By Mama and I have an agreement now. Last Sunday after the spaghetti sauce I told her I wanted to work through Grandma Carol’s recipe box one card a week until I leave for Vanderbilt orientation in July, which gives us about twenty Sundays. Mama said yes immediately, with the kind of immediate yes she only does when something matters more to her than she’s willing to say. We agreed I’d pick the card on Saturday afternoon, we’d both read it together at the kitchen table, and I’d cook it Sunday for our regular Sunday meal. Mama would tell me what she remembered about each recipe — when Grandma had made it, who’d been at the table, what story went with it — and I’d write the story down in a kitchen notebook on the page facing my own version of the card. The notebook is a hardcover Moleskine I bought at Target with my own money for this project. I am taking it to college with me.
This Sunday I made Grandma’s cheddar cornbread from a card dated 1972 in pencil, the only cornbread card in the entire box, which surprised me when I noticed the absence the first time. Cornbread is so foundational a recipe in any Southern-leaning Oklahoma kitchen that I expected a stack of cornbread cards — one for sweet, one for savory, one for skillet, one for pan, one for hush puppies, one for cornbread dressing. There’s exactly one card. Mama explained that Grandma Carol’s philosophy on cornbread was that there was only one right cornbread, and once you knew the right one you didn’t need others. The right cornbread was the cheddar cornbread on the 1972 card. That was the cornbread, period.
The card calls for one and a half cups of stone-ground yellow cornmeal, a half-cup of all-purpose flour, two teaspoons of baking powder, a teaspoon of baking soda, a teaspoon of salt, a tablespoon of sugar, two large eggs, a cup and a half of cultured buttermilk (which I now make myself, weekly, and have been making since November), a quarter-cup of melted bacon fat (which I keep in a small jar in the fridge that I top up every time I render bacon), a full cup of grated sharp cheddar (the sharper the better — a six-month or older aged is best), and fresh corn kernels off the cob in season or a can of corn drained off-season. This is March. I used canned and forgave myself.
The technique on the card, written in Grandma Carol’s small backslanted cursive in the margin in pencil, is the entire trick of the recipe and the line I now believe separates a good cornbread from a great one: “Pre-heat a cast-iron skillet in a hot oven (425) with two tablespoons bacon fat in it for fifteen minutes until smoking. Pour batter in. The sizzle is what makes it.” The smoking-hot skillet against the cool batter is the entire move. The hot fat against the cornmeal-flour-buttermilk batter creates an instant golden-crispy bottom edge that you cannot achieve in a cool greased pan. Cool-pan cornbread comes out fine. Hot-pan cornbread comes out the way Grandma Carol’s did.
I preheated the ten-inch cast iron skillet at four hundred and twenty-five for fifteen minutes with two tablespoons of bacon fat in the bottom. The kitchen filled with the smell of bacon-scented hot iron, which is its own perfume. I poured the batter into the skillet and the sizzle was so loud I jumped — an aggressive hiss as the cool batter hit the smoking fat — and the edge of the batter immediately set into a fried crispy ring. Twenty-two minutes back in the oven. The cornbread came out with the deepest gold-brown bottom I’ve ever made, the cheddar bubbled into the top crust in pockets, and the inside was tender and savory.
I served it with a pot of pinto beans I’d cooked from dry beans over Saturday night with a ham hock and a sliced yellow onion (Grandma’s pinto beans card was already next on my list, but I cheated forward by a week because the beans pair with the cornbread the way the cornbread is meant to be eaten). Mama said the cornbread was “Carol-perfect” on the first bite, which is the highest compliment in our house and which she does not give lightly. Cody, home from a Sunday shadowing shift at the Tulsa restaurant, ate three pieces standing at the counter and a fourth piece sitting at the table. He told me afterward, dish towel in his hand at the sink, “Grandma’s teaching us through the cards. She’s still in the kitchen.” That sentence stayed with me. It’s now written on the inside cover of the Moleskine.
Smoking hot cast iron, bacon fat, sizzle when the batter hits. Here’s the card’s rules.
Cheddar Cornbread
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 22 minutes | Total Time: 32 minutes | Servings: 9
Ingredients
- 1 cup yellow cornmeal
- 1 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/4 cup granulated sugar
- 1 tablespoon baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1 cup buttermilk
- 2 large eggs, lightly beaten
- 1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
- 1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese, divided
Instructions
- Preheat. Preheat your oven to 400°F. Grease an 8x8-inch baking dish or a 9-inch cast-iron skillet with butter or non-stick spray.
- Mix dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the cornmeal, flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and black pepper until evenly combined.
- Mix wet ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together the buttermilk, beaten eggs, and melted butter until smooth.
- Combine. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir gently until just combined — a few lumps are fine. Do not overmix or the cornbread will be tough.
- Add cheese. Fold in 3/4 cup of the shredded cheddar, reserving the remaining 1/4 cup for the top.
- Bake. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and spread evenly. Sprinkle the reserved 1/4 cup of cheddar over the top. Bake for 20–22 minutes, until the top is golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
- Rest and serve. Let the cornbread rest in the pan for 5 minutes before slicing. Serve warm alongside pork chops, pinto beans, or anything that needs a little golden comfort next to it.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 248 | Protein: 8g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 31g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 310mg