Every year around this time I reach for Edna Lewis's cookbooks, especially A Taste of Country Cooking. Ms. Lewis was born and raised in Freetown, Virginia, a community founded by freed slaves (one of them her grandfather). After years of reading about her life and culinary experiences in this small town I have just discovered that, although it no longer exists, what was Freetown is just 15 or so miles from where I sit as I type this. From what I can tell, the area has been subsumed into Orange, Virgina - a town that I have not explored but have found charming when passing through. The astonishing information that I am so close to the birthplace of someone I consider a living national treasure will guarantee that I take a closer look around at the earliest opportunity. I mean, Montpelier, Monticello or, hey, even Ash Lawn Highland, sure. I mean, yeah, it's all history and presidents and such, but c'mon...we're talking Edna Lewis here - the woman who can tell you how to make a fruitcake that is both steeped in tradition (not too mention a great deal of brandy) and edible. This is a woman you want to get to know. She's opinionated and passionate and became a chef in a time when finding women (let along African-American women) in the profession was rare indeed.
Anyway, among my favorite passages in the book (which is composed of both recipes and memoir) describes Christmas in Freetown, complete with Roman Candles, a stiff morning drink for the men and a bountiful array of festive foodstuffs from the larder of this largely self-sufficient town. I will read and re-read the essay throughout the holday season as an antidote to modern expectations of Christmas and our demands of joy through acquisition and entertainment rather than fellowship and community. Along with a review of the Christmas-related portions of the Little House books, Ms. Lewis helps keep me on an even keel and focused on that which I find truly important.
It was with all of this in mind that I decided to make a fruitcake for the first time ever. Actually, I'm going to make a Black Cake. And I've got to start now since the fruit has to macerate for two weeks and then the cooked cake sits at room temp for a week before icing. In other words, it's a project.
And, speaking of projects, I've got another cut out for me. I need to make more hot sauce for my brother in law. I made four pints for him for Christmas, knowing that he loves condiments in general and hot sauce in particular. In a casual conversation with my sister I mentioned the habañeros and how colorful they were as I was chopping. She was silent for a moment and then said, "You did know that D. is allergic to them."
"Allergic to what?" I asked.
"Habañeros," she replied, "His throad closes. Can't breathe."
Hmm. Well, thank goodness I mentioned those peppers or we might never have known until it was too late. I've known this man for close to 15 years and I never knew of this allergy. My sister assumed I did know so she wouldn't have questioned the hot sauce and I wouldn't have thought to issue any warning (and I don't generally include a label with a list ingredients in home canned goods unless it's going to someone I don't know well).
So my next project is to: 1) find a use for the habañero sauce (we don't care for it here) and 2) make another batch of hot sauce. This time I'm sticking to jalapeños.
Anyway, among my favorite passages in the book (which is composed of both recipes and memoir) describes Christmas in Freetown, complete with Roman Candles, a stiff morning drink for the men and a bountiful array of festive foodstuffs from the larder of this largely self-sufficient town. I will read and re-read the essay throughout the holday season as an antidote to modern expectations of Christmas and our demands of joy through acquisition and entertainment rather than fellowship and community. Along with a review of the Christmas-related portions of the Little House books, Ms. Lewis helps keep me on an even keel and focused on that which I find truly important.
It was with all of this in mind that I decided to make a fruitcake for the first time ever. Actually, I'm going to make a Black Cake. And I've got to start now since the fruit has to macerate for two weeks and then the cooked cake sits at room temp for a week before icing. In other words, it's a project.
And, speaking of projects, I've got another cut out for me. I need to make more hot sauce for my brother in law. I made four pints for him for Christmas, knowing that he loves condiments in general and hot sauce in particular. In a casual conversation with my sister I mentioned the habañeros and how colorful they were as I was chopping. She was silent for a moment and then said, "You did know that D. is allergic to them."
"Allergic to what?" I asked.
"Habañeros," she replied, "His throad closes. Can't breathe."
Hmm. Well, thank goodness I mentioned those peppers or we might never have known until it was too late. I've known this man for close to 15 years and I never knew of this allergy. My sister assumed I did know so she wouldn't have questioned the hot sauce and I wouldn't have thought to issue any warning (and I don't generally include a label with a list ingredients in home canned goods unless it's going to someone I don't know well).
So my next project is to: 1) find a use for the habañero sauce (we don't care for it here) and 2) make another batch of hot sauce. This time I'm sticking to jalapeños.
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