Stirring the Pot: Food as a Memoir of Mothers' Love
Posted: Friday, May 07, 2010
by Walter Rhett
Charleston Perlo
My case in point is Mrs. Lucy Washington, the head cook at the black, segregated elementary and high school I attended. I loved food, and Mrs. Lucy Washington cooked food that I loved. Her school lunches were better than anybodys cooking that I knew in the whole world.
My mother, never jealous or put off by my praise and devotion to Mrs. Washingtons school lunch, was eager to hear, as I got off the school bus, the epicurean delight of the day. My mother took an active interest in this high point because she loved food, loved me, and believed in my judgment and taste. So empowered, together we shared, revered, and celebrated the gifts of Mrs. Lucy as I described her daily triumphs in the school cafeteria . Mrs. Lucy Washington was a cook who could cook. She brought something special to the process that magically transformed the outcome.
For ten years, daily, the cafeteria had the excited buzz of the New York Stock Exchange. We students joyful entered into trades of tuna salad , Johnny Marzetti, meatloaf, chicken a la king, and fish sticks, but our favorite institutional currency was Ms. Lucys breads--her fresh, hot corn biscuits (with fresh whole corn!), chesse biscuits, peanut butter and blueberry muffins, and cherry upside cake. Our trades had real value: two biscuits for an entree was a common measure.
As we celebrated and traded, we established a community around her food. We also found something special in each other. We shared a bond, enriched by our differences, a circle of common values, a community that held favor and rewards.
The African proverb about the whole village helping to raise the child does not do justice to Mrs. Lucys single-handed work. Daily she brought us under her teachings. Through her extraordinary fare, she taught us lessons about pride, love, faith, and sharing. Through her food we learned about caring, preparation, respect, thanksgiving, and gifts.
What happened to the beloved community who gathered at Mrs. Lucys welcome table? Gerald, later student council president, spent time in Guam as a federal personnel specialist and his son became the starting point guard at William and Mary. The Faust twins played for a state football championship; later, one of the twins died in a New York shoot-out. Danny, Ms. Lucys son, studied voice and lived in Germany. He is a professional baritone and directs the voice program at University of Michigan. He sings on all the worlds great stages, including Carnegie Hall. Charlie coached little league, became a social studies teacher, married Chris, had three children (Korona and the twins), and is still my best friend.
Back then, none of us knew that two hundred years before, colonial cookbooks treasured African dishes. Dishes like groundnut (peanut or bennie (sesame) soup, or baked guinea squash (eggplant). Or a classic French preparation of a Charleston favorite of African origin, " okra a la daube. "
We had never heard of Oscar, the Gullah body servant who, " for liberty, " cooked a legendary sweet potato dinner at a secret camp in the South Carolina swamps for the American patriot, Francis Marion (the " Swamp Fox " ), and a British officer during the American Revolution--a scene captured in a painting that hangs in the US Capitol. We had never heard of Gullah Jacks parched corn or crab claws, which, if eaten, promised invincibility to slaves who were to participate in a foiled 1822 Charleston rebellion. And in a different time, we didnt know barbequed oxen was served at midnight to newly freed slaves in the nations very first Emancipation Proclamation celebration at Hilton Head, SC, on January 1, 1863.
We did not know the legacy or history or the light that Mrs. Lucy carried for such a long term in our lives. We simply relished the fine points of taste we discovered and shared in our love of her cooking.
Years after leaving her cafeteria, I followed in my fathers footsteps and worked out front in food, especially in fine dining. I worked high profile doors and dining rooms in country clubs, resorts, and private rooms back East, in places like the Homestead in Virginia and the World Bank in Washington, DC.
And later, I produced the Sunday jazz brunch at Alices Fine Foods on King Street in Charleston and was its informal host for a couple of years. Aice Warren was from Walterboro, SC, a rural town nearby. Her food was the top of the game in Charleston. We had people calling and coming from Germany and Japan. I saw a bus-load of tourists from Florida clean out her buffet and shut down the house one Sunday. I sold out of Alices collard greens and Hoppin John (eaten for luck and prosperity) during Charlestons 2000 Millennium First Night celebration on Marion Square--named for the historic patriot whose men survived in their fight for freedom on Oscars legendary yams.
But my mind always goes back to Mrs. Lucys lunch. There are days when the single thought of a bite of her breads is enough to sustain me through the crush of a world that has left me starved for so much.
Thanks for reading! /wr Stir the Perlo, leave a comment.
For news, family and children news, health and global events, follow Perlo on Twitter: twitter.com/walterrhett
(Recently, I published a short memoir related to food as a family and community rite of my youth (http://bit.ly/c4W2d5). I reprint it here; I hope you enjoy reading what is for me, an unforgettable story of mothers everywhere.)
(Photo: shrimp perlo, google images; fair use.)
This Article has been viewed 814 times. (Not updated in real-time.)
No comments yet.We want your comments! If you can read this, you don't have javascript enabled, so you can't use this comment system. Please enable javascript.