There was a time in my life when I lived with four generations of women, where the kitchen was the heart of our home. Among them, Grandma Adell was my favorite person. She was an angelic woman—kind, loving, and God-fearing. She always passed her love into the food she cooked for us as a family, especially during our Sunday dinners, after church of course.

Soul food in our culture is more than just a meal; it’s a tradition that gathers families together, creating a sense of community and belonging. The preparation of these meals was an essential part of my upbringing, teaching me the values of patience, love, and family.

Grandma Adell would start her dinner on Saturday. Coming in from playing with my friends, I would often ask, “Grandma, what’s that smell?”

“It’s just tea boiling,” she would say. This is how I knew it was time to start getting dinner ready for tomorrow. Dinner in NC “ain’t” complete without a glass of iced tea. Grandma made sweet tea from boiling Lipton tea bags, water, and plenty of sugar. In a metal pitcher, it would sit in the fridge, getting ice cold and very tempting.

Sunday dinner was a weekly routine in the Mumford household, and I was always the helper. Grandma Adell would call me.

“Te’a, come help me clean these greens,” she would yell from the kitchen. She would be standing at the dual kitchen sink, picking fresh collard greens, breaking the stems, and checking them for worms. I would then take over, picking through the greens one by one, searching and rinsing them all. Grandma Adell would always put them in the washing machine on a delicate cycle, never taking a chance that the worms were hiding.

While the greens were washing, the smoked ham hocks would be boiling, filling the air with the smell of salted pork fat.

“Grandma, can I clean the chicken?” I would ask.

With the sharpest knife she had, she would cut open the thick plastic the whole chicken was in. She would bake it with the neck and gizzards all together. Turning on the water and checking the temperature.

“Yeah, make sure you get up under the skin,” she would say.

“Yes ma’am,” I replied, swabbing under the chicken skin. Giving it one more thorough rinse over, she would lay it in the roaster pan, massaging it with butter, adding apple cider vinegar and fresh garlic cloves. Grandma would season the chicken before it went in the oven. Adding the collard greens to the “pot liquor,” as she called the concoction, the greens would boil for hours on low until they were tender to her liking. The mixture of fresh garlic and vinegar pranced through the air, tickling my nose and forcing my stomach to growl.

“Nancy!” she would yell to my grandmother. “Can you go to the store? I am out of flour. I need that and buttermilk for the biscuits.” Nana would go with no hesitation. I would chuckle a little since she was the only person I knew who could tell my nana what to do.

Basting the chicken to make sure it’s not drying out, Adell was praised by the family for always creating a perfectly browned and tender bird. Grandma would take the golden-brown chicken out of the oven, placing it on the stove top. She would always give me the neck.

“How does it taste?” she’d ask.

“This is good, grandma,” I’d reply.

Grandma Adell would take the gizzards and make a masterpiece of giblet gravy in her cast iron frying pan. After the chicken and greens were done, she would employ me with the job of chopping the greens. Chopping the greens was a workout, chopping and twisting with every pound.

“Don’t chop it too fine, baby,” she would say, “we don’t want to make it mushy.”

Putting the food away before she headed to bed, dinner was mostly ready for after church on Sunday. After Sunday service, we’d come home. Jr., my nana’s Pomeranian, would be barking with such excitement as we entered.

“Go get out of those church clothes,” she would say when we got in. She put on the same floral snap button house robe. Uncle Cal and his family, Uncle June Bug and his family, my momma and siblings would always show up after the work was done, filling the house with laughter and conversation.

Grandma would knead the dough for the buttermilk biscuits to go in the oven, alongside the chicken as it warmed. Smelling the house of the soul food coming together, boiling white rice to perfection, and the biscuits rising, adding the temptation of fresh bread calling you like Bugs Bunny in a cartoon.

“Nancy and Niecy, fix them children plates,” she would say as she sat at the head of the table.

How grateful I was to be a kid in these moments. Sunday dinner is served: baked chicken, collard greens, rice and giblet gravy, and buttermilk biscuits. Soul food at its finest is also food for the soul. These are the times that molded my view on family and our time spent. Soul food gathers families in Black culture; it is the core of our traditions. This occasion is where we gather, share, and lean on each other for strength and comfort. Sunday dinner was always the day my village gathered to share time together.

The preparation of these meals was a labor of love, a testament to the importance of family and tradition. It was in these moments that I learned the true value of togetherness and the enduring power of food to bring us closer.

Peer Review for “The ‘Curried’ Goat”

Specific Detail

Building the plate

1. Paragraph 1: The vivid description of the car ride with reggae music and the father’s Chrysler Put me in the car with you singing and all. The detail about the imported speakers and the green sauce on the plate gives us detail
2. Paragraph 2: The sensory details about the smell of the curried goat and the white Styrofoam plate almost made me able to smell the dish myself.
3. Paragraph 3: The description of Jamaican culture and the mention of the “dutchie pots” and street food corner stands paint a lively vision.
4. Paragraph 4: The adult experience in the kitchen, with dancehall music and the open windows and door, is reminiscent and involving.

Little bit more meat

1. Paragraph 1: Describing the taste of the curried goat could be a good addition.
2. Paragraph 3: Describing the “lavishly made party attire” and “cultural carnivals” with more specific details and examples
3. Paragraph 4: Going through the process of making the curried goat in more detail with out giving away your recipe 😊

Questions?

1. Does your dad influence your cooking?
2. Is there any dialogue between you and your parents as they “airplane” the food into your mouth that can be added.

Scene vs. Summary

Scenes:

1. Paragraph 1: The car ride and the sensory experience with the takeout plate.
2. Paragraph 2: The kitchen scene when the family arrives home and the anticipation of tasting the curried goat.

Summary:

1. Paragraph 3: Overview of Jamaican culture and the historical context of curried goat.
2. Paragraph 4: The reflection on your current experience making curried goat as an adult.

Main Message and Significance

The main message of the essay appears to be the significance of culture in the your life, both as a connection to your Jamaican heritage and as a loving family tradition. You explore how food can evoke memories and emotions, bridging the gap between past and present.

Meaningful Lines:

1. “The smell however, always grabbed my interest as we’d reach our apartment floor and into our kitchen dwelling.”
2. “From the deepest parts of Jamaica, one will find the strongest culture built on music of the dancehall, lavishly made party attire, cultural carnivals & people derived from strong morals, behaviors & beliefs.”
3. “In my adulthood I’ve become a kitchen guru in my own way. My curried goat dish preparation now gives an echo of an announcement of its own.

“Structure and Time Frame

Time Frame: Moves from your childhood experiences to their current adult life, reflecting on the continuity of tradition.

Order of Events: The order of events is clear.

Lead: The lead is engaging, immediately placing me in a vivid scene with sensory details that draws me into the narrative.

Suggestions for Changes in Order: The structure is great as it is but consider adding more dialogue and specific moments in Paragraphs 1 and 2 to give us a more connected description.

Successful Aspects

1. Voice and Tone: The voice is strong and engaging, with a clear connection to your cultural heritage.
2. Subject Matter: The choice of subject matter is relatable and appealing to my senses and emotions.
3. Vivid Descriptions: The sensory details throughout the essay effectively added me in the experience.
4. Cultural Reflection: The reflection on Jamaican culture adds depth and context to the narrative, making your personal story more meaningful.

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed your essay. You did a fantastic job of engaging me in your story. The rich depiction of the culture, music, and food inspired me to cook for my family and create lasting memories.

There was a time in my life where I lived with four generations of women. My great grandmother was an angelic woman. She was kind, loving, and God fearing. She’d always passed her love into the food that she cooked for us as a family. Adell would start her dinner on Saturday.

Coming in from playing with my friends, I would often ask, “Grandma, what’s that smell?” It’s just tea boiling. Grandma would make sweet tea from Lipton tea bags. In a metal pitcher, it would sit in the fridge, getting iced cold, and very tempting.

Sunday dinner was a weekly routine in the Mumford household, and I always was the helper. Grandma Adell would call me. “Te’a, come help me clean these greens,” she would yell from the kitchen. She would be standing at the kitchen sink picking fresh collard greens, breaking the stems and checking them for worms. I would then take over, picking through the greens one by one, searching and rinsing them all. Grandma Adell would then put them in the washing machine on a delicate cycle, never taking a chance that the worms were hiding.

While the greens were washing, the smoked ham hocks would be boiling, filling the air with the smell of salted pork fat. “Grandma, can I clean the chicken?” I would ask. Revealing the whole chicken, she would bake it with the neck and gizzards separated. “Yeah, make sure you get up under the skin,” she would say. “Yes ma’am,” I’d reply. Giving it one more thorough rinse over, she would lay the bird in the roaster, massaging it with butter, adding apple cider vinegar and fresh garlic cloves. Grandma would season the chicken before it went in the oven. Adding the collard greens to the “pot liquor,” as she called the concoction, they would boil for hours on low until they were tender to her liking. The mixture of fresh garlic and vinegar pranced through the air, tickling my nose and forcing my stomach to growl.

“Nancy!” she would yell to my grandmother, “Can you go to the store? I am out of flour. I need that and buttermilk for the biscuits.” Nana would go with no hesitation; I would chuckle a little since she was the only person I knew who could tell my nana what to do.

Basting the chicken to make sure it’s not drying out, Adell was praised by the family for always creating a perfectly browned and tender bird. Grandma would take the golden-brown chicken out of the oven, placing it on the stove top. She would always give me the neck. “How does it taste?” she’d ask. “This is good, grandma,” I’d reply.

Grandma Adell would take the gizzards and make a masterpiece of giblet gravy in her cast iron frying pan. After the chicken and greens were done, she would employ me with the job of chopping the greens. Chopping the greens was a workout, chopping and twisting with every pound. “Don’t chop it too fine, baby,” she would say, “we don’t want to make it mushy.”

Putting the food away before she heads to bed, dinner was mostly ready for after church on Sunday. After Sunday service, we’d come home; Jr., my nana’s Pomeranian, would be barking with such excitement as we entered. “Go get out of those church clothes,” she would say when we got in. She put on the same floral snap button house robe. Uncle Cal and his family, Uncle June Bug and his family, my momma and siblings would all file in one by one, filling the house with laughter and conversation.

Grandma would knead the dough for the buttermilk biscuits to go in the oven, alongside the chicken as it warms. Smelling the house of the soul food coming together, boiling white rice to perfection, and the biscuits rising, adding the temptation of fresh bread calling you like Bugs Bunny in a cartoon. “Nancy and Niecy, fix them children plates,” she would say as she sat at the head of the table.

How grateful I was to be a kid in these moments. Sunday dinner is served: baked chicken, collard greens, rice and giblet gravy, and buttermilk biscuits. Soul food at its finest is also food for the soul. These are the times which molded my view on family and our time spent. Soul food gathers families in black culture; it is the core of our traditions. This occasion is where we gather, share, and lean on each other for strength and comfort. Sunday dinner was always the day my village gathered to share time together.

I have been brainstorming ideas for my upcoming essay and two themes really stand out to me: baking memories with my great grandmother and exploring soul food traditions.

1. Baking Memories
   • Reflecting on the memories of making banana pudding together.
   • Recounting the stories and wisdom shared during our kitchen sessions.
   • Exploring how these experiences shaped my understanding of family and heritage.
2. Exploring Soul Food:
   • Discussing the cultural significance of soul food in African American heritage.
   • Exploring specific dishes like fried chicken, collard greens, and cornbread.
   • Investigating the historical roots and evolution of these recipes over generations.

Both topics offer an overflow of personal and cultural exploration. Whether I focus on the intimate moments with my great grandma or delve into the broader context of soul food, I aim to capture the essence of these traditions and their impact on my identity and upbringing.

Shaunte’a

Robin Wall Kimmerer’s essay, “Corn Tastes Better on the Honor System,” explores humanity’s connection with maize and the natural world. The title suggests that corn’s true essence is best appreciated when cultivated and shared with respect, rather than through industrial means. Kimmerer explores this theme by highlighting the spiritual and practical benefits of nurturing a reciprocal relationship with maize through traditional knowledge.

The main point of the essay centers on advocating for a deeper respect and ethical approach to agriculture, rooted in honoring the natural world. Kimmerer’s rhetorical approach blends personal narrative with cultural analysis, appealing to readers interested in ecology, Indigenous knowledge, and sustainable practices. The essay aims to inform, provoke reflection, and advocate for a more harmonious relationship between humans and nature.

While the essay is compelling, some readers may find certain passages challenging to grasp initially. For instance, when Kimmerer states, “The people have forgotten, but the seed remembers,” she poignantly illustrates the loss of traditional ecological knowledge and the enduring wisdom embedded in natural systems.

I found several aspects of the essay intriguing. The description of corn as a “miniaturized product that powers itself by unfurling self-generated solar cells” combines scientific wonder with poetic imagery, evoking awe for nature’s ingenuity. Additionally, Kimmerer’s assertion that “Holding the seeds in the palm of my hand, I feel the memory of trust in the seed to care for the people, if we care for the seed” eloquently connects past traditions with contemporary ecological ethics.

In summary, Kimmerer’s essay challenges readers to reconsider their relationship with the Earth, advocating for sustainable practices rooted in honor and respect. It’s a thought-provoking piece that encourages a deeper appreciation for the interconnectedness of humanity and the natural world.

Hey there! Let me tell you about a wild and fascinating journey that honey takes before it ends up on your toast or in your tea. It all starts with a tiny insect you probably never think about: the aphid.

Aphids, like our friend Mabel, are little bugs that feed on plant sap. This might sound pretty gross, but it’s actually an amazing process. You see, aphids tap into plants to drink sap, which is super sugary. The pressure inside the plant pushes the sap straight into the aphid, no effort required. Nature really has a way of making things efficient, even for tiny bugs!

But here’s where it gets interesting—and a bit weird. The sap that aphids consume doesn’t just nourish them. They end up excreting a lot of it as honeydew, a sweet, sticky liquid. Now, calling it poop might sound off-putting, but honeydew is more like a sugary byproduct that other creatures find irresistible.

Ants, for instance, love this stuff. They protect aphids from predators just to have a steady supply of honeydew. It’s like having their own little candy factory. But ants aren’t the only ones who benefit. Some species of bees collect honeydew and turn it into a unique type of honey, which we humans then harvest.

What blows my mind is how something as simple as plant sap can go through this incredible transformation. It’s a reminder of how interconnected and resourceful nature is. From plants to aphids, to ants and bees, and finally to our breakfast table, it’s a complex web of relationships that results in something delicious.

So next time you drizzle honey on your toast or stir it into your tea, take a moment to appreciate its journey. It’s not just a sweet treat—it’s a testament to the incredible processes at work in nature. Who knew that a tiny bug’s byproduct could end up being such a delightful part of our daily lives? Cheers to the unexpected wonders of the natural world!

Welcome to my very first blog post! If you’re reading this, it means I’ve taken a bold step into the world of blogging, a place that’s both exciting and a bit intimidating for me.

To be completely honest, I’ve never considered myself much of a writer. Explaining myself verbally, especially in face-to-face conversations, comes much more naturally. There’s something comforting about the back-and-forth of dialogue that makes expressing my thoughts feel easy and genuine. Writing, however, has always felt like a challenge—an uphill battle that requires me to slow down and carefully choose my words.

I envision this blog as a place where I can share my thoughts, experiences, and reflections with authenticity and respect. Whether it’s talking about everyday life, exploring new ideas, or sharing personal stories, my goal is to create a meaningful connection with you. I might stumble over my words and sometimes struggle to be clear, but I promise to give it my all and write from the heart.

I hope you’ll join me on this journey. Your feedback and engagement will be invaluable as I navigate the ups and downs of blogging for the first time. Thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts. I’m excited to make this blog a space for genuine connection and shared growth. Here’s to embracing new challenges and giving it our best, one word at a time.

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