Hot Water Cornbread

November, and James proposed to Elise. He proposed in Columbia, at a restaurant, on a Saturday evening, and he called me from the parking lot — the same parking lot where he called after the LSAT, the same parking lot where he called after the bar exam, the parking lot that has become the broadcasting station for every major announcement in James's life. He said, "She said yes." I said, "Of course she did." The of-course was not arrogance. It was the certainty of a mother who has watched a woman love her son for five years and who considers the yes the formality and the love the fact.

Elise called me the next morning. She said, "I want to learn the she-crab soup." The sentence was not about soup. It was about family. It was about the integration that Elise has been performing for five years — eating the food, learning the names, sitting with Mama, washing the dishes — and that she is now formalizing with a ring and a yes and the request to learn the soup that is the family's thesis.

I said, "I'll teach you." The teaching will be the welcome. The welcome will be the recipe. And the recipe will be the chain extending to include a woman who will carry it forward when I am no longer cooking, which is the future, and the future is Elise at a stove in Columbia, making she-crab soup for her own family, the recipe passed from Carolyn to Naomi to Elise, the chain unbroken, the stirring continuous.

I made the celebration dinner: she-crab soup, shrimp and grits, biscuits, peach cobbler. The menu of good news. The menu of love. The menu that this kitchen produces when the family expands, which is the kitchen's favorite thing to do.

The she-crab soup is the headline, but no celebration dinner in this kitchen ever left the table without hot water cornbread — the quiet constant, the thing that appears without announcement alongside whatever the occasion calls for. I made it the night James called from the parking lot, and I will make it the first time I teach Elise to cook in this kitchen, because some recipes are not the ones you explain so much as the ones you simply put in front of people until they understand that the food is not the point — the being together is the point, and the cornbread is just how we say so.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 8 pieces

Ingredients

2 cups white cornmeal (fine or medium grind)
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar (optional)
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 3/4 cups boiling water, plus more as needed
2 tablespoons bacon drippings or vegetable oil, plus more for frying
Vegetable oil or shortening, for frying (about 1/2 inch deep in skillet)

Instructions

Combine dry ingredients. In a medium mixing bowl, whisk together the cornmeal, salt, sugar (if using), and baking powder until evenly combined.
Add fat and boiling water. Add the bacon drippings or oil to the bowl. Carefully pour in the boiling water and stir immediately until a thick, pliable dough forms. The dough should hold its shape when pressed; if it feels too stiff or crumbly, add a tablespoon of hot water at a time until it comes together.
Rest the dough. Let the dough stand for 3 to 5 minutes so the cornmeal absorbs the water fully and the mixture firms up slightly.
Heat the oil. Pour about 1/2 inch of vegetable oil into a heavy skillet (cast iron preferred) and heat over medium-high heat until shimmering, approximately 350—365°F. The oil is ready when a small pinch of dough dropped in sizzles immediately.
Shape the patties. Wet your hands lightly with water. Scoop about 2 tablespoons of dough and shape it into a flat, oval patty roughly 1/2 inch thick. Repeat with the remaining dough, wetting your hands as needed to prevent sticking.
Fry in batches. Working in batches to avoid crowding, carefully lower the patties into the hot oil. Fry for 3 to 4 minutes per side, until each piece is deep golden brown and the edges are crisp. Adjust the heat as needed to maintain an even sizzle without burning.
Drain and serve. Transfer the finished cornbread to a plate lined with paper towels. Let drain for 1 to 2 minutes. Serve hot alongside the rest of the meal — they are best eaten fresh from the skillet.

Nutrition (per serving)

Hot Water Cornbread — The Recipe That Stays on the Table When the Family Grows