By One of the things they do not tell you about losing someone is how it shows up in food. Not dramatically. Not in some grief movie way where you cannot eat. It is smaller than that. You are in the grocery store and you pick up a can of peaches and put it back because he is not there to eat peach cobbler anymore. You make cornbread and you cut it in squares instead of wedges because that is how you always did it at his table and the muscle memory is faster than the grief.
I made cornbread on Sunday and I cut it in wedges. On purpose. Gloria noticed and did not say anything and that was the right call.
Destiny has started helping me in the kitchen more. She stands on a step stool that Gloria dug out of the closet. She holds the measuring cup and squints at the line like a scientist. This week she asked me if I lived with Gloria when I was little. I said I did for a few years. She asked if it was good. I said it was the best place I ever lived. She thought about that for a moment and then went back to stirring the cornbread batter.
I let the conversation sit there. She did not need more than that right now. Maybe later she will. Maybe she will ask and I will tell her the whole version. The seven homes, the moves, the years before Gloria. Or maybe she will figure out her own version of the story. Kids who grow up in care always do.
Tyler made scrambled eggs for dinner on Tuesday. They were not good scrambled eggs. I ate them and said they were great and he knew I was lying and we both laughed. It is such a specific kind of comfortable, laughing about bad eggs with someone. I keep noticing how lucky I am.
The cornbread I made that Sunday — the one I cut in wedges instead of squares — was spider bread, a cast iron skillet cornbread with a soft, almost custardy layer in the middle that my grandmother used to call “the surprise.” I made it because it felt like something worth honoring, not repeating out of habit but choosing deliberately, and because Destiny was standing on her step stool ready to help and I wanted to give her something real to hold the measuring cup for. It is simple enough for a seven-year-old to be useful and good enough to feel like it means something.
Spider Bread
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 1 cup yellow cornmeal
- 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/3 cup granulated sugar
- 1 teaspoon baking soda
- 3/4 teaspoon salt
- 2 large eggs, beaten
- 1 cup buttermilk
- 1 cup whole milk, divided
Instructions
- Heat the skillet. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Place a 10-inch cast iron skillet in the oven with the butter inside. Let the butter melt and the pan get hot, about 5 minutes. Watch it — you want the butter foamy but not browned.
- Mix the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the cornmeal, flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt until evenly combined.
- Add the wet ingredients. Stir in the eggs, buttermilk, and 1/2 cup of the whole milk. Mix until just combined — a few lumps are fine. Do not overmix.
- Build the custard layer. Carefully pour the batter into the hot buttered skillet. Then, without stirring, slowly pour the remaining 1/2 cup of whole milk directly over the top of the batter. Do not mix it in. This is what creates the soft, custardy center that gives spider bread its character.
- Bake. Transfer the skillet to the oven and bake for 28 to 32 minutes, until the edges are set and golden and the center is just firm when gently pressed. A toothpick inserted near the edge should come out clean; the very center may still be slightly soft.
- Rest and cut. Let the bread rest in the skillet for 5 to 10 minutes before slicing. Cut into wedges — or squares, if that is what you need today. Either way it is right.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 195 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 29g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 340mg