I would never call myself a savory chef in the kitchen. If asked to bring green beans or peas to a church supper, I’d definitely have to look up a recipe. I can’t do anything in the kitchen by heart. Well, except for biscuits. I can bake biscuits without a recipe. It’s my one claim to fame, but I’ll take it.
If pressed, I’d have to admit that I can bake pretty well, which is not saying any more than most people raised in the South can say. Baking is our thing.
I’d like to be completely equal opportunity, insisting that both men and women are adept in culinary skills, and equally enthusiastic about kitchen duty, but I don’t like to lie. I really wish I had married someone who felt led to share with me the joy of meal preparation, but that’s just not the case. I don’t think he’s ever cooked a single thing in our 30-year marriage, although he claims to possess skill in baking cornbread. I’m still waiting. And he’s good at a lot of other household tasks, so I give him a pass in the kitchen.
At any rate, with the disclaimer that I’m well aware that cooking shouldn’t be a single-sex endeavor, I’m going to truthfully declare that most Southern cooks are women. Had I raised two sons instead of two daughters, I hope I would have encouraged them to learn all sorts of home management and kitchen skills, but in truth, I probably wouldn’t have put any more effort into them than I did in our two daughters. That’s a sad admission, but again, I don’t like to lie. I’m just not very proud of myself.
As a fluke I think, our youngest daughter somehow picked up an interest in cooking, excelling in baking and even showing aptitude in cooking vegetables and full-scale meals. Our firstborn, on the other hand, is pleased that she can grate lettuce for tacos and use the stovetop to craft boxed macaroni and cheese. If it has a bar code, she’s all over it.
Anyone brought up around regular church dinners or funeral meals or even just hanging out in a Southern grandmother’s kitchen has probably developed a general idea of what to expect from the kitchen. But only those of us who loosely call ourselves cooks can honestly comment on what goes on “under the hood” and what is acceptable in a bona fide kitchen that would earn the seal of approval from a grandma.
Because I so miserably failed in imparting any sort of kitchen skills to my offspring, I’m compelled to spell it out for them. I figure it’s better to address my mistake now than to just brush by it as if nothing is wrong. It’s my own personal intervention, so here goes.
First, the biscuits. Because it’s what I know, I’ll tell you what I do. Frozen butter is my secret ingredient, but it has to be real butter. Frozen and grated into the flour mixture. No margarine is allowed. In fact, one of the first rules of cooking in my kitchen is that you never use margarine for anything. On the other hand, my mother, raised in the Depression, used margarine for everything. I never knew her to buy the more expensive butter. It was always margarine, or what she called oleo. On one occasion, she sent my dad and daughter to the grocery store with a list. When they got to “oleo,” they were stumped. “Do you think she means Oreos?” questioned my dad of his 8-year-old granddaughter. My mom had no better luck with her husband in the kitchen than I’ve had with mine. They bought Oreos.
Flour is also an integral biscuit ingredient, but not just any flour. It has to be a winter wheat blend, namely White Lily. Go ahead and splurge on the name brand. It really is the best. In fact, White Lily should be your choice for anything that calls for flour, be it cakes, cookies, or breads. And finish up that biscuit dough with a healthy dose of buttermilk, but not too much. With experience, you’ll learn exactly how the dough should feel. You’ll talk to your biscuits. Too much buttermilk, and they’ll be too flat; too little and they’ll be too dry. You’ll learn to communicate with your dough. Trust me.
For most stovetop and even baking tasks, use cast iron if you have it. In my grandmother’s kitchen, I found a round cast iron biscuit pan that I usurped for use in my kitchen. It’s just as important as the White Lily flour for a finished biscuit. A good cook needs the right tools, and cast iron is a staple.
For some things, a name brand isn’t that important. Like maybe toothpicks or napkins or matches. But I can just about guarantee that the tastiest chicken salad and the creamiest pimento cheese gracing the church fellowship hall countertop is not made with store brand mayonnaise. No, any cook worth her salt knows the value of Hellman’s or Duke’s in any dish calling for mayo. And a top-flight tomato sandwich requires just three ingredients—a tomato, of course, Wonder bread (although Bunny or Sunbeam will do in a pinch), and Hellman’s or Duke’s mayonnaise. Salt is an optional fourth ingredient, but one my tomato-loving dad would insist upon.
Speaking of salt, be generous with it. You’ll learn when to stop, although my family has let me know I’ve crossed the line too often. They fear I’m going to pickle myself and they’ll be collateral. What I know is that it’s criminal not to salt a cold watermelon, and if I liked tomatoes, I’m sure I’d have the same rule for them. I even like salt on apple slices and I’ve been known to salt bread after it’s baked and before I eat it. Come to think of it, I agree. I have crossed the line and probably need help.
Because a good cook should always be prepared, but isn’t always flush with time, you should freeze things whenever possible. You never know when you’ll be called upon to contribute a potluck item and you’ll want it to look effortless, no matter how little lead time you’re given. So, freeze plain cake layers and have on hand some canned frosting. Voila! Pound cakes, angel food cakes, and just about any type of Bundt cake would be perfect. While you’re at it, go ahead and freeze a casserole of lasagna. You may not be Betty Crocker, which is exactly my point. You can appear to be, and perception is everything.
In a few cases, reduced fat is OK. But in most cases, it’s not. I’d never want to discourage any weight watching, so take my advice with a grain of salt (my favorite!). When a recipe calls for cream cheese, it means cream cheese. Not reduced fat cream cheese. You might get by using skim milk instead of whole, but I’d advise you to use buttermilk any chance you get. Well, that or sour cream, not reduced fat, of course. I figure if you’re going to the trouble of baking an item, you want it to be the best. So go ahead and use real cream cheese for that Hummingbird Cake.
Let’s be honest, if you’re going to the church potluck or the company picnic, you’re not really watching your weight that carefully. No one will slow down for the steamed broccoli and carrot mix in the rush for the garlic mashed potatoes. And you can bet those potatoes aren’t instant. Which brings me to my final rule—no instant anything. That means no instant potatoes, no powdered milk, no instant coffee (unless it’s going in chocolate chip cookies, in which case, have at it, as it makes cookies to die for), and no boxed macaroni and cheese (unless you’re my oldest daughter or you just totally don’t care).
So, to my ill-instructed daughters, I suggest that it’s never too late to pick up the kitchen pieces. It’s probably also time to suggest that you do as I say, not as I do. But there are plenty of church and ladies league cookbooks that will set you on the right path. You can even borrow my Cotton Country, if you like. I doubt that I’ll miss it.
