Corn Soup -- What We Keep When Everyone Scatters

Lily and Ben moved to Albuquerque in March. I helped them load the truck and we said goodbye in the driveway in the cold morning and then they were gone. Hannah made coffee and we stood in the kitchen not talking about it. The particular absence when someone you love moves away is different from loss—they're alive and well and going somewhere good—but the empty air is still real.

I've been thinking about what it means to be the one who stays. Lily is out gathering, which is important. Danny is gone. My mother is in Muskogee. The center of what I think of as the family's living knowledge—the food, the language work, the land practices—is here in this kitchen in Kenwood, and I'm the person holding it. That's not a burden. It's a position.

The catering work has given me a clearer sense of what that position involves. Every time I make kanuchi or bean bread or grape dumplings for a room full of Cherokee people, some of them are tasting something that connects to their own grandparents' kitchens. That's not abstract. That's actual cultural continuity happening in a serving line. I've started taking that more seriously than I used to.

River came over on a Saturday and I made him a small bowl of bean soup—soft beans, very mild, nothing he'd object to—and he ate most of it and then threw some of it on the floor, which is standard procedure at his age. Caleb laughed and apologized. I said don't apologize. I said every bit he eats is a bit he's keeping.

The spring seeds have been started under the grow light. The ground outside is still cold but the jars on the shelf are full and the freezer is stocked and we are making it through another winter into another spring. That's the whole job.

The bean soup I made for River that Saturday was simpler than anything I’d serve at a catering job—just soft beans, warm broth, nothing to fight. But the corn soup I keep coming back to through winter is the one that fills the kitchen with something that feels like continuity. When the jars are full and the ground is still frozen and you’re the one who stayed, this is the pot you put on the stove. It keeps well, it feeds quietly, and every time I make it I’m holding something my grandmother held.

Corn Soup

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour 30 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 45 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 2 cups hominy corn (canned or dried and soaked overnight)
• 1 cup dried pinto or Cherokee Trail of Tears beans, soaked overnight
• 6 cups water or light pork broth
• 1/2 lb pork neck bones or salt pork (optional but traditional)
• 1 small onion, roughly chopped
• 1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder

Instructions

1. Soak and drain. If using dried hominy and beans, soak them separately in cold water overnight. Drain and rinse before cooking.
2. Start the broth. In a large heavy pot, combine the water or pork broth with the pork bones or salt pork if using. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce to a low simmer and cook for 20 minutes to build the base.
3. Add the hominy. Add the drained hominy and chopped onion to the pot. Return to a gentle boil, then reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 30 minutes.
4. Add the beans. Stir in the soaked beans. Continue simmering on low heat for 45 minutes to 1 hour, until both the hominy and beans are fully tender and the broth has thickened slightly.
5. Season. Remove pork bones if used and pull any meat back into the pot. Season with salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Taste and adjust.
6. Rest and serve. Let the soup sit for 5 minutes off the heat before ladling into bowls. Serve warm, as is. It reheats well the next day and the day after that.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 210 | Protein: 11g | Fat: 4g | Carbs: 34g | Fiber: 7g | Sodium: 380mg