. Drain the potatoes in a colander. Add the bacon drippings and shake the colander to coat. Cover loosely and let the potatoes cool completely.
In a large bowl, combine the potatoes, mashed eggs, red onion, and celery. In a separate bowl, combine the mayonnaise, mustard, sour cream, and vinegar and stir it into the potatoes. Add 1¼ teaspoons salt and ½ teaspoon pepper. Just before serving, adjust the seasonings with salt and pepper. Garnish the salad with the crumbled bacon, parsley flakes, and paprika.
6 servings
LOUELLA’S DEVILED EGGS
6 large hard-cooked eggs (see p. 97), peeled
2 tablespoons Hellmann’s mayonnaise
2 tablespoons sour cream
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
1 teaspoon prepared mustard
? teaspoon salt
? teaspoon freshly ground black pepper Paprika, for garnish
Slice the eggs in half lengthwise and carefully remove the yolks. In a small bowl, use a fork to mash the egg yolks with the mayonnaise, sour cream, vinegar, mustard, salt, and pepper.
Spoon the filling back into the egg white halves. You can also spoon the filling into a sandwich size zip-top bag, cut a small opening in one corner of the bag, and pipe the filling into the egg white halves.
Refrigerate until ready to serve, garnish with a sprinkle of paprika, and serve on a deviled egg plate.
12 deviled egg halves
* * *
PERFECT HARD-COOKED EGGS
Place eggs in a single layer in a large saucepan. Add enough cold water to cover the eggs. Bring the water to a rolling boil. Remove the saucepan from the heat, cover, and allow the eggs and water to stand for 17 minutes. Drain the water immediately after 17 minutes and add cold water and ice cubes. After the eggs have cooled, peel under cold running water.