THE TELEPHONE RINGS just as peach farmer Dori Sanders and I sit down for an interview. It’s Katherine Stoyer calling. “It’s serendipitous that you should call,” Sanders says in her delightful singsong voice. “You’re asking about cooking, and that’s what we’re talking about. “You’re making vegetable beef stew right now. Well, tell me what you’re doing.
“You’re slicing the beef. When you slice it, my dear, you’re going to slice it across the grain. Take that sharp knife, my darling, and you will see how that grain is running. Please slice and cube across. Okay, what else?
“The water is on the stove? You didn’t start the soup in stock? But you don’t start beef stew or soup in water, darling. Always save stock for that. I know you’re kind of Northern, but never ever, if you can, never start soup in water.” The conversation bounces back and forth for a few more minutes. Sanders tells Stoyer which vegetables to put in early, which ones late. “Now the tomatoes can go in very early. The longer they cook, the more intense the fla-a-a-a-vor.” She draws out the word for emphasis.
And then, at the end: “Love you, too. And make sure you always have a little container of stock next time, my darling. That makes it robust. All right, thanks for the call. Love you, too. Bye.”
Katherine Stoyer of Providence, North Carolina, has just received a free cooking lesson from the woman who wrote the book on delectable soups, buttermilk-marinated wild turkey, chicken and dumplings, cornhusk-grilled catfish, and, of course, easy peach cobbler. Dori Sanders knows rural Southern cooking because she grew up on a peach farm in York County, South Carolina, and when she wasn’t picking peaches or gathering okra or digging sweet potatoes, she was at the farm stand selling or at home cooking for her parents and brothers and sisters.
Decades after she made her first biscuits, she decided to write a cookbook. She’d already turned out two best-selling novels, Clover, which was made into a television movie, and Her Own Place. So why not a cookbook, something to help people “remember forgotten smells and tastes of old-fashioned cooking” while offering a slice of rural Southern life? The result was Dori Sanders’ Country Cooking: Recipes & Stories from the Family Farm Stand. It’s a book, the publisher says, that “reads as good as it cooks.” And it does so because Sanders is a master at mixing stories with recipes. She’s also a speaker in demand. She even spoke in Oxford, Mississippi, at the seventh annual symposium of the Southern Foodways Alliance, which awarded her the 2011 Craig Claiborne Lifetime Achievement Award. Her speech, titled “Promise Land: A Farmer Remembers,” coincided with the fortieth anniversary of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.
Sanders has been honored in many ways, but readers don’t want to know stuff like that, she says, when asked to be specific about her awards and speaking engagements. Tell them something that piques their interest, she insists. Perhaps this will: In the summer of 2017, Epicurious, a website that offers information on food, wine, and restaurants, named Sanders one of the “100 Greatest Home Cooks of All Time.”
PLATE 52 Dori Sanders with her longtime friend Katherine Stoyer and Stoyer’s daughter, Rainer
“A fourth-generation South Carolina farmer, Sanders grows peaches that are nearly as nuanced and sweet as her novels and cookbooks,” the article on the website says. “The joys of ‘make-do’ cooking that she grew up with only intensify when you try them out in your kitchen, connecting you to the scarcity and abundance that drove the creation of many of the world’s most delicious recipes.”
The cookbook, published in 1995, is not for the hoity-toity person who wants fancy cuisine for every meal. But if you grew up cooking in the country, as Sanders did, you’ll no doubt agree with some of her methods. Working on the farm leaves little time for anything but simple cooking, and Sanders still cooks the “simple survival foods, dishes that brought us through the Great Depression and the hard times of failed crops and lean harvests.”
By simple cooking, she means quick and easy—not boring—dishes whipped together almost automatically. “Like most farm-family cooks,” she writes, “I don’t measure or fuss too much with details. How much of an ingredient? Enough for one good mess, a couple of handfuls or so. What size pan? Whatever I have handy. If it’s too small, I just cut down on the amount I’m going to cook. If it’s too big, I end up with something cooked for tomorrow as well.”
But cookbooks, even country cookbooks, require specific ingredients and directions. So Sanders and her sister Virginia picked, prepared, and tested everything from the first page to the very last. The cookbook, appropriately, is dedicated to Virginia.
They already knew, of course, how to cook turtles, or cooters, as Dori Sanders calls them. She had eaten so many cooters, she says tongue in cheek, her backyard looked like a hard-hat factory. “Cooter legs have the taste of forty different kinds of meat,” she says, quoting her brother Orestus. “You fry them boogers and make brown gravy.”
“I can still turn to the farming life for roots, for those influences and traditions that have remained basically the same through the years,” she writes in the introduction of her cookbook. “Today we farmers still subsist mostly off the fruit of the land, living from harvest to harvest just as in earlier times. And unlike what so many people think, we Southern farmers don’t—and never did—eat our food swimming in sugar and fat.”
One chapter in Sanders’s cookbook is titled “Cooking for Northerners.” “So how do I cook for Northerners?” she writes. “I’ll let you in on a little secret: I cook the same foods I’ve cooked for years, only I change the presentation, or the name, or the herbs. For example, when I make a vinegar pie with fresh fruit sauce, an old family favorite, I might strain the sauce through a sieve and call it a ‘coulis.’ When I fry up some okra, I’ll use olive oil instead of vegetable oil and call it a ‘sauté.’ When I cook collard greens, I call them ‘winter greens.’ And if pressed for an exact name, I never say ‘karl-ards.’ Instead, I say ‘cawl-erds,’ all fancy like. Can you believe that I’ve even started adding Parmesan to my black pepper cornbread, and sometimes to biscuits? I also cut down, way down, on the sugar for my Northern friends. Fresh minted sugarless iced tea always goes over big.”
Sometimes Sanders improvised to keep a customer happy and coming back to her peach stand for fresh produce. This was the case with her best customer, someone who bought a peck of okra every Thursday during season to cook on the weekend. One Thursday, though, the woman arrived at the stand and announced, “No okra today.” She said her family was tired of stewed okra, or okra in any form.
Sanders was disappointed, of course, but then she noticed in an open newspaper on a chair a recipe for eggplant parmigiana. She looked at her customer and asked, “But have you ever served them okra parmigiana?” The woman had never heard of okra parmigiana. Neither had Sanders. “Well, I don’t have the recipe with me right now,” she said, “but if you stop by here tomorrow, I’ll have it.” Sanders spent most of the night creating a recipe for okra parmigiana. The woman dropped by the stand the next day, got the recipe, bought some okra, and went home to surprise her family with a brand-new dish. That recipe became so popular that it spawned other similar ones: fried green tomato parmigiana; vegetarian okra lasagna; a salad of okra, tomatoes, and corn—the list goes on.
Some things have changed for the Sanders family. The original family home no longer stands. The old wood-burning stove has rusted away. The teas served in silver that her folks enjoyed on their front porch are gone. “But precious recipes are still intact,” Sanders writes, “and the tastes and smells of the foods of my childhood let me know that I can go back again.” And Dori Sanders’ Country Cookbook takes the reader along with her.
These recipes were taken, with permission, from Dori Sanders’ Country Cooking: Recipes & Stories from the Family Farm Stand.
This recipe got its name because you will have no regrets for either the calories or the labor involved in making it.
5-½ tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
2 Granny Smith or other tart cooking apples
The juice of half a lemon
¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon plus 1 cup sugar
5 slices of good-quality white bread, each slice about ⅓ inch thick
2 tablespoons dark raisins, soaked in boiling water for 10 minutes, then drained
¼ cup roughly chopped walnuts or pecans
2 whole eggs plus 2 egg yolks
2 cups light cream
A pinch of salt
1 teaspoon lemon extract
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
Smear ½ tablespoon of softened butter on the inside of a 10" x 7" x 2" baking dish. Set aside.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
Peel and core the apples, cut into very thin slices, and toss in the lemon juice. In a heavy skillet, melt 2 tablespoons of butter over moderate heat, add the apples, and sauté until just tender, about 10 to 12 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove skillet from heat, stir in the nutmeg, cinnamon, and 1 tablespoon of sugar, and set aside.
Remove the crusts from the bread. Spread the remaining 3 tablespoons of softened butter evenly over the bread. Arrange bread in a single layer on the bottom of the buttered baking dish, overlapping the edges of the bread slightly. Over the bread scatter the raisins, nuts, and sautéed apples with the pan juices.
In a small bowl, beat together the whole eggs and the yolks. Beat the remaining 1 cup sugar into the eggs.
In a heavy saucepan, combine the cream and salt and scald over moderate heat. When tiny bubbles form around the edges of the cream, remove from heat and strain by small amounts into the egg mixture, stirring to combine after each addition. Stir in the lemon and vanilla extracts. Strain this mixture over the bread and apples, pushing down the edges of the bread to cover completely with the egg-cream mixture.
Place the baking dish in a large roasting pan and fill the roasting pan with enough hot water to come a third of the way up the baking dish. Bake in the preheated oven for 40 to 45 minutes or until a knife inserted in the center of the pudding comes out clean. Place on a wire rack to cool and serve warm or cold.
Serves 6
Before we had a freezer, we used to can all our favorite vegetables, including corn still on the cob. Wide-mouthed half-gallon Ball Mason jars were used, and it was surprising how many ears of corn we could squeeze into them. A good thing, too, because this dish was a must for corn-shucking suppers, and with the canned ears, we always had enough to go around.
6 ears fresh corn, shucked, silked, and cut in half crosswise (thawed frozen ears can also be used)
¾ cup yellow cornmeal
⅓ cup all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon garlic salt (optional)
¾ cup milk
2 tablespoons plus 1 cup vegetable oil
1 large egg
1 cup cornflake crumbs
In a medium bowl, combine the cornmeal, flour, garlic salt (if desired), milk, 2 tablespoons oil, and the egg. Mix well.
Place the cornflake crumbs in a shallow dish. Dip the halved ears of corn into the cornmeal batter to coat, then roll them in the cornflake crumbs.
In a deep fryer or heavy skillet, heat 1 cup oil over medium-high heat until hot but not smoking.
Fry the coated corn in the hot oil for 2 to 3 minutes or until light golden brown. Place on heavy brown paper or paper towels to drain. Serve as soon as they are drained.
Serves 6
This is a simple pie, but it is as delicate and delicious as any complicated dessert you’d find in a fancy restaurant. The raspberries cut the richness of the butter and sugar just a bit, so if you can’t find raspberries, substitute another berry with some tartness, like blueberries or blackberries, rather than a sweeter berry, like strawberries.
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1 cup sugar
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 cup buttermilk
A pinch of baking soda
1 unbaked 9-inch pie crust
1 cup fresh raspberries or other tart berries
¼ cup black currant or other fruit liqueur
Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
In a medium bowl, combine the butter and sugar and beat until fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Add the flour, vanilla, lemon juice, buttermilk, and baking soda and stir until well combined. Pour the mixture into the unbaked pastry shell.
Bake in the preheated oven for 15 minutes. Reduce heat to 300 degrees Fahrenheit and bake for 1 hour or more or until the custard is set and the top lightly browned. Remove from oven and place on a wire rack to cool.
Toss the raspberries with the black currant liqueur in a small bowl.
When the pie is cool enough to eat, cut it into slices and serve each slice topped with a generous spoonful of the raspberries.
Serves 6
I may not be a mama Italiana, but I am a Southerner, and I want taste in my tomato sauce, too, so I make my own. I use home-canned tomatoes, but store-bought canned tomatoes are fine as well. Be sure to get whole tomatoes, though, so you can chop them in big pieces and get a nice, chunky sauce. Make sure you use fresh-picked okra, too. Served with a hearty salad and hot garlic bread, this delicious dish makes a satisfying summer meal.
About 4 tablespoons olive oil
¾ cup chopped onion
¾ cup chopped celery
¼ cup chopped fresh parsley
2 cloves garlic, minced
One 14-ounce can whole tomatoes, undrained, roughly chopped
One 6-ounce can tomato paste
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
1 pound fresh okra pods, each about 3 inches long, washed
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup seasoned bread crumbs
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
In a large, heavy skillet, heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil over medium-high heat until hot, but not smoking. Add onion, celery, parsley, and garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, until tender, about 5 to 7 minutes.
Stir in tomatoes and tomato paste and season to taste with salt and pepper. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Remove the caps from the okra pods and slice the pods in half lengthwise. Dip into the egg and then roll in the bread crumbs to coat. Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in the skillet over medium-high heat until hot but not smoking. Add a single layer of okra slices and brown on both sides, about 3 minutes per side. Remove, drain on paper towels, and set aside. Repeat with remaining okra slices, adding more oil if necessary.
Layer half the okra in a lightly greased 13" x 9" x 2" baking dish. Spoon half of the tomato sauce over the okra slices. Repeat the two layers. Top with Parmesan cheese and bake in the preheated oven for 45 to 50 minutes or until bubbly and browned.
Serves 4
Some people object to the sour cream in traditionally prepared smothered chicken, so for them I have devised an alternative that uses fresh peaches instead. To make it, prepare the dish as directed through step 4 in this recipe. Then add two tablespoons of water, cover the skillet tightly, and simmer over low heat for twenty-five minutes. At that point, add a cup and a half of chopped fresh peaches, cook for another ten minutes, and then remove the cover and cook ten minutes more to crisp the skin lightly. But if sour cream is what you like, just proceed with the recipe as written.
8 pieces of chicken (legs, thighs, or breasts, with or without skin)
1 cup all-purpose flour
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
¼ teaspoon garlic powder (optional)
¼ teaspoon onion powder
1 teaspoon paprika
About 1 cup vegetable oil
2 medium onions, sliced thin
¾ cup sour cream
¼ cup chicken stock
¼ cup chopped green onions (including green part)
2 tablespoons water
Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
Wash chicken pieces and dry well. In a clean plastic or brown paper bag, combine the flour, salt, pepper, garlic powder (if desired), onion powder, and paprika. Shake a few times to mix. Place 2 to 3 pieces of chicken in the bag, shake to coat evenly, remove, and shake off excess coating. Repeat with remaining pieces of chicken.
In a large ovenproof skillet, heat ¼ inch of vegetable oil over medium heat until hot but not smoking. Add the chicken pieces and brown well, about 3 minutes per side. Remove from pan and set aside.
Pour excess oil out of the skillet, leaving just a thin layer. Add the onions and sauté, stirring occasionally, until they are translucent, about 5 to 7 minutes.
In a medium bowl, combine the sour cream, chicken stock, green onions, and water and mix well.
Place the browned chicken on top of the onions in the skillet and pour the sour cream mixture over the top. Cover lightly with foil and bake in the preheated oven for 40 to 45 minutes or until the chicken is tender and shows no trace of pink near the bone. Serve at once.
Makes 1-½ dozen
These little rolls taste best when served hot from the oven. My sister Virginia sometimes adds one small, thinly sliced, mildly hot banana pepper to turn them into hot-pepper rolls. You can also substitute white potatoes for the sweet potatoes if you wish.
¼ cup warm water
3 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon active dry yeast
2 eggs
⅓ cup milk
¼ cup plus 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 teaspoon salt
¾ cup cooked, mashed, and sieved sweet potato (about 1 large or 2 small potatoes)
3-½ cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, not melted
In a small bowl, combine the warm water with 1 tablespoon of the sugar. Sprinkle the yeast over this mixture and allow to proof for 5 minutes or until foamy.
In a large bowl, whisk together the proofed yeast mixture, remaining 2 tablespoons sugar, and the eggs, milk, ¼ cup melted butter, salt, and potatoes until well combined. Stir in 3 cups of the flour, 1 cup at a time.
Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead, using some of the remaining flour to keep it from sticking, until smooth and elastic. Shape into a ball, place in a large bowl that has been coated with the 2 tablespoons of butter, and turn to coat with the butter. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 hour.
Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Cut or pinch off walnut-size pieces of dough and form into balls. Put three balls of dough into each buttered muffin-tin cup, brush the tops with the reserved tablespoon of melted butter, and allow to rise, covered loosely, in a warm place until almost double in size, 30 to 45 minutes.
Bake in the preheated oven until golden, about 12 to 15 minutes. Serve immediately.