And so it begins...

“She loved me like a rock ,” my Daddy always said about the Grandmother I’d never met.  I can picture the scene:  my Dad curled up in her lap, rocking in her old-as-time rocking chair, while she whispered her affirmations of love in his ear, unconsciously brushing a wayward wisp of ink-black hair from his forehead.  Steadfast. Unwavering. True.  That is the Grandmother I have to come to imgaine.  True, I’ve never met her, but I know her.  I know how she loved, because of how my Daddy loves me.  I’ve tasted her love in carefully passed down recipes like her cornbread and sausage stuffing, and through my Dad’s insistence that “my Mother would never make her boys eat broccoli,” while watching him mix warm cornbread into his glass of milk.

My Grandmother was a warm southern soul, bathed in the Gospel, being Christ to all who crossed her path.  Her boys were shining examples of how she loved on people with her food.  Maybe one day, if you’re lucky, I’ll share the picture of my Dad and his brothers, jeans tied round their waists with lengths of rope, white t-shirts bright and clean, looking like they were competing with each other to “perfect the sphere.”  Round and happy:  Loved.  When my Daddy was young my Grandad moved his family north from Tennessee to find work.  But they never left the South behind.  Their tiny home was alive with smells of the South: greens, cornbread and pork belly.  And her doors were always open, ready to share her love with people in need. 

Like I’ve said, I’ve never met my Grandmother, but I want to get to know her better.  So I’m cooking, and learning about her through the food she loved.  It’s a journey through a culture, through a history and for the soul.  I’m cooking the classics and some modern twists on family favorites.  So, please, join me on my voyage through Southern food, and on my quest to love my family the same way my Grandmother loved hers; like a rock.