High on the Hog_ A Culinary Journey From Africa to America - Jessica B. Harris [2]
As this book is the direct result of my knowing them, I wrote it as if they’d survived to read it. I have deliberately foresworn the traditional academic format that I teach in order to move the odyssey forward. For High on the Hog is a journey into the realm of African American food, but makes no claim at being the definitive volume (that copiously annotated, weighty opus has yet to appear and will be the work of another). Rather, this is a personal look at the history of African American food that tells the tale in brief compass, introduces a rich and abundant cast of characters, and presents some of the major themes in a discursive narrative.
Each chapter is—like Gaul—divided into three parts. An introduction sets the stage and presents a personal and present-day look at one of the stops on the journey. The main section of each chapter begins with a chronological presentation of the African American history of the period discussed that raises questions, presents a number of glorious participants, and moves the journey forward. Finally, each chapter ends with a coda that adds a closer look at some aspect of the period’s food, much like what is called a lagniappe in Louisiana. A collection of recipes—some archival, some from my cookbooks—follows, presenting many of the key dishes in the African American culinary repertoire. Finally, there is a list of further reading and brief chronological listing of a selection of African American cookbooks for the questing bibliophile.
This book is at the same time a last and a first, as its writing has led me on an odyssey as well as opened doors in my life, my mind, and my soul that I will be entering and investigating in future years as I too attempt to journey from the hock to the ham and take my own life higher on the hog.
Old Master killed about forty or fifty hogs every year. He had John to help him. When he was ready to pay him off he said, “John, here’s your pig head, and pig feet, and pig ears.” John said, “Thank you, boss.”
So, John killed hogs for about five years that way; that’s what he got for his pay. Then John moved on back of the place and got himself three hogs. Old Master didn’t even know he had a hog. Next winter at hog-killing time Old Master went down after John. Old Master says, “John.”
John come to the door—“Yessir.” Old Master says, “Be down to the house early in the morning, I want to kill hogs—be there about five-thirty.” John asks, “Well, Old Master, what you paying?” “I’ll pay you like I always did. I’ll give you the head and all the ears, and all the pig’s feet and all the tails.”
John said, “Well, Old Master, I can’t, because I’m eating higher on the hog than that now. I got three hogs of my own an’: I eat spareribs, backbone, pork chops, middling, ham, and everything else. I eat high on the hog now!”
CHAPTER 1
OUT OF AFRICA
Foods, Techniques, and Ceremonies of the Mother Continent
Dan-Tokpa Market, Cotonou, Benin, West Africa—
I visited my first African market with my mother three decades ago. It was a sunny day in Dakar. We had left our hotel, the Croix du Sud, a grand art deco vestige of colonial times, to take a few turns around the European part of the city. Shortly after setting out, we found ourselves in the Marché Kermel, one of the city’s many markets. I didn’t know it then, but before independence the small bustling market had been designated for use by Europeans. We wandered, looking at the displays, wrinkling our noses at the butchers’ stalls. We were fascinated by the flower sellers who jostled each other for position and rather loudly demanded payment for any of the photographs taken. (Indeed they seemed to sell more photographs than bright bouquets of flowers.) Little did I know that my first experience in the Marché Kermel would initiate me into a lifetime of market-love on the African continent and a