High on the Hog_ A Culinary Journey From Africa to America - Jessica B. Harris [51]
The African-influenced world of the enslaved retained a notion of hierarchy that was filled with honorifics given to members of the extended family, such as the “Aunt” or “Uncle” bestowed on those who were older and could not be called by first name. A beverage, even if it is only water, is still offered to guests in many African American house holds. The list goes on, and remains equally the list of dos and don’ts held by many a well-raised white Southerner. Tara, in the film version, shows the reason, but Judith Martin (Miss Manners) defined it in Star-Spangled Manners:
More subtly, so much so that they failed to notice it themselves, southerners were learning to practice African manners. It is not from the British that what came to be known as southern graciousness was developed, with its open, easygoing style, its familial use of honorifics, and its “y’all come see us” hospitality. The higher the southern family’s pretensions, the more likely the children were to be receiving daily etiquette instruction from someone whose strict sense of the fitting came from her own cultural background—the house slave who occupied the position known as Mammy.
The rule of the quarters over the Big House therefore extended not only to taste and ingredients and cooking methods, but also to behavior. It manifested itself in ways of being that characterize Southern manners, black and white, through the twentieth century and into the twenty-first. Mammy would have loved it.
CHAPTER 6
CITY FOOD, SOUTH AND NORTH
Caterers, Cala Vendors, and the continuing of African Culinary Traditions
New Orleans, Louisiana—
It seems as though New Orleans and I were simply destined to meet and bond. My first trip there was in the late 1970s when, as travel editor of Essence magazine, I accompanied a team of editors heading to the city to create a college issue that was to feature Dil-lard University, one of the two historically black colleges in the city. I remember at that time looking forward to the trip with anticipation, as the Crescent City on the Mississippi was a place that had long fascinated me. Seemingly more Caribbean or European than American, with a French and Spanish history, it proved worthy of my fascination. The white-columned buildings of Dillard’s campus were astonishing, as was the feeling of pride in being at a black-run institution with a history going back to the days just following Emancipation. Plus the city itself was captivating; I remember staring in amazement at the buildings in the French Quarter, where I was able to sneak away from the group for a quick peruse. I also discovered a wonderful Creole restaurant, Dooky Chase, and its culinary guiding force, Leah Chase. After tasting her cooking, I fell in love with the city.
I returned to New Orleans more than a decade later to participate in a Modern Language Association conference. On that trip, I was aided by a shopping article in Town and Country magazine and must have poked my head into every store in the French Quarter. I was hooked: I gazed at the jewelry on Royal Street, gobbled down beignets at the Café du Monde, found my way into the line for Galatoire’s Restaurant, and discovered the delights of a culinary antique shop named Lucullus—a shop that not only landed me my first absinthe glass but also gave me a group of lifelong friends who would eventually lead me to a home in the city as well.
The next trip sealed the deal. I was invited to participate in a symposium given by the Hermann Grima House, a historic French Quarter dwelling that showed the grand front parlors of the rich as well as opened its kitchen to the public. Docents gave instruction on the stew-hole stove, called a potager in French, and about the hearth cooking that took place there. The symposium cemented my love of the city and created