Nonnie’s Nine-Day Slaw

There are a lot of wonderful people in the South. They are good to others, raise good kids, and do lots of good things that no one will ever know about. They never become famous. They seldom become rich. Sometimes the only legacy they leave is an adoring family, a serving dish, and a treasured recipe that’s just never quite the same after they’re gone. This is one of those recipes. Juanita Johnston (Nonnie) was a schoolteacher and principal. She was married for sixty-six years to Cecil Ray Johnston, a postal worker, musician, and painter of movie theater signs. Her family always asked for her to bring her special nine-day slaw to every event. It was so popular that when she and Cecil Ray retired and they enrolled in a ceramics class to have something they could enjoy together, the first thing they made was a ceramic cabbage with a bunny on top to hold this treasured recipe. They are both gone now, but this legacy recipe and the ceramic cabbage are treasured by their only son, Billy Joe Johnston, who shared their story and this recipe with me.

3 pounds cabbage, chopped or shredded

1 large green bell pepper, chopped

¼ cup chopped red bell pepper

¼ cup shredded carrot

1 medium onion, chopped

1 tablespoon salt

1 tablespoon pepper

1 tablespoon celery seed

1 cup sugar

1 cup apple cider vinegar

½ cup vegetable oil

In a large bowl mix the cabbage, bell peppers, carrot, onion, salt, pepper, and celery seed. Stir in the sugar and allow the mixture to stand while the dressing is prepared in a medium saucepan. Bring the vinegar and oil to a boil, pour over the cabbage mixture, and stir well. Make sure all the vegetables are in the dressing. Cover the slaw and refrigerate overnight before serving. This slaw keeps for at least 9 days, hence the name, and according to the Johnston family, it “just keeps getting better ’n’ better!”

Makes 14 servings

My sister was always great at treading the dangerous waters of cook-appreciation etiquette. As a young child, she kept asking for more helpings of my grandmother’s purple hull peas. When questioned by my mother, she just said, “I don’t know, Mama, but I think Grandma’s stove just cooks these peas better than yours.” She satisfied everyone by blaming it all on the stove. Now, that’s Southern.