T
he sweetest inheritances are not stored
in banks or made of gold, but hand-
scrolled on index cards and seasoned
heavily with grease and time. If you’re reading
this, chances are there’s one special way you like
your cornbread, which is, of course, the best way
to eat it. And it’s probably the way your mother or
grandmother ate it before you.
Perhaps you prefer a mix of yellow and white
cornmeal, or wouldn’t dream of making it without
buttermilk. Maybe your cornbread is best for
sopping up pot likker or saved for a snack and
crumbled inmilk. But nomatter howyou like to eat
cornbread, more likely than not, the very first step
is greasing your handed-down cast-iron skillet
until it’s shining like wet pavement. Be it lard or
bacon grease, shortening or vegetable oil, in goes
the fat until it’s sizzling on the hot iron. And it’s in
that sizzle, that initial moment of contact, when a
crisp and crunchy, buttery-browned crust is born.
It’s that buttery crust, coupled with a fluffy
interior, that makes this unassuming quick bread
so beloved. And cornbread lovers are legion. For
it takes a bevy of devotees to warrant such prized
placement in our breadbaskets, by our soup bowls,
and on our dinner plates. Pliable and forgiving,
cornbread takes the shape of whatever salvaged
pone tray or muffin tin we ask of it. And boy is it
versatile. We’ll eat it speckled with green onion,
corn, and bacon, fried as hush puppies, or saved
for dessert and swimming in syrup or honey.
Don’t you dare throw out yesterday’s nearly stale
wedges, either. For that’s where the most heavenly
dressings and croutons come from.
But ultimately, we love cornbread not just for
its fluffy texture and crunchy crust, nor just
for its easy execution and versatile nature. We love
cornbread because it speaks of home. It speaks
of that place, physical and not, that we create and
re-create around kitchen stoves and kitchen
tables. Cornbread is community food. It’s prepared
from our grandmother’s recipe passed down with
her hearth-blackened cast-iron skillet. Or made
from our next-door neighbor’s recipe, taped to
a Tupperware of chili. Or from whoever shared
the recipes with them in the first place. So, really,
cornbread isn’t just yours or mine. It’s ours.
cornbread
five ways with
taste of trad i t i on
Five recipes that celebrate the South’s favorite quick bread
by
Avery Driggers
photography
by
MARCY BLACK SIMPSON /
photo
styling
by
amy hannum /
recipe
development
and
food
styling
by
anna theoktisto
