I • • I •HOW I LEARNED TO COOK Two YEARS BEFORE I \VAS BORN, while sitting at the kitchen table with my grandmother and aunt, my rnother announced that the tines on her fork had spread as wide as a grown ,nan's hand and that the fork no longer fit inside her mouth. lvly grand1nother and my aunt held up the fork to the light so that Ma1ua could see that it was just an ordinary fork, in fact, the very one she had jusr eaten supper ·wirh, but Mama refused ro believe it, her schizophrenia hav ing rnore po"1er than anything her family said. I i1nagine this monient often: the women who would shape the wo1nan l' d become, sitting at the very table in my grandn1other's kitchen where I would receive all my lessons-their heads bowed, their eyes "'ide in wonder, trying to rid 1Vlama of the notion of the 1nagical fork. 1\s Black wo1nen, as good country wonien, I'm sure they were already trying to £ind ways LO tell each other Husli now, already trying to bury the story in the bottom of a well of grief, for my mother would never again be the wo1nan they remembered. I conjure her that evening as a sultry twenry-year- LEH: This is Granny's dress, one of the few things I kept when she died. That first hcfidoy without her, I hung her dress in my kitchen, conjured her and the other kitchen ghosts, and read ied myself to cook. old with her long sable legs crossed, her eyes black and shinimering. Granny's and Auntie's lips pursed with worry. All three women already pregnant with secrets. A II of this T'm sure they kept from my grand father, who was soruewhere readying rhe animals for the night. I' 1n sure there ,vere still re1nnants of supper 25 HOW I LEARNED TO COOK J've kept this recipe in my tin box since l �vas a young girl. lf l'm not rnistaken, it was Aunt Edith Patton who baked this cake one evening when f had supper at her house. The delicate, arornatic cake is delectable on ics own and sn1ells like a vanilla dream with a rnoisc crumb, bur it can also be dressed up with a glaze or icing, or paired with berries in summer. I marvel at its simplicity. I chink of Ma Aggy in captivity whenever I rnake chis cake. It's sornething she could have easily 1nadc, coniliining her own radons with a few itc1ns borrowed fron1 the plantation kitchen. This is ancestral. S£JtV£S 12; NAKI::$ ◊Nf: 9 X 1)-INCH CAKE 8 ,ablespoons ( I stick) salted butter, plus more for greasing the pan 4 la.rge eggs, at room temperature 2 cups sugar 2 teaspoons vanilla cxcract 2 cups all-purpose flour 2 teaspoons baking powder I teaspoon ,able salt I cup whole milk Place a rack in the middle posidon and preheat che oven co 325°F. Use a little buccer co grease a 9 x 13-inch baking dish or a 12-inch oven proof sk.illeL. Con,bine che eggs and sugar in rhe bowl of a scand mixer fitted with a paddle attachn1ent or in a bowl with a hand rnixer. Beat on n1ediun1- high speed for 4 to 5 minutes, w1til tripled in volun1c. Stir in the vanilla. Whisk together the flour, baking po,vder, and salt in a separate bowl. ivlelt the bl1tter in a small saucepan over ,nedium-low heat, chen stir in the ,nilk, cookingjusc until bubbles forn1 at che edges (do not boil). Remove from che heat. On low speed, alcernate adding the flour 1nixn1re and the hoc n1ilk 1nixn1re in several additions, beating until sn1ootl1 and well incorporated. The batteJ"1vill be thin and light. Pour it into your prepared baking dish or skillet and sinooth the top. Bake on the 1niddJe rack for 25 to 30 1ninutes, until golden brown on top and a broon1 straw or cake tester inserted in the center co1nes out clean. Cool the cake co,nplecely in ics pan on a wire rack before serving. 37 BA/KET MEE Tl NC GREEN BEAN/ ANON•.., PoTATOEJ poge 83 CARAMEL (AKE poge 84- . -- - =--------'-''tfil -- - -- p,.,e L1cK MvTTON Lee AND GR,..VY page 80 My son, Gerold, posing en o rusted glider in the backyard. The smokehouse con be seen in the distance. I'm grateful for his connection to our homeploce. {Photo by Crystal)SEAR.CHING FOR. THE ANCESTRAL GAR.DEN I N MARCIi, spring is beginning to show itself. 'fhe front yard is a new green. My husband, Ron, sics in a wicker chair on our porch with his back co me, "washing the groceries." !Iis locs fall forward across his shoulders while he works. The day is ,varm, he nods his sweet head to the music. "Salaam (Peace)" by Abdullah Ibrahi ,n reaches back to ,ne inside rhe house, and the jazz lends a caln1ing hand. I'm readied at the storm door to assist with the sea of full bags iliac cover the porch and the n1usic takes n1e up, coo. Ron's hands dip into the plastic bags, enipties d1em one at a ti1ne, placing the food in front of hin1 in a se,nicircle around his feet. I-le sprays bleach water on each item and 1nethodically wipes thern down with paper rowels, then places 1he1n in the "done" pile. ·rhe rhythn1 of the work soothes us both. We are accustorned to working our minds, but the bend and scoop of this n1echodical labor re1ninds n1e of the kind of work n1y grandparents did on the fari11 �,hen I was a child. Bend and scoop, bend and scoop. Our work, in con1parison, is easy but the repeated ,novernents are fan1iliar and I' n1 glad my body re1nern bers them. Sometimes we smile or hand each other more paper rowels, but mostly we work in silence. Ron separates the onions, the bananas, the plums, the to1naroes, and I take thern inside to swirl chen1 arow1d in salt water in the kitchen sink. I hold t.he Lomatoes up like a prize though I kno,v they ,viii Laste 87 Next >