Hallelujah! The Welcome Table_ A Lifetime of Memories With Recipes - Maya Angelou [30]
She said she would invite him to her house, and if I made a southern brunch, she was pretty certain he would give me a job. She asked, “Are you sure you can cook? I can’t help you because that would be lying and lying won’t help anybody in the end, and I tell the truth. Tell a lie and you’ll never be finished scheming.” That was Frances Williams’s motto.
She offered to buy the brunch ingredients and said she’d call Phil and a few other friends so he wouldn’t feel set up.
I said, “But we are setting him up.”
“Not at all, ” she said, “unless you want to think I’m setting you up. Here’s how I see it. My friends and I are going to find out if you can really cook. If so, and you cook southern, Phil is going to think he’s waking up in a dream and you’ll get a job. Friends of mine who haven’t seen me or each other in months will have a great time.”
I made a list for her. She asked, “No grits? You’ll have a southern breakfast without grits?”
I said, “They won’t be missed.”
On Sunday morning, I went early to Frances’s kitchen, and when everyone arrived I was sitting calmly in the living room, which was alive with the aromas of sage and caramelized brown sugar.
Frances introduced me to Phil. “She’s just come from Africa.” His face was a mask of disinterest. “But she’s from the South.” A little interest awakened his features.
“From where?”
I said, “A little hamlet in Arkansas, twenty-five miles from Texarkana.” He gave me a smile grudgingly. “You miss it, don’t you?”
Frances spoke before I had to lie. “She’s out here looking for a job, and she’s so sweet she came over here and made our brunch. The whole thing.” I had his full attention. “What did you cook?” I said, “Sausage and eggs.” He asked in a little boy’s voice, “And grits?”
I said, “No, ” and the smile slid down to the floor. I quickly added, “I made spoon bread.”
“Spoon bread. You said spoon bread? I haven’t had spoon bread since I left Birmingham.”
Seeing him so pleased delighted me. I added, “I make my own sausage, and we’ll also have fried apples and homemade biscuits.” His smile was so winning I could have hugged him.
Brunch was offered buffet-style. After Phil served himself, he sat alone on a window seat. I watched as his eyes visited each item on his plate. Only after he assured himself that he had seen what he thought he had seen did he begin to eat. He would put a forkful of food in his mouth and then he would seem to disappear. He slowly chewed his way back to his Alabama childhood.
Later I saw Frances and him talking out on the patio. When they came in, he headed straight to me.
“You can start on Monday. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s easy work. Fran says you are a writer. I just want you to give me your recipe for spoon bread and for biscuits and for sausage. Oh yeah, and for fried apples, too. Well, if you can write half as good as you can cook, you are going to be famous.”
Spoon Bread
SERVES 6 TO 8
2 cups white cornmeal
1 cup all-purpose flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons salt
1 ½ cups cold water
1 cup boiling water
2 tablespoons (¼ stick) butter, melted
2 large eggs, beaten
1 ½ cups milk
Preheat oven to 375°F. Butter a 2-quart casserole dish.
Sift together cornmeal, flour, baking powder, and salt. Stir in cold water. Add boiling water, and stir vigorously. Add remaining ingredients, and mix well. Pour into casserole dish. Bake for 1 hour, or until firm and browned. Serve at once.
Fried Apples
SERVES 6
6 Granny Smith apples
2 Mcintosh apples
4 tablespoons (½ stick) butter
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 cup water
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg
Quarter and core apples, but do not peel. Melt butter in large frying pan, and place apples skin side down in pan. Sprinkle with brown sugar, and add water. Add cinnamon and nutmeg, cover, and cook very slowly over low heat until tender and candied. Eat