January 23, 2015

Alcohol, Tobacco, and Cornbread …

Perhaps one day (maybe soon) the nurse will ask:

“Do you drink?”

“No.”

“Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Do you eat cornbread?”

“Ah, well, yes.”

“More than two pieces per meal, with BUTTER?”

“Sometimes.” (Sigh)

Folks, its coming — those intrusive questions. We must prepare. Are you a “closet cornbread eater?”

I’ve never really considered cornbread hazardous to my health, but it occurred to me the other day that maybe, just maybe? I mean everything else that is delish to the palate seemed to be on the “bad for you” list. Why not cornbread?

But, please – cornbread is sacred. The crusty marvelous stuff is entrenched in our lives from toddler-times, and hey, we’re still living and breathing – kicking, too (sort of.) Oh, those days when granny “helped” our plate. There would be fried chicken (the pulley-bone for me), mashed taters & gravy, Crowder peas, plus sitting to the side, yes, and right up front, there is was — cornbread with a big slather of butter.

And, oh the cornbread – made with yellow meal (ground just down the road), buttermilk, eggs, and plenty of bacon grease. The proper terminology is bacon drippings, but granny didn’t know that. All of this stuff was mixed together in a large bowl only used for her special cornbread. The entire gooey mixture was poured into a big black cast iron skillet, which had been heated in the oven. I can still hear the sizzle when the mixture hit the grease. The skillet was popped back in the oven and within 40 minutes everyone had a piece on their plate (with plenty of butter.)

We all knew then (and today as well) the real secret to granny’s marvelous cornbread was the old cast iron black skillet. Yeppers, that skillet (in my mind) was and is priceless. There were stringent rules: (1) Water was never, ever allowed in and round the skillet – it was cleaned with salt and a clean rag. (2) Every so often granny built a big wood fire in the backyard and threw in the skillet for a thorough cleaning. (3) Nothing else was ever cooked in the skillet but granny’s cornbread. (4) No one, I mean NOBODY cooked cornbread but granny.

Yep, that was it, and we all abided. I truly believe one of the joys of granny’s life was cooking cornbread. She always stood proudly and beamed when the family took notice of her cornbread baking talents.

“Granny, could I have more cornbread?” was heard over and over during the meal, because not only did she cook it, she also served it, with great flair and a sparkle in her blue, blue eyes.

Making outstanding cornbread has become a lost art. These days those little tacky bags of a “pre-mixed” some sort of imitator has been put on the grocer’s shelf. I say it’s an abomination. My granny would agree.

But back to the nurse – here are a few “comebacks.”

1. “I eat cornbread but in moderation.” (wink, wink.)

2. “I have it under control and I do belong to CA.” (Cornbread Anonymous).

3. “I’ve had 42,000 hours of cornbread counseling.”

4. “I have a cornbread ‘buddy’ I call when needed.” (She’ll come out and eat with me.)

5. “If I wanted to be popular, I would eat a serving of whole wheat, no fat, sugar-free, low carb, gluten-free, no sodium, piece of junk someone has the nerve to call bread.”

6. “Is this a crack about my granny?”

You know I sort of went along when fried chicken was targeted as bad and I (kind of) marked fried pork chops off my list. Remember: “Pork chops, pork chops, greasy, greasy – we’ll get in shape, easy, easy.” Yep, that was an aerobics chant from years past. But cornbread – there are limits, you know!

Well, gotta run – granny’s black cast iron skillet (yeah, I got it) has heated in the oven and ready for my sloppy, and rich conglomeration of cornbread mix made from granny’s recipe (got that, too.) And, yes, two pieces slathered with butter will appear on my dinner plate shortly.

Granny would have been so proud.

Anne McKee is a Mississippi-inspired storyteller. See her website: http://annemckeestoryteller.com