Honey Buttermilk Cornbread

Last week of September. Fall proper. The leaves are turning on my shortened route, and I walk the eastern half with new eyes — seeing it fresh, appreciating what remains instead of mourning what's gone. The Cooper-Young stretch is beautiful in fall: the old oaks arching over the street like the nave of a cathedral, the light filtering through in shafts of gold, the coffee shop on the corner where the barista waves at me every morning because I've been delivering her mail for twelve years and consistency breeds affection.

Charlie called Wednesday with news: she's been promoted. Senior Healthcare Administrator at Vanderbilt University Medical Center. Twenty-four years old and running a department. I tried to contain my pride and failed spectacularly — I told Rosetta, who told Walter Jr., who told Marcus, who called Charlie to congratulate her, and Charlie called me back and said, "Daddy, I told you in confidence." I said, "Baby girl, there is no such thing as confidence in this family. There is only information that hasn't reached Rosetta yet." She laughed. I was forgiven. In the Johnson family, forgiveness is fast because love is faster.

I made cornbread this week. Just cornbread. Nothing else — no meat, no sides, just a skillet of cornbread, the way Mama made it every night because cornbread was the thing that turned a meal into a dinner. Cornmeal, buttermilk, egg, a touch of sugar (just a touch — this is Memphis, not Boston), salt, baking powder, and bacon drippings. Poured into a cast iron skillet that's been heating in the oven at 425, and the batter hits the hot iron and sizzles, and that sizzle is the sound of my childhood, the sound of Mama's kitchen, the sound of home.

Baked for twenty-five minutes until the top is golden and the edges are dark and crispy and the center is tender, and you turn it out onto a plate and it's perfect — a circle of gold, crusty on the outside, soft on the inside, the smell filling the house with everything that matters. I ate it with butter and honey, sitting at the kitchen table, and it was enough. Sometimes cornbread is enough.

Charlie’s promotion called for a celebration, and in the Johnson family, celebration means the kitchen. I didn’t want a feast — I wanted the thing that has always meant something, the thing Mama made every night without fanfare because she understood that the simplest food carries the deepest love. This honey buttermilk cornbread is as close as I can get to writing that feeling down in a recipe: bacon drippings in a screaming-hot cast iron skillet, a batter that sizzles the moment it hits the iron, and twenty-five minutes between you and something perfect.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups yellow cornmeal (stone-ground preferred)
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon fine salt
1 tablespoon sugar
1 1/4 cups buttermilk, well shaken
1 large egg, lightly beaten
2 tablespoons honey, plus more for serving
3 tablespoons bacon drippings (or unsalted butter), divided
Softened butter, for serving

Instructions

Heat the skillet. Place a 10-inch cast iron skillet in the oven and preheat to 425°F. Let the skillet heat for at least 15 minutes — a properly hot skillet gives the cornbread its signature crispy bottom and edges.
Mix the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the cornmeal, flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar until evenly combined.
Mix the wet ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together the buttermilk, egg, honey, and 2 tablespoons of the bacon drippings 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.
Season the skillet. Using an oven mitt, carefully remove the hot skillet from the oven. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon of bacon drippings and swirl to coat the bottom and sides. The drippings should shimmer and smoke lightly.
Pour and bake. Pour the batter into the hot skillet — it should sizzle immediately at the edges. Return to the oven and bake for 22—25 minutes, until the top is deep golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. The edges should be dark and pulling away from the sides.
Turn out and serve. Let the cornbread rest in the skillet for 5 minutes, then run a knife around the edges and turn it out onto a plate or cutting board. Serve warm with softened butter and a drizzle of honey.

Nutrition (per serving)

Honey Buttermilk Cornbread — The Sound of Home in a Cast Iron Skillet