Although Mr. and Mrs. Marston Moore IV have become grandparents many times over, their wedding is still considered the gold standard for perfection in the Mississippi Delta. A country wedding in the bride’s yard, amid flickering hurricane lamps, it is remembered with particular admiration by Greenville’s old ladies, who are charged with the task of ensuring that civilization continues. What was special about this wedding? Not the huge wedding party—Mrs. Moore was attended by several cousins, her roommate from Sophie Newcomb, and a handful of friends she’d known all her life. There was no fondue fountain spouting chocolate liqueur. While the trellised wedding cake—topped with still-living flowers—was certainly lovely, there were no sugar-spun bridges connecting it to satellite cakes.
What makes this wedding loom large in the annals of Delta nuptials: the absolutely flawless magnolias carried by the bride and bridesmaids, whose ecru gowns the blossoms perfectly matched. The magnolias had been plucked from the bough—which was in the front yard, of course—at the exact moment they attained the precise degree of beige required to complement the attendants’ gowns. A magnolia is easily bruised, and its glory is measured in hours. Yet a force greater than nature—the bride’s mother—had seen to it that these magnolias would be at their apogee for the march up the aisle. No doubt somebody stood by with the garden shears while the bridal party dressed. It is almost certain that these ephemerals perished before the last glass of champagne was drunk.
Sprays of faultless flowers would hardly catapult a Delta wedding to legend status today. It would take umpteen bridesmaids, blaring trumpets in the church, and a multitude of parties given by host committees rather than friends, not to mention a string of vulgar limousines, to gain a toehold in fame. As true daughters of the great Southland, we are second to none in appreciating big blowouts, and would curl up and die before saying weddings have gotten too big. Is there such a thing as a party that’s too big? Nuptial blowouts are part of our heritage. Still, we can’t help noticing that weddings are evolving into spectacles rivaling our beloved Miss America pageant—except not always as meaningful. “What’s wrong with cheese straws, nuts, mints, and finger sandwiches?” asks an old-fashioned wedding guru who is growing jaded in the face of let’s-go-to-the-poorhouse-tomorrow reception fare.
Why have weddings turned into extravaganzas? Because they are no longer life-changing events—that’s why. With the lovebirds often already chirping at the same return address, it is the pageant itself that must create the drama of that still special, but not quite sooooo special as it once was, day. Forget mere etiquette—to wed properly today, the participants must pretend they’re in a reality show. We can’t help but recall the bride whose affections were captured by a local policeman. Harking back to the sixties, their wedding had a pig theme. They served pigs in a blanket, and the groom’s cake was a police car created entirely from do-nut holes (a reminder of the groom’s beloved 7-Eleven convenience store, where pillars of local law enforcement hang out eating doughnuts between bouts with the forces of evil). Oh, and did we mention that the bride and groom sat on horses? Unfortunately, horseback nuptials aren’t as rare as one might wish. Our mothers would call this vulgar! Alas, the old vulgar is the new everybody’s-doing-it.
The lead-up to the pageant—we mean wedding—begins immediately after a ring has been slipped onto the young lady’s finger. The engagement was once a pleasant, somewhat hectic, interlude when the bride-to-be was entertained by her friends and family. Now she is entertained by everybody she has ever laid her eyes on. A friend of the bride’s mother becomes the party coordinator, and would-be hostesses have to work through her to be listed as one of the forty-nine hostesses for an intimate luncheon for a bride they’ve hardly said boo to. In the past, it was enough that the bride and her mother were pleased and grateful to their hostesses—today, bridal luncheon invitations have so many names that they read like benefit committees. Showers, once rare in the Delta, where genteel teas reigned, have made inroads, not always in the most dignified manner. Would you believe LeCarol Bentley, a Baptist from a small town that shall remain anonymous, was feted with a lingerie shower in the vacation Bible schoolroom? One good thing we can say for the Baptists, though: They don’t go in for bar-stocking showers, which can get, as we say down here, right expensive.
The bride has always made her entrance on the arm of her father or the male relative deputed to do the honors—but now all too often, doors of the church vestibule must be flung open to blaring trumpets that seem to shout, “Here I Am, Look at Me.” In the past, no belle of the old Southland felt she had to shout, “Look at Me”—she knew that you were looking at her. It was her birthright. Today, she has to compete for attention with a printed program that rolls the credits—we mean lists the names—of the wedding party, with their cities of origin, and is all too frequently adorned with cooing turtledoves. Remember when we used to actually know the entire wedding party? Oh, well—the programs do make good fans.
Delta heat is, of course, historically an unavoidable feature of all summer weddings, large or small, proper or improper, a fact of life that Martha Stewart Living brides rarely need take into consideration. Heat is just the sort of thing that the bride in a small Southern town (again, we grant anonymity) might have wanted to factor in before she hit upon the idea of a medieval-themed wedding. (In the past, “we’re getting married” was the theme of all weddings.) Lining the walkway into the church, the groomsmen glowed (which is Delta for “sweated bullets”) in their full suits of armor. Pelts of a too realistic nature hung on their shields. Historians tell us that the Middle Ages were a pungent time in mankind’s history, and so was this wedding. Even if the air-conditioning had functioned properly, which it did not (air-conditioning traditionally goes out at weddings), no amount of Old Spice could have made the groomsmen pleasing in an olfactory sense. We were definitely ready to quaff some mead when we got to the country club.
Hot weather, unlike bad taste, is inescapable in our neck of the woods. We’ll never forget the wedding—a very nice wedding—at which the brother of the bride, affected by a combination of the July inferno and malfunctioning air-conditioning, began wobbling and weaving at the front of the church. Soon he lurched forward, clutching at a hurricane lamp (we love candles in hot weather!), which, fortunately, another groomsman caught, thereby preventing the proceedings from getting even hotter. The unconscious brother was dragged unceremoniously from the church by the loyal groomsmen. The couple then knelt to repeat their vows. Unfortunately, the minister had words of wisdom to offer—and offer, and offer. He preached so long that there was an audible stirring in the pews, and then he launched into an equally lengthy address to the Almighty. Finally, the bride rose. “Ah’m not finished,” the minister said, sotto voce. “Ah am,” said the bride. “Ah’m ’bout to pass out. Ah have to stand up.” The couple was saying their vows a pied when brother, semi-revived but still glassy-eyed, appeared with a glass of ice water for his sister. The soloist, a soprano, simply shut her eyes and started singing the Lord’s Prayer. She didn’t stop until she sensed that the last attendant was safely down the aisle. Members of the wedding party were met in the vestibule by doctors dispensing ice-cold Co-Colas (Deltese for Coca-Cola).
Accidents of weather were not what made another big wedding memorable—it was bad taste, pure and simple. If you can have bad taste for free, go for it. But this wasn’t free, and we got the distinct feeling that the family wanted to impress upon us how not-for-free it was. We love tents in the yard (nice people don’t say lawn), champagne, and white gardenias. We are less enthusiastic about Fostoria crystal votive candle holders, twinkling electric “stars,” and twenty-foot mirrors and stained-glass windows inside the tent where the ceremony takes place. Not to mention the three life-sized cherubs from the 1984 World’s Fair holding Victorian floral arrangements. The father of the bride bragged to the local newspaper that he was putting on such a theatrical wedding to help promote his town. And we thought he was just trying to give his daughter a nice send-off. The cateress did not improve matters by telling the newspaper that caviar had been “shipped from New York” (like we thought it was grown on Bubba Billson’s catfish farm?) and that the whole affair was “top-of-the-line.”
When the redoubtable Mrs. Crump presided over social coverage, such a quote would never have made it into print. Yes, wedding write-ups have changed, too. It used to be that newspaper announcements, both for the engagement and the wedding itself, followed a formal structure, shunning middle initials for full names. The essential data, including names of the couple’s grandparents, was given, and perhaps a few nice details about the bride’s dress or the refreshments. It was also customary to tell who “poured” and who greeted at the front door. The format was for the most part standard, and families knew what to expect. We remember the grandmother who cheerfully paid a semester’s tuition for her granddaughter, who was not college material at all. The granddaughter lasted all of a week. Nevertheless the grandmother was pleased with her investment. “It was worth it,” she explained, “because now, when Sistuh marries, the announcement will say, ‘She attended Mississippi State College for Women.’ ”
Announcements nowadays will say almost anything the couple is crazy enough to want to share with all mankind. Did we really need to know that Miss Lottie May Lowman “wore a petite size 2 designer gown from Paris”? Was our morning coffee improved by the sight of a grinning groom, barefooted and wearing “tuxedo” shorts? No. We most certainly concur with the bride who said, “But, Mrs. Jones, everyone is entitled to one white wedding.” Indeed, we assert that there is such a thing as too much candor. A wedding announcement that begins, “Billy Wayne Garrett, 5, is pleased to announce the impending nuptials of his parents, Nelda Jean Akers and Billy Wayne Senior,” has already said too much. We feel certain Mrs. Crump would have crumpled this in a white-gloved hand.
Speaking of Miss Lottie May’s aforementioned petite size 2, one thing never changes: the bride’s determination to have a nineteen-inch waist on her special day. When a bride-to-be steps onto a box to have to have her dress fitted, look out! Stand back with smelling salts and ice water: She is fixin’ to faint. You would, too, if you hadn’t eaten in three days. For many brides, being pencil-thin is as important, if not more so, than being in love. The daunting prospect of a size 10 is cause to elope. The perfect look for the stylish Delta lady, by the way, bridal or otherwise, also features a tan, attainable inside the sorority houses of Ole Miss, where sunlamps are more popular than actually venturing out of doors (where you might be attacked by vicious mosquitoes). If you can become wraithlike by subsisting for weeks on end on nothing but Diet Co-Colas, and look as if somebody has poured a can of shellac on you, don’t change a thing. You have attained perfection.
A Tennessee family we know felt that it wasn’t enough for the bride to attain perfection. They wanted the whole family to look like the Olsen twins. Unfortunately, they had cultivated the unbecoming Super Size Me look. The solution: gastric bypass surgery. For the bride, the groom, and both sets of parents. We kid you not. During the wedding, a creaking sound, not unlike bursting water pipes, was heard. The congregation froze (not unlike water pipes). Could it be that all that expensive gastric surgery was coming undone at the worst time imaginable? Thank heavens it soon became apparent what really was happening: Twin movie screens were being rolled down above the altar for—what else?—biographical videos. But not too biographical. We couldn’t help but notice that all the pictures were post-bypass.
Greenville brides of a certain age (and never mind what that age might be) will tell you that a wedding dress from Mrs. L. A. White was well worth the trouble—to starve for, you might say. Mrs. L. A. White was called La White by Tout Greenville—which some of us pronounce Toot Greenville. La White’s shop was in a Victorian house (ne-vuh say mansion—that’s tacky and pretentious, and we always tell our children that when you’re being tacky and pretentious, try not to be obvious about it) downtown off Washington Avenue, the main drag, which then had a bou-le-vard down the middle. La White’s aplomb was the stuff of legend. When a nervous bride spilled bright pink punch down her front just as the initial strains of “O Perfect Love” were wafting through the hot, sultry air, La White was the picture of sangfroid (we’re on a French binge). “My dear, calm down,” she said to the bride. “Just stand still for a minute.” La White dabbed and pinned for a few seconds, and order was restored to the universe. “You would never have known,” recalled a bridesmaid, still awed after many years. (Maybe the moral of this story is: If you’re going to drink on your wedding day, stick to gin?) Unfortunately, La White didn’t “do” all Delta weddings. We know one she should have—the bridesmaids carried bouquets of flowers with upright, wiggling pistils. Stifled giggles could be heard, especially when the soloist launched into “Fount of All Blessings.”
Although La White is but a fond memory, Delta brides still enjoy nonpareil shopping opportunities (this is the last mot français—we promise). It should come as no surprise that one of the country’s largest vendors of (small, we hope) wedding dresses is nearby in Brinkley, Arkansas. It is Low’s Bridal and Formal Shoppe, owned by Dorcas Prince, whose mother founded the enterprise by selling a few wedding dresses in her husband’s pharmacy. A girl can bring her grandmother’s Belgian lace veil, and Dorcas will find a dress that goes with it. Dorcas has also matched turquoise cowboy boots for a less traditional ensemble. Mrs. Prince says the shop has flourished “by the grace of God and a fluke of nature,” which is probably just the way Fifth Avenue merchants talk. A historical note: In the 1920s and ’30s, a “Doctor” Brinkley attained national fame through his experiments with goat glands. He dreamed of Viagra before its time, or, as a radio ditty put it, the goat glands were supposed to “make a man the ram what am with every lamb.” Many believe that Brinkley was named in honor of the doctor, and that Dorcas’s ancestral pharmacy was associated with the experiments. We regret to report that neither of these rumors is true, though the great state of Arkansas did give the good doc something all other states denied him: a medical license.
At any rate, Low’s has since moved from the humble pharmacy into an elegantly refurbished old railroad hotel with chandeliers and a selection of gowns that get more expensive as you go to the next floor. Budget-conscious brides should stay away from the stairs! According to Southern Living magazine, there are more wedding gowns at Low’s than there are citizens of Brinkley (population: 4,000). You can easily drive to Brinkley from Greenville, but real big shots love flying in big-shot style—never mind that the metropolitan aeronautical facility is for crop dusters. “I flew in like Barney Fife,” said a rattled shopper from Atlanta. But she did get to ride into town in Brinkley’s elegant “courtesy car.” It is a former po-lice vehicle, and it takes you directly to Low’s, there not being a whole heck of a lot of other major attractions in Brinkley.
It has been remarked that people in the Delta frequently look better in their obituary write-ups than they did in life; unfortunately, they often look worse in their wedding clippings—and it’s their own fault. Any living being should know that if you’re the groom, you don’t wear sunglasses for your photo op. (Of course, we understood the impulse to be incognito: The new missus sported an ever-so-subtle mustache.) She was quite unlike the perfectionist bride who stamped her dainty foot and flatly refused to set it inside the church until Rhonda from Hair Tenders returned to respray an errant curl. (A lady from the wedding guild crawled on all fours to tell the organist, who was in his fifth rendition of Trumpet Voluntary, to keep going—Rhonda was on the way. Then the wedding guild lady had to crawl out of the sanctuary.) There is the category of clippings that deserves the headline: “Let’s Put Something Funny on Our Heads and Get Married.” This is not an innovation. Some of our grandmothers wore things on their heads that made them look ridiculous at this pivotal moment in life. Old Mrs. Jeffrey wore something that looked like a papal tiara at her sacred moment, while her sister Annie Jane bore an unfortunate resemblance to Theodora of Byzantium when she married that good-for-nothing Buddy Boy James. At the opposite end of the spectrum, one hapless bride was persuaded to don a bridal cap, which was touted as the epitome of simple chic. This young lady came into the church looking like a dead ringer for Esther Williams. Well, she was on the swim team. Note to flapper-inspired brides: A twenties-style fillet around your head doesn’t go well with a bouffant the size of a loaf of Wonder Bread.
While the reception has become more of an extravaganza, too many families now dispense with the simple nicety of a receiving line. Even small receptions at home require a receiving line. If the family was detained at the church to take pictures (a good time to take pictures: after, not during, the ceremony), the bride’s mother’s best friends, known as floating hostesses, receive until the family arrives. The bride and groom are first in line and the assumption, if she was marrying a foreigner from someplace like New York, is that the groom’s family might not know everybody. It is customary to shake hands with a guest who is then presented to the next person in the receiving line. The bride’s mother might turn to the person next to her and say, “This is Ardella Dell Rogers, and we went to the W. together.” The father of the bride circulates; he is charged with making sure everyone has a drink, funny because the one thing all Southerners can hone in on is the bar, an early form of GPS.
All our mothers have funny receiving line stories—such as the time the town wag went down a receiving line smiling profusely and uttering things like, “Your mother is the meanest old biddy in Greenville… That hat must have come from the attic… You must be awfully glad Uncle Henry finally croaked and left you the farm.” Not a soul noticed—or, if they did, they were too polite to let on. One elderly lady’s name was mangled into a word you probably wouldn’t hear in a bordello, much less the Greenville Country Club—it was filthy, but it made it all the way down the line. We doubt if the little old lady even knew what it meant. But we did. You could follow the stunned faces down the receiving line. Whatever abuses there may have been in the past, we feel that not having a receiving line is a contemporary form of wedding abuse. There’s no harm in being introduced once again to your vague aunt who asks sweetly, “Don’t I know you?”
One tradition that has been admirably upheld is the rehearsal party, which is eagerly awaited and traditionally hosted by the groom’s family. In the South, this is a sit-down dinner party. “If you didn’t have a rehearsal, when would you get drunk?” puzzles one Delta belle who will no doubt find her way to Greenville’s popular AA hut sooner rather than later. The bride, however, tries not to drink as much as she usually does—no bride wants puffy eyes on her special day. The rehearsal dinner is a test of willpower for the Delta bride; good thing the MOB watches her like a hawk.
Another beloved tradition is having a proxy for the bride during the rehearsal at church, perhaps, in an era when brides do not await the wedding night with curiosity, a quaint custom. But we like it. “The best weddings are the ones where the bride and groom don’t already live together. They are special,” says a Delta wedding guild lady. The second best are when the bride will shriek and carry on as if she’s never even been farther than Itta Bena unchaperoned. A little hypocrisy (aka, the tribute vice pays to virtue) here is not always a bad thing. Some of the greatest Delta loose legs have been amenable to re-virgination, if only for a fleeting evening. We say: Keep the proxy! And it gives the MOB another line in the program.
While we do unabashedly call for a teensy weensy bit of hypocrisy, we think that the best advice for a successful wedding is: Be yourself. A wedding offers an opportunity to be somebody you aren’t. This is a temptation to be (for the most part) resisted. If you can afford a big blowout, by all means, do it. But if you can’t afford a band from Memphis, a small wedding reception in the living room with mints and nuts is just as lovely. One of the Delta’s most famous families, the Minor Millsaps, specializes in small, at-home weddings. “I don’t know anybody who’s ever been to a Millsaps wedding,” said one of the best friends of one of the Millsaps girls. A good rule of thumb: Don’t spend more time planning the wedding than the marriage is expected to last. Of course, moderation in all things is desirable. It is possible to be too yourself. In this unlovely category we put the joining of Ethel and Charlie, whose last names we graciously withhold. Charlie is a plumbing contractor, and punch was served at the Ramada Inn reception from “porcelain receptacles.” The newspaper described it as “a party never to be forgotten.” But we are trying to—er—flush the memory from our consciousness.
Still, wretched excesses aside, the best moments at weddings are always the most genuine moments. When Iris Rosenberg was married in her backyard, the family’s elderly cocker spaniel, Brandy, fell into the swimming pool. Iris’s father, a local department store owner, jumped, tux and all, into the pool to rescue the much-loved pet. It was a lovely wedding to start with, but the rescue is what made it even more memorable. Love, you see, is what matters most in making a wedding a success.
We have nothing against the big wedding, as we said—if you can afford it and if it’s you. One of the all-time greatest of the big Delta weddings took place out from, as we like to say, Greenwood, Mississippi. It was an evening wedding with groomsmen in tails (we know we don’t have to tell you that tails are worn only in the evening!) and tents big enough for the Ringling Bros. Circus. Since the reception was about eighteen miles from town, men were hired to direct traffic down a winding dirt road. A pharmaceuticals salesman from Detroit made the wrong turn and got in the line and ended up at the reception. “Where am I?” he asked as his car door was opened by a valet. “At tha weddin’,” came the reply. The salesman had a dandy time and made so many new friends that he requested a transfer to Mississippi. Speaking of getting lost—we can’t imagine why—it’s always a good idea to have hired cars for the bridal party. One groomsman reminisced, “I don’t recall how I got back to Greenwood. But I must have, because here I am.”
A far less elaborate affair, however, was also a perfect wedding. It took place when our famous air base was still in business. The late Bern Keating, a Greenville photographer and travel writer, happened into a church—we don’t know how—that wasn’t Bern’s usual stomping ground. But never mind. A young girl from New Jersey was standing alone in the vestibule, waiting to go up the aisle to marry her cadet. “Who’s going to walk you up the aisle?” Bern asked. She explained that, because of wartime austerities, even her mother, her only living parent, could not make it. Whereupon Bern offered his arm. When the minister asked who was giving this woman in holy matrimony Bern replied, “Her mother and I.” It doesn’t get any better than that—and it also goes to show you that a girl from New Jersey can have a perfect Delta wedding, if she’s lucky.
We cannot discuss rehearsal dinners in the Delta without mentioning the late Linda Haik. Linda—everybody called her Linda—was the best caterer of her day—and her day was one of graciousness. When the movie Baby Doll was shot in Benoit, Mississippi, we were thrilled for two reasons—first because the movie was “banned by the Vatican,” which was very exciting, and second because all those deprived actors got a taste of Delta cuisine at its best, prepared by Linda.
Linda catered for our mothers and grandmothers and a few of us who were lucky enough to get married while Linda still reigned supreme. A stalwart of St. James’ Episcopal Church, Linda, a small dynamo of Lebanese descent, had such long histories with so many Greenville families that we sometimes wondered if she gave a Shabby Genteel Discount for families down on their luck. Linda introduced Greenville to tenderloin, which used to require a trip to Memphis, and revealed the secret of cooking with potatoes: Use those big, ordinary potatoes, and not the little red new potatoes you think are so hotsy totsy. The big ones have a better flavor.
A typical Linda cocktail party might have a ham at one end and a turkey at the other, with a hot seafood dip in a chafing dish and Linda’s famous marinated tomatoes and avocados (see “Restorative Cocktail,” here) somewhere in between. This arrangement also worked well for parties to announce engagements. One of Linda’s last big parties was a wedding supper buffet for our dear friend Roberta Shaw, truly one of the greatest of all last Delta weddings. But it was of the old-fashioned kind—that is, there were just old friends rather than a creative director. “It all started with the ‘rehearsal dinner’ at Doe’s [our favorite restaurant],” Roberta recalled. “I think we were rehearsing for some really serious drinking later that night.” We seem to remember going to a cottage on nearby Lake Ferguson, for more imbibing. The wedding was in Roberta’s living room. Linda served her famous Oysters Rockefeller on the long, formal dinning table. Through the blur, we seem to recall Billy Nearing with his hand in the chafing dish, as he chatted up out-of-town visitors. We think he may have been tipsy, because he was later spotted dancing naked in his parents’ driveway. We are glad to say that his burns were minor.
In Louisiana, people are wont to ask, “How you like dem ersters?” At Lillo’s, a popular Leland restaurant that has fed the Delta for generations, they’re on the menu as Oysters Rockafella. Sounds like a dance. We don’t have Linda’s recipe, but this one is delicious and offered in her memory. These oysters will make you rocka, fella!
2 pints oysters or 4 dozen small fresh oysters, shucked
3 sticks unsalted butter
4 bunches green onions, chopped (¾ cup)
4 packages (10 ounces each) frozen chopped spinach, cooked and drained
3 cloves garlic, pressed
½ cup parsley, chopped
¾ cup celery, minced
1 teaspoon thyme
1 teaspoon marjoram
1 teaspoon basil
½ teaspoon cayenne
3 tablespoons Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons Tabasco
1 tablespoon lemon juice
¾ tablespoon anchovy paste
2 to 3 tablespoons Pernod, or ½ teaspoon ground anise seed
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1 cup seasoned bread crumbs
Preheat oven to 375°.
Drain the oysters and save the juice. Pat them dry. If you use oysters that have just been shucked, drain in a colander (save the juice) and pat them dry. Layer oysters in a shallow dish. Bake at 375° 5 to 10 minutes, or until the edges just begin to curl. Chop the oysters and save until the sauce is ready.
In a large skillet, melt the butter and sauté the onions, celery, and garlic. Add the spinach and parsley. Stir. Remove from the heat and add remaining ingredients with the exception of oysters, Parmesan cheese, and bread crumbs. In a food processor, puree the greens and seasonings. Return to a Dutch oven and cook over low heat for about 30 minutes. If the sauce gets too thick, thin with a bit of the reserved oyster juice.
Add the oysters and cook about 30 more minutes. Stir in the Parmesan cheese and bread crumbs. Transfer to a chafing dish. Serve with toast points or small rounds of French bread. The sauce is so good that sometimes people don’t even add the oysters.
A rehearsal party should reflect the groom. It’s his—or his mother’s—moment to shine. In many instances, the groom is from out of town, and this is his family’s introduction to the bride’s community. With so many people meeting each other for the first time, it’s a good idea to work conversational gambits into the planning. When Gayden’s nephew, who lives in Alabama, married a Jackson, Mississippi, girl, the rehearsal dinner was held in the Mississippi Museum of Art in Jackson. Gayden toted every piece of McCarty pottery she owned to Jackson. Pup and Lee McCarty are Mississippi’s premier potters, but the distinctive pottery served a less obvious function than holding cheese straws—something to talk about. There was a band during cocktails for the same reason—the noise eased tension.
Sometimes random seating is fine—but not at a party with lots of people who don’t know everybody. Place cards are essential then. In addition to place cards, to the side of everyone’s napkin was a card with the evening’s cast of characters: “Anne Call, Grandmother of the Groom.” A close friend or relative was also assigned to serve as host at every table. After dinner, the band struck up again, and we had a table of after-dinner drinks before saying good night. We didn’t want an abrupt ending to such a nice night. Gayden put together an inexpensive goodie bag of aspirin, Alka-Seltzer, and mints, plus note-cards with helpful Jackson telephone numbers, such as for taxis, a pharmacist, or an attorney. Billy Nearing was away at the time, so maybe nobody really needed a lawyer. But it helped give guests yet another conversation starter.
Since the groom’s mother, Marsue Dean Lancaster, presides over her family’s third-generation sausage business in Gadsden, Alabama, sausage was an appropriate item on the menu. But these are delicious even if you are in another line of endeavor. They were small (you know we’re obsessed with little everythings!) and served at the bar… lots better than peanuts! A good rule: There should always be something to munch on at the bar.
Preheat the oven to 375°.
Crumble sausage with Bisquick. Melt cheese in double boiler. Add to sausage and Bisquick mix. Work with hands until thoroughly mixed. Shape into small balls. Place on a baking sheet about ½ inch apart. Bake at 375° until lightly browned, about 15 or 20 minutes.
Makes about seventy-five balls.
We just couldn’t stop ourselves with that sausage theme! We’re such pigs. This is a quick and easy recipe, a good one for a lazy person.
8 ounces extra-sharp cheese, shredded
1 pound sausage
2 cups Bisquick
Tabasco to taste
Preheat the oven to 400°.
Mix ingredients. Shape into small balls and bake at 400° until brown.
These freeze well.
Makes about fifty balls.
One of the best cookbooks ever is The Plantation Cookbook from The Junior League of New Orleans. Their recipe for shrimp remoulade sauce is simply the best. Use a parfait glass to create an original presentation for this tried and true dish. Make the sauce in a Cuisinart. A note of caution: Do not use absurdly large shrimp. They are hard to eat and often tough. For this recipe, you’ll need three pounds of boiled, peeled, de-veined shrimp. This is an excellent first course for a seated dinner.
1 head pretty lettuce (anything other than iceberg)
½ cup minced onions
¾ cup oil
¼ cup tarragon vinegar
½ cup country Dijon mustard or brown Creole mustard
2 teaspoons paprika
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
2 teaspoons salt
2 cloves garlic, pressed
½ cup chopped green onions
Process all ingredients, except lettuce, just long enough to blend. I would suggest the pulse mode. You do not want a puree. Chill the sauce overnight.
Put a layer of lettuce, a few shrimp, and some chilled sauce in the parfait glass. Continue the layering process until you reach the top of the glass. You should end with the remoulade sauce on top.
Serves eight.
We would not suggest that you attempt to hunt your rehearsal dinner fare. There are farms that raise and supply a lovely product. The only time we’ve seen anybody refuse a quail was when our friend Gladys Whitney was served one with two poached quail eggs on top. She burst into tears and said, “I just can’t eat the entire family.” Her luncheon partner had no such reservations.
8 boned or semi-boned quail
Salt and pepper
Flour
2 sticks unsalted butter
3 ribs celery
Sliced lemons
1 cup consommé
2 bay leaves Thyme
Preheat the oven to 350°.
Wash and dry the quail. Rub each quail with salt and pepper. Lightly flour each quail. Melt 3 tablespoons of butter in a skillet (black iron skillet preferred). Sauté the quail in batches until brown. If the butter begins to burn, wipe out the skillet and start anew with fresh butter. Place the birds in a baking dish. Cut a rib of celery to fit under each bird (about a three-inch piece for each bird). Place 2 lemon slices on top of each bird. Pour the Madeira and consommé into the sauté pan. Add the bay leaves and a sprinkling of thyme. Bring to a boil. Pour this mixture over the birds. Cover and bake at 350° for 1 hour or until tender.
Serves eight.
Remember the scene in Steel Magnolias when Shirley MacLaine says she raises tomatoes because she is an old Southern lady and old Southern ladies raise tomatoes? Southerners are obsessed with their tomatoes.
Tomatoes are an everyday dish, but this isn’t an everyday presentation. What makes these tomatoes so spectacular is the curried mayonnaise. You may find yourself eating it with a spoon. Not good for the prenuptial waistline. Get your digestives ready.
6 large tomatoes, peeled
Salt and pepper
Dill weed
1 pint mushrooms, sliced
2 jars (6 ounces each) marinated artichoke hearts, drained
A good vinaigrette (what we used to call oil and vinegar)
2 bunches asparagus, peeled, lightly steamed, and chilled
1 cup sour cream
2 cups homemade mayonnaise
4 teaspoons curry powder
2 heaping teaspoons grated onion
Slice about ¼ inch from the top of each tomato. Hollow the tomato, being careful not to pierce the bottom. Save the innards. Turn the tomatoes over to drain. When dry, lightly salt and pepper the insides, add a sprinkle of dill weed, cover, and refrigerate. Marinate the mushrooms and artichoke hearts in the vinaigrette.
Before assembling, drain the mushroom/artichoke mixture well. Cut the heart in halves or thirds. Fill each tomato with the mushrooms and artichokes. Top with the curried mayonnaise. Trim the asparagus so that two spears will fit into the top of each tomato, a decorative touch. You can use the leftover stems for soup. (What an impression the Depression had on our parents!) To make the mayonnaise, blend ingredients until well-incorporated and refrigerate overnight, if possible. It’s even better the second day.
Serves six.
16 mini tart shells, partially cooked
1 box (6 ounces) long grain and wild rice, cooked
3 cloves of garlic, minced
2 tablespoons oil
1 can (16 ounces) Progresso Italian tomatoes with basil, drained and chopped
1 bar (8 ounces) cream cheese, softened
1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1 teaspoon Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce
2 teaspoons Tabasco
½ teaspoon lemon juice
4 eggs, well beaten
Make your own tart shells, if time permits. But know you can buy them. Either way, be sure to glaze the partially cooked shells before filling.
Preheat the oven to 375°.
An egg beaten with 1 tablespoon of water will provide the perfect glaze.
Use a small brush and cover the inside of each shell with the above mixture. Bake the shells at 375° for about 2 or 3 minutes.
In a large skillet, heat the oil and brown the garlic. Add the drained tomatoes, rice, and seasonings. Add the cream cheese and stir until melted. Add beaten eggs and combine well.
Taste to check seasoning.
Fill each shell a little over half full. Bake at 375° for about 15 minutes or until brown and bubbly. This will also fill one 10-inch pie shell if you prefer.
Serves sixteen with mini shells or six to eight if using a pie shell.
Jane Dubberly and her husband are both great cooks. They are in the spice business, so you know this is going to be a treat.
2 quarts water
¼ cup Zatarain’s liquid crab boil
2 pounds catfish filets
2 envelopes Knox unflavored gelatin
½ cup cold water
1 carton (8 ounces) sour cream
1 package (8 ounces) cream cheese
1 can (10¾ ounces) cream of mushroom soup
3 eggs (chicken eggs!), hard-boiled, chopped
1 cup green onion, chopped fine
¾ cup celery, chopped fine
½ cup green bell pepper, chopped fine
½ cup pimiento, chopped
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 tablespoon Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce
Morton’s Nature’s Seasonings, to taste
Tabasco, to taste
Boil 2 quarts water with crab boil, add fish to boiling water, and reduce heat and cook 8 to 10 minutes.
Drain and flake fish.
Combine gelatin with ½ cup cold water, and let stand 5 minutes. Dissolve over hot water.
In a mixing bowl combine sour cream, cream cheese, and soup. Blend until smooth, add gelatin, and blend. Fold in fish, eggs, onion, celery, green pepper, pimiento, lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce, Morton’s Nature’s Seasonings, and Tabasco. Pour mixture into a 1½-quart mold and chill. Serve on Bremmer crackers—or with hard-boiled quail eggs.
This recipe makes enough for 50 servings.
We regard quail eggs as the height of elegance. Who doesn’t? They are served hard-boiled and peeled (not easy, but your daughter is only going to marry once—we hope). Split the eggs and put a dollop of catfish pate on each half. As we’ve said already, sometimes the secret to a good cook is knowing the right numbers to call. Here are two relevant numbers, one for quail eggs and another for a delicious variety of catfish pate:
Strickland Quail Farm
Pooler, Georgia
(912) 748-5769
Taste of Gourmet (for catfish pate)
Indianola, Mississippi
(662) 887-2522
This was served at an outdoor casual wedding party in Arkansas. Because the hosts live out in the country, they always have a well-stocked pantry and a vegetable garden. You have to drive miles to any restaurant, so there is a lot of entertaining at home. This salad was served with grilled tenderloin, sliced tomatoes, and peppered fresh peaches. Cook the beans the day before.
3 pounds fresh green beans
1 ham hock
1 onion, quartered
1 clove garlic, halved
Salt
Freshly ground pepper
Lawry’s seasoning salt
Cover green beans with water and add the rest of the ingredients. Cook until just tender. Drain and refrigerate.
Make the dressing the day before.
¼ cup white vinegar
3 tablespoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon Colman’s dry mustard
2 garlic cloves
1 tablespoon dill seed
Combine all the above in a jar. Shake well and then refrigerate overnight.
1 pound bacon, fried and crumbled
1 bunch green onions, sliced
2 packages (4 ounces each) crumbled Roquefort cheese
¼ cup homemade mayonnaise
2 tablespoons sour cream
¼ cup dressing (the one you made yesterday)
Add the drained green beans to a large serving bowl. Be sure you have removed the onion/ham that you cooked with the beans. Add about ¼ of the bacon and the sliced green onions. Mix the Roquefort, dressing, mayonnaise, and sour cream.
Gently fold into the bean mixture. Refrigerate several hours before serving. Just before serving, garnish with crumbled bacon and freshly ground pepper.
You have enough dressing to at least double this recipe. Serves eight.
We love green beans down here! The reason they are so frequently served at parties may be that you can always get them at the grocery, which is not the case with asparagus or artichokes. Also, they are inexpensive. All these parties can get expensive, particularly when tenderloin is the meat. Older ladies tend to be tight about money. Don’t ever come between them and their money, their bourbon, or their son!
2 pounds green beans or 2 cans (15½ ounces each) whole green beans, rinsed and drained
Bacon slices, cut in half
If you use fresh green beans, cook them in a small amount of seasoned water until just tender. If you use the canned variety, rinse the beans, discard the canned juice, and use tap water to heat them through. Wrap a slice of bacon around 6 to 8 beans. Secure the bundle with a toothpick.
Arrange the bean bundles on a foil-covered jelly roll pan. Broil until the bacon is done. Pour hot sauce over the beans and heat for another minute or two.
3 tablespoons bacon grease
3 tablespoons cider vinegar
2 tablespoons tarragon vinegar
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon paprika
1 tablespoon chopped parsley
1 teaspoon grated onion
Combine the above ingredients and bring to a boil. Boil for about 5 minutes before pouring over the beans.
Lord, do not forget to remove the toothpicks!
This is something Anne Call loved to make. She liked it because “the longer it sits, the better it gets,” or as we say, “gits.” Also, the layers are reminiscent of old-fashioned tea cakes.
3 cups sifted all-purpose flour
¾ cup sugar
2 sticks unsalted butter 1 egg
Preheat the oven to 350°.
Combine the flour and sugar. Cut the butter into this mixture until it resembles coarse cornmeal. Add the egg and blend on a low speed. Separate the dough into 7 balls. Roll each (on a lightly floured surface) into an 8-inch round approximately. Gently transfer to a baking sheet and bake at 350° until the edges are just brown (about 10 minutes). Allow to cool. If you use several baking sheets, the process moves faster.
3 cups chopped pecans
3 cups sour cream
1½ teaspoon vanilla
Combine the above ingredients.
Spread ½ cup (heaping) over each baked circle, stacking one on top of the other: layer, filling, layer, filling, etc. Wrap the stack well and chill overnight if possible.
Just before serving, dust the top with confectioners’ sugar. I put a doily on top and sprinkle the sugar over it. Remove the doily, and you have a nice design.
Serves ten.
One groom’s mother was determined to show us how thoroughly she fit into the Delta way of life. She entertained at the Leland Garden Club’s house. There were burlap tablecloths (à la croaker sacks) and cotton bales as decoration. Soy beans, cotton stalks, and corn were mixed with zinnias and sunflowers for floral arrangements to present a Delta landscape. Candy fashioned to look like cotton bolls were served with after-dinner coffee. It was a nice touch and impressed all the visitors who came from far north.
Our local cake baking supply shop, Patti-Cake, sells candy molds in every shape… even cotton bolls. To be perfectly honest, this is great-looking candy (if you’re into cotton bolls), but for taste, you might prefer a more heavenly divinity.
1 bag (1 pound) chocolate candy molding wafers
1 bag (1 pound) white candy molding wafers
Melt the chocolate wafers first. You will use this to paint the stems.
Place a small number of wafers in a wide-mouth glass jar.
Put the jar in a saucepan that is filled about halfway up the jar with water.
Cook on simmer until the wafers have melted. As the wafers melt, stir and add a few more to the jar. Do not allow the water to boil. Use a stiff watercolor brush to apply the chocolate to the stem portion of the mold. Then proceed to the white wafers and—voila!—two-toned cotton bolls.
Using a small spoon, put enough white candy into each mold to fill. Smooth.
Tap the mold to remove any air bubbles.
Place in the freezer for 10 minutes or so.
To remove the candy, invert the mold on waxed paper, tap the bottom, and the candy will drop.
Makes about three dozen.
“I’m sure there are some ladies who like to cook,” Julia Morgan Hall Hays remarked dismissively from time to time. She was not one of them. Though Julia Morgan died in 1990, we know she would like to be included in this book. And all non-cooks have a few special recipes that they do to perfection. Julia Morgan made wonderful divinity. She cooked it competitively for the St. James’ bazaar, always avidly awaiting battle-front reports on how her divinity was selling, as compared to that of her sisters-in-law, both accomplished cooks. This divinity is nice with after-dinner coffee. It has been said that people who make divinity can’t make anything else. Not entirely true. Julia Morgan also made caramel candy and baked apples with red-hot candies. You boil them with the red hots and then stuff them with cream cheese and nuts.
A word to the wise: Don’t make divinity on a rainy day, and don’t store the product in an airtight container. You can also color the divinity to match the bridesmaids’ dresses, but beware of using too much color. We say stick with bridal white. But if the bride was a sireen, why not red-hot apples for the rehearsal dinner? Just kidding.
½ cup water
½ cup white corn syrup
2 egg whites, stiffly beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ cup chopped nuts
Boil sugar, water, and syrup in a heavy saucepan. When the candy thermometer reaches 250°/ hard ball stage, remove from heat. With a hand mixer on low speed, add the syrup mixture to the egg whites. It’s like mayonnaise… keep a steady stream. Up the speed of the mixer, and beat until stiff peaks form and the mixture holds it shape. Add the vanilla, coloring (if you must), and chopped nuts. Drop by teaspoon onto waxed paper and allow to cool.
Makes twenty-four small pieces or about twenty average-sized pieces.
Don’ts
“Love Me Tender,” Elvis Presley
“Ebb Tide,” Frank Sinatra or Righteous Brothers
“I Do (Cherish You),” Mark Wills
“Hail State,” Mississippi State’s fight song
“My Heart Will Go On,” theme song from Titanic Anything by Celine Dion
“When a Man Loves a Woman,” Percy Sledge
“I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing,” Aerosmith
“Bull Dog Rag,” by Geraldine Dobyns, fine for MSU’s Bull Dogs, but not your wedding!
“One Hand, One Heart,” from West Side Story
“Here Comes the Bride,” Lohengrin
Do’s
Pachelbel’s Canon (before the service—no, this is not the one with cannons booming)
“Sheep May Safely Graze,” J. S. Bach (also before the service—and, even though it would be better if it were about cows, this one is still great for any agrarian society!)
“Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” J. S. Bach Trumpet Voluntary in D, Clark
“Here Comes the Bride,” Lohengrin (only if you absolutely must—see above)
Trumpet Tune in D, Purcell (The Purcells—aren’t they from Virginia?)
Overture to Royal Fireworks Music, Handel (maybe better in those days when girls were expecting fireworks that night?)
Allegro Maestoso from Water Music Suite, Handel (at the departure)
“Now Thank We All Our God,” Karg-Elerg or Bach/Fox (when performed at a wedding, we’re tempted to call it “Now Thank We All Our God—That’s It’s All Over!”)