Robert Stehling’s Sweet Potato Spoonbread
This Joy Harjo poem came up in my social media the other day and kicked me in the gut. It’s been a hell of a couple of weeks.
Me and my friend Cindy Cecil who just died yesterday. This photo was taken at the original Coyote Ugly bar on First Avenue in NYC in 1995. Back then Coyote Ugly was a crappy biker bar which was only 1 block from my apartment and was therefore “my office” when I was briefly unemployed. (I played a lot of daytime pool.). The bar was nothing like the Coyote Ugly movie which featured model Tyra Banks. The bar’s staff, while techincally female, were kind of mean and scary. Cindy was the sister of one of my college friends, Randy, a Texan. Honestly, Randy is probably responsible for getting me where I am today. When I moved to NYC after college I pretty much only hung out with Texans at Texas type places like the Rodeo Bar and Hogs & Heifers.. At some point I decided I should just cut bait and move to the great state. This photo was from when Cindy visited NYC from Houston. When I finally did move to Houston a few years later I befriended Cindy. She was a part of my ridiculous bachelorette party where we took a white limo to Henry’s Hideout which dubbed itself “The Horniest Bar in Texas” (it had antlers all over the ceiling). Anyway, Cindy leaves behind a husband, two teenagers, a brother (thanks for everything, Randy!) and a slightly less effervescent world.
Henry’s Hideout a.k.a. “The Horniest Bar in Texas” and site of my 2000 bachelorette party.
This is something I would have totally shared with Mom on Facebook. 60 different crocheted hats for dogs. <3 We didn’t have dogs but Mom was a helluva crocheter. And she would have been tickled by this.
I’m still trying to get Mom’s Facebook account reactivated, by the way. Nothing is easy.
The Mallette Street formal dining room post renovation. When I was younger it was kind of half this size. But, we always had the same table and sideboard. Mom and Dad collected a lot of Empire furniture when they lived in New York. Mr. Phillips (featured in story below) would have parked his car just on the other side of that back wall.
George Harrison in a William Morris print jacket.
It’s not William Morris but it’s a wild print! Mom making her famous Easter Pashka.
I just found these previously unseen (or at least unremembered!) photos from my wedding in Houston in 2000. Mom with my college BFF, Missy, in the upper left and with my husband in bottom right. The others with Dad, of course.
The following was read at the memorial service for our friend’s son, Dorian, a few weeks ago.. The congregation proclaimed “We remember them” at the end of each line. It was gorgeous.
”We Remember Them” by Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer
At the rising sun and at its going down; We remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter; We remember them.
At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring; We remember them.
At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer; We remember them.
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of the autumn; We remember them.
At the beginning of the year and when it ends; We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as We remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength; We remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart; We remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make; We remember them.
When we have joy we crave to share; We remember them.
When we have achievements that are based on theirs; We remember them.
For as long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as, We remember them.
Sigh. It’s South by Southwest here in Austin and I’m sick. I finally got covid a few weeks ago and it wrecked my immune system. I haven’t been right since. Plus, there’s simply too much going on. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since my last post but I’m going to cut myself a break and quit saying that. These posts happen when they happen. Unfortunately, there has also been a good bit of loss in my world. A friend’s son, Dorian Kweller, died in a freak car accident a few weeks ago and another friend, Cindy Cecil, just passed away yesterday after her liver transplant from a few years ago started to fail. She leaves behind two teenagers. Not that we need any more reminders to cherish life and hug your people, but there you go. Do it.
With covid and my subsequent recovery (or my effort to recover!) I have been spending entirely too much time on my phone. I just saw a funny meme on Instagram where some Gen Z’er is trying to explain what landlines are to someone unfamiliar with them. “It’s a phone for the whole family…. that stays in the house….“ Some of my best childhood memories involve landline telephones: stretching the cord as far down the hall as I could, ducking through the dining room into the pantry for “privacy”, lying uncomfortably on the wooden floor for HOURS catching up on what happened that day at Phillips Junior High (I went to the rival school, Culbreth, but my best elementary school friends were all at Phillips so I needed to stay in the loop), my dad hollering for me to get off the phone in case someone else was trying to reach us.
Speaking of my father, I remember him coming home one day with a broken answering machine. He had bought it at a neighbor’s garage sale. Back then answering machines were very expensive so Dad actually PAID for this broken answering machine with the hopes that he could fix it. He could not. So, our house didn’t have an answering machine for ages. Nor did we have call waiting, that was reserved for fancy people like doctors. Apologies to my parents’ friends if you tried to phone our house between like 1984 to 1988. You most likely didn’t get through. And do you remember when long distance was charged PER MINUTE?! I spent the summer after my freshman year of college absolutely pining for my boyfriend in Ohio and literally doling out the minutes of communication each day.
What’s funny is that now you couldn’t pay me to talk on the phone, not even to my friends. I was messaging my best friend from college via Instagram the other day. She lives in Portugal. Out of politeness or habit I suggested that we catch up in person sometime. I believe her response was 😳 or something similar. And, you know what? I honestly feel that way too! My communication style and technique have certainly adapted over the years. I once saw a poster that said “Introverts Unite! Separately. In Your Own Homes.” That pretty much sums up my situation these days.
Describing how I would drag the telephone cord through the various rooms of our Mallette Street house just conjured up such a vivid memory of our dining room. Unlike some folks, we actually used our formal dining room. Last time I saw my second cousin Lynn she reminded me of a breakfast we had when she was visiting us one summer. We had this little metal kitchen cart that had electrical outlets on it. During leisurely weekend breakfasts, Mom would roll the cart into the dining room with an electric griddle on top and park it next to her place setting at the table. This allowed her to make pancakes on demand and not miss the conversation. I had completely forgotten about this. She would be wearing a gorgeous kaftan or cool robe. And, of course, we would all be sucking down delicious, sugary, homemade Orange Juliuses while we waited for our food. I’ll say it again, “Dale Knows How To Host”.
Now, it wasn’t always super relaxing in that dining room because the windows looked out onto the driveway of our elderly neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips. Mr Phillips had some theory about needing to warm up his car (which was kind of a beat up metallic gold/bronze 70s looking sedan). He would sit in the driveway, put the break on, step on the gas and CRANK IT for like 30 minutes at a stretch. This usually jibed with when we were trying to eat. I had completely forgotten this memory until yesterday. Mom was always so annoyed with Mr. Phillips and his car. But, to my knowledge, she never said or did anything about it. Can you imagine that trying to fly these days with all of the neighborhood listservs and nosy neighbors? Plus don’t even get me started on the carbon emissions? Forget it! Mr. Phillips would have been canceled.
I believe I’ve mentioned this before but Mom really loved William Morris fabric. To the uninitiated, it’s from the Arts & Crafts movement, generally floral, dark, and busy. We had it throughout the Mallette Street house, most notably in Mom and Dad’s bedroom. I believe it was on the linens as well as the window seat cushions. The other night I was talking with a friend about how I’m just now realizing that George Harrison was really the coolest Beatle. Being a yoga teacher I can totally get into his “Oh Sweet Lord, Hari Krishna” phase but the deciding factor for me was that I once saw him wearing an aggressively floral William Morris jacket Now that’s ballsy. Another friend was over the other day and complimented me on my dishtowel. It was William Morris. A gift from Mom, of course.
For today’s recipe I thought some comfort food was in order. This spoonbread sounds divine. It’s from the James Beard award winning chef, Robert Stehling, whose now defunct restaurant, Hominy Grill, in Charleston, SC was a favorite of my parents.
SWEET POTATO SPOONBREAD
ACTIVE TIME: 30 MIN
TOTAL TIME: 2 HRS 20 MIN
SERVES: 10 TO 12
Spoon bread, a cross between corn bread and soufflé, is a Southern classic. Stehling likes to add cooked spinach or fresh corn and chopped and sautéed bacon or ham to his plain sweet potato version.
INGREDIENTS
1 pound sweet potatoes
2 1/4 cups stone-ground yellow cornmeal, plus more for dusting
1 1/2 tablespoons sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
3 cups boiling water
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
1 1/2 tablespoons mild honey
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
Scant 1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
5 large egg whites, at room temperature
DIRECTIONS
Preheat the oven to 375°. With a fork, pierce the sweet potatoes all over and set them directly on the oven rack. Bake the sweet potatoes for 1 hour, or until they are tender; let cool slightly. Slit the skins and scoop the potatoes into a large bowl. Mash until smooth. You should have 1 1/4 cups of mashed sweet potatoes. Increase the oven temperature to 425°.
Meanwhile, lightly butter a shallow 2-quart glass or ceramic baking dish and dust it with cornmeal, tapping out any excess. In another large bowl, whisk the cornmeal with the sugar, salt and baking soda. Melt the butter in the boiling water, then stir the butter-and-water mixture into the dry ingredients. Let cool slightly.
Using an electric mixer, beat the buttermilk, honey, cumin, white pepper, cloves and cayenne into the mashed sweet potatoes until combined. At medium speed, beat in the cornmeal mixture.
In a clean stainless steel bowl, using clean beaters, beat the egg whites until stiff but not dry. Fold the beaten egg whites into the sweet-potato mixture until no white streaks remain. Pour the batter into the prepared baking dish and bake for about 40 minutes, or until golden and risen and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Serve the sweet potato spoon bread warm or at room temperature.
(The spoon bread can be made early in the day, wrapped in foil and reheated in a 350° oven.)
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