Uncle Remus Never Sledgehammered a Statue

I was as much the fool as ole Brer Rabbit, obliging Tar Baby but ultimately getting mired up in Brer Fox’s conniving trap.  And that’s pretty much the situation anytime a person honestly, respectfully, and peacefully reacts to the negative tripe currently saturating social media regarding the great American jihad against all remnants of the short-lived Confederate States.  There is no civilized debate.  There is no considerate dialogue.  There is nothing tolerated but vehement attack and a bullying demand for either agreement, or utter silence.  If you think this is America, think again, for there is no room for differing thought or personal opinion that counters the extremist mainstream thought of purge & cleanse. 

My “trap” was what I innocently assumed to be an honest, forthright question from an African-American woman commenting on a respected scholar’s recent post about the trend to wipe out all visual vestiges of memorial to the Confederacy.  She posed a valid, and thought-provoking, question, “Why is it useful to honor those who fought to ensure that my ancestors remained enslaved and brutalized?  Why?”

I almost didn’t answer.  I was, frankly, afraid, not of offending her, for I bore no offense, but rather I was afraid I actually had no fair answer.  For all my fervent support in protecting the venerated statues of Lee, Breckinridge, Davis, & Morgan, I’d never before asked myself why the descendants of Southern slaves really should feel as I did.  Perhaps I was actually afraid that in answering this question, I’d find an answer within myself that would shake my stance and sway my defense.  So, realizing that no answer to her query only implied my devotions were actually biased, I began to write in response. 

 I replied, “That is an honest, and very valid, question. I'll take a stab at it, if you'll permit.

First off, let's extract the term "brutalized" as it is subjective and applicable only to specific historic situations. "Dehumanized" would be a better choice, but this stems from the Euro-British traditions of chattel slavery that we adopted here rather than created.

 Now to your question.  I'm not sure myself that a descendant of Southern slaves necessarily should "honor" the institution of slavery, or either side of conflict during the War and its participants. You should honor your own people, but by doing so I think that requires an acceptance of respect both for them and for the rest of their society, inclusive of their masters. We forget that but for those first white Virginians of 1619, all succeeding generations were born into a culture whose economy was based upon slavery.

The soldiers of the Confederacy were as well born into this society where state, church & parents taught them to accept the institution as right and just, conveying upon most a moral responsibility as master and caretaker of what they deemed, sadly, a lesser race. They then marched off to war, first to protect home & hearth, but yes, per their governments, to ultimately retain the economic norms they all were born into. No, that doesn't support a reason to honor them, I admit, but neither does it afford any of us a right to vilify them.

 I think respect stems from a vision of unity, not from viewing Southerners as separated by race. These men may not symbolize a cohesive South, that much is true, but they were nonetheless champions of their states and counties and communities, and they were the ancestors of perhaps your friends, neighbors, or co-workers who inherited from those same soldiers their tenacity, valor, and pride of community, not latent racist attitudes stemming from admiration of their past that so many now wish to infer. That alone warrants respect.  Any soldier deserves respect.

Another reason for affording respect to these soldiers is the monumental legacy of slavery itself. When you, or I, trivialize this legacy of some 13+ generations of enslaved African-Americans as the collective existence of mere slaves or, even worse, as just victims, we dishonor them. We are talking about men, women & children who can never be fairly remembered merely for their vocation or bondage. They overcame adversity and lived, generation after generation, with pride, spirit, and above all, intense hope. They did not teach despair to their children, nor did they leave their modern descendants with a legacy of bitterness. No, they had respect for themselves, and what’s more they lived with respect for their plight, and for the society that perpetuated it. They were demeaned socially, relegated to the equal status of cattle or mules, yet harbored no personal hate or perpetual despair for their lot in life or for the white men who fought in the Confederacy that might have perpetuated their legal chattel status.  Like it or not, black Southerners were as proud of their sense of “place” and "home" as were their white counterparts.  Subjugated as they were, slaves still found a sense of family and connection in all but the cruelest of settings.  The boys that left home had once been the babies they nursed, or the children they had fished and hunted alongside.  Though contemporary words rarely explained it, even in the plantation setting we seem to demonize now through a higher moral grasp, feelings of family and honor were still reciprocated between white and black, and there was a degree of pride in the young men who gallantly left to protect both of those primary concepts on behalf of all, regardless of race.

 And never did these enslaved souls intend for their memory, faint as it might now be, to serve as a catalyst for revenge & spite. No, even when it wasn't returned, these people offered respect, perhaps in a fuller, more Christ-like manner than their white owners may have. For that reason, in honor of your own past, Black Southerners can and should muster a degree of respect for these men who thought they were protecting both races, deceived though they may have been by a social fallacy we ended only by war & bloodshed. I'm not saying that respect for these monuments comes easily, I know it can’t for you, but when it does, and it can, perhaps it will at last be reciprocated fully.

The biggest mistake we've made since the Civil Rights Movement has been the continued exclusion of Blacks as mutual Southerners. We have never given them/you a reason to respect the entirety of our joint past, for we can't quite yet see that we've an intertwined culture. Change has always been slow, granted, but it happens. The erection of monuments to Confederate war dead happened, mostly, decades after the War once monies were raised. These were not visual attempts to subjugate blacks, but we still won't admit that the subjugation took place throughout the first half of the 20th century. And here's the big point, which you may not accept right now, but if you ponder, I think you'll see reason in my statement. Neither you, nor hardly any African-American descendent of slaves, visualizes pillar & post or any semblance of an antebellum plantation when you see a Confederate flag. Virtually no living Black Southerner retains a vestigial filament of connectivity to slavery. I personally think you should, but that isn't a common occurrence today. What you do carry is a harsh, living memory of racial hate and atrocities silently sanctioned & condoned by America & its governments as a whole, Federal down to state and local. You are not offended by an historic banner, or any statue to a war 150 years ago. You don't even see Robert E. Lee. You see Jim Crow, and that's the elephant in the room we none wish to admit to.

 ********, my words may not be written with sufficient time & preparation to so eloquently convey my answer as I might wish, but I have attempted it honestly and with respect. You may choose to assume me a racist CS flag waiver, and I can't modify that impression if that’s what you still perceive, but I can further explain my position here on the fence I've straddled for some time. My family was at Jamestown, and my ancestors collaterally owned thousands of slaves. I've no shame or guilt in that. My ancestors fought on both sides of the conflict, including our beloved General Lee, my multiple cousin, and that makes me very proud. I take no pride, though, in the American institution of slavery, and I acknowledge it a moral mistake of the country's founders, but I still take pride in these statues, not as efforts to continue slavery, but as symbols of a region of America like no other, where black & white side by side, even in times of hate & distrust, but as well in times of joy, contributed to a unique way of life we all should be able to celebrate now. If 4 years of our military past is meant to fill us with shame only because of slavery, then our entire regional & national identities must as well, and I for one cannot agree to that. From 1609 until 2017, all Southerners have experienced pain, loss, and humiliation at some point, but we are by nature a resilient people. It is time now to leave off the sugar and swallow the whole spoon of medicine, bitter or not, and respect the entirety of our past, our common past, our mutual past, our unsegregated past. But yes, that requires that I, that we, that all white Southerners, develop the same respect for your stories as I would ask you now to show for mine.”

 Well y’all, that was received about as well as a Christmas fruitcake.  Despite my convictions and my earnest desire to share my vision of unity, I was met with preconceived negative conclusions.  She denounced me as a white supremacist, a racist, not reading my response in its entirety, but extracting words of offense, just as she and so many others select images and banners of personal subjective offense, unable to justify their rancor, unwilling to shed it. 

And nothing I might have said would have been accepted, for she couldn’t get past the color of my skin.  Her question was nothing but an entrapment, a Tar Baby, daring someone, especially a white person defending our monuments, to answer, but what I was too naïve to suspect was just how much this woman (and so many of her ilk) was seething behind the computer screen and her apparently innocent and sincere post.  Yes indeed.  I was pretty much like Brer Rabbit.  I had no chance of placating or provoking thought, for years of residual anger dictated her opinions and distorted any image of true empathy.  (And if anyone wants to assume I’m creating a derogatory racist allusion by appreciating classic Southern literature I read to my children that preserves and perpetuates Southern African-American folk lore, then please crawl back into your hole, vipers!)

Well Miss ********, as my children, ages 9 & 6 like to say, “you don’t know my life!”  And neither do you know my heart.  You can call me a lot of things, cracker if it makes you feel good, but not racist.  Do I have biases?  Hell yes!  We all do, but I work every day to assess & deal with the unjust ones.  I’m not there yet, and neither are you, quite clearly, but that doesn’t give you liberty to assess my character.

For what it’s worth, and I know that isn’t much to this crowd, I’ve researched and studied for some 20+ years to bring light to our local African-American community.  I live in the “Cradle of Emancipation” where two components of the National Parks System glorify the humble birth of Lincoln, yet they refuse to acknowledge the presence of slavery and its impact upon the Emancipator.  I’ve struggled with this disparity for years, but can neither budge the Federal Government to abide by its own directives, nor convince my local citizenry to write a single letter of support for the interpretation of its own ancient Black community.  I’ve delved into our past to bring back names and identities to long-forgotten “slaves”, including those who would eventually dwell in the fabled log cabin birthplace of Lincoln, only to have that scholarship scoffed at and rejected.  My dear friend, my brother, Gordon Earl Thomas and I tried in vain to make Juneteenth a community celebration, but it wasn’t wanted.  I’ve pleaded for a memorial to the Black veterans of the Civil War, the men who literally fought for theirs and their families’ freedom, but to no avail.  I resurrected their names, and in great solemnity had them read aloud by Kentucky’s first African-American Lieutenant Governor, but only a scant handful, white or black, cared enough to be present to hear.  I have tried to bring back the dead, seeking their graves, wanting to give our African-American community back a sacred place in the ancient church yards like the whites still have, to know and feel where they are rooted, to remind them we all started out together, only to find that the recollection of those once enslaved has pretty much faded, not replaced by images of terror and…brutality like yours, but with apathetic acceptance of a lesser lot in life in which a rich past has no bearing upon current lives, the legacy of slavery nearly forgotten, traded off for a peaceful coexistence at the expense of any collective memory.  I’ve asked for markers and monuments, public parks and street names, but ended up a lone voice, a white Don Quixote taking up a black lance that brands me a fool most days, crazy others, yet never respected as an historian because I seek the telling of a mutual story that no one is ready to hear or read. 

Yes Ma’am, all that said, I am surely a racist, a white supremacist, worthy of your ire, to be spat at electronically, sneered at and ridiculed, just like all your white friends who type their attacks and spit their own venom, they having absolutely no legitimate empathy for your past or those noble ancestors you use rather than revere in the name of a shared self-proclaimed offense.  You so aptly justify my passions and endeavors, reminding me of a wasted devotion all these years, and a wasted effort now to show you, a stranger, my heart-felt respect.  But because it wasn’t offered out of guilt and shame, in embarrassment for my race and my ancestry, it wasn’t worthy of your consideration. 

So please, all of you, laugh at this fool.  Damn my ancestors to Hell for their corruption and racial hate that is apparently my only legacy from them.  Trample my monuments, distort my past, deny me my heroes, but always know what cowardly bullies you all are.  You are all truly the bigots and supremacists of thought and morality, abusing the charge of race, and denying your birthright of pride and dignity, for that is what you wish to strip from others.

Talk To Me...Slowly, Please

I just recently participated in an on-line linguistics quiz that sought to map out your speech patterns to reflect the greatest identifiable influence &/or similarities.  My results showed me to associate with Jackson, Mississippi & Birmingham, Alabama.  No insult to me, I was flattered, actually.  Sadly, as I studied the results more closely, I saw that for one particular word that specifically tied me to Birmingham, the contraction "y'all," Kentucky fell in a foggy middle ground where clearly the term wasn't common.  I should say "no longer" common.  It left me pondering how and when this change took place.

I can fathom the current commonality, however, that put Kentucky in the yankee blue rather than Southern red on the linguistic map.  YOU GUYS, the term I detest above all others.  Understand, please, I did not grow up hearing this term.  Maybe it had festered in Louisville by the 1960s, but not in south central Kentucky.  We said "y'all."  It's an inclusive term that is always gender-friendly.  Then, with the introduction of interstates and cable television, it was as if we'd caught a virus that altered our brain wiring and hit a delete button in our vocabulary.  By the 1980s, GUY had been brought southward like a parasite hitchhiking in a boatload of imported fruits from some "furrin" country.  We were infected, and you heard it everywhere, just like on TV sit-coms with fake California accents. We thoughtlessly, mindlessly, accepted the use of a word that not only was unnecessary in most context, but was insulting.  People began calling one another anarchists!   

The grammar is upsetting enough.  You hear it daily if you listen and pay attention.  "You guys, did you see this?"  "I want you guys to ask questions at the end of the presentation."  There is just no reason to designate a  pronoun modifier acting needlessly as a demonstrative adjective for the hateful noun "guy."  "You" is generally sufficient in most cases, yet we insist upon homogenizing our speech patterns and copying this grammatically flawed usage.  "You" is such a fluidly functional word.  The context defines singularity or plurality without extra effort, and without calling names.  "Did you see this" or "I want you to ask questions" encompasses a group audience without question in such a setting, but then we insult our listeners?  Yes, it's an insult.  The word is derived from Guy Fawkes, the notorious English Catholic who attempted to blow up the British House of Lords in 1605.  The greatest historical name perhaps in anarchy, Fawkes' plot and ultimate execution were honored with "Guy Fawkes Day" or "Night" when effigies of Guy are hung & burned in remembrance, and in warning.  His given name became associated with the hanging dummies, but crossing the Atlantic the word of shame became just another word for a male. 

Perhaps Southerners were more aware of their British vocabulary and its origins.  "Guy" in its adulterated form seems to stem from New York and other northern urban centers where concentrations of central and eastern European immigrants adopted the word and adapted its meaning, spreading the corrupted usage westward to the Midwest and on to the California coast.  That equates to a common acceptance by the media, from newsprint to television, which ultimately brought the infection into the homes of the South. 

More was at work, though, to make successful the homogenization of speech in Dixie, be it upper, deep, or middle.  Radio had done its part for decades already.  By the 1970s television, controlled, edited, and acted almost entirely outside the South, was everywhere in America.  It was our generation's smart phone, and we were quickly hooked, listening to dialect and accent foreign to us, but bombarding our children to such an extent we began to assume it was correct, and that we were backwoods ignorant. 

But it took more than television and radio to make us ashamed of how we talked.  By now our populations, even in the smallest of towns, have shifted and changed, with but few remaining who have familial ties to the same location 150 years prior.  Worse than carpetbaggers, northerners and Midwesterners have relocated south in droves, seeking cheap living and better weather, their own roots cut off by an economic hatchet.  They have altered the composition of our communities, having no ties to our past, no desire to preserve what was never theirs.  And we, weakly, allow our children to emulate their speech patterns, finding shame in our own, another legacy of our ancestors we see no value in. 

Gentle, even sweet, slow & melodic cadence of give & take in talk handed down from our grandparents is replaced with fast, nasally droning like wasps, and as irritating.  Old words are gone, new vulgar ones accepted without question.  We falsely "improve" ourselves toward another's model, not our own, acting out of self-imposed shame for no legitimate reasons, just that the incomer finds us less intelligent and backward.  We follow the fool, and become the fool.  No wonder we now collectively see no reason to preserve the past.   It is dead, demise brought by our own hands. We no longer speak the past, we no longer hear it.  If all that is left is a decaying statue, well, why keep it?  We long before stopped telling the stories, so the tales are forgotten, and with them the song of the words themselves.  For spoken word is as much a part of memory as are the tales of a culture.  Both are vital to make us unique.  Without them, we are Xeroxed, cookie-cuttered shadows. You guys get that? 

CORN PUDDING, FROM COMMONWEALTH TO COMMONWEALTH, A SOUTHERN SUMMER TRADITION

Ah, mid-summer, and the best of the season’s corn crop is coming in.  No better time than now to think about corn pudding.  Despite the heat and humidity, it’s worth it to turn on that hot oven for the end result. 

A recreated Powhatan Indian cornfield near Jamestown, Virginia

Completely native to America, corn was one of the first crops encountered by 17th century Virginians in the fields of our Powhatan ancestors along the James River.  Likely some form of corn pudding was on the menu at Berkeley Plantation, site of the 1st “Thanksgiving” in America (1619), & the dish as my mother & grandmother prepared it is much the same as that made for our kinsman Thomas Jefferson at Monticello in Virginia. 

The historic cornfield in which the Battle of Perryville, Kentucky was fought 8th October 1862, then and today, where the battlefield lies basically pristine & undeveloped.  150 years ago, corn was as important a staple in the Southern diet as it remains now.

Don’t assume that corn pudding is the same, historically, as “Indian” pudding.  While there may be similarities, corn pudding does not utilize corn meal, but rather whole tender corn kernels in a fluffy egg custard.  Its origins seem based on the traditional English custard.  The basic recipe for corn pudding is found in Eliza Leslies 1837 cookbook Directions for Cookery, but it was an old standard even by then, and favored not just in the South, but the Mid-Atlantic and New England regions as well.  She called it “Green Corn Pudding”, referencing the use of tender fresh corn, not dried mature grains intended for meal. 

“Take twelve ears of green corn, as it is called, (that is, Indian corn when full grown, but before it begins to harden and turn yellow,) and grate it. Have ready a quart of rich milk, and stir into it by degrees a quarter of a pound of fresh butter, and a quarter of a pound of sugar. Beat four eggs till quite light; and then stir them into the milk, &c. alternately with the grated corn, a little of each at a time. Put the mixture into a large buttered dish, and bake it four hours. It may be eaten either warm or cold, for sauce, beat together butter and white sugar in equal proportions, mixed with grated nutmeg.

To make this pudding,—you may, if more convenient, boil the corn and cut it from the cob; but let it get quite cold before you stir it into the milk. If the corn has been previously boiled, the pudding will require but two hours to bake.”

Clearly the addition of a sweet nutmeg-based “sauce” was a yankee addition, something never encountered in the South (thank goodness).  I actually worked with a professional male chef from Pittsburgh who included nutmeg in his rendition of corn pudding.  Lord love him, he’s a fine man and talented in the culinary arts, but I couldn’t choke down that nutmeg in my corn, even if Cousin Thomas Jefferson grew it.  I don't think he ever put nutmeg in his corn pudding, and my grandmother "Miss Annie" sure didn't, so let's not venture there, ok?

The corn pudding we make and serve in Kentucky is pretty much the mirror image of that found in Virginia, our mother Commonwealth.  It’s been a staple at the beloved Beaumont Inn of Harrodsburg for over a century.  Their simple, classic version follows:

Beaumont Inn’s Famous Corn Pudding

 2 cups white whole kernel corn, or fresh corn cut off the cob

4 eggs

8 level tablespoons flour

1 quart of milk

4 rounded teaspoons sugar

4 tablespoons butter, melted

1 teaspoon salt

Stir into the corn, the flour, salt, sugar, and butter. Beat the eggs well; put them into the milk, then stir into the corn and put into a pan or Pyrex dish. Bake in oven at 450 degrees for about 40-45 minutes.

Stir vigorously with long prong fork three times, approximately 10 minutes apart while baking, disturbing the top as little as possible.

I can attest to the succulence of their pudding.  The Dedman family staff has pretty much perfected the process, and the hot steamy corn pudding they serve is consistently perfect, never dry, never “flat”, never too dense.  Our Augusta, now age 9, has already tried her hand at preparing this beloved family recipe that has changed little in 300 years.  Our own version varies little from that of the Beaumont Inn, but I provide it as reference.  I have cut the butter a tad!

INGREDIENTS

2 cups of corn (fresh is wonderful, frozen is “ok”, but canned works rather well.  I often use whole kernel and cream style together if using canned corn. 

3 large eggs, plus the whites of two additional eggs (Augusta & Avery gather fresh brown ones here at home from “Black Belle”, “Beauty” and “Tiana” in our backyard coop, but white “store bought” eggs work fairly well in a pinch should you not have a chicken yard of your own!!

3 tablespoons of sugar (2 works, but I like it a bit sweeter.)

1 teaspoon of Kosher Salt

3-4 tablespoons of flour

2 tablespoons of melted butter

1 pat of cold butter to grease pan

1 cup of whole milk (cream or “half and half” makes this much richer!)

SERVES:  6 to 8 portions

PREPARATION

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a baking dish generously with extra butter.  Combine flour, salt, & sugar, then add beaten eggs and combine thoroughly.  Add corn, using a whisk to mix now.  Slowly pour in melted butter followed by milk or cream, whisking carefully but consistently.   Pour mixture into greased pan and bake for 45 minutes to 1 hour, testing with a toothpick for doneness. 

Some people do stir the pudding during cooking, attempting not to disturb the top as it sets.  I find no reason for this extra labor.  Let the entire pudding set as it cooks, examining the middle after 40 minutes or so to see if it has set up.  If it still sloshes, keep cooking another 10 minutes and look again, testing with a toothpick as needed.  Usually you can tell by eye when this is done.  It may fall a bit, but don’t worry, you aren’t cooking a soufflé!  When using only fresh or whole kernel corn, you may find that the kernels settle to the bottom somewhat, leaving you with an actual fluffy pudding on the top.  This is completely acceptable.

Let Freedom Ring

Today I feature a very poignant object.  A somewhat macabre and horrific relic of American slavery, this rather mundane brass bell was recently obtained from a London antiques dealer. It was sold at auction there in the 1980s with an oral attribution of having come from the estate of British abolitionist Thomas Clarkson, it being given to him as a souvenir from  a Charleston, South Carolina plantation.  The bell was alleged to have been dangling from a runaway slave's "Bell Collar", a  grossly inhumane deterrent whose barbaric use continued up until the time of the Civil War in some places.  There was an allusion to this having been sent to Clarkson by the Grimke Sisters, Sarah & Angeline, of Charleston, famed abolitionists born into a privileged slave owning family.  This somewhat mythical provenance cannot be substantiated, though it seems plausible that such a physical representation of Southern slavery would have been given as a token to Clarkson for his efforts in fighting the institution in America. 

Southern Fried Summer Fruit; Sizzle Required Outdoors Only

Kentucky’s Seasonal Food Heritage

Tastes of an Abundant Season Past & Present

 Breaded Tomatoes, or “Tomato Pudding”

By Gary Dean Gardner, Independent Scholar of Southern History & Foodways

Timeline of  Ingredients

1550s-South American tomatoes grown in Italy

1710 - Reported as being grown in South Carolina gardens

1750s-Tomatoes widely grown for food

1781 - Thomas Jefferson grows tomatoes at Monticello

1812 - French introduction to New Orleans cuisine

1824 - First Virginia tomato recipes in Mary Randolph’s cookbook

1835 - First available in Shaker seed catalogs

1839 - First Kentucky tomato recipes in Lettice Bryan’s cookbook

1850s-First versions of sweetened baked tomato puddings & pies evolve in the upper South

4 big dead ripe fruits or a 35 oz. can

1 stick (1/4 lb.) butter

½ tsp. salt

1 cup sugar

4-6 leftover biscuits

350 degree oven

Sometimes the simplest of foods escape our attention as we become more globally acclimated to once unheard of ingredients and cooking styles.  Cooks, be they amateur or professional, as well as the recipients of their efforts, are bombarded in print and video, not to mention their local “mega” grocery store’s electronic end caps, by luscious looking temptations from every country and ethnicity imaginable, many ready to heat and eat at our leisure and convenience.  We get so convinced of a contrived equation where “exotic + preserved/packaged + expensive = good food” that we lose sight of the basic true mathematical fact where instead “local + fresh/raw + simple preparation – overhead/advertising = good food.”

That to me is pretty simple kitchen math, especially here at mid to late summer when the fresh foods I love to eat and cook with are so plentiful I can buy them cheaply at the farmers’ market, or even have bushels given to me by my green thumbed & fingered father-in-law whose home vegetable garden takes on an appearance likened to the landscape of Biltmore.  My counting does get confused though when it comes to tomatoes.  All of a sudden we woke up one morning, having been tomato deprived for so long, only to discover that they were ripening at a rate faster than a super computer could calculate.  Well, maybe not that fast, but I know they’re already ruining faster than we can eat them.  Ah, such adversity in life.  But, it does make us stronger, and gives us a chance to eat in its freshest form, at least for a few months, what canned tomatoes can’t quite deliver

One of my favorite summertime dishes from childhood, my grandmother’s (Miss Annie, not Nevada May) breaded tomatoes, is pretty much forgotten by many folks today as we become more sophisticated in our palates, due primarily to that lack of dependence upon farm fresh availability that generations past were accustomed to.  While I will make them in the winter using canned tomatoes, there is just nothing like a steaming hot casserole dish of home grown heirloom breaded tomatoes.

The name itself, at least as we term it in my family, is descriptive but still fails to adequately convey the use of this summer produce staple as a fruit, which it certainly is, rather than a more “Spanish” style savory dish as we might find in the deeper coastal South.  In fact, as we prepare the dish, it might be likened more to a non-traditional bread pudding or fruit cobbler than anything else.  Others have called them stewed or even scalloped tomatoes, but generally these versions are related dishes and not quite the same.

The origin for this style of cooking the once feared “love apple” seems to have its roots in Virginia and the upper Carolinas, as it is virtually unheard of in regional culinary centers like Charleston, Savannah, or New Orleans.  It may originate with the antebellum “Tomato Pie” found almost solely in the Tar Heel state.  The predominance of sugar even suggests an association with the old Moravian cooks, and certainly my North Carolina-rooted maternal ancestors perpetuated the dish in our family as we migrated westward into Middle Tennessee and finally into south central Kentucky by 1840.  In fact, the preparation style as handed down to my mother seems to be rather unique to TN and the counties in KY where early Tennesseans mixed into the more native Bluegrass population, though her matriarchal Mercer County cooks retained a similar recipe.

In essence, breaded tomatoes are prepared in much the same way as traditional Southern “fried” apples (fried being another regional term referencing the cast iron cooking implement used more so than the actual process).  Fresh tomatoes are peeled & seeded and placed in an iron skillet with adequate portions of butter and white sugar, with a dash of salt to enhance flavor.  No onions, garlic, or Italian seasonings are used here.  Just as with the skillet fried apples, the tomatoes are stirred on medium heat until reduction begins and the sugar & butter are thoroughly incorporated.  Taste as the mix reduces, adding additional salt (sparingly) and sugar per personal preference. Then, in a buttered baking dish, day old biscuits (preferably) are broken into bite sized pieces to cover the dish.  Please do not ever use cornbread, and even white sandwich bread is not really recommended.  In Eastern Kentucky and elsewhere throughout the South we find many references to bread literally being dissolved into stewed tomatoes to thicken the juice, but that is not the texture we are seeking with breaded tomatoes.  Optimally choose chunks of bread that will soak up the sweet thickened broth of the cooked tomatoes without their being incorporated into a sauce.  We want to be able to bite into the bread to which clings the slightly syrupy chunks of tomato, again like we would find in a bread pudding, only here we omit the eggs and instead add fruit.

Pour the reduced tomatoes over the biscuits, making sure all the bread pieces soak up the sweetened mixture.  IF you reduced this too much and it won’t easily pour, add either another tomato or water to thin out the mix.  Sprinkle the surface with sugar, and bake until bubbly and just beginning to dry out on the top.  The finished product should not need a bowl to contain it when being served.

As mentioned, canned tomatoes work fine, but the fresh fruit is best, particularly when mixing yellow, orange & red heirloom varieties.  By not relying solely upon red tomatoes, you reduce the acid and add natural sweetness.  On family tables in Taylor and LaRue Counties, though certainly sweet enough for dessert, we would never substitute this for the traditional sweet end to a meal.  Rather the breaded tomatoes take their place on the plate as a colorful & rich side dish, verifying the fabled Southern sweet tooth that requires sugar in all vegetables.  For what it may be worth, don’t count the calories.  Just convince yourself you’re eating your veggies, and don’t be surprised if you spoon out a second helping and opt to dismiss the coconut cake as completely unnecessary now!

Eat the Past; Live for Today!

Southern By Association; J. S. Curtis Revealed

I know we're all disappointed when published errors are made apparent, but I felt I should share some new scholarship on what was previously assumed to be a Memphis, Tennessee silversmith.  I don't wish to discredit the hard work and noble efforts of prior historians, but I hate to see pieces enter the market with spurious attributions, perpetuating misinformation and applying false values based solely upon a presumed but incorrect Southern origin.

Coin Silver Covered Sugar Bowl marked by J S Curtis, image courtesy Neal Auction & Liveauctioneers

No matter how wrong an attribution for a particular artisan might be in the limited but growing field of research into American, primarily Southern, decorative arts, it is hard to refute printed information.  For we trust books and periodicals, thinking them written and edited by "professionals" who know their business better than we, the reader or modest student of a field of study.  But that is a limited and confining mode of thought, for it discourages discovery.  And, the simple fact is that published assessments of art and antiques can contain error. Some, as in recent revelations such as this, reflect dated "good faith" conclusions based upon limited access in years past to data which is more readily available now. We must forgive any such author for middling mistakes when primary sources were not at hand.

Sadly, some erroneous conjecture is given editorial and institutional "approval" merely because the author has professional associations and connections that  infer a superior grasp on a particular subject, whether or not they are adequately versed and read on the matter at hand.  The lesson is to read, and where questions arise, never take unsubstantiated or undocumented conclusions as valid due only to the credentials of the publication itself.  A good student is a good reader, and they should be cued to findings for which no analytical research is cited.  Accurate findings should reflect an underlying logical process of search and discovery.  Where that is missing, beware and do not rush to accept in its entirety because the author is a professional (paid) historian or supported by the institution they write for. 

Such is so very true in regards to the still infantile scholarship into Southern-made, and retailed, silver of the middle 19th century.  Initials books on the subject are valuable resources still, but a lot has been learned in the past 20-30 years, allowing us to take a more critical look at old assumptions and seeing where honest mistakes might have been made, setting the record straight now for old and new collectors alike.

For those passionate about silver from the "Volunteer State,"  there has been for some years now a hesitancy regarding a plethora of examples of surviving silver that some assumed, understandably, were manufactured in Tennessee.  None marked "Memphis" as was so typical in that city, and not a single piece with provenance to that state, yet dozens of examples of antebellum American silver have been labeled as originating there, thanks entirely to an honest, educated assumption based upon a single Census entry and the confusing mark of a legitimate silver maker of the same era but a differing region whose name was, sadly, a tad too similar. 

There are a couple of related 19th firms that the varied "J S Curtis" marks would be associated with which now need clarification and distinction from the very young salesman of the same working name that apparently plied a similar trade very briefly in Memphis, Tennessee but for whom there is NO indication he was ever a trained silversmith or even marked an example of silver made by another artisan for resale. 

James S. Curtis, Jr. was the 2nd son, and 2nd child, born ca. 1830 in South (or North) Carolina to Dr. James S. & M. S. Curtis.  In 1850, at the age of 20, he was enumerated by the Federal Census for Tennessee in his father's Memphis household as a "silversmith"  along with his older brother, J. C. Curtis, a medical student.  A younger brother, J. B. Curtis, was apparently the first of the Curtis children born in Tennessee in 1838, indicating the family had resided there for only about 12 years, as an older sister was born in South Carolina in 1834, the last child born prior to their removal from the Carolinas.

It is interesting that the 1850 Census offers no real estate value for Dr. Curtis, substantiating the theory he was yet a fairly young physician who had not yet established himself in the Memphis community and who owned no office or home.   As well, despite the occupational reference for James Jr. as a silversmith, he also has no real estate value recorded, inferring he owned no shop but was rather more likely working for one of the major jewelry houses there in the city such as F. H. Clark or Clark's partner and then major competitor, J. E. Merriman.  Confirming this theory, the Memphis City Directory for the prior year (1849) lists neither father nor son, implying that they had only recently arrived in Memphis (though living elsewhere in Tennessee for a few years).  The men are likewise absent from the 1855-56 City Directory, confirming a short tenure for the family in the city proper.

These facts call to question the accurate attribution to James Curtis' hand of a large grouping of sophisticated American silver hollow ware that survives bearing a mark of "J. S. Curtis" or "J. S. Curtis & Co."  If James Curtis in 1850, about the time that all the surviving examples of silver bearing a mark with a name similar to his, was but an employee, for a very short time, in an existing jewelry shop in Memphis where the owner's name, not the employee's, would have been stamped on items sold, then is the attribution of the mark to him during his residency in Memphis logical?

A further look at Federal Census records would further dispel the notion that James S. Curtis Jr. was ever a working silversmith capable of manufacturing the many fine pieces of silver credited to him.  Long before turning up in the 1880 California Census, the family had relocated to Yolo, California, where  J. C. Curtis resided in that year with his brother  J. S., head of household, each designated as a "farmer." So, how and when did this transition take place? 

We know from the City Directory for Memphis that the Curtis family had left the city by 1855.  Per the Sacramento Daily Union of 10 Aug 1855, Dr. James Curtis Sr. already resided by that date in Yolo where he was active in local politics as a "Know Nothing" party member and was a local farmer, raising peanuts & tobacco (per the same paper, 29 Sept. 1863).  James. S. Curtis, the physician turned farmer, is listed as a member of the California State Agricultural Society in 1859, and  J. S. Curtis, again we assume Sr., is listed as a member of the California State Assembly from Yolo County from 1857-58.

 Final proof of an extreme vocational change comes in the Washington Township, Sacramento, California Federal Census for 1860, where James S. Curtis Jr. is listed for the second, and final, time in his brief career as a "jeweler," now residing in Yolo County, CA at his father's home (as already inferred, occupation a farmer). Older brother and former medical student J. C. Curtis is also shown as a farmer in the household. (As well, per the same 1860 California Census entry, we see that James, 29, was born in NC, but his next youngest sibling Thomas, a clerk, was born in Tennessee in 1835, while brother Edwin was born in Mississippi in 1837, better establishing the Curtis family migrations prior to settling permanently in California.)

It would seem that the elder James Curtis went west to follow his brother, attorney and noted early California judge N. Greene Curtis.  Judge Curtis' obituary in the 13 July 1897 San Francisco Call said he was born in Beulah, NC, and had come to California in 1850.  The Sacramento Daily Union went on to explain, "He went to Memphis, Tenn. in his youth..."  Dr. Curtis himself died 18 Nov 1872 per the Stockton Daily Independent.

There is no evidence that James Curtis Jr. ever returns to Tennessee in any vocational capacity, much less as a silversmith.  On 13 Sept. 1866 he married Mary Ann Reavis in Yolo, CA and, as already explained, the couple resides there into the 1880s.  

So, what about all that silver marked by J. S. Curtis?

The legitimate and well documented silversmith Joseph S. Curtis, (http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~silversmiths/makers/silversmiths/220859.htm) began his career as a Yankee spectacle maker in Hampton, CT during the 1830s,  accounting for the eye glasses which turn up in abundance in the antique silver marketplace.  The rest of the story of Joseph Curtis' career as a silversmith then accounts for the huge amount of hollowware that surfaces bearing the name of an obscure Mississippi/Tennessee jewelry store clerk with a similar name.  

Coin Silver Spectacles bearing the mark of J S Curtis, image courtesy Neal Auction & Liveauctioneers

Joseph Stewart Curtis, a  brother of  better known Hartford, Connecticut silversmith Frederick Curtis (husband of Ms. Wealthy Brown Curtis), ultimately expanded his spectacle & jewelry interests into finer silverware production, even becoming a partner with his brother(F. Curtis & Co) by mid-century.  (It appears an 1840 fire devastated the Curtis factory in Hampton, precipitating his move to Glastonbury, CT.)   Below is a letter from Vermont/California silversmith/jeweler Horace P.  Janes which provides some documentation:

Letter to F. CURTIS & Co. in Hartford CT
Private Collection, courtesy of silver scholar William Voss

San Francisco April 30^th 1850

F. Curtis & Co.
         Gentlemen –
                           Your Mr. J. S. Curtis in New York put in my charge to be transported to this place, a trunk containing merchandise. I arrived here with the trunk, per steamer Ravenna this day one week ago. – Mr. Curtis omitted to procure me from the Custom House, New York, a manifest of the goods, and as all trunks arriving at this port from Panama have to undergo Custom House inspection, this omission occasioned me a great deal of trouble. On my arrival I was forbidden to take the trunk ashore without a Custom House permit. I came on shore and looked about for Mr. Geo. May, the consignee. I spent two days in making inquiries and looking him up, but entirely with out success. As it was necessary to have the trunk landed, I broke open the Consignees letter to look for an

— page two —invoice of the goods, which likewise Mr. Curtis omitted to furnish me. I had previously put a letter in the P. O. addressed to Mr. May requesting him to call upon me and get the goods, and I waited to hear from him till the very last moment that the goods were allowed to remain on board the steamer. On looking at the invoice I saw that the name of “Curtis, Randall & May,” and for this firm I have looked about and inquired, equally without success. – As the last resort, and to prevent the goods being landed and stored at enormous expense, I undertook the Custom House formalities myself. They are these: I was obliged to give a bond in $180, to procure from the Collector at New York a manifest of the goods certifying that they are of American manufacturer &c, -- I got a friend of mine as a personal favor to go as my security on the bond, and upon this was allowed a permit to take them ashore. The manifest must be produced as this port in six months from the date pf the bond, April 18, or the bond is forfeit. You will please therefore take an inventory of the goods to the Collector in NY and

— page three —get the necessary document made out and forward it to me by the very next mail if possible. – No trunks, whether containing baggage or merchandise are allowed to land in this port without inspection. I was therefore obliged to open the trunk to the Custom House Officer and cut the tin enclosure, to show him that the contents corresponded with the invoice. – This exposure compelled me also to pay freight on the trunks to the steamer. I have done the best possible under the circumstances, and subjected myself to a great deal of trouble and expense, which I should have felt very unwilling to do but for my former acquaintance and friendship with your Mr. J. S. Curtis.
    I have the trunk at present under a cheap storage, and shall continue so for a time till I become satisfied that your agents have “vamoosed,” which I think is most likely. – Their names or either of them can be found in the directory, and some of our oldest merchants have not known anything of them. It must be three months before I can hear from you, and if I can not find the consignees, and I can make a profitable sale for you, I shall take the liberty of doing so for you.

— page four —I am in very great haste, and you must therefore excuse further from me at present

I am very truly                                

Your Obed^t Sev^t            

H. P. Janes

Clearly then, the Connecticut Yankee was the large-scale silver producer to whom we must credit everything from coin silver eyeglasses to elaborate pitchers that survive marked by "J. S. Curtis." 

For those interested in genealogical details, Joseph Curtis married Julia May (1809-Aug. 1873), d/o Samuel May & Clarissa Smith.  Joseph Stewart Curtis, and his fellow silversmith and brother Frederick, were two of 10 children of Frederick Curtis Sr. & Persis Brown Curtis of Hampton, CT.  (Frederick Curtis Sr. m., 1784, Persis Brown (b. 1767). Frederick Curtis (1761-1830) enlisted, 1777, and served until 1781, as private in Captain Lee's company, Col. John Durkee's Connecticut regiment. In 1819 he applied for a pension, which was allowed. He died in Chesterfield, Mass. Also No. 62464. -------------------- A Patriot of the American Revolution for CONNECTICUT with the rank of Private. DAR Ancestor #: A028857)

 It seems the Joseph & Julia Curtis in later years moved to California, I assume taking his business there as might be evidenced by the letter of H. P. Janes.  They had a son, Stewart May Curtis. 

Anyhow, after all that rambling, current silver and regional decorative arts scholars may of course determine their own conclusions, but personally I find no association between Joseph S Curtis the New England silversmith and James Curtis who worked as a jeweler for a few short years in the state of Tennessee.  The only tie between the two men would be their initials and the fact they both ultimately resided in California.  And, it is highly unlikely that James marked ANY retailed silver, as he never had a shop of his own during his stay in Tennessee.    For those still in doubt, though, I would recommend asking MESDA to verify whether or not Dr. Ben Caldwell's original attribution is correct.  They could, with their resources and far more educated & experienced research associates & contributors, make a final determination and settle a long-standing concern amongst students of Southern silver.

Don't Squash the Squash

But you can cook it to death.  That is the Southern way, right?

I felt like blogging today, without great detail, or research, or historical insight, though I may come back later with a more detailed history of squash casserole.  Then again...I may just cook some and eat it.

So, y'all, forgive my funky mood, and put to use perhaps a few tips on this classic summertime dish.

1)  Throw out most every recipe you already have, or at least take a red pen and slash through the primary directions.  Don't you EVER pre-cook and DRAIN.  First off, it's a yankee way, and secondly, it rids the squash of nutrients and flavor.  Why end up adding extra flavors because you parboiled the taste out of the squash?

Here's how to prep for squash casserole.  Chunk it up, or slice it, it matters not, just so long as it's to a size you want.  Put the squash in a pan (that's basic), lightly salt, add sugar (we are talking about Southern food, right?), perhaps a tablespoon, a hunk of butter (salted, so be aware of how much salt you're adding extra).  Now sliver up a big ole Vidalia onion and add it to the pan.  Mmm, I'm hungry already. Add water until covered.  Boil that baby down.  You heard me, boil it near dry so you lose no liquid but to the food Angels.  This way you concentrate all those wonderful flavors, and it's ready for the baking dish. 

Now "near dry" means about a 1/4 inch of squash liquor left in the pan.  Yes, you may literally cook near every drop of water until you sort of caramelize your squash mix.  That can create a more intense flavor (remember, you added sugar), but HEED MY WORD!  Don't leave that pan on the stove, and KEEP STIRRING!  That thang will scorch before you know it.  I know!  Stay with it, keep your heat medium once it starts boiling, and stir, stir, stir.  Scorched, burnt squash does not make a palatable casserole.

2)  Now is a good time to add a few pimento peppers!

3)  My mother liked to add grated carrot (step 1), but I generally don't think of this, and like the pimento peppers better.

4)  Now get out your big measuring cup.  Mix up an egg, about a 1/4 cup of sour cream, and as much milk as you need based upon how much liquor you left in the squash.  Remember, on either step if you think it's too runny, just add additional Ritz cracker crumbs at the end when you top it off.

5)  Pour and swirl in the egg/sour cream/milk mix with the handle end of a wooden spoon.  You don't have to incorporate this fully.  You can, but you don't have to.  It's all gonna cook up together anyway.

6)  Now you're all seasoned up and nearly cooked.  The rest is easy!  Stay lazy.  Cube your Velveeta cheese and bury those little pieces throughout the squash mixture in the baking dish. 

7)  Velveeta really works better than anything else in the way of cheese in squash casserole, I think.

8)  Did you notice I didn't add melted butter?  Think back.  It's already in there!  More just won't add anything much flavor-wise, so don't waste the calories.

9)  Cracker crumbs on top.  Again, I don't butter, but you can.  You're cooking!

I'm so hungry right now!  I just picked some young yellow crook-neck squash from the garden.  I think it's time to cook.  Y'all have questions or suggestions, or if you really need to know the history, well, just let me know.  I'm headin' to the kitchen.

Thanks for reading!