A Love Affair with Southern Cooking (24 page)

Some years ago when I was interviewing the granddaughter-in-law of one of our Virginia presidents, she served a clear chicken broth strewn with strips of white meat, dots of tomato, and crescents of celery. Hearing me praise her “lovely chicken soup,” she snorted. “Chicken soup! Chicken soup! This is Brunswick stew!” It was unlike any Brunswick stew I’d ever eaten, and I said so. “Well,” she replied.
“
You’re
from North Carolina.
You
make it with
potatoes
.”
Plus onions, plus baby butter beans, plus sweet corn, plus…plus…To be honest, the stew-masters of Brunswick County, where this “Virginia ambrosia” originated back in 1828, would never have recognized my hostess’s anemic version. The original was a porridge-y muddle of squirrels, onions, and stale bread concocted by “Uncle” Jimmy Matthews, a camp cook in service to Dr. Creed Haskins of the Virginia Legislature. A hundred and sixty years later, the State General Assembly immortalized the event by proclaiming Brunswick County, Virginia, “the original home of Brunswick Stew.” But they get an argument from Georgians who point to the twenty-gallon iron pot just outside their town of Brunswick; its plaque declares that America’s first Brunswick stew was cooked in that pot in 1898. There are other dissenters as well—mainly food anthropologists who believe that southern Indian tribes were stewing squirrels, corn, and beans long before the White Man stepped ashore. Today, many a southern cook’s most cherished recipe is the dog-eared one for Brunswick stew served at family reunions. This one comes from my Virginia stepmother’s aunt, Annie Pool. Its secret, Aunt Annie once confided, is that it contains beef as well as chicken, also that “the corn is picked, shucked, and added at the very end.”

One 6-to 7-pound stewing hen or capon, with neck and giblets

One 6-pound beef chuck or rump roast

12 cups (3 quarts) cold water

6 large yellow onions, coarsely chopped

18 medium all-purpose potatoes, peeled and cubed

6 cups (3 pints) freshly shelled or frozen baby lima beans (do not thaw)

6 cups (3 pints) canned tomatoes, preferably home-canned

Kernels from 12 large ears sweet corn or 6 cups (3 pints) frozen whole-kernel corn (do not thaw)

¼ cup sugar

6 tablespoons (¾ stick) butter

1 tablespoon salt, or to taste

½ teaspoon black pepper, or to taste

• 1.
  Simmer the hen, neck, giblets, and beef in the water in a covered large soup kettle over moderately low heat for about 1½ hours or until the hen and beef are both tender.
  
• 2.
  Lift the beef, hen, neck, and giblets from the kettle and cool until easy to handle. Using
  your fingers, strip the meat from the hen in bite-size pieces and reserve. Cut the beef into 1½-inch chunks and reserve; mince the giblets and reserve. Discard the neck.
  
• 3.
  Skim the fat from the broth and discard. Add the onions, potatoes, and limas to the kettle, cover, and simmer over moderate heat for 30 minutes or until not quite tender.
  
• 4.
  Return all meat to the kettle, add the tomatoes, and simmer uncovered for 20 minutes. Add the corn, sugar, and butter, and simmer uncovered, stirring now and then, for 20 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper, then simmer uncovered 10 minutes more or just long enough for the flavors to mellow.
  
• 5.
  Ladle into heated soup bowls and accompany with Iron Skillet Corn Bread.
  

KENTUCKY BURGOO

MAKES
12
SERVINGS

“There is no point in cooking country ham and burgoo to serve just six,” Charles Patteson advises the Derby Day host in
Charles Patteson’s Kentucky Cooking
(1988). “Start with the mandatory mint juleps,” he continues. “Burgoo, which is midway between a hearty soup and a stew, succeeds the juleps in the guests’ cups as a first course.” I hadn’t known that. Nor had I known that it’s traditional for burgoo to be scooped into silver mint julep cups at the annual Kentucky Colonels’ Barbecue the day after the Derby. In
Kentucky’s Best
(1998), Linda Allison-Lewis writes that burgoo must “simmer for twenty-four hours prior to being served,” then confides that burgoo chefs used to listen for the splatter of the “mysterious ingredient”—the ingredient that fused all flavors—being added “sometime in the dark of night.” Legend has it that that ingredient was a black snake that fell out of a tree into the first batch of burgoo.

Historians doubt that but most do agree that burgoo was created during the Civil War by Gus Jaubert, a French chef serving Confederate general John Hunt Morgan. At war’s end, Jaubert settled in Lexington, Kentucky, began making burgoo on a massive scale, and soon gained fame as “the burgoo king.” On his death, according to Ronni Lundi, author of
Shuck Beans, Stack Cakes, and Honest Fried Chicken
(1991), Lexington cook J. T. Looney “inherited both Jaubert’s pot and his title.” While traveling about the Bluegrass State some years ago to research my
Grass Roots Cookbook,
I ate burgoo every chance I got. I also learned more about this Kentucky classic. Jaubert’s original recipe apparently contained blackbirds. Unable to say “blackbird stew” not only because French was his first language but also because he had a hairlip, Jaubert pronounced it “burgoo.” Or so I was told. Elsewhere I learned that those early burgoos contained mostly squirrels plus whatever vegetables came to hand. I daresay that there are hundreds of different recipes for Kentucky burgoo today. This downsized version of the burgoo served for years at the Pete Light Springs Restaurant in Cadiz, Kentucky, was given to me by Lois Watkins, whom I profiled in my book. “This burgoo is the best in the world,” she said as she handed me the scribbled recipe. I won’t quarrel with that.

1 whole chicken breast (2 halves)

1 chicken thigh

1 chicken liver

1½ pounds boneless pork shoulder

6 cups (1½ quarts) cold water

½ pound dried Great Northern beans, washed, sorted, and soaked overnight in 2 cups cold water

2 large yellow onions, finely chopped

4 cups (1 quart) canned tomatoes (preferably home-canned), with their liquid

4 cups (1 quart) canned whole-kernel corn (preferably home-canned), well drained

4 cups (1 quart) canned green peas (preferably home-canned), well drained

2 teaspoons salt, or to taste

½ teaspoon black pepper, or to taste

4 tablespoons (½ stick) butter

• 1.
  Place the chicken breast, thigh, and liver, the pork, and the cold water in a heavy, nonreactive 4-gallon kettle; set over moderately high heat and bring to a boil. Adjust the heat so the water bubbles gently, cover, and simmer for 30 minutes. Remove and refrigerate all pieces of chicken. Cover the kettle again and simmer the pork about 1½ hours longer or until very tender.
  
• 2.
  Remove the skin and bones from the chicken, cut the meat into 1-inch chunks, then pulse quickly in a food processor until the texture of coarsely ground meat (in the old days, the chicken was fed through a meat grinder). When the pork is tender, cut into 1-inch chunks, then pulse just as you did the chicken. Also pulse the chicken liver.
  
• 3.
  Return the chicken, liver, and pork to the kettle, add the beans and their soaking water, the onions, tomatoes and their liquid, the corn, and peas. Cover and simmer for 1 hour.
  
• 4.
  Add the salt, pepper, and butter, reduce the heat to its lowest point, and simmer the burgoo uncovered for 3½ to 4 hours, stirring occasionally, or until as thick as chili.
  Note:
  If at any time the burgoo threatens to stick to the bottom of the kettle, slide a heat diffuser underneath.
  
• 5.
  Taste the burgoo for salt and pepper, adjust as needed, then ladle into heated soup bowls, and serve with “Hot’ns” or Hush Puppies.
  

STEWED CHICKEN

MAKES
5½
TO
6
CUPS MEAT
(2¼
TO
2½
POUNDS) AND
1½
TO
2
QUARTS STOCK

Early southern cookbooks often include directions for stewing a hen because from Colonial days right up until the mid-twentieth century, many families—townspeople as well as farmers—kept a few chickens for eggs and for eating. My own family did back during World War Two, when red meat was rationed. Even though I was a little girl then, I remember dodging the feisty Leghorns as I gathered eggs. Once a hen stopped laying, Mother, following the lead of a country-come-to-town neighbor, stewed it; the meat could be used in endless ways. Because
several of the southern classics in these pages call for cooked chicken, I thought that a good recipe for stewed chicken might be welcome. Note:
Over-the-hill hens are hard to find these days but plump roasters can be substituted.
Tip:
If the bird is to be tender, you must start it in cold water and never let it boil.

One 4½-to 5-pound roasting chicken, giblets removed and excess fat discarded

1 large yellow onion, quartered

2 large celery ribs, trimmed and cut into 1-inch chunks (include some leaves)

2 large carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks

2 large whole bay leaves, preferably fresh

2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon black peppercorns

• 1.
  Place the chicken, giblets, and all remaining ingredients in a large stockpot and add enough cold water to cover the chicken by about 2 inches. Set over moderate heat and slowly bring to a simmer; this may take as long as an hour. Adjust the heat so the water barely bubbles, then simmer the chicken uncovered for about 1 hour or until an instant-read thermometer, thrust into the meaty inner thigh, not touching bone, registers 170° F.
  
• 2.
  Carefully lift the chicken from the pot and set in a large shallow roasting pan; cool until easy to handle.
  
• 3.
  Meanwhile, boil the stock uncovered for an hour or more over moderate heat or until reduced by one third to one half. Strain through a large fine sieve lined with cheesecloth; discard all solids.
  
• 4.
  Boil the strained stock uncovered in a large, heavy saucepan over moderate heat for 30 to 40 minutes or until reduced to 6 to 8 cups (1½ to 2 quarts). Cool, then pour into 1-pint preserving jars, leaving ½ inch of headroom at the top. Screw the lids down tight, and refrigerate or freeze, dating and labeling each jar.
  Note:
  Use the refrigerated stock within one week, the frozen stock within three months.
  
• 5.
  Using your hands, remove the chicken skin and discard. Strip the meat from the bones in smallish pieces and divide among two or three shallow plastic food containers. Cover and refrigerate or freeze, dating and labeling each container.
  Note:
  Use the chilled chicken meat within two or three days, the frozen within three months.
  Note:
  Sometimes instead of stewing a chicken, I’ll roast it untrussed and uncovered for about an hour at 400° F. or until an instant-read thermometer, thrust into the meaty inner thigh, not touching bone, reads 170° F. When the chicken is cool enough to handle, I strip the meat from the bones just as I do for stewed chicken and if not using straightaway, either refrigerate or freeze the meat to use later. This is a faster method but it leaves me without any chicken stock.
  

One man said it took the hair right off his chest, another one said it put the hair on his chest.

—
ANDRE PRINCE JEFFRIES
ON THE HOT CHICKEN SERVED AT PRINCE’S HOT CHICKEN SHACK IN NASHVILLE
,
TENNESSEE