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Pumpkin Cranberry Bread — The Season Itself Is a Seasoning

September 2023. Fall in Memphis, and I am 64, walking the neighborhood in my light jacket, watching the leaves turn on the oaks and maples that line Deadrick Avenue. The smoker is happy in fall — the cooler air holds the smoke lower, keeps it closer to the meat, and the results are always a shade better in October than in July, as if the season itself is a seasoning.

Rosetta beside me through the week, steady as ever, the woman who runs this household with the precision of a hospital ward and the heart of a mother who has loved fiercely for 39 years of marriage.

Smoked turkey wings this week — big, meaty, brined and rubbed and smoked at 275 for three hours until the skin crackled and the meat pulled clean. Turkey wings are the working class of BBQ: cheap, underrated, and transformed by smoke into something extraordinary. Uncle Clyde served them on Fridays at his stand, and I serve them on Saturdays in my backyard, and the tradition bridges the gap between then and now.

Sunday at Mt. Zion, the choir sang and I sat in my pew and let the music hold me. The bass notes I used to add are quieter now — my voice is aging, the way everything ages — but the listening is its own participation, and the church holds me the way the church has held this community for a hundred years: faithfully, unconditionally, with room for everyone who shows up. I show up. That is enough.

After Sunday at Mt. Zion, Rosetta always wants something warm waiting on the counter when we get home — something that smells like the season, the way the smoker smells like October when the cool air holds everything close. This Pumpkin Cranberry Bread does exactly that: spiced and earthy, with the tart snap of cranberry cutting through the sweetness the way a strong bass note cuts through a hymn. It’s the kind of thing you slice thick and set out for whoever shows up, because in this house — like at Mt. Zion — there’s always room for everyone who comes through the door.

Pumpkin Cranberry Bread

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 60 min | Total Time: 1 hr 15 min | Servings: 12 slices

Ingredients

  • 1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1 tsp baking soda
  • 1/2 tsp baking powder
  • 1/2 tsp salt
  • 1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
  • 1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
  • 1/4 tsp ground cloves
  • 1 cup canned pumpkin puree (not pumpkin pie filling)
  • 3/4 cup granulated sugar
  • 1/4 cup packed brown sugar
  • 2 large eggs
  • 1/3 cup vegetable oil
  • 1/4 cup whole milk
  • 1 tsp vanilla extract
  • 1 cup fresh or frozen cranberries, roughly chopped

Instructions

  1. Preheat & prep. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x5-inch loaf pan and lightly dust with flour, tapping out any excess.
  2. Mix dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves until evenly combined.
  3. Mix wet ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together the pumpkin puree, granulated sugar, brown sugar, eggs, vegetable oil, milk, and vanilla extract until smooth and uniform.
  4. Combine. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir gently with a spatula until just combined — do not overmix. A few streaks of flour are fine at this stage.
  5. Fold in cranberries. Gently fold in the chopped cranberries until evenly distributed throughout the batter.
  6. Bake. Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan and smooth the top. Bake for 58–65 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean or with just a few moist crumbs.
  7. Cool. Let the bread cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn it out onto a wire rack to cool for at least 20 minutes before slicing. Slice thick and serve at room temperature.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 215 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 35g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 175mg

Earl Johnson
About the cook who shared this
Earl Johnson
Week 389 of Earl’s 30-year story · Memphis, Tennessee
Earl "Big E" Johnson is a sixty-seven-year-old retired postal carrier, a forty-two-year husband, and a Memphis BBQ legend who learned to smoke pork shoulder at his Uncle Clyde's stand when he was eleven years old. He lost his daughter Denise to sickle cell disease at twenty-three, and he honors her every year by smoking her favorite meal on her birthday and setting a plate at the table. His dry rub uses sixteen spices he keeps in a mayonnaise jar. He will not share the recipe. Not even with Rosetta.

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