In Search of Lost Thyme

"Young married 'ooman een dis day she nebbuh sattify wid ole time dish; dey allways want fuh mek some kine ob new mixture."

The guests arrive at cocktail time.
On tempting trays, my board displays
Delectable varieties
Of canapés. I yearn for praise
But none comes forth. My busy guests
They talk and laubh and gaily quaff
And stretch unseeing hands to take
My handicraft as though 'twere chaff!

- From Charleston Receipts, published by the Junior Leauge of Charleston, 1950.

If you were raised in the South, chances are you’re familiar with the ubiquitious spiral-bound fundraiser cookbooks. My parents have entire bookshelves filled with these things. You can tell the ones that are from Mom’s side of the family, because they’re mostly published by one the South Carolina Junior Leauges, organizations that raise money for such charitable purposes as producing spiral-bound cookbooks. The Junior Leauge cookbooks are entertaining, but it's hard to imagine ever actually making most of the recipes. These books harken to the age when everyone had cooks. The recipes "reflect the pleasant living of past generations." [Subtext: Ah, slavery! Doncha miss it?]

Dad’s cookbooks, on the other hand, come from the sleepy Alabama towns of his childhood; places where it’s perfectly reasonable to start a recipe, "Get about half a grown goat. Skin and half him. While skinning, don’t get any hair on him." (pg. 243 of Sumpthin’ Yummy, pub. Monroeville, AL, year unknown).

In all fairness, this quote (yes, a direct quote) is from the "Game and Outdoor Cooking" section, right next to other "For Men Only!" recipes. Now, I’m as much of a feminist as the next gal, but I’m happy to forego equality when it comes to any activites involving a knife, a fiery pit, and a mature billy goat. Or any other cloven-hooved animal. Personally, I like my recipes to be a bit less… Old Testament. But that's just my own hang-ups talking.

Still, the Alabama books have the best recipes, in that they’re ones you could actually make without the help of a butler and/or a full-time kitchen staff, although they do require the occasional wild boar.

I bring the subject of spiral-bound Southern cookbooks because I’m in Jacksonville visiting the folks. And because I haven’t been taking my ADD medicine. As a result, I can spend hours on end just looking through old cookbooks/Encylcopedia Brittanicas/newspaper circulars for medical supply companies, etc.

But cookbooks are my favorite waste of time. It’s not like I’m going to actually make anything from the cookbooks. This would involve a multi-step process that far exceeds my gerbil-like attention span. Still, they’re good reading.

I feel about cookbooks the way Proust felt about train schedules, which he famously loved to read before going to bed. (Maybe the pharmaceutical industry should look into this. Do you have Insomnia? Ask your doctor if Train Schedules™ are right for you. Ditto for the collected works of David Foster Wallace.)

It is 99.99(the last 9 has a little line over it, suggesting infinity)% certain that I will never, ever actually make Mrs. Samuel G. Stoney’s "Back River Paté," an "old French Huguenot dish" shared by Mrs. William S. Popham (Louisa Stoney). Nor am I likely to be the kind of gracious hostess who will bring out onto the porch, on a monagramed silver platter, the Cheese Balls described by Mrs. Harold Petitt (Corine Neely).

Still, I love to flip through and find recipes with exotic ("Faber's Pilau") or familiar (7-Layer Salad) titles. Then, I read the recipe slowly and carefully, mentally going through the whole process. It’s strangely thrilling to imagine how those Cheese Balls would taste, and how delighted my fictional guests would be to have such a crispy and delicious treat.
It's fun to plan whole menus for specialty parties. For instance, the Cheese Balls would go nicely with the Rum Punch described by Mrs. Ralph Hanson (Elenor Rutledge). It involves 1 gallon brandy, ½ gallon heavy or light rum, 1 pint peach brandy, 2 qt. Black tea, lemons, and sugar. Mrs. Hanson notes that "this was the punch my father made for all the debutante parties of my generation." Which explains why 9 months later, all the young ladies were going off to "visit Aunt Susie" in New York.

In reality, my guests are lucky to have a clean glass of water and some stale potato chips, served "en croute" (French for "in the bag"). If my mother knew this, she would cry. And she would take back the silver service I got for my 10th birthday (what every 10-year-old dreams of), but which my parents wouldn’t let me bring to New York until after I got married. I guesss they didn’t want to have any illegitamite serving forks running around.

In 1986, the Junior League of Charleston published, "Charleston Receipts Repeats," a revised version of the 1950 text, which had been through at least 25 re-printings. The new tome retains the basic format of the original, including the quaint/deeply horrifying practice of married ladies being listed as Mrs. John Q. Husband (Jane Insignificant Wife). Also, the 80’s version edits out the politically incorrect parts, like the Gullah dialect quotations (as above) from the hired help, who, let’s face it, were probably doing 99.9 (again, with a little line over it)% of the actual work.

However, I’ve decided that I want to learn how to make a casserole. And a Co’Cola Salad. And Cheese Balls. People in my generation don’t know how to make these things we grew up eating, like collard greens and cornbread, and Domino’s Pizza.

So, that’s my new gimmick, I mean, uh, "installation project.". I’m going to start making Southern dishes from my family cookbooks. It’ll be all retro.

I draw the line, however, at chasing down a half-grown goat.