Appalachian Word of the Week - Traditions

Traditions. New Year’s Day seems to be filled with them. When asked why people repeat family traditions on the eve or day of a new year, most of my friends tell me it’s because “that’s what my family did.”

But why? Is it because we feel all warm and fuzzy about memories of our childhood and simpler times? Is it because we feel closer to those we love merely because we repeat a tradition? Or do we believe there is some hidden truth in those traditions that compels us to repeat them “just in case” they are relevant to the success or failure of the coming year?

I’ll look at my traditions and see if I can figure it out.

Sunday night, I plan to stay up until the ball drops in Times Square. It's a tradition. I even attended those "dropping of the ball zoos" when I lived in New York City.  I stood in the massive crowd of loud, drugged, drunk, revelers in freezing weather (sometimes in snow) just to watch a giant apple drop in Times Square. Yes, I lived there before the gorgeous high-tech Waterford crystal ball made its first appearance. As an introvert, the crowd was not an easy challenge for me. The pick-pockets and gropers didn’t make it any easier. But, it was a tradition. I admit I can't remember any time when staying up to watch the ball drop added anything to my new year--except that I woke up later the next morning.

Apparently, it is not an important tradition for everyone. Several of my friends admit they go to bed long before the excitement of a ball dropping and people screaming begins. Since I live alone, I sit by myself at midnight, cheering in the new year alone while thousands of New Yorkers scream and kiss beneath the Waterford ball, freezing their tails off. At least I'm warm as I toast my glass of non-alcoholic grape juice.

But there are more traditions than fighting to stay awake long enough to see a ball (or apple) drop at midnight.

Black-eyed peas for New Year's Day

The food. My mother told me from childhood that we must eat black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day. When I complained that I hated them, she pointed out that the more you eat, the more money you’ll have during the year. Then she told me it was up to me to eat as many as possible so that the family wouldn’t end up in the Poor House. How’s that for incentive? It was good enough to guilt me into forcing beans down my throat until I thought I might puke them up.

Being from the mountains of southeastern Kentucky, at least we didn’t have to eat sauerkraut (yuck!) or collard greens swimming in vinegar (double yuck!) like some of my Southern friends. I guess I should feel fortunate I only had to eat black-eyed peas. Of course, my favorite part of it was the fatback used for seasoning.

These days, I still find myself cooking black-eyed peas every New Year's Day. Instead of fatback, though, I use the ham bone from Christmas dinner. I have developed a taste for the peas now. It helped when I turned from the dried peas to fresh ones. So, I spend the day cooking them. 

These days, though, I tend to add a couple of potential traditions (it's never too late to start a new one, is it?) to my New Year's Day meal.

Fried frog legs--a new tradition?

One year, I thought it would be good to JUMP INTO THE NEW YEAR with frog legs. Dad used to go frog gigging often when I was a child. I loved watching my mom fry them in the old black skillet as they jumped around in the skillet. You know they taste like chicken, don't you? Well, I think it's a good tradition to encourage us to jump into the new year full of excitement, expectation, and hope.

Fried green tomatoes

My next new tradition is my favorite vegetable--fried green tomatoes. Okay, so they are technically a fruit. They are green and I will consider them a vegetable for the sake of tradition. They will take the place of the greens most southerners have on January 1st. 

So, why do I celebrate traditions? Perhaps there is something inside me that believes we must continue traditions as our way of not giving up on the promises of our youth. Perhaps it is because the traditions connect me with family members who have already passed. Maybe it’s because traditions are what make me feel connected with my family--past and present. Or, perhaps, traditions are what give us hope that the unknown future of the coming year doesn’t matter as much as the unity, support, and love of our families. Just maybe, traditions solidify hope. 

Whatever the reason, it gives me an excuse to make a big deal out of tradition and eat food I don't usually eat. That makes it special.

Some of you may think you must repeat traditions because your dead relatives will haunt you for the whole year if you don't. I rather doubt that one, but it needed to be said. And some of you may believe you will have bad luck if you don't eat certain foods on a certain day. You are the same people who cringe when you step on a crack (break your mother's back), break a mirror, or panic when a black cat walks across your path. Enough said about that ...

No matter why we honor tradition, there's no harm in it. And it might, just might, draw us closer together with our family, even if only for one day of the year. One thing you can be sure about--tradition will outlive those resolutions you make.

Happy New Year to you and your family. May you enjoy your traditions, old and new, as you celebrate the hope and promises the new year offers.

What traditions did you grow up following? Do you know why? Do you have any new ones you've added to your own family's menu? I'd love to hear your stories.

Appalachian Word of the Week -- WHATTY-NOTTIES

Whether you call them WHATTY-NOTTIES or whatnots, trinkets, collectibles or even chachkies, every Appalachian home seems to have a generous supply.

A WHATTY-NOTTY is any item you stick on a shelf, in a cabinet, in the corner, on a table, or anywhere else you can find a spot large enough to stuff it and it has no purpose than to sit there and collect dust.

I will never forget my mother getting out on Friday and Saturday mornings to scrounge up and down the hollers to find yard sales so she could acquire more of her precious WHATTY-NOTTIES. No stop was complete unless she found a new treasure. The good news is that they rarely cost more than 25 cents. Although, I did see her spending much more for a particularly fabulous find. Fabulous in her eyes, that is.

One of the benefits of always having a huge supply of WHATTY-NOTTIES is that you have available pickings for a quick gift for a friend or relative.

Whenever we visited Great Aunt Mamie in Lafollette, Tennessee, Mom had to work her way through the house searching for just the right WHATTY-NOTTY to take to her as a gift. From the looks of Aunt Mamie’s house, she had a lot of visitors.

In Mom’s latter years, she attempted to filter out some of the less loved WHATTY-NOTTIES from her minuscule apartment. Problem is, just as she gifted twenty or thirty WHATTY-NOTTIES to friends, or took them to the senior center to be used as Bingo prizes, she would have the opportunity to visit a yard sale or flea market and the shelves would bulge again.

I don’t know if it’s a regional thing that Appalachian women must fill their homes with items most people consider ugly, senseless, and worthless or if it’s a result of being in an economically depressed area. Of course, it could be because women need “things” to feel worthwhile.

Whatever the reason, WHATTY-NOTTIES are here to stay.

Including the WHATTY-NOTTIES we think will increase in value some day...

Why, even some of our favorite restaurants decorate every available spot with WHATTY-NOTTIES, too.

Cracker Barrel

The Bubble Room on Sanibel Island

The Bubble Room on Sanibel Island

I hate to admit it, but I have a “few” WHATTY-NOTTIES in my house as well. However, I have a rule. It only stays if I can sell it to buy food or if I love it so much it makes me smile when I look at it.

So, how many WHATTY-NOTTIES have taken over your house? What’s your favorite? And which one is so ugly you don’t know why you haven’t thrown it away. I would love to see your photos!

TWEETABLE
#Appalachian word of the week - Whatty Notty - @karennolanbell (click to tweet)

Appalachian Word of the Week -- BALONEY SALAD

Of all the food I enjoyed eating around the Christmas season, the one that holds the sweetest memories for me is BALONEY SALAD sandwiches.

Every Christmas Eve, Granny would make a batch large enough to feed Harlan County for our party at her house. I could hardly wait to sink my teeth into a few of them.

BALONEY SALAD is the poor man’s ham.  At least that’s what my family said.

Here’s the recipe:

1 big log of baloney

Boiled eggs (About 4, according to size of batch)

Sweet gherkins, diced tiny

Mayonnaise (Granny used Miracle Whip)

Fitted to Granny’s kitchen table was a metal meat grinder. She peeled and cut the baloney into large chunks and fed it through the grinder. It came out into a big mixing bowl, looking like baloney spaghetti.

Then she fed the boiled eggs through the grinder, according to how much she was making.

Next, she chopped up her gherkins into tiny little bits and added them to the mixture. Mayo came last. Then she stirred it all up together until it became BALONEY SALAD.

Sometimes I got to help with the process. She especially let me help spread the salad onto fresh white Bunny Bread. That fresh, soft bread was the best in the world.

The sandwiches were sliced into two and then placed on platters, covered with foil or Saran Wrap, and then plopped them into the fridge until the party.

When the family arrived and the party was on the way, everyone dived into those BALONEY SALAD SANDWICHES as if they hadn’t eaten anything since Thanksgiving. There was rarely a morsel left at the end of the night.

Yes, those sandwiches still bring a smile to my face when I think about them. As I get older, I realize how special growing up in the mountains truly was. We didn’t have much, but we were abundantly wealthy. Wealth should be measured by your attitude toward your blessings.

As we near the time when we are expected to make resolutions for the new year, how about we look back on our lives and choose to find the blessings in even the smallest of things? I think it could add a lot of joy to our lives in the midst of such suffering and negativity continually being thrown at us.

What’s one memory from 2016 that you count as a blessing?

Appalachian Word of the Week - SWEET PILLS

Appalachian Word of the Week – SWEET PILLS

I’m going to do something a little different this week. Instead of one word, I’m going to describe two words. SWEET PILLS

Not everybody called them that, but my mom and granny always used the term SWEET PILLS to describe all those luscious sweet confections we only got to eat during the Christmas season.

My all-time favorite is the FRUITCAKE.

Now, this isn’t the kind of fruitcake of jokes. Mom’s fruitcake was moist, spicy cake with candied fruit, raisins, and black walnuts. The best part of the cake was the top and the edge. Oh, my goodness, the chewiness made it heavenly. Nothing else compares. I truly miss those cakes.

Mom always hid the cakes, wrapped in tinfoil, somewhere in her bedroom. She doled out tiny slices only when she wanted to share. It nearly drove me crazy waiting for her to be in the mood to be generous.

Another popular treat in my house was FUDGE made from marshmallow cream. Mom wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, but she was a master fudge maker.  She generally made two large batches—one was plain and the other had English walnuts in it.

She poured the melted, creamy mixture into large platters. When it hardened, she sliced it into pieces. Most of the candy was hidden away like the fruitcake, but she usually left the smallest plate of fudge on the kitchen table for us to nibble on. I had a hard time staying out of the kitchen.

And then there was the APPLE STACK CAKE. The batter for this cake is totally different from most cakes. It is thicker consistency and you spread a thin layer into round pans to bake. It took forever, it seemed, because Mom only had two round pans. The first two layers had to cool enough to be removed safely before she could use the pans again to bake the next two layers.

Special thanks to Lady Behind the Curtain for the photo

While she waited between layers, she made the filling. After every layer had cooled, the cake was built by placing a layer, spooning on some of the apple mixture, and then the next layer, until it was completed.

My granny always made a BLACKBERRY JAM CAKE. It wasn’t my favorite because it was so sweet it gave me a tummy ache. I much preferred fruitcake. Her cake was quite popular with all the other houseguests, though.

One thing mountain women do at Christmas when they bake up a storm is to share. I remember my mom wrapping up pieces of cake or candy in tinfoil and then Christmas paper and tying it up with ribbon. She then dispersed her gifts to special people in the community. I remember her giving some to our garbage man, too.

If you’d like to try one of our mountain SWEET PILLS, I’ve given you the recipes from family files. Enjoy. Next week, I’ll tell you about another treat we only got to eat in winter.

Do you have any favorite SWEET PILLS from your mom or grandmother? I'd love to hear about them and where they originated.

RECIPES

MOM’S FRUITCAKE

2 ½ cups flour

2 cups sugar

1 ½ tsp soda

1 ½ tsp salt

¼ tsp baking powder

1 tsp cinnamon (or more)

1 tsp cloves (or more)

½ tsp allspice

1 ½ cups applesauce (a little extra helps make it moister)

½ cup water

½ cup shortening/butter

2 eggs

1 cup raisins (soaked in warm water and then drained)

½ chopped walnuts (add more) English or black

Mixed candied fruit

Heat oven to 350

Grease and flour baking pan

Measure all ingredients into large bowls (separate bowls for wet and dry ingredients) 

Alternate dry/wet/applesauce, then mix

Add fruit, nuts, raisins and blend ½ minute on low speed, scraping bowl occasionally

Pour into pan (preferably an angel food pan)

Bake 60-65 minutes

If doing layers, bake for 50 minutes

Cool before removing from pan.

MOM’S APPLE STACK CAKE

Ingredients for the Cake:

5 1/4 cups all-purpose flour like White Lily or a cake flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 to 1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon or ground ginger
2 1/2 cups firmly packed brown sugar (or 1 cup brown sugar and 1 cup molasses or sorghum)
1 cup butter
2 large eggs, beaten
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/2 cup buttermilk

Directions for cake:

1. HEAT oven to 425°F.
2. “Grease and flour” seven (7) 9-inch round pans or line the pans with parchment paper or use a no-stick flour cooking spray
3. Combine flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon in a large bowl; set aside
4. Beat the brown sugar and butter in a large bowl until light and fluffy.
5. Beat in eggs and vanilla
6. Add flour mixture alternately with milk, beating after each addition until just combined
7. Divide dough into seven portions of about ¾ cup each.
8. With floured hands, pat dough into prepared pans.
9. Bake about 10 minutes or until golden crust forms.
10. Remove from pan and place on a wire rack

Ingredients for the dried apple filling:

5 cups water
1 pound dried apples
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1 to 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
½ to 1 teaspoon ground nutmeg or all spice
¼ to ½ teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon salt

Instructions for Assembling the Cake:

1. Place one cake layer on a large, flat plate or cake plate.
2. Smooth an even amount of hot dried apple filling on top of the one cake layer.
3. Add the second cake layer onto the dried apple filling.
4. Put the dried apple filling on top of the second layer.
5. Repeat until all seven layers are stacked one on top another BUT do not put the apple filling on the top layer.
6. Cover the cake and place in the refrigerator (or cool place) for 24 to 48 hours.

GRANNY’S BLACKBERRY JAM CAKE

For the cake:

2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter

2 cups sugar

5 large eggs, beaten

3 cups plus 1 tablespoon sifted all-purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons allspice

1 1/2 teaspoons ground cloves

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup buttermilk

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 cup chopped raisins or dates

1 cup chopped pecans (or walnuts)

1 cup seedless blackberry jam

For the icing

3 cups light brown sugar

1 cup evaporated milk

1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter

 PREPARATION

Make the cake:

In a large bowl with an electric mixer cream together the butter and the sugar until the mixture is light and fluffy. Add the eggs and combine the mixture well. Into a bowl sift together 3 cups of the flour, the allspice, the cloves, the cinnamon, and the salt.

In another bowl combine the buttermilk and the baking soda. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture in batches alternately with the buttermilk mixture, beating well after each addition. In a bowl, toss together the raisins, the nuts, and the remaining 1 tablespoon flour and stir the mixture into the batter with the jam, stirring until the mixture is combined well.

Line the bottoms of 2 buttered 9-inch cake pans with wax paper and butter the paper. Pour the batter into the pans and bake the layers in the middle of a preheated 325°F. oven for 40 minutes, or until a tester comes out clean. Let the layers cool in the pans on a rack for 15 minutes, invert them onto the rack, and let the layers cool completely.

Make the icing:

In a saucepan combine the brown sugar, the evaporated milk, and the butter, cook the mixture over moderately low heat, stirring, until the sugar is dissolved, and cook it, undisturbed, washing down any sugar crystals clinging to the side of the pan with a brush dipped in cold water, until it registers 238°F. on a candy thermometer. Transfer the mixture to a bowl and beat it until it is of spreading consistency. If the icing gets too hard to spread, dip the icing spatula in hot water.

Transfer one of the layers, bottom up, to a cake plate, frost the top with the icing, and top it with the remaining layer, bottom down. Frost the top and sides with the icing.

MOM’S MARSHMALLOW CREAM FUDGE

Appalachian Word of the Week -- POKE

My Appalachian word this week is POKE.

This one might be a tad confusing to non-mountain folks. There are two kinds of POKES we refer to in the mountains.

The first kind of POKE is the one you get when you go shopping for your groceries. The paper type, that is. Some of you may call it a sack or a bag. In my part of the country we called it a POKE.

You know the term “pig in a poke”? Well, that’s what the POKE is. Aren’t you glad you finally know what they’re talking about?

There’s also another type of POKE. It’s a green leafy plant that grows wild, uncultivated. In my hometown of Harlan, Kentucky, we even have a POKE Sallet Festival every June to celebrate the POKE weed. If you don’t know what a SALLET is, come back next week to find out.

Special thanks to Corinne Farley for this photo

There’s an important secret about POKE before you go out, gather the plants, and eat them on your own. It’s TOXIC. Yep, it can make you quite ill and can even kill you. Because of that, you need to know exactly how to harvest and prepare POKE to keep from killing anyone.

Here is the link to a Youtube video showing how to harvest and prepare POKE properly.

Most of the people I know add scrambled eggs to their POKE. It can be a tad bitter and the eggs calm down the flavor.

Here’s the Poke Sallet Recipe

1.    Remove Poke leaves from plant

2.    Rinse Pokeweed leaves in cool water

3.    Bring leaves to rolling boil in large pot for 20 minutes

4.    Pour leaves into sieve (colander) and rinse in cool water

5.    Repeat Steps 3 and 4 two more times

6.    Panfry Poke leaves for a couple of minutes in bacon grease

7.    Add crushed bacon, salt and pepper to taste (or add and scramble eggs)

8.    Serve and enjoy

One more secret of the POKE weed plant. As the season progresses, purplish berries appear on the top of the plant. Those berries seem to be the most toxic part of the plant. If you put a berry into your mouth and chew it, you will probably die.

However, some Granny Women and current day natural medical practitioners swear by the healing qualities of those POKE berries if they are swallowed whole without biting or chewing.

Feeling lucky? Me either. I’ll leave the whole POKE plant to someone else to risk, thank you.

So, do you think you would ever try POKE sallet? If so, I recommend you travel to Harlan, Kentucky next June and try it at the POKE Sallet Festival. Check out their website at: 

http://www.pokesalletfestival.com/. 

Make sure you choose a vendor with a long line of repeat customers.

Tradition!

Traditions. New Year’s Day seems to be filled with them. When asked why people repeat family traditions on the eve or day of a new year, most of my friends tell me it’s because “that’s what my family did.”

But why? Is it because we feel all warm and fuzzy about memories of our childhood and simpler times? Is it because we feel closer to those we love merely because we repeat a tradition? Or do we believe there is some hidden truth in those traditions that compels us to repeat them “just in case” they are relevant to the success or failure of the coming year?

I’ll look at my traditions and see if I can figure it out.

Last night I stayed up until the ball dropped in Times Square. It is tradition. I even attended those dropping of the ball zoos when I lived in New York City.  I stood in the massive crowd of loud, drugged, drunk, revelers in freezing weather (sometimes in snow) just to watch a giant apple drop in Times Square. Yes, I lived there before the gorgeous high-tech Waterford crystal ball made its first appearance. As an introvert, the crowd was not an easy challenge for me. The pick-pockets and gropers didn’t make it any easier. But, it was “tradition.”

Apparently, it is not an important tradition for my husband. He fell asleep and I sat by myself at midnight, cheering in the new year alone while thousands of New Yorkers screamed and kissed beneath the Waterford ball, freezing their tails off.

I reminded myself that I’m not the only person who did that last night. I should feel fortunate that he was just lying in the bed asleep and not gone forever.

Then there’s the food. My mother told me from childhood that we must eat black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day. When I complained that I hated them, she pointed out that the more you eat, the more money you’ll have during the year. Then she told me it was up to me to eat as many as possible so that the family wouldn’t end up in the Poor House. How’s that for incentive?

Being from the mountains of southeastern Kentucky, at least we didn’t have to eat sauerkraut (yuck!) or greens swimming in vinegar (double yuck!). I guess I should feel fortunate I only had to eat black-eyed peas. Of course, my favorite part of it was the fatback used for seasoning.

Today, I still find myself cooking black-eyed peas. Instead of fatback, I use the hambone from Thanksgiving. I have developed a taste for the peas now, sorta. Anyway, even though I am the only person in my current family unit who will eat them, I still spend the day cooking them. Today, I added a couple of potential traditions (it's never too late to start a new one, is it?)

First, I thought it would be good to JUMP INTO THE NEW YEAR with frog legs. Dad used to go frog gigging often when I was a child. I loved watching my mom fry them in the old black skillet and watching them jump around in the skillet. You know they taste like chicken, don't you? Well, I think it's a good tradition to encourage us to jump into the new year full of excitement, expectation, and hope.

My next new tradition is my favorite vegetable--fried green tomatoes. Okay, so they are technically a fruit. They are green and I will consider them a vegetable for the sake of tradition. They will take the place of the greens most southerners have on January 1st. 

So, why do I celebrate traditions? Perhaps there is something inside me that believes we must continue traditions as our way of not giving up on the promises of our youth. Perhaps it is because the traditions connect me with family members who have already passed. Maybe it’s because traditions are what make me feel connected with my family, past and present. Or, perhaps, traditions are what give us hope that the unknown future of the coming year doesn’t matter as much as the unity, support, and love of our families. Just maybe, traditions solidify hope. Whatever the reason, it gives me an excuse to make a big deal out of tradition and eat food I usually don't eat.

Some of you may think you must repeat traditions because your dead relatives will haunt you for the whole year if you don't. I rather doubt that one, but it needed to be said. And some of you may believe you will have bad luck if you don't eat certain foods on a certain day. You are the same people who cringe when you step on a crack (break your mother's back), break a mirror, or a black cat walks across your path. Enough said about that...

No matter why we honor tradition, there's no harm in it. And it might, just might, draw us closer together with our family, even if only for one day of the year. One thing you can be sure about--tradition will outlive those resolutions you made.

Happy New Year to you and your family.