simple memories … Aunt Patti’s Cornbread

I was talking to my cousin last week and among many things we discussed – work, politics, holidays, travel, hipsters, Reuben sandwiches – was her recently departed mother. My Aunt Patti was a real character, a remarkable woman with strong social and political opinions backed with just as strong action. That woman did things, made things happen, made a difference. She was really funny, had boundless energy and laughed easily. She and my uncle had a bit of hippie in them, lived in a solar house they built themselves, raised and butchered their own animals for a time and had an enormous garden. She approached this newfound hipster fascination with butchery and canning with a bemused grin given that she’d been doing in for years. When I excitedly told her how I was spending time with butchers, learning how to break down a pig, blathering on about heritage hogs and whatnot, she howled with laughter and reminded me that back in the day, Thanksgiving at their house also meant it was time to butcher the pigs they raised. Much to my city girl chagrin I realized I should have paid more attention back then. Patti was also a helluva cook, coming from a long line of great cooks. She was the caretaker of our family recipes, taking the time to learn from her mother and grandmother many of our sentimental favorites.

She’d been ill for some time and over the last few years made sure my grandmother’s recipe collections landed in my hands. Old, curious little notebooks with newspaper cutouts of soufflé recipes pasted next to Jell-O salads and cookbooks stuffed with more newspaper articles, back of the box clippings and promotional index cards. My grandmother was a curious and adventurous cook and I delighted in every page. Patti also made certain that particular family cookware, like my great-grandparents kraut cutter and lamb cake mold, made it to my doorstep. I cried when these last two appeared, partly because of the role they played in our family history but also because I knew she was letting things go. As she told me, “Kathleen, I am no longer the repository of family shit. That is now you. Come and get it.” Just thinking of these things, the pans and the preserving tools and the meat grinder, fills my heart and bring tears to my eyes. Ah crap, I’m crying right now.

My mom, young Patti and my grandmother

Many years ago I called my Aunt for her cornbread recipe. “My what? Really? It’s nothing special but here you go …” as she rattled off the ingredients in her rapid fire cadence while I scrambled for a pen. It was something she made regularly and didn’t think much of apparently. Of all things, she found it difficult to believe that’s the one I wanted, but I did. Every time I make this recipe I laugh, remembering the time she yelled at me, really hollered, when I tried to cut a small corner out of a batch she was letting dry for the Thanksgiving stuffing. God knows, that turkey would have really missed that 1 inch square. It makes me laugh now but back then, as a full grown adult mind you, I was terrified.

My mom and Aunt Patti one Halloween

I loved that cornbread; still do. Its moist and a little bit sweet and I make it frequently, often eating a few pieces at a time. Sunday Football Chili requires it. I recently read an article about “southern” versus “northern” cornbread where the author firmly posed that sugar has no business being in cornbread, considers that “northern style” blasphemy, absolute heresy. Fact is, I like a sweeter cornbread. I grew up far from the sugarless south and have no such rules governing my life. Sweet cornbread is just fine by me.

the bangs!

Aunt Patti, as I recall, was a bit of a purist and didn’t like a lot of “stuff” in her cornbread. Sometimes, if I feel like it, I’ll throw in some extras if I have them lying about. The kernels from a fresh ear of corn. A diced jalapeno or serrano chile. By accident I discovered piment d’espelette, that wonderful ground Basque pepper, is quite nice too. But mostly, I make it plain and enjoy a giant warm wedge with good butter, good honey and a pinch of sea salt. Not honey butter. Please note the distinction.

I’ve also played around with the dairy. Most of the time I use whole milk as it makes a nicely tender crumb due to the additional fat but I don’t often have milk in the fridge. What I usually have is buttermilk because I love it and it seems to keep forever. It’s just as delicious if a touch drier, due to the low fat qualities of buttermilk. I read once that the divine Miss Edna Lewis enjoyed dry leftover cornbread in a bowl with milk for breakfast. The buttermilk version would be lovely in this manner though Miss Edna was staunchly in the no sugar camp. Sorry Miss Edna.

me and my Aunt Patti

I bake this in an 8” x 8” pan because that’s how Patti did it. It works perfectly but another nice way is to throw a cast iron skillet in the preheating oven while you’re making the batter then pour it directly into the hot skillet to bake. This makes a really delightful crust and if people are standing around in your kitchen, it will impress the hell out of them. Your call.

STRESS BAKING THERAPY FACTOR: WHEW. Who knew simple cornbread could stir up some many emotions? This is classic, one of those recipes you write down and use often, probably from memory. I once made it at on the fly at a restaurant I was working at when the chef said “Someone make me cornbread!!” I didn’t know why or for what purpose and it didn’t matter but I made from memory and everyone exhaled a sigh of relief. It’s a good one to have in the repertoire. So dear Jocelyn, this one is for you via your wonderful, wacky mother. We all miss her.

On this blog five years ago: Galette de Gayon – Fig, Walnut & Honey Galette 
On this blog four years ago: Peach Frozen Custard
On this blog three years ago: Sweet Corn Soup
On this blog two years ago: Fig BBQ Sauce
On this blog last year: Sweet Corn Polenta with Roasted Ratatouille

AUNT PATTI’S CORNBREAD
Makes one 8”x8” pan
A quick note on cornmeal grinds, and there are many.  I don’t particularly like a lot of grit in my cornbread so I go with a fine grind.  But if you like a little more texture or bite, go with a small or medium grind, or maybe even a mix of the two.

1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1 cup fine grind cornmeal
¼ cup sugar
4 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon ground black pepper
1 ¼ cups whole milk (or buttermilk)
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 large egg

optional additions:
1 jalapeno or serrano chile, finely diced
¾ cup fresh corn kernels
¾ teaspoon piment d’esplette

1. Preheat the oven to 425°F, put a rack in the lower third of the oven and set aside an 8” x 8” baking pan until needed.
2. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, salt and black pepper and the optional ingredients, if using.
3. In a separate bowl, whisk together the milk (or buttermilk), oil and egg until blended.
4. With a rubber spatula add the wet ingredients to the dry and stir until just blended.
5. Pour the batter into the ungreased pan and bake until golden brown, about 30-35 minutes.
6. The cornbread is best enjoyed warm, in my opinion, with a big slab of butter and a generous drizzle of honey. It doesn’t hold particularly well, however, let it go stale and it makes a fabulous stuffing. I’ve never done it but try a leftover slice in a bowl with some cold milk.

 

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