BRITTANY LUSE, HOST:
Hello, hello. I'm Brittany Luse, and you're listening to IT'S BEEN A MINUTE from NPR, a show about what's going on in culture and why it doesn't happen by accident.
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LUSE: The true credit for bringing the recipe to my attention comes from our producer Corey Antonio. He had these biscuits at this brunch party that he said were the best biscuits that he had ever had in his life.
CRYSTAL WILKINSON: Oh.
LUSE: OK, Corey Antonio is from the South. OK?
WILKINSON: And that's high compliment. I got chills and everything off of that - the best. The best biscuits. OK.
LUSE: That's Crystal Wilkinson, former poet laureate of Kentucky. And she created the most perfect biscuit recipe I've ever tried. And thanks to those flaky layers of dough and butter, I went on a journey through the foods of her upbringing in the Appalachian region of Kentucky. Crystal is the culinary mind behind "Praisesong For The Kitchen Ghosts: Stories And Recipes From Five Generations Of Black Country Cooks." It's a cookbook that weaves intimate stories with treasured family recipes to pay tribute to the women in Crystal's family who taught her how to live, love and cook.
WILKINSON: It came to me when my grandmother passed away. I knew how to cook, but that first holiday after she passed was one of the hardest. I'd get started. I'd break down. I'd start to make my dressing, and I would break down. And finally, I remembered one of her dresses. And I went and got the dress out of the closet and brought it in here in my kitchen and hung it up on the back door. And I felt as if she was in the room, like she was saying, OK, girl, you know, come on. And it just cracked open this whole much larger thing for me.
LUSE: Today on the show, Crystal talks about preserving Black Appalachian food culture and the ghosts in her kitchen.
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LUSE: Crystal, welcome to IT'S BEEN A MINUTE.
WILKINSON: Thank you. Thanks for having me.
LUSE: My pleasure. My pleasure. We're going to be talking in this conversation about memory. We're going to be talking about memory a lot. And so I have to ask - is there a specific memory that comes up for you when you smell fresh baked biscuits?
WILKINSON: I think almost all of my food memories are tied to my grandmother. Like, I remember that's the first thing you would smell in the mornings when you'd get up. You know, even before you got up, like, you were like - it woke you up, like, you know, what's that? What's going on?
LUSE: That's beautiful.
WILKINSON: So I remember that as a child, like, smelling breakfast, but smelling the biscuits in the oven. You knew it was time to get up and start rolling.
LUSE: That's your alarm clock. The kind of cuisine and food that you describe in your book and that you grew up with is not exactly the kind of Black Southern cuisine I think many people imagine when they're thinking about Black Southern cuisine. But Black Appalachia has its own culture and foodways that are distinct from, like, the barbecue ribs and peach cobblers that people commonly associate with, you know, down-home Southern cooking. Can you describe Black Appalachian cuisine for those who are unfamiliar?
WILKINSON: What makes the difference is the terrain. Like, geographically, it's different. And so part of the focus is on making sure that you have ways to store food all winter so you can eat. You know, for example, when you harvest your potatoes, you'll dig a hole, and you'll keep them in that hole and so that you can...
LUSE: Almost like nature's root cellar...
WILKINSON: Yeah, yeah.
LUSE: ...Or something like that. Yeah.
WILKINSON: So you can have potatoes all year long. But in my house, we put them in the attic. That was one of my tasks as a little girl was to go up into the attic and get me a pound of potatoes. She would have me put them out on newspaper. You know, you didn't want them to rot, so you couldn't have them to touch. And so that kind of, like, preservation - which during my time was habit, right? - but when my grandparents were raising their children, like, this was survival. Like, you have to...
LUSE: Necessity.
WILKINSON: Yeah, you have to find ways to have food all winter because you won't be able to grow it. You won't have, you know, green things until spring. So you had to can. Of course, later on, they could freeze things once she got a deep freeze. But during their time, it was like, what can we put in the smokehouse? What can we put in the cellar? What can we dry? So I think those are the biggest differences between Southern cuisine and Appalachian cuisine.
LUSE: I mean, I even think about the focus that you put in the book on foraging. I don't want to say it's gone fully mainstream, but it's kind of trickled into, I feel like, a lot of mainstream food conversations over the past few years. And fortunately, a lot of those conversations online have been led by an amazing Black woman named Alexis Nikole, who runs, like, a James Beard Award-winning foraging account on TikTok, which is incredible. But I think maybe before her prominence, a lot of people associated foraging with elite Scandinavian cuisine where you're going to sit down and get 12 bites for $600.
WILKINSON: Right, right.
LUSE: Do you know what I mean?
WILKINSON: Right.
LUSE: Like, going out into the Norwegian forests and plucking a few leaves is thought of as a delicacy. It's interesting to see how even you reclaim some of those foodways like smoking or like foraging that have become kind of, I think, over time, desaturated of their color when people are talking about these traditions.
WILKINSON: Absolutely, absolutely.
LUSE: It's interesting to see that reclamation happening.
WILKINSON: I love that, and, you know, I think about my grandmother a lot and how tickled she would be at being delicacies now. And, of course, you know, again, our people did it for survival. You know, picking blackberries in the summer was a huge event in my family. It was, like, one of the big events. And it was dangerous. I talk about that in the book, too, about how dangerous it is. Like, not only do wild blackberries have the brambles where you can risk getting pricked by the brambles when you're picking them, but, like, you had to watch for copperheads and rattlesnakes. So there were all these rules in July in the peak of heat season. Like, you've got to wear long pants, and you've got to wrap your ankles and wrap your wrists to keep the chiggers away.
So there were so many rules, but it was a huge event. I mean, you would probably have a blackberry cobbler that night or the blackberry soup that I have in the book. And then she would can them. And then that was one of the delicacies we had come Christmas, where there was always a jam cake for Christmas. So it was, like, this whole big thing that lasted all year from that summer blackberry picking.
LUSE: You share so many amazing memories about the communal aspect of food, from foraging to harvesting to cooking, but also how food was a centerpiece for celebrations and gathering. And it seems like it was a centerpiece also of your life at church. What did that look like?
WILKINSON: Yeah. So every year we had something that was called basket meetings. Another name for it is dinner on the grounds. And so this was a huge event. There were so many, as my grandmother would say, courtings and marriages that came from the annual basket meeting. You know, that's where you would meet your person.
LUSE: (Laughter).
WILKINSON: At the end of it all, like, really, the church and the church service was, like, secondary or maybe further down the line than secondary because it was all about the food and all about putting your finest clothes on and strutting around. And food was at the center, and people would come from miles around and out of state.You know, it would be like, OK, if you're going to get this cake, make sure you get it from Aunt Tine (ph), who was my grandmother. If you're going to get this, make sure you go to this woman, and they see a pie or cake and say, who made that?
LUSE: Oh, so true.
WILKINSON: The women were respectful of one another, but they were always, you know, eyeing each other's tables under their hats like, mm, there's her peach cobbler. Like, look at mine (laughter). I think that's where I got this thing that not only should your food just provide for your family or the people that you're cooking, but you need to show off. Like, this is where you got to show out. Like, put your whole foot, as they would say, in it. Like, you can't just, like, throw something together. You got to mean it. You know, you got to burn, as we say. You got to really put everything in it...
LUSE: (Laughter) Yes.
WILKINSON: ...If you're going to put food in front of people.
LUSE: You share so many intricacies and specific stories from how food is grown and harvested, to how it's prepared, to how you enjoy it and who you should get it from. Why is it important to you to get specific with the lineage of Black Appalachian cuisine? Like, why do you feel compelled to define it?
WILKINSON: Black people in Appalachia have been exiled for so long. It's been as if we did not exist. I've even heard other Black Appalachians kind of, you know, when they hear that word, kind of get squirmy and like mmm (ph). I don't know. I grew up there, but I don't know if I would say that I'm that word.
LUSE: Interesting.
WILKINSON: Yeah. But it is ours, too. Like, it is as much ours as it is anyone else's and sometimes more. Like, my family lived there for more than 200 years. So it's like, how can it not be mine? So I'm going to claim it. We need to be a part of this conversation in the specifics of how we lived and how we are living our lives.
LUSE: It seems like part of accomplishing that is collecting and sharing some of your family's recipes. Like many of us, you don't always have access to that recipe easily. There are moments where you might hit some bumps in the road or sometimes a dead end or red herring (laughter) in trying to nail down a family recipe. Please tell us, how did you go about researching, testing and writing the recipes you feature in your cookbook?
WILKINSON: Well, you know, I had a head start and have had a head start for a long time. One of my fondest memories is being 12 or 13 years old, and I'm in home ec class. And our first assignment is to get a little metal recipe box, and we're supposed to fill it up, you know, A to Z with all these categories, you know, cookies, cakes. And so instead of me sort of asking my grandmother - well, how do you make this? - I would say something like, oh, well, tell me about biscuits. And she would say, well, you know, first, you're going to get this, and you're going to reach down there and get me that white bowl or reach over there and get me this. And there were no measurements for most of it. But I chronicled. I wrote it down on my little recipe cards, and I sort of translated what she was saying the best I could. She did have some recipes written down.
So I had that box in high school. And so I still have that box. Every holiday, I've cooked from that little rusty recipe box. So I had a head start on some of those. And the others I had to just use ancestral memory. You know, the way that my grandmother entered the kitchen that first Thanksgiving after she passed, I had to say, OK, all right, Granny. And the biscuits was one of them. You know, my grandmother never really used butter in her biscuits. It's an amalgam of what I remember, what I have written down and sort of relying on intuitive cooking to get me there and taste. Like, that biscuit recipe was well-tested. And I realized that so many of these recipes, I had to just get as close as I could to recreating the ones that I didn't have.
LUSE: I also really love a story that you shared about calling your cousin Deborah (ph) to get the gingerbread sauce for a particular cake. Please tell us about that.
WILKINSON: So cake and sauce is really popular throughout Appalachia. So I knew how to make the gingerbread, but I did know how to make the sauce. And so I called Deborah, and she said, well, let me call Mama. So she got the recipe from Aunt Lo (ph) or what Aunt Lo remembered. And then she started telling it to me, and I was like, no, no, no. She gave me the ingredients. I said, don't tell me. I want to be able to experience it myself. And so I did. And, you know, it was just the intuitive cooking. Like, it all came back to me as I was putting it together. And I was like, ah, you know, there it is. I tell people all the time. Like, when I was on book tour, it was so emotional with people coming up and saying, I still can't make that corn pudding good as my Mama. And I said, and you never will be. You never - you won't be able to. You can't.
LUSE: I want to talk about that. I want to start by acknowledging, of course, that it can be intimidating to try your hand at the family classics. You know, maybe you don't have the recipe. My mom - she keeps it all up here (laughter). And if she tells it to you, what she's saying does not match what you see her doing.
WILKINSON: Right.
LUSE: So you got to watch her and take notes. So, you know, we don't all have access to the recipes. But then there's, you know, the matter of being judged for not nailing the macaroni and cheese or even, you know, feeling like your sweet potato pie is not going to be as good as your mom's. But you and your book posit that that's a normal part of the cooking process. How did you come around to that understanding?
WILKINSON: So here I am at this age and gone through this, and still - and I'm like, dang, I still can't get it right. Like, I still can't quite...
LUSE: No way.
WILKINSON: I still can't quite get it right. One, it's memory. The memory always tops it. You know, even my grandmother - that was where I started because I remember my grandmother saying - me saying, oh, this cake is so good, and she'd go, not as good as my Mama's. It's not as good as my Mama's. And so here we are. Every generation says that. You know, I said that about my grandmother's food. And now here are my children saying, Mama, I followed it. I followed the recipe, but it don't - it's not quite like yours. And so one, the memory doesn't top. Two, the ingredients are different from those previous years than what we have access to now. And so I think it's a combination. Like, you just have to do - you have to get as close as you can. And that's all you can do. And accept that. Like, you know, you can't spend 40 years trying to make your mama's cornbread. Like, you get as close as you can, and you live with that. And then some generation - even if you don't have children, there'll be somebody - a niece, a nephew, a friend...
LUSE: Coming after you. Yeah.
WILKINSON: ...That will come after you and will say, this is not as good as Brittany's. But, you know, I almost got it, but it's not quite as good as Brittany's.
LUSE: I can only hope my niece will say that one day about something - not as good as BB's (ph). We can only hope.
WILKINSON: (Laughter). And that's what it is. I don't try - I don't go for perfection. I think it's a way of building an altar, really. Making cornbread, making a skillet, a pound of cornbread in the ways of your most recent ancestors and your long-gone ancestors is a way of pouring libations and honoring those kitchen ghosts. So that is how I see it.
LUSE: I really think, with that kind of cooking philosophy, you're going to free some people. Oh, my gosh. Crystal, it has been such a joy to talk with you today. And I have a feeling that a lot of our listeners are going to be communing with their own kitchen ghosts very, very soon. Thank you so much.
WILKINSON: Thank you.
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LUSE: That was Crystal Wilkinson, author of "Praisesong For The Kitchen Ghosts: Stories And Recipes From Five Generations Of Black Country Cooks."
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LUSE: So last week I asked you what dish your family member makes better than anyone else in the world, and we got a really good response.
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UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #1: Hey, Brittany.
UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #2: Hey, Brittany.
UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #3: Hey, Brittany.
MARIAM: My partner, John (ph), grew up in New Jersey and likes to consider himself an honorary Italian. I usually make fun of him for this except when I'm enjoying his baked ziti. The noodles, ricotta, sweet sausage and red sauce he makes himself seep and crust together perfectly in the oven for a combination of flavors and textures that is irresistible even when you insist you're on a diet.
LUSE: Oh, my gosh, Mariam (ph). It is, like, 90 degrees outside, and you have me ready to turn on my oven. I just want you to know that description sounds unbelievable. Not only did you beautifully lay out how this dish is constructed and all of the ingredients that are involved, but I could hear the love in your voice and the appreciation when you talked about all the details that make your partner's baked ziti so special and so delicious. Oh, my gosh. Well, I mean, if he doesn't mind, please have him send over a recipe, please.
Now, for me, the dish that my family member makes better than anyone else in the world - it's got to be my mom's sweet potato pie. My mom's sweet potato pie is, like, the platonic ideal of what sweet potato pie is and should be. It has a brightness to it. It is perfectly sweet and balanced. The texture is custardy without being heavy. It really showcases the vegetable and doesn't cover everything in unnecessary amounts of spice. She uses fresh sweet potatoes, not that stuff in the can that makes the pie brown. And my mom's sweet potato pie beat out Patti LaBelle's in a blind family taste test. So I just want to say it is official that my mother's sweet potato pie is better than anybody else's in the world.
It's also better than anybody else's in the world because nobody in my family knows how to recreate it (laughter). You can watch her make it. You can write down everything she says, but you got to watch what she's doing. Me and my sisters - we're trying our best. We have tried over the past maybe 10 to 15 years to attempt to try to get our sweet potato pie to be somewhere in the neighborhood of hers. It hasn't happened yet. But one day, I think, though, I'll get close. So Mom, thank you so much for making the perfect sweet potato pie that has ruined all other sweet potato pies for me. Mariam, thank you so much for calling in. So that's my Hey Brittany for this week. But if you want to be heard on next week's Hey Brittany, oh, my gosh, do I have a question for you.
Next week we have an incredible conversation with the legendary singer Mavis Staples on the show. And in speaking with her, she attributed a lot of her success to her mentor, Mahalia Jackson. So I want to know. What's the best advice you've ever gotten from a mentor? Send us a voice memo at [email protected]. That's [email protected]. This episode of IT'S BEEN A MINUTE was produced by...
COREY ANTONIO ROSE, BYLINE: Corey Antonio Rose.
ALEXIS WILLIAMS, BYLINE: Alexis Williams.
LUSE: This episode was edited by...
JESSICA PLACZEK, BYLINE: Jessica Placzek.
LUSE: Engineering support came from...
KWESI LEE, BYLINE: Kwesi Lee.
TIFFANY VERA CASTRO, BYLINE: Tiffany Vera Castro.
LUSE: Our executive producer is...
VERALYN WILLIAMS, BYLINE: Veralyn Williams.
LUSE: Our VP of programming is...
YOLANDA SANGWENI, BYLINE: Yolanda Sangweni.
LUSE: All right. That's all for this episode of IT'S BEEN A MINUTE from NPR. I'm Brittany Luse. Talk soon.
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