Cornbread Mojo

When our little mama died last year, a bunch of our old Lake Creek/Willow/Granite, Oklahoma friends gathered to visit with us. It meant the world to Sister and me. (And, Sister, just forget what that ol' mean Opal said to you!!!!) Linda Dillahunty wrote a note in the book about coming home with us (meaning with Melissa) after church one Sunday. That was our biggest socialization time when we were growing up---someone coming home with you after church on Sunday morning, and then going back to church Sunday night from where they would go back home. Anyway, Linda said that our mama had cut up pieces of cornbread and fried them, and that it was the best thing she ever ate. She went home and asked her mother to do the same thing. Now, isn't that just a silly thing to write about in a funeral book? To the contrary, that is the BEST-EVER remembrance! What Linda said in that little note captures the essence of my childhood in so many ways. And, truly, Mother's fried cornbread was a delicacy that I enjoy to this day----but I thought everyone did. I am a cornbread nut (thanks a lot, mama) and am on the never-ending quest for the perfect cornbread. By the way, anything with sugar DOES NOT COUNT, thank you very much. If God had meant for cornbread to have sugar in it, He would have called it cake. Leslie and I both have Crescent Dragonwagon's cornbread cookbook, courtesy of a visit to the Clinton Presidential Library gift shop, and I love to read about cornbread almost as much as I like to eat it. But, alas, my foodie loves, healthier eating forays, and Weight Watchers adventures all evolve. Enter the Wonderful World of POLENTA. Ahhhh, this is a food that makes Leslie's mouth water. She went through a phase where she would text me almost daily what she was serving on her creamy polenta that night: swiss chard, spinach, dog-poo......doesn't matter, it all tastes good on polenta. Thanks to mama's fried cornbread, I now fix a double batch of creamy polenta (it's just coarsely ground corn meal, salt and boiling water, folks; whisk, whisk, whisk; cook it a tiny bit longer than you think you should) and spread half of it out flat in an olive oil-sprayed bar pan, let it cool on the counter, and then cover it with plastic and put in fridge. After it's set, or even after a day or two in the fridge, I cut it in wedges and lightly fry it in a little olive oil or spray in a skillet. Just until golden brown on both sides. It's got the crunchy nuttiness of Mama's fried cornbread on the outside, and its own creamy polenta-ness on the inside. H-E-A-V-E-N with a bowl of pinto beans. So, here's to ya, Mama!

Oh, and someday remind me to tell you about Grandma Lucy Murray's skillet hoecakes. Sadly, I never learned how to duplicate them, but I figure that can be a retirement project. I do know that Grandpa liked to have one crumbled up in a big tall glass of cold buttermilk, with lots of pepper sprinkled on top. I like that, too. Oooooh, another way to eat polenta!