Lillie Carr was my mother, who observed the rules of rural speech and of rural cooking. She was a good woman who has now been deceased for 50 years. She was always one of my defenders, and while I was in the Army she kept a blue star in the window of her living room. But while I have a great affection for my mother, as most sons do, the fact of the matter is that Lillie was far from being the world’s best cook. For reasons unknown for me, it seems to me that when good cooking was discovered, Ireland was out of the loop. And the Irish immigrants to this country were similarly afflicted.
On Mondays, Lillie cooked navy beans. I loved those beans. I do to this day, which is a long time to love a food. Beyond that, Lillie could make fairly good cornbread. I know nothing about baking cornbread. It seems to me that Lillie may have used some bacon drippings for her cornbread and she would never – ever – have used sugar. It has now been nearly 70 years since I sat down at Lillie’s table to feast on navy beans and cornbread. But my memories of the beans and the cornbread exist vividly in my memory today. However, the truthful fact is that beans and cornbread were about the extent of Lillie’s culinary skills. Of course she prepared other dishes, mostly fried. In all honesty I must say that it would be an oxymoron to say that there is such a thing as good Irish cooking, particularly when it has a rural influence.
I left Missouri in 1942 to join the American Army where the cooking on the average was less than spectacular. Bluntly, the cooking in the American Army was nothing less than atrocious. But even to this day, as I approach my 90th year within haling distance, I retain very fond memories of Lillie’s cornbread and navy beans.
In 1951, I left St. Louis and left pretty good cornbread behind. In 1955 I accepted a job in New York where cornbread was largely unknown. On rare occasions, I have run across a restaurant or a food store that offered cornbread. Almost invariably, both the restaurants and the food stores offer cornbread with sugar in it. This is preposterous. It is a lot like putting Tabasco onto breakfast cereal. It is a lot like offering foie gras with mayonnaise mixed into it. Easterners have no business messing with cornbread. My wife, who comes from western Pennsylvania, cooks superb corn sticks. They have no sugar in them. But Easterners insist upon putting sugar into their cornbread. This makes no sense to me and I suggest that those who eat the sweetened cornbread will be turned off for life.
One of the great mysteries of my long life has to do with why cooks in the eastern part of this country insist upon putting sugar into cornbread. This particular essay was inspired by a cook in Summit, New Jersey, who produces superb soup. While my wife was there, she saw some cornbread and bought it. When she brought it home and we heated it, the cornbread tended to fall apart which is a misdemeanor and then it contained a dose of sugar. I suppose that one of these days my life will end and I will still not be aware of why Easterners insist upon putting sugar into cornbread.
In the American Army, we mostly used mess kits. When we passed through the serving lines, such as they were, the soldiers ladling out the food would often pour gravy over the peaches or whatever dessert we had, if there was any. And we had no cornbread whatsoever, with or without sugar.
There is one exception to the rule about sugar in cornbread in the Eastern United States. Tom Scandlyn, who is a native of Harriman, Tennessee, makes cornbread, without sugar, as good as Lillie Carr’s. But Tom Scandlyn is the only such cook in this part of the country. I wish there were hundreds more.
So you see, 50 years after her death, my mother has been vindicated. She made a good cornbread and the cornbread did not fall apart when it was picked up. And her navy beans were sublime. But her excuse was that she was an Irish cook. That probably tells you all you need to know about the level of cuisine in my boyhood home.
If any of my readers can tell me the logic behind putting sugar into cornbread, I will listen patiently. And I will also hope that before life is done there may be a good piece of cornbread without sugar that doesn’t fall apart served in the confines of the eastern United States.
E. E. CARR
February 2, 2011
Essay 530
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Kevin’s commentary: I often wonder how Pop comes up with the subjects for his essays. Perhaps Judy made cornsticks around the time of this one’s authorship. But still, even excluding essays about current events and essays triggered by real-time happenings in his life, there are hundreds more that are prompted by ostensibly nothing at all beyond a desire to write more things. I’ve always found that pretty incredible. I wonder how much time Pop spends each day just sitting down and remembering things from his life to write about.