Food, to me, is heritage. I come from a tradition of growing food; shucking corn, digging potatoes, and snapping green beans. Of fried chicken, eggs over easy with the yolk intact, homemade blackberry jam, and stewed pinto beans with onion. Our comfort and fellowship comes in Fostoria, Granite Ware, and Jadeite. This tradition was galvanized by people who could make perfect buttermilk biscuits, crispy cornbread, and flaky pie crust all without measuring a single ingredient. They were cast-iron men and women.
To watch my mom and grandmother cook was to be in the company of alchemists. It was supernatural, their ability to make balm for the soul with what seemed like so little effort. It is to them I dedicate my work on this piece. I humbly salute them, the ones who keep the fires burning and those for whom the kitchen has become cold. I hope to be as sharp an ambassador for our tradition as they were.