I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately. I’ve been longing for my grandmother, my summers on the farm, and especially my Grandma Grace’s food. Now I understand that what she served falls under the category of soul food. This term, soul food, is enjoying a resurgence, a trendiness of sorts which surprises me since it was sneered at for so long. You had to be an insider to crave soul food before. Now any and all are flocking to the oil-cloth covered kitchen table to enjoy the hearty goodness.
What is soul food? I am no food scientist, but I have been eating my whole life and I’ve developed some ideas of what makes a dish soul food.
Rule 1: Soul food must be stick-to-your-ribs hearty. It has to make you feel that you have eaten and eaten well. It must have enough calories to support hours of hands-on labor whether you plan on getting out of the recliner that day or not.
Rule 2: Soul food must be craveable. When you have had a bad day or you’re exhausted, your mind doesn’t wander to lobster thermidor, it desires the food of family tables and long-simmered love. For me, that will always be Southern fare, but my first husband was Italian. When he was sad or frustrated as a child, the line he heard from his mama was, “Here, son, have a meatball.”
Every April, while figuring out our taxes, I would have a pot of meatballs in sauce on the back burner of the stove because we were going to need them. We were going to need every single one of them. My point is, every culture has soul food, not just Southerners, though we are the chosen poster child for emotional support food.
Rule 3: The total cost of the ingredients in the dish should be less than $5. Soul food is frugal food. If you grow your own vegetables, have chickens and eggs, your out-of-pocket costs will be quite low. That certainly helps meet the less than $5 cost. My grandmother bought sugar, salt, pepper and flour. That was it. Every other ingredient came from their farm. It pained her to hand over “folding money” to anyone for anything. At her side, I have churned butter, gathered eggs, planted and harvested vegetables, herbs and fruit, and in November helped scrape the hair off the hog carcasses before we started hams and sausages. She was thriftiness personified. Today, I often trade cookies with my neighbor for her gorgeous homegrown string beans. I can’t go into work in the summer without someone shoving zucchini and squash at me to take home. Thriftiness lives.
Rule 4: You must be able to taste the love. Soul food reminds you that you are loved by someone. You have value. You would be terribly missed if gone. Soul food is someone who remembers that you do not like peas and omits them from the chicken pot pie because you are at the table. Soul food often has an aroma of sacrifice about it. Someone generously sacrificed their time to make you a meal. Soul food is a mother who claims that the chicken backbone, a wretched section of the bird, is her most favorite part so much so that no one else can have it, so her children can have more meat and not feel guilty. Soul food tastes like someone cares enough about you to remember what you like and try to please you on your plate. When we can’t find the proper words to tell people how we feel about them, we can show them through our food. You can taste that in soul food, no matter its geographic origin.
Rule 5: Soul food improves your mood. No matter what mood you’re in, there’s something uplifting about humble food done right. Food doesn’t have to be fancy or expensive or exotic to make an impression. Food doesn’t have to appear artistic or clever. When you put a spoon of soul food in your mouth, you feel better. Period.
My Grandma Grace often said, “As long as you can smell onions frying in a skillet, all is right in the world.” Yes ma’am, soul food can heal. Amen.
The story above appears in our March/April 2021 issue. For more like it subscribe today or log in with your active BRC+ Membership. Thank you for your support!