As featured in August 1997
An Entree to Love
By Thomasine Mosley Williams
As the fragrance of honeysuckle exudes through the window suppressing the humid air, I catch a glimpse of the moon surrounded by stars gleaming brightly in the dark sky above. I am reminded of a time when life was sweet and oh so very simple. When I grew up, love was often conveyed through the wonderful aromas of delicious meals which took hours to prepare, and memorable discussions around the table.
My parents were good, hardworking, positive people who raised three children in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. They were always connoisseurs of good food. On Sunday, my favorite day of the week, while Mama worked the morning shift at a hotel a few blocks away, a bouquet of aromas from bacon, ham, sausage, and other delicacies woke us up to a promising day already filled with the love of our Daddy in the kitchen preparing for his brood.
After church, my brother Wesley and I made customary stops along the way, and then off we would wander for fun-filled hours at our grandparent's house. Although the houses and roads have been destroyed through urban renewal, I can still take that walk to Aunt Johnniešs (as my grandmother was affectionately called).
Mouth-watering delicacies and aromas awaited at my grandmother's house. I called her Mother as my mother always did. Mother always greeted you with food just like everybody else did at that time.
Food is still prevalent in our hearts and minds. It was an entree to love. Red-eyed gravy, Smithfield ham -- Virginia's smoked and cured delicacy, fried apples, gravy-smothered chicken and dumplings, fried chicken, buttermilk pancakes, scrumptious biscuits, and yeast hot rolls, which had doubled in size and oozed with melted butter. Nothing else can replace those initial good-tasting foods.
If we stayed for dinner, my brother and I would be served at the large round oak table which probably belonged to my paternal and maternal great-grandparents, the Cooper and Curle families. The table would be outfitted in the loveliest lace cloth, and highlighted with the plated silver and pewter.
Our menu would include flat string beans, fresh sweet peas from the garden, potatoes prepared many different ways, macaroni and sharp cheese casserole, corn pudding, roast beef au juis, fresh stream trout, and cakes that melted in your mouth, giving your taste buds that feel-good confidence that can only come from great food.
The family heirloom silver always came out when you were served in the dining room with its small patterned wallpapered walls and chandelier centered over the table as if it was on display. The room was filled wall-to-wall with large, dark, heavy furniture.
From time to time in my mind, I would re-arrange the room and promise to someday have fewer pieces in my own home. Never were we to say anything about how we felt about the arrangement because that would have been disrespectful.
There were mirrored cupboards, not one but two, side-by-side, filled with several generations of accumulated silver and crystal that were only to be used when company arrived for special occasions. But Mother would say our arrival was special.
We were taught very young how to set the table properly. The shiny china mirrored our existence surrounded by a Kirk Stieff pattern. To the left were two forks, the smaller one for the salad, and the larger one for the entree. To the right, the cerrated knife, edge turned toward the plate, and a set of spoons for coffee and dessert. At the top of the plate was a dessert fork. In summer, we would have a long ice teaspoon for the tall, heavy, fluted glass for our lemonade and ice tea. The table also had the special serving utensils for pickles, olives, and bread. Paper plates or napkins were never an option, and to this day, I use my china and cloth napkins for all occasions.
An Elegant Taste of Heritage Dinner
By Thomasine Mosley Williams
As I sat at table number ten overlooking the elegant decorations, I remembered Mama and Mother, and their wonderful table settings. Birds of prey and other exotic flowers graced the mirrored centerpieces on black table cloths at the J.W. Marriott Hotel's Pennsylvania Avenue address.
This spectacular night called "An Elegant Taste of Heritage," was staged by seven African-American chefs in the United States whose recipes took center stage. Our host for the evening was Chef Joe Randall, who told us that almost from the moment Africans landed in America in the early 1600s, we became deeply involved in the evolution of food preparation in this country.
While the temperature dropped outside on what was perhaps the mildest winter in recent memory, inside one of those evenings that are hard to duplicate was about the begin. As Washington luminaries and folks in and out of the world elbowed one another, a festive evening of food and re-enforcement of the culinary achievements of African Americans was about to begin.
Each chef had prepared an entree for the seven-course meal. Delicious, mouth-watering hors d'oeuvres were prepared by Marriott's host, Chef Earlest Bell, and served during the silent auction of African artifacts. Behind the scenes, I watched as the sous and pastry chefs lined up the dishes to be served. Servers danced all around to see the delicate balance of what they would serve. An exact replica of each dish lined a long table to help the servers with the order of the evening along with the appropriate wines from the vines of Robert Mondavi and Beringer. Eye-catching and delectable entrees took center stage.
The evening started with Chef Randall's Shrimp Flan with Remoulade Sauce laced with Smoked Red Peppers and fresh chives that awoke the awaiting taste buds. Then the rich, creamy, She Crab Soup creation of Edna Lewis was served with Benne Seed Wafers. Chef Randall and sous chef Joseph Godfrey prepared the dish in Edna Lewis' absence. Taking center stage next was Chicago Marriott Chef Edward Nunn's entree, a Braised Rabbit with Natural Jus Lie, Collard Green Timbale, and Sweet Potato Crepes served with a 1994 Cabernet Sauvignon.
If you were born in the South you could truly appreciate Chicago Omni Chef Kym Gibson's Tomato Pudding Tart with our staple Fall Greens and those scrumptious Cornbread Croutons. The tart could have been served as a dessert treat.
As our fifth course was served, we heard that the creative attainments of African-American cooks in the culinary history of our country are special, firstly because they were initiated under the most difficult conditions imaginable, during nine generations of oppression. At last, our mothers and our mother's mothers were finally being recognized for their honorable work with their hands.
Over the Applewood Smoked Breast of Chicken with Hoppin' John and Southern Corn prepared by Baltimore Convention Center's Benjamin Gordon, Jr., anthropologist Sidney Mintz added that in this country we still do not sufficiently honor those who work with their hands, thereby sustaining our life.
The Johns Hopkins University professor's fascinating book on Tasting Food, Tasting Freedom, documents that the culinary achievements Africans brought here are special because so much of the work -- the drudgery as well as the creativity -- was the work of women -- women who looked like me, and all the mothers before me.
Mintz's research confirms that tasting food coincides with tasting freedom. He has observed that in the institution of slavery, Africans brought to America were recipient, however, through their creative resources as human beings, they conversely succeeded by struggling to keeping their humanity intact. They did this by achieving excellence, and thereby giving meaning to their own achievements.
By the time Tavern on the Green chef Patrick Clark's Petite Filet Mignon with Baked Grits Custard and Roasted Wild Mushrooms was served, followed by a Trio of Southern Delights by pastry chefs James Forbes and Eugenia Jenkins of the Marriott, I had fled into the night, stuffed, enhanced, and armed with the knowledge that the generations of people of color in this country came and conquered. They were part of what we now call the culinary arts, an honorable profession.
People sometimes put memory on hold as if something better will come along. As I looked to the sky, I smiled as I remembered my Mama and her Mother in the kitchen and the long hours spent there. We often waited for hours to sample their fine cuisine. Our accolades and compliments were their only reward. But now the world knows that their work was an entree to love that sustained us in both the very good and not so good times.
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