By No Lowcountry boil. The first September without it in over twenty years. The absence is physical — I feel it in my body, the way you feel a missing tooth. My hands want to be making the broth. My feet want to be standing at the pot. My voice wants to be telling Deacon Harris where to put the tables.
Instead, I made a small boil at home. Just for me. One pot. Shrimp from the dock (Eddie is back, thank God, selling from a folding table with a mask on, but selling). Corn from the last of the season. Sausage. Potatoes. Old Bay. The secret splash of vinegar. Everything right, everything exact, every timing perfect — potatoes first, twenty minutes, corn and sausage ten, shrimp three. The kitchen smelled like September. The house smelled like church.
I dumped the boil on newspaper on the kitchen table — that's how you serve a Lowcountry boil, on newspaper, with your hands, no plates — and I sat there alone and I ate it. It was perfect. It was also the loneliest meal I have eaten in six months, because a boil is meant to be shared. A boil for one is a contradiction. But I ate it and I tasted the ocean and the spice and the September and I said to the empty kitchen: "That's it, Dot." And it was enough. It had to be.
Gladys made her cobbler anyway. She dropped it on my porch with a note: "Mine. Taste it and weep." I tasted it. It was good. I will not tell her it was good. I made mine and left it on her porch with a note: "Still better." The rivalry survives the pandemic. Some things are too important to die.
Now go on and feed somebody.
Gladys and I have been leaving things on each other’s porches for twenty-two years — cobblers, pound cakes, once an entire pot of collards — and I was not about to let a pandemic end that. When the last peaches of the season were gone and the plums from the farmers’ market were sitting in my bowl going soft, I knew exactly what to do with them. This Fresh Plum Quick Bread is what I left on her steps with that note, because the fruit was sweet, the crumb was tender, and I knew she’d know exactly how much effort went into it. Rivalry as life force — you heard it here first.
Fresh Plum Quick Bread
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 55 min | Total Time: 1 hr 10 min | Servings: 10 slices
Ingredients
- 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
- 2 large eggs
- 3/4 cup granulated sugar
- 1/3 cup vegetable oil
- 1/4 cup sour cream
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1 1/2 cups fresh plums, pitted and diced (about 3 medium plums)
- 1 tablespoon turbinado sugar, for topping
Instructions
- Preheat and prepare. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x5-inch loaf pan and lightly flour it, or line with parchment paper with overhang on the long sides.
- Mix dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Set aside.
- Mix wet ingredients. In a large bowl, beat the eggs and granulated sugar together until pale and slightly thickened, about 1 minute. Whisk in the oil, sour cream, and vanilla until smooth and fully combined.
- Combine. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir gently with a spatula until just combined — do not overmix. A few streaks of flour are fine at this stage.
- Fold in plums. Add the diced plums and fold them in with just 3 or 4 strokes. The batter will be thick. Scrape into the prepared loaf pan and spread evenly. Sprinkle turbinado sugar over the top.
- Bake. Bake 50–58 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean and the top is deep golden brown. If the top browns too quickly, tent loosely with foil after 35 minutes.
- Cool. Let the bread cool in the pan for 15 minutes, then lift out and transfer to a wire rack. Cool at least 30 minutes before slicing — the crumb sets as it cools.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 215 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 8g | Carbs: 33g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 190mg