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Photo of the possum coutesy of Chris Carey. Photo of corn courtesy of Carolyn Keeney.
Sample Recipes
To curb the criticism….my version of historic recipes are what Damon Fowler termed “doable authenticity.” Most of us do not have open hearths or stew stoves, or the special tools or pots that gave certain foods their unique flavor. Lucky are those that do, and more often than not, they are living history professionals or culinary history buffs. I rely solely on those ingredients that match up with those listed in historic sources, and I improvise only when necessary. Ingredients in African American communities were very basic. Staples we take for granted—flour, sugar, salt, leavening, black pepper, spices, butter, “rich” milk---were not as available in the enslaved community, and came at a price of time, effort, money, or theft. Furthermore, since early African American cuisine was based on a tradition of improvisation, standard versions of recipes simply did not exist. A cook might choose to add wild greens to a soup one day, or cracklings to hoe cake another, and some dishes might simply be one or two ingredients based on poor rations or a time of lack. Keep in mind this is a cuisine based on uncertainty and limited agency. It’s also a cuisine based on ingenuity and a close relationship with nature, and the melding of cultures.
COWHORN OKRA SOUP
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One of the dishes brought to Maryland by the dominant Senegambian culture was what is today known as kanjadaa or soupakanja---okra soup. Okra soups in Senegambia tend towards including fish, chicken or beef for flavor. Among coastal groups such as the Kru in Sierra Leone and Liberia and the Fante of Ghana, okra, (known as nkru, in Twi , to compare--in Igbo, okuru), is cooked in stews that incorporate crabs, fish, and other seafood—forerunners of our American gumbos. That the term gumbo is used to describe okra in some historic recipes like those of Mary Randolph, brings in the influence of Central Africans such as the Mbundu, among whom the term gumbo (tchingumbo, kingumbo) originated, bringing full circle all of the groups who helped create Maryland’s African American culture and African-based creole cuisine. Whites in the Chesapeake who had passed through the Caribbean loved okra, and Peter Kalm saw okra being cultivated by both Blacks and whites as far north as Pennsylvania in 1748. (Wilson, 120)
Whether it was brought through the Caribbean or directly with Wolof speaking big house cooks, okra soup was a very important part of Maryland’s early cooking. Mrs. B.C. Howard’s cookbook contains over a dozen recipes calling for okra, including no less than eight recipes for “okra soup.” One of her recipes included meat, okra, tomatoes, onion, “3 long red peppers,” parsley, hard shell crabs cooked and broken up (including the shells), bacon and water stewed together. A version produced in the quarters of a Maryland plantation would probably have been closer to the original West African versions: more greens – wild and cultivated; more pepper; less meat; a bit of salt fish and if near the Bay, fresh seafood. To further the link with Africa, and by extension, Southern Algonquin communities; it was preferred that okra soup be prepared in clay pots. Clay pots formed by enslaved hands remain an intellectually valuable archaeological find directly linked to okra soup and other gumbo dishes.
I use “cowhorn” okra, an heirloom variety said to go back to the days before the Civil War. It grows straight up and curves like a pair of cow’s horns, and has broad dark green leaves. By using heirlooms we not only approximate the tastes of the past, but we contribute to the botanical diversity of the varieties of produce we consume. Along with fish peppers, Anne Arundel muskmelons, “Potomac” pole beans, “Large Red,” tomatoes and other heirlooms, cowhorn adds a unique touch to re-creating the meals of the past.
Okra soup was not just popular around the Bay and in Baltimore. Receipts for the dish can be found in the Maryland Piedmont as well. Combing through receipt books at the Montgomery County Historical Society, I found a handwritten cookbook from the 1870’s that included a recipe for okra soup. One of the versions recorded here is from Montgomery County cookbook author Elizabeth Lea, from her 19th century classic, Domestic Cookery.
Elizabeth Lea says: “Take two pounds fresh beef; put this in a dinner pot, with two gallons of water; after boiling two hours, throw in a peck of ocra (sic), cut into small slices and about a quart of ripe tomatoes, peeled and cut up; slice four or five large onions; fry them brown and dust in while they are frying from your dredge box, several spoonfuls of flour; add these with pepper, salt and parsley, or other herbs, to your taste, about an hour before the soup is finished; it will require six hours moderate boiling.” (33)
The Version in the Quarters:
2 medium yellow or white onions, sliced or chopped
3 tablespoons of flour
2 or three tablespoons of bacon drippings, lard, vegetable oil or butter
2 ½ quarts of water
1 dried or salted fish
1 cup of salt pork or bacon pieces
3 cups of tomatoes chopped up
2 pounds of okra, sliced into pieces
2 long red cayenne peppers or fish peppers, sliced in half
herbs of your choice (bits of parsley, rosemary, basil, etc.)
salt to taste
1 cup of cooked crabmeat, or bits of fresh fish, optional
Heat the oil or drippings until hot but not smoking. Take the onions and dust them in flour, add them to the pot with the heated oil and sauté until translucent. Add the water, salted fish, bacon pieces and cover and cook for 2 ½ hours. This will create the stock for the soup. You may choose to remove the piece of salt fish. Add the rest of the ingredients and stew another 2 hours.
MARYLAND FRIED CHICKEN
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“The breakfast table was piled with substantials. Coffee of excellent flavor, toast, hot rolls, cold ham, fried perch and rock, spring chicken, also fried and the sweetest and freshest butter comprised the bill of fare.” --
James Hungerford, Chronicler of Maryland plantation life, 1859.
It’s my contention that the famous “Kentucky” fried chicken is a cultural food myth. Since so many Kentuckians can trace their ancestry back to the Tidewater of Maryland and Virginia; “Kentucky fried chicken” is really Maryland fried chicken taken over the mountains. West Africans fried chicken in palm oil and sold it in the marketplace or used it as a base for a stew (hence the beginning of what for some is the heresy of fried chicken and gravy). The English (the famous “Dorset style”) and the Scots also fried chicken in their own way, searing it in hot grease. These traditions came together, and produced the spicy “Southern”, and “Maryland” fried chicken we know today.
The dish repeatedly appears in the historical record. In Montgomery County, one Southern belle, reflecting on her past, regaled the days when the plantation cook that worked for her husband’s family prepared beaten biscuits, bacon, fried chicken and waffles. Tom Randall, a WPA interviewee from Howard County, happily remembered “(m)other was a cook at the Howard House; she was permitted to keep me with her. When I could remember things I remember eating out of the skillets, pots and pans, after she had fried chicken, game or baked in them, always leaving something for me.” (Rawick, 57) The traditional way to enjoy fried chicken in Maryland according to the old WPA guide is over a square of fried cornmeal mush (what enslaved people called kush) or a corncake on which gravy has been poured. (169)
Unlike other versions, the Maryland version does not require eggs, batter, or other ingredients. This version improvises a little and suggests the various flavorings that might have been used along with the basic salt and black pepper. I suggest following Edna Lewis’s advice from her classic The Taste of Country Cooking—add a piece of Maryland country ham to the lard or shortening you cook the chicken in. This recipe is based on that of Mrs. B.C. Howard in her famous cookbook, Fifty Years in a Maryland Kitchen. (57) You must make this in a cast iron Dutch oven or deep cast iron skillet. Nothing else will do.
2 chickens, quartered
Cold water
Flour
Salt, pinches of black pepper, mace or nutmeg, hot pepper flakes,
Ground dried herbs (sage, thyme, etc.)
1 1/2 -2 pounds of lard or shortening or 3-4 cups of oil
Brine the chicken in cold salt water for 3-4 hours. Drain the chicken, wash them briefly in clear, cold water and dry them. Season the pieces with salt and black pepper. Season the flour with salt, black pepper, hot pepper flakes, and if you see fit pinches of mace, nutmeg or dried herbs. Coat each piece with the seasoned flour and set in the refrigerator for an hour.
Heat the oil until hot, but not smoking. Test it by putting a piece of bread in it until its crispy and medium brown. Add the pieces of chicken, and cook for a half an hour at a batch. Cover the pan from time to time, and make sure each side has about ten minutes to cook, turning as necessary. You will probably need to make a new pan of fresh oil for each batch. Drain on power towels and stand back when you serve it up. Sprinkle with a little salt and hot pepper as it comes out of the pan. Have hot pepper oil or vinegar ready for the table. Serve with corncakes, waffles, beaten biscuits, or cream gravy.
ROAST POSSUM AND TATERS
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“Slaves as a rule preferred possums to rabbits.”
---“Parson” Rezin Williams, Prince George’s County (Rawick, 75)
“Yes, I have hunted opossums, and coons.”
--- James V. Deane (6)
“When hunting came, especially in the fall or winter, the
weather was cold , I have often heard my father speak of
rabbit, opossum and coon hunting and the dogs.”
--- George Jones (44)
There seems to be a consensus among the enslaved elders who left us the stories of their lives that wild game was important to their diet and a seasonal delicacy.
During the whole of this fall and winter, we usually had something to roast, at least twice a week, in our cabin. These roasts were raccoons, opossums, and other game--the proceeds of my trapping. All the time the meat was hanging at the fire, as well as while it was on the table, our house was surrounded by the children of our fellow-slaves; some begging for a piece, and all expressing, by their eager countenances the keen desire they felt to partake with us of our dainties. It was idle to think of sharing with them, the contents of our board; for they were often thirty or forty in number; and the largest raccoon would scarcely have made a mouthful for each of them. --Charles Ball (274-275)
In a culture that was not averse to eating members of the rodent family, such as the cutting-grass rat (Thryonomys swinderianus) of Lower Guinea; the marsupial Virginia opossum (Didelphis virginiana) was a real treat. My great-grandfather was fond of it as were many in his generation and before. Hunting and dealing with the wild was the concern of men, and this trait, brought across the Atlantic, helped preserve the manhood and brotherhood of many an enslaved man. When the “simmons,” (persimmons) were ripe and the frost and light snow had descended on the land the possums were considered to be at their fattest and most delicious. Typically they were caught with dogs, kept alive a week or two and fed cornbread and persimmons until it the cook felt that they were “cleaned out.” (Possums eat carrion in addition to fruits and nuts.) They were then killed, bled and cleaned out of their entrails. The possum was soaked overnight in cold, salted water. Roasted with sweet potatoes (“taters,”) they were considered the height of the harvest feasting. I’ve never actually had possum, but this recipe is the result of years of research. Try it!
1 possum
½ cup of fresh butter or lard
flour to coat
1 cup of water
salt and hot pepper flakes
5 large sweet potatoes, cut into chunks
1-2 tablespoon of molasses
Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease down the possum with fresh butter or lard, rub salt and hot pepper flakes into the possum and sprinkle all over with flour. Place the possum in the pan and add the cup of water and bake for an hour. Place sweet potatoes around the possum and drizzle with molasses. Bake for another 45 minutes until the potatoes are soft and the possum is brown. Remember to add a little flour and water mixed together to thicken the stock in the pan to serve as gravy.
RED STRAW PERSIMMON BEER
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“There are some little fruits in Virginia, that are called "simmons"; they
grow very plentifully, and are sweet and good. The slaves get them in the
fall of the year, then they get a barrel and put the "simmons" into it, and
put water there too, and something else that grows on trees, that they call locusses", which are about ten inches long, and two across. They put the "locusses" and "simmons" into the water together, and let them stand for
two or three days. Then the water is drained off, and the leaves are used
as you would use coffee. The slaves put this liquid in gourds, and carry it
to the field with them, and drink out of their gourds while they eat their bread.”
--- Reverend Peter Randolph, Virginia 19th century
“He said his mother used to make beer out of persimmons and cornhusks…”
--- From the Narrative of “Parson” Rezin Williams,
Prince George’s County (Rawick, 75)
I love persimmons (Diospyros virginiana). When I was growing up I asked my father and other elders about their use. I spent every week one summer trying to locate trees, only to locate one less than two minutes walk from our home. My father and I gathered buckets and buckets of them that fall, and my paternal grandmother, raised on a Virginia tobacco farm, made some of them into persimmon bread, a treat from her childhood. The rest, I turned into a family recipe—persimmon beer. Its pleasant liquor that keeps for a year or two. Persimmon beer was taken in gourds to the fields to cool thirsty workers as they toiled at tobacco, corn and wheat and other crops. Some recipes make a loaf of persimmon bread and ferment it to make a beer, I prefer this version from my family which is less a beer and more of a wine.
In West Africa, the fruit of the ebony tree (Diospyros mespiliformis), also known as the jackalberry, is very similar to its American cousin. While not a persimmon, the fruit, called alom by the Wolof, and kuku by the Fula, has been harvested for centuries by West Africans for use as medicine, as dried fruit, as something to add to breads, and also as a source of a beer. It’s possible that the recipe that I cherish was brought from one of the many communities in West and Central Africa that harvest this tree every year, much as generations of enslaved Africans and African Americans did in America from the 17th century onward! In traditional African American communities unripe persimmons were used for acne, the seeds were roasted for coffee, the pulp was added to corn or wheat flour breads, and it has a myriad of other uses.
Tips: When you gather persimmons, use a sheet on the ground and shake them with a broom onto the sheet. They break and bruise easily. If the persimmons are not mushy and a deep orange-red or purple, they are not ripe and will give you an unpleasant astringent flavor. You can simulate nature’s frosts by freezing and thawing, and freezing and thawing. This will assist them to ripen. After repeating this process, leave them in the refrigerator and check often for mold. Wash any broken or bruised fruit but don’t throw it away! I usually use a gallon jug used for wine to contain this beverage. Be sure to take the cap off (in the sink) frequently and let the gasses out to prevent the beer from blowing up—as it has once—on me!
10 cups of wild persimmons
1 cup of sugar
½ cup of honey
1 gallon of water
1 tablespoon of yeast
Clean, dry red pine straw
Boil the persimmons in a lot of water in a large pot, stirring and breaking the fruit up. As the water cools, mash the persimmons in the water until the pulp is freely flowing. Then strain the pulp laden liquid several times into a bowl, being careful not to allow seeds in. Strain the pulp in the pot several times with water, which you can use to make more beer. In the bottom of the empty wine jug, place a few strands of dry, red pine straw. Pour in the sugar and honey. Pour the persimmon pulp liquid on top of that and add the yeast. Cap loosely and make sure that you air the liquor several times. As the pulp and yeast form a thick loaf in the neck of the bottle, be sure to keep watch over the fermentation. After a few weeks, strain the entire bottle, removing the mash. To keep the fermentation going, add sugar to the reserved liquor each week. After several months the persimmon beer should be ready to enjoy. Allow to ferment for longer periods of time to develop its complex, light, fruity flavor.
HOECAKE
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The legend is that enslaved people baked hoecakes on a hoe in the fields for their midday meal. Elizabeth Lea, a cookbook author from Montgomery County in the mid-19th century has several corn cake recipes, one of which she called a “Virginia hoe cake.” Indeed, hoecake was the hardtack, the matzah, of enslaved Blacks for several centuries. Some Maryland hoecakes were made over a griddle in the hearth, called a “hoe,” others were baked on a “bannock” board placed facing the fire. Although hoecake is associated with enslaved people, George Washington’s favorite breakfast was hoecakes and honey. That’s not surprising: the hoecake is a kissing cousin of Algonquin pone, Celtic oatcakes, as well as being a descendant of similar quick breads cooked directly on the coals in Africa.
1 cup of white stone-ground cornmeal
¾ cup of boiling hot water
½ teaspoon of salt
¼ cup of melted lard, vegetable oil or shortening
Mix the cornmeal and salt in a bowl. Add the boiling water, stir constantly and mix it well and allow the mixture to sit for about ten minutes. Melt the frying fat in the skillet and get it hot, but do not allow it to reach smoking. Two tablespoons of batter can be scooped up to make a hoecake. Form it into a small thin pancake and add to the pan. Fry on each side 2-3 minutes until firm and lightly brown. Set on paper towels to drain and serve immediately once all the hoecakes have been cooked.
SWEET POTATO PUMPKIN
Although it sounds exotic, the sweet potato pumpkin (Curcubita Mixta) was the glory of the African Virginian’s table. Thomas Jefferson stated clearly that it was "well esteemed at our tables, and particularly valued by our Negroes." Cushaws produced from the late summer into the late fall, taking the place of sweet potatoes while they were out of season. The word cushaw is derived from an Algonquin word, although the plant itself ultimately derives from the West Indies, possibly Jamaica. When African Virginians moved across the Piedmont into the Appalachians, they brought the sweet potato pumpkin with them, and like the banjo (Kimbundu: mbanza) it became part of Southern Appalachian culture. Cushaws are made into cushaw butter, pie filling, puddings, and are cooked on their own. Striped green and creamy white, the “potato pumpkin,” made into The Virginia Housewife, having attained popularity across lines of class and race.
1 medium sweet potato pumpkin or cushaw
1 teaspoon of salt
½ cup of molasses
¼ cup of butter
a few dashes of spiced rum
1. Cut the top off of the pumpkin and pare off the rind. Scoop out the seeds and reserve them for other dishes or for seed saving. Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees.
2. Cut the sweet potato pumpkin up into small chunks and place in a pot or Dutch oven with water to cover. Add the salt. Boil gently until just barely fork-tender.
3. Drain from the water and place the cushaw in a Dutch oven. Mix with the molasses, butter, and rum and bake for 35 minutes.