Hallelujah! The Welcome Table: A Lifetime of Memories With Recipes Read online

  Praise for

  Hallelujah! The Welcome Table

  “Now the truth is evident: Poet and literary legend Maya Angelou is as mighty with her spoon and spatula as she is with her world-renowned pen.”

  —Chicago Sun-Times

  “Hallelujah! The Welcome Table—a cookbook in a sense that there are recipes—is the poet’s life laid out like a colorful banquet.”

  —Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

  “Warning: Don’t read Maya Angelou’s new book while hungry. …This cookbook is a tour-de-force collaboration of two of Angelou’s major passions—writing and cooking.”

  —Ebony

  “Readers of this book will find not only a wealth of dishes that will allow them to set aside their own problems and to procrastinate by whipping up cakes, pies and fried chicken, but a close-up, personal glimpse of a compelling writer and her family.”

  —New York Daily News

  “Poet Maya Angelou serves up a feast for lovers of food and great stories … an evocative work.”

  —San Francisco Chronicle

  “It is not surprising when a culinary life is played out in the pages of a book with recipes. But when the life of a poet-autobiographer, already revealed through verse and narrative, comes even more alive through plumes of aromas, a palette of flavors and a recipe box of memories, a cookbook is something else.”

  —Seattle Post-Intelligencer

  “Hallelujah! The Welcome Table is more than a collection of printed recipes … it’s a humorous and poignant memoir graced by good food.”

  —El Paso Times

  Also by Maya Angelou

  Autobiography

  I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

  Gather Together in My Name

  Singin’ and Swingin’ and Gettin’ Merry Like Christmas

  The Heart of a Woman

  All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes

  A Song Flung Up to Heaven

  Essays

  Wouldn’t Take Nothing for

  My Journey Now

  Even the Stars Look Lonesome

  Poetry

  Just Give Me a Cool Drink

  of Water ’fore I Diiie

  Oh Pray My Wings Are

  Gonna Fit Me Well

  And Still I Rise

  Shaker, Why Don’t You Sing?

  I Shall Not Be Moved

  On the Pulse of Morning

  Phenomenal Woman

  The Complete Collected Poems

  of Maya Angelou

  A Brave and Startling Truth

  Amazing Peace

  Mother

  Celebrations

  Children’s Books

  My Painted House,

  My Friendly Chicken, and Me

  Kofi and His Magic

  Picture Books

  Now Sheba Sings the Song

  Life Doesn’t Frighten Me

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to every wannabe cook

  who will dare criticism by getting into the kitchen

  and stirring up some groceries.

  To O, who said she wanted a big, pretty cookbook.

  Well, honey, here you are.

  Acknowledgments

  To all the great cooks whose food I have eaten and whose recipes I have read and whose stories I have heard. My thanks to Bettie Burditte, Patricia Casey, Frances Berry, Sterling Baker, and Rosa Johnson Butler, who helped me at all hours for months to compile the recipes. I am proud that frustration did not cause them to move abroad and change their names. I thank my entire family for trusting me in the kitchen. And a salute to Brian Lanker, who helped me see clearly the images of foods that were becoming fuzzy in my memory.

  Here’s to Brian Daigle, who drove my bus so steadily across the U.S.A. that Lydia Stuckey and I could cook everything from baked acorn squash to zucchini gratinée.

  A salute to Chef Don McMillan, who, at the drop of a toque, stepped in and helped me tremendously.

  Thank you all.

  Maya Angelou

  Contents

  Pie Fishing

  Lemon Meringue Pie

  Meringue

  Chicken and Dumplings

  Bouquet Garni

  Drop Dumplings

  Fried Yellow Summer Squash

  Green Peas and Lettuce

  The Assurance of Caramel Cake

  Caramel Cake

  Caramel Syrup

  Caramel Frosting

  Coconut Cake

  Coconut Frosting

  Chocolate Fudge

  Momma’s Grandbabies Love Cracklin’ Cracklin’

  Crackling Corn Bread

  Momma’s Rich Beef Stew

  Collard Greens

  Potato Salad Towers Over Difficulties

  Cold Potato Salad

  Fried Chicken

  Snow-White Turnips

  Mustard and Turnip Greens with Smoked Turkey Wings

  Pickled Peaches

  Buttermilk Biscuits

  Liver to Grow On

  Liver and Onions

  Recipes from Another Country

  Wilted Lettuce

  Independence Forever

  Fried Meat Pies

  Early Lessons from a Kitchen Stool

  Bread Pudding

  My Big Brother’s Savings Account

  Bailey’s Smothered Pork Chops

  Smoked Pork Chops

  Braised Cabbage with Ginger

  Cabbage with Celery and Water Chestnuts

  Short Ribs à la the Big Easy

  Braised Short Ribs of Beef

  Mother’s Long View

  Red Rice

  Roasted Capon

  Good Banana, Bad Timing

  Banana Pudding

  Ready-to-Wear Tripe

  Tripe à la Mode de Caen

  Red Tripe with White Rice

  Menudos (Tripe Stew)

  M.J. and the Doctor and Mexican

  Tamales de Maiz con Pollo (Green Cornhusk Tamales with Chicken Filling)

  Saving Face and Smoking in Italy

  Roasted Turkey

  Corn Bread Stuffing

  Haute Cuisine a la Tabasco

  Veal Medallions

  Pate

  Molded Eggs Polignac

  English, Please

  Onion Tart

  Sweet Southern Memories

  Spoon Bread

  Fried Apples

  Homemade Biscuits

  Sausage

  Fowl Communication

  Decca’s Chicken, Drunkard Style

  Bob’s Boston Baked Beans

  M. F. K. Fisher and a White Bean Feast

  Cassoulet

  From Pizza to Claiborne and Back

  Beef Wellington

  Puffed Pastry

  Gazpacho

  Petit Pois

  Twice-Baked Potatoes

  Haricots Verts

  Vinaigrette

  Sisterly Translation

  Pickled Pig’s Feet, or Souse

  Hog Head Cheese

  Dolly and Sherry and Making Sisters

  Chicken Livers

  Buttered Noodles

  Writer’s Block

  Éclairs

  Custard Filling

  Golden Whipped Cream

  Chocolate Syrup

  Massachusetts, Tennessee, and an Italian Soup

  Minestrone Soup

  Minnesota Wild Rice

  Black Iron Pot Roast

  Black Iron Pot Roast

  Oprah’s Suffocated Chicken

  Smothered Chicken

  Ashford Salad ’96

  Tom
ato Soufflê

  Chakchouka (Moroccan Stew)

  Ashford Salad ’96

  Mixed Salad with Feta and Golden Raisins

  MY GRANDMOTHER, who my brother, Bailey, and I called Momma, baked lemon meringue pie that was unimaginably good. My brother and I waited for the pie. We yearned for it, longed for it. Bailey even hinted and dropped slightly veiled suggestions about it, but none of his intimations hastened its arrival. Nor could anything he said stave off the story that came part and parcel with the pie.

  Bailey would complain, “Momma, you told us that story a hundred times” or “We know what happened to the old woman” and “Momma, can we just have the pie?” (Momma always ignored his attempts to prevent her from telling the tale.) But if we wanted Momma’s lemon meringue pie, we had to listen to the story:

  There was an old woman who had made it very clear that she loved young men. Everyone in town knew where her interests lay so she couldn’t get any local young men to come to her house. Old men had to be called to clean out her chimney or fix her roof or mend her fences. She learned to count on finding young strangers who were traveling through the area.

  One Sunday morning there was a new young man in church sitting alone. Mrs. Townsend saw him and as soon as the last hymn was sung, before anyone else could reach him, she rushed over to his bench.

  “Morning, I’m Hattie Townsend. What’s your name?”

  “George Wilson, ma’am.”

  She frowned a little.

  “Anybody get to you?”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t know anyone here. Just passed by, saw the church, and stopped in.” He had used the word ma’am out of courtesy.

  She was all smiles again. “Well, then I’m inviting you, and I am a good cook, to my house for Sunday dinner. I have my own chickens and two cows, so my chickens are fresh and my butter is rich. I live in walking distance. Here is my address; come around this afternoon around three o’clock.”

  She patted him on the shoulder and left the church. A few young men from the congregation rushed over. “Mrs. Townsend invited you for dinner?” “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m Bobby. Here’s Taylor and this one is Raymond. We’ve all been to her house and she’s a good cook.” The men started laughing.

  “No, she’s a great cook. It’s just that after you eat, she pounces.” “Man, the lady can pounce.”

  The stranger said, “I don’t mind a little pouncing.” They all laughed again. “But man, she’s old. She’s older than my mother.”

  “She’s older than my grandmother.” “She’s older than baseball.”

  The stranger said, “I’ll eat dinner and after that I can take care of myself. Thanks, fellas, for warning me.”

  Bobby shouted, “Her lemon pie will make a rabbit hug a hound.”

  Taylor added, “Make a preacher lay his Bible down.”

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Townsend entered her house and went directly to her sewing box. She put on her glasses and took out a needle.

  She walked back down the path to her house and stuck the needle in a tree.

  She returned to the house and began to cook a chicken she had resting in the refrigerator. For the next hour she stirred pots and shifted pans, then she set her dining table for two. She had time to freshen up and change before her company came.

  “Well, welcome, Mr. Wilson.”

  He was a little cooler than he had been at church.

  She knew why but she also knew he hadn’t eaten her cooking.

  “The bathroom is here if you would like to freshen up. Dinner is not quite ready yet.”

  Of course everything was ready, but she wanted him to have time to breathe in the fine aromas floating in the air.

  She served him chicken and dumplings. Chicken tender as mercy and dumplings light as summer clouds.

  The side dishes were fried yellow summer squash and English peas.

  He didn’t care that he was eating as if he hadn’t eaten in a month. She kept pressing him, “Eat some more, but save a place for dessert. Some people swear by my lemon meringue pie.”

  Between bites she thought she heard him mumble, “That’s my favorite.”

  When he put his first bite of Mrs. Townsend’s pie in his mouth, he was hers. He was ready to marry her or let her adopt him.

  She sat opposite and watched as with each forkful he surrendered more.

  After the second slice he would have followed her to the Sahara Desert.

  She said, “Let’s go out on the porch for the air.”

  He replied meekly, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Once they settled into the swing on the porch she said, “My goodness, night has fallen. It’s quite dark.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s dusk all right.”

  They swung a few times.

  She asked, “What on earth is that shining down there in that tree?”

  He squinted, “I can’t hardly see a tree.”

  She said, “Yes, I see it. It’s either a needle or a pin shining. Well, I do say. It’s a needle.”

  He asked, “You can tell?”

  She said, “Yes, I see the hole. I’ll go get it.”

  He said, “Well, that proves you are not as old as they say you are. When you come back I may have some talk for you.”

  She stepped off the porch and went down the lane and retrieved the needle. When she came back she could hardly see the house, but she kept walking with her head up, triumph in her grasp.

  She tripped in the darkness. After much fumbling she was able to stand erect. She saw that she had fallen over a cow that had lain down in the lane.

  Mr. Wilson saw her fall, and he could see the cow. When she gave a little scream, he bounded off the porch to help her. Once she collected herself, he said, “Well, thank you for dinner. I have to go.”

  She asked, “Can’t you stay for one more slice of pie? ”The strength of the pie can be seen in the fact that he did stop to think about it.

  She took his arm as if she wasn’t going to give it back. He thought of the pie again and then the cow and the possible pouncing. He said, “No, ma’am, ” and snatched his arm and went away running. He escaped, but he never forgot the pie.

  Each time, my grandmother laughed until tears flooded her cheeks. I think she knew Mrs. Townsend or someone very much like her.

  Here is the recipe. In fact, here are the recipes for Mrs. Townsend’s entire Young-Man-Catching Sunday Afternoon Dinner.

  Best wishes.

  Lemon Meríngue Píe

  SERVES 6

  1 cup sugar

  3 tablespoons cornstarch

  ⅛ teaspoon salt

  1½ cups hot water

  1½ cups crumbs from soft-type bread (no crusts)

  4 large egg yolks (reserve whites for Meringue)

  1 tablespoon butter

  Grated rind of 1 medium lemon

  Juice of 2 medium lemons

  One 9-inch pie shell, baked

  Meringue (recipe follows)

  Preheat oven to 400°F.

  In top part of double boiler, mix well sugar, cornstarch, and salt. Stir in hot water and combine until smooth. Add bread crumbs and cook over boiling water, stirring until smooth and thickened.

  In small mixing bowl, beat egg yolks, and stir in a small amount of mixture. Then combine the two mixtures in boiler, and cook over low to medium heat for 2 to 3 minutes. Add butter, lemon rind, and lemon juice. Cool slightly.

  Pour mixture into baked shell. Pile Meringue lightly on top, covering filling completely.

  Bake for 10 minutes, or until lightly browned.

  Meríngue

  4 large egg whites

  ⅛ teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon cream of tartar

  4 tablespoons sugar

  Beat egg whites with salt until frothy. Gradually add cream of tartar and sugar. Beat until stiff but not dry.

  Chícken and Dumplíngs

  SERVES 6 TO 8

  1 whole chicken (about 4 pounds cut up)

  6 chicken win
gs

  1 large Spanish onion, chopped and sautéed but not browned

  2 stalks celery, chopped

  1 carrot, peeled and chopped

  1 green bell pepper, chopped

  Bouquet Garni (recipe follows)

  Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

  Drop Dumplings (recipe follows)

  Wash and pat dry chicken. Take flange off chicken wings.

  Place cut-up chicken and wings into large, heavy pot, and add water to cover 1 inch above chicken. Add onion, celery, carrot, bell pepper, and Bouquet Garni. Season with salt and pepper. Allow mixture to simmer slowly for 1½ hours. Let cool. Remove any foam that has gathered on top of the broth.

  Bring broth to a slight boil, and drop heaping tablespoons of dumpling batter into pot. Fill top of pot with dumplings. Cover pot, and simmer for 15 minutes— dumplings will rise. Baste dumplings, and continue simmering for another 5 minutes. Remove cover and baste dumplings. Serve hot on platter.

  Bouquet Garni