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.
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