An article on cornbread caught my eye this morning: “Why Southern Cornbread Shouldn’t Have Sugar.”

It made me smile because as a Southerner, I heard my mom say many times, “No self-respecting Southerner EVER puts sugar in her cornbread!” I had never heard the historical reasoning behind that, but I accepted it as gospel, none-the-less.

For me, at least, it is not that cornmeal and sugar don’t go together—they can make for a pretty tasty dish—but it isn’t cornbread. Corn cake, maybe, but not bread.

Cornbread was a staple in my house. It was a rare day that the oven didn’t have either a fresh pan of cornbread cooking or the leftovers from the last batch. Mom always stored her cornbread in the oven, something I still do to this day. Most of the time I remember it is there and either finish it or at least take it out when I’m cooking something else.

The trick to good, crusty cornbread is to make it in a cast iron skillet. A cast iron skillet must be properly seasoned through continued use and regular wiping with a coating of grease. And the skillet has to be preheated to get it good and hot. A glob of Crisco (Mom knew just how big the glob should be without measuring) melting in the skillet as it preheated while the other ingredients (sans sugar) are being mixed together, and a ceremonial dumping of the melted shortening into the mix, quickly stirred, and then it’s back in the hot, sizzling skillet for baking.

Mom preferred white cornmeal when she could get it, and she always had plenty of buttermilk on hand as well. Not only was that another essential ingredient to her cornbread, but it was also the quintessential accompaniment for the finished cornbread. My grandfather loved nothing better for supper than cornbread and buttermilk, having eaten a big meal at lunchtime. Mom and Daddy both carried on that tradition.

And oh, my Dad loved her cornbread, especially fresh out of the oven, good and hot. Really hot. Mom would no sooner turn it out on a plate, set the plate on the table, turn her back, and Daddy would have already cut a “corner” off the round cornbread. And then she’d fuss at him for “messing up” her cornbread. And he’d smile that impish smile that let him get away with such. And Mom would be smiling, too.

As they grew older, Mom continued to make the cornbread, although she did allow one concession for a healthier pan—vegetable oil, rather than the Crisco. And little or no salt. It wasn’t quite as tasty as the original recipe, but it was still mighty fine eating, and still made my Dad quite happy to pinch his “corner” off.

I asked Mom for her recipe one day and nearly stumped her. Mom had made so many pans of cornbread that her hands knew how much of each ingredient was needed for perfect bread. Trying to write down the amount of each ingredient was as challenging as trying to write down the steps involved in breathing. Making cornbread to her was as much art as it was science. Heat and humidity could affect the ratio of wet to dry ingredients, and she just knew when the batter was the right consistency—and what to do if it wasn’t.

Making cornbread was an act of love for Mom. She loved to cook, and she loved to make my Dad happy. And yes, she really did love it when he’d pinch that hot corner off!

Here’s her recipe, in case it my use of it has rendered it illegible in the photo:

Cornbread a la Juanita Stone Clark

Dump ½ box of Aunt Jemima’s white cornmeal.
Add 2 coffee measuring cups flour
Enough buttermilk to wet it (½ to ¾ cup)
½ tsp soda
2 eggs
1-2 heaping tablespoons shortening
Mix dry ingredients, add milk and eggs
Add shortening and pour in greased skillet*
Bake 400 degrees—until brown and crusty

*This assumes the shortening was melting in the skillet while the oven preheated.

Thanks, Mom!

© Melissa Clark Vickers 2014

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