Southern cooks aren’t known for carefully measuring spices… we just pinch and sprinkle until we hear the hints and whispers of our ancestors – ‘Add another pinch, okay, that’s enough’. Our spirits tell us- even God surely loves Southern cooking…especially Sunday Dinner. For decades now, I’ve been cooking Sunday Dinner- it’s not like weekday lunches or suppers- when the call goes out ‘It’s ready! Come on in while it’s hot! Y’all come eat!‘ No, on Sundays, folks still use the southern term- ‘Dinner’-for the midday meal. I know it’s strange but down here.. lunch is dinner and dinner is called supper. Go figure, it’s just how we talk. This weekly meal is my effort of bringing my family together- whoever is around and will come… with no TV blaring and no phone calls and cellphones down, please. There’s no phone call or talk show that can’t wait until Sunday Dinner is over… in fact, rarely a meal is eaten here at the cottage with any of that background noise. My momma used to say- ‘Cut that TV off, it’s so loud I can’t hear myself think!’
On Sundays, I step up to the fiery kitchen altars and cook. Call it a sacrifice, I call it devotion. Usually, it’s familiar food… I don’t think I have to tell you this…this special meal has it’s roots in my ancestral soil. Southern food is what we long for – all. week. long.
Sometimes it’s as simple as a Chicken Pie with tiny carrot coins and early peas. Lemon dressed Spring Greens, small Cucumbers and Cherry Tomatoes fresh from the vines, a side of cool salad- that’s what I fixed this past Sunday. Other times Sunday Dinner is more involved-
Fried Pork Chops, Gravy, Biscuits, Mashed Potatoes and Squash Casserole, maybe flat Green Beans and sliced Tomatoes. Or if the shrimp is fresh.. Jambalaya and cornbread.
Whether elaborate or plain and simple meals- on Sundays- Dessert always makes it’s way to the table. Maybe a cobbler or fresh berries with shortcake and whipped cream or plain sugared berries with our favorite summer berry topping- a dollop of sour cream and a generous sprinkle of brown sugar, especially after a heavy meal.
I could go on and on with this… but I’m getting ahead of myself. While I finish up the cooking- another comes in and pulls out the goblets for Iced Tea and if the table needs a few finishing touches….I appreciate the help. Then perhaps the best ritual of all is the one who settles in his seat- knowing we won’t eat a bite until he says…‘Y’all want me to say the blessing?’ We always say- ‘Yes’ .
That’s the thing about Sunday Dinner- we’re on our best behavior. Okay- we say the blessing at other meals- yet somehow it’s different, more reverent on Sundays. The blessing is said, the dishes are passed- there’s no boarding house reach- quiet requests like-
- ‘Pass the peas, please’
- ‘I think I’ll have another roll…maybe another helping’
- ‘Could you pass the butter?’
- ‘When you can, pass me the salt and pepper.’ ‘
- Thank you, oh, you’re welcome’… words that are so nice to hear.
Far from the bustling crowds, as they say- after a long week…Sunday Dinner calms the soul, truly it does. It wouldn’t be authentic to say that Sunday Dinner here is a high culinary experience unless you haven’t run up on one in a long time…the love of Southern Food is what we all have in common- and that makes for an uncommon experience.
The southern cook has a tendency to be concerned; is the food she’s cooked is up to her usual high standards- she might say…
- ‘That cornbread didn’t turn out as good this time, seems dry’ or
- ‘How in the world did I get these beans so salty…
- hand it here, let me see what I can do with it.’
- Or maybe the dish comes to the table with warnings…
- ‘ Now, y’all watch out- that casserole just came out of the oven and it’s hot as fire’ or
- ‘Now, don’t y’all add a drop of hot sauce to my jambalaya until you taste it- I added cayenne and red pepper flakes! It’s already as hot as the hinges on the devil’s back door!’
As the meal winds down; you have to sit up a bit straighter so your stomach can manage the load you shoveled in, so you can eat just a bite of dessert; yeah, right…. Words that are music to the Sunday cook’s ears are…
- ‘That was soo good…’ ‘
- I enjoyed my dinner’ …
- ‘Let me help you rinse these dishes’ …
- Those words are a surefire way to get a response…
- ‘Wouldn’t you like to take some home with you? Maybe for your lunch tomorrow, keep you from having to cook.
- Go ahead take some of those extra cucumbers home too!’
Sunday Dinner or any Southern meal for that matter, is a table loaded with ancestral foods…it has an effect on folks. They can disagree on everything under the sun- but set ’em down to eat? Something mystical occurs… I can’t explain it, I’m not sure how the alchemy happens… yet I’ve seen it so many times- there’s no denying folks become gentler, easier to get along with… agreeable that’s the word. Gracious, quiet murmurs and kind. Eating our ancestral foods, with common spices and well understood combinations- well now, that is a life altering experience if there ever is one. Hopefully, by God’s grace… I’ll be able to take part in the making of Sunday Dinner until I’m promoted to Glory.
Love y’all, Camellia
*All photographs are obviously mine.
Southern Ladies are known for vague conditions and symptoms, like Sinking Spells. We’re not looking for medical terms or specifics. We prefer eccentric descriptive health conditions like:
Ok, I admit it, the mailbox is old and needs to be replaced… it’s one of those jobs we’ve put off doing. The mailbox isn’t in a great location to begin with and our other options aren’t that great. The postal workers are good sports about it, even though the red flag has been long gone and the mailbox tends to stand open almost all the time… to be honest it’s a busy box. We were surprised this year in early May to discover at the very back of the mailbox- there was a bird’s nest! Of all places…
We left one for several years- which had been built in a galvanized pitcher left on it’s side was under a little outbuilding. Finally we decided that it had been abandoned. That nest was so well built, I haven’t been able to dislodge it. I keep it, I love to look at it. I’ve even named it’s photograph- ‘Empty Nest’. I’ve even built a few faux nests by using craft store ‘nests’ and embellishing them- especially around Eastertime.
*I’ve put this one on display for now and I consider the nest to be a rare find, a natural wonder and a treasure!
Unless you were raised in a thicket of Loblolly pines by a passel of possums- as a Southerner you’ve eaten your fair share of casseroles. I cannot recall the first time I tasted a casserole, though I do recall the first time I ever watched a casserole being made. I was about four years old, our neighbor cooked for her aging mother on Fridays- she let me ‘help‘. My feet didn’t reach the floor of her kitchen table- yet we always started the morning drinking a cup of coffee- yes, you read that right. My coffee was full of cream and sugar- which to this day I would rather prefer to drink black! Still. I was polite and didn’t make a fuss because when the cooking got under way…well, it was an amazing thing to watch. Her kitchen was fully equipped. Her freezer held an enormous amount of fruits and vegetables she had put up in containers right beside those aluminum ice cube trays that had a lever to release the ice. Miss Margaret, also had a pantry lined with lacy paper edging the shelves- there were rows and rows of pickles, preserves and an enormous amount of canning jars full of tomatoes and other fine things. Her living room might have been filled with doodads, even a Kewpie Doll her husband won for her at the county fair, an upright piano with a crocheted scarf across the top with even more doodads- but her kitchen ran like a well oiled machine. When Margaret was making a casserole, I remember how much I liked the word, I even said it under my breath until I could pronounce casserole just like she did. From then on, my ears perked up when I heard the word and saw an oven proof baking dish. Did I make a lot of them as a kid. Not really, but as an adult, I’ve made my share and eaten even more.
Folks will be grinning like a passel of possums when they see a Summer Squash Casserole! I suspect Southern Casseroles will be around for as long as folks like to gather for Sunday Dinners, Reunions, Decoration Days, Homecomings or Homegoings! Bless the cooks who bring casseroles! And as always…
Camellia's Cottage 