As in other parts of the country, the final moment of the public ritual is the couple’s getaway. Tradition dictates that the bride must toss her bouquet—regardless of the ensuing carnage—change into a traveling suit (one of the most important ensembles in her trousseau), and depart through a hail of rice or the more ecologically sensitive birdseed. Under the theory that the bride—who is still ravenous, unless she’s consumed five or six pieces of wedding cake, which most brides try not to do in public—might not get much farther out of town than the Mickey D’s on Highway 82, a picnic basket thoughtfully has been placed among the happy couple’s travel effects.
Oddly enough, one of the most popular delicacies in the picnic basket tends to be tiny finger sandwiches with a filling of sliced salmon. Salmon, it should be noted, is a finny friend that isn’t grown in our own catfish ponds. When those now slinking toward middle age were growing up, salmon would have evoked one response in a word association game: croquettes. Yes, we thought salmon came from a can. As has been recalled, non-canned salmon may have entered the Delta through Yankee visitors to a wedding reception. It took us a while to get the hang of salmon. At one particularly elegant wedding soiree, Tommy Carnes was seen chewing the plastic sheets between the slices. Though we had figured out by then that salmon had to be sliced, we didn’t have enough sense to remove the divider sheets—or maybe a drunk front had moved in and we didn’t care.
A historically more Delta-appropriate filling is Virginia ham, thinly sliced and on a beaten biscuit (more on beaten biscuits in a second). Since Delta people think of themselves as FFVs—that stands for First Families of Virginia—who, by an accident of birth, weren’t born in Virginia, Virginia ham is one of our favorite things. It reminds us of our old Virginia homes that we’ve yet to see. Old Mr. Gilliam’s constant—and we do mean constant—boast was that he really had been born in the Commonwealth. Every year, he made a trip to his native land, returning with Virginia hams to hang in his back hall. Proud non-cook that she was, Olivia Morgan Gilliam succumbed and went into the kitchen to prepare the beaten biscuits required. She used to say that Mr. Gilliam stood over her with a whip, but that was not true. He would never whip a daw-tah. He merely paced, looking as if he were experiencing the onset of adult starvation. When Mr. Gilliam died, and Olivia Morgan moved out of her father’s house (a move, incidentally, not accomplished during either of her two marriages!), one of the things she took was the beaten biscuit brake. She didn’t intend to make beaten biscuits again (or, indeed, anything the nice people at Stouffer’s hadn’t baked and pre-frozen for her), but a beaten biscuit brake is almost as dear to a Southerner as the family silver. A heavy marble table (marble keeps the dough cool) with rolling pins and ornate iron legs, it is about the size of a sewing machine table. You have to run the dough through the rolling pins several hundred times. A brake also feels like it might weigh several hundred pounds. The men from the moving van company referred to Olivia Morgan’s beloved brake as a “hernia table.” She cautioned them against such vulgar language. She also put a potted plant on the brake, to celebrate her liberation.
Unfortunately, getting the bride to the point that she is ready to drive off into the gloaming with her new husband and thinly sliced ham is no small feat. The convivial spirit of the Delta bride is such that it has been known to militate against a timely departure. One of our more lively brides held her reception at the Peabody Hotel in Memphis. Her frantic mother had coaxed her from the dance floor and onto the elevator, and they were going upstairs so the bride could change into her travel suit. The MOB was flooded with relief. But it was premature. When the elevator door opened, there stood a rowdy assemblage of young men, celebrating Ole Miss’s latest football victory. It was just too much for a loyal Chi Omega! Hoisted onto the shoulders of the revelers, the bride headed off down the street. Above the din, she could be heard shouting, “Forward, Rebels, march to fame. Hit that line and win this game.” The MOB knew that, if her daughter didn’t return fairly soon, she would definitely march into the matrimony hall of fame.
Not many brides—even Chi Os—choose to spend their wedding night with Rebels fans, other than the one they are marrying The hysterical MOB was contemplating calling the police, when the bride suddenly returned. But the trial was not over. Somebody had packed only half the bride’s travel suit—the lower half. By this time, the bride didn’t much care. Half naked? Try half looped. She was so looped, in fact, that she started singing the Arkansas fight song. The MOB made a quick decision that her daughter would break with protocol and depart in her by now not-so-white wedding gown. We hope she didn’t have to wear it all the way to Bora-Bora, the honeymoon destination. (Whatever happened to Niagara Falls?)
When Olivia Morgan Gilliam made her famously spur-of-the-moment second leap into holy matrimony, her gallant took her for their first night of wedded bliss to the Leland Hotel. Old Mr. Gilliam was beside himself with anger that his daw-tah, whom he adored, had been fool enough to marry somebody who took her to a hotel not twelve miles from Greenville to celebrate their alliance. Moreover, for the wed or the unwed, the Leland Hotel, though hardly a fleabag, was a poor substitute for the Peabody. Old Mr. Gilliam was still fulminating about the ignominy of the Leland Hotel long after the marriage was consigned to the dust of divorce court dockets.
Although the groom pays for the wedding trip, the bride’s parents care almost as much about the destination as do the principals. They hope it will reflect both generosity and financial stability on the part of their daughter’s new husband. It must also impress the other mothers at the Thursday morning gatherings at the Hair Tenders. But this is not the only concern.
Southern mothers don’t want their daughters to go to the powder room—where the poor dears might forget to put tissues on the toilette seat!—alone, much less on a honeymoon with a strange man. If not prevented, the bride’s mother will attempt to chaperone the happy couple. A local travel agent told us about the poor soul who slinked into her office and, with a hangdog air, admitted that his first honeymoon had not been a success. The problem was the presence of his new mother-in-law. The mother-in-law had kindly offered her vacation house—without bothering to inform them that she came with it. Perhaps not surprisingly, this marriage was not a roaring success. This time the groom-to-be was taking no chances. He begged for some out-of-the-way destination to which flights had to be booked months, if not years, in advance.
Many couples, exhausted from partying at their reception, secretly spend the night in town and leave for their wedding trip the next morning. Sometimes, however, this is tricky. When it comes to accommodations, we are not the Riviera. One couple stayed in the nicest motel in town—that’s also where Uncle Jim Bob and Aunt Billie from Nitta Yuma stayed the night. We are told that making small talk at the breakfast buffet was awkward. That isn’t the most uncomfortable fancy-meeting-you-here story we’ve heard. One Delta businessman had the misfortune of marrying on the same day as his ex-girlfriend—her engagement picture had appeared in the newspaper, opposite his fiancée’s, the same Sunday. Adding insult to injury, both couples arrived at the breakfast bar at the same hotel in Jackson at the very same moment. It is our understanding that our friend didn’t invite the other couple to sit with him and his blushing bride.
At least they hadn’t stayed all night at his reception, as all too many couples seem in danger of doing nowadays. It used to be that even the most famous round heels (so known because rounded heels let you rollllll over… backwards) feigned sufficient innocence on their wedding nights to pretend something new was in store and leave the reception at a decent hour. This was good for all of us because newlyweds—like royal personages—generally are the first to leave the reception. It would be heartless of close friends not to wait to bid them farewell. Nowadays, parents must forget to instill this rubric, and we find ourselves ready to shove the happy couple out the door. One bride stayed so long, we thought we were going to have to beat her with a stick. Her poor mother was so exhausted that she passed out. All the guests were hanging on, trying to remain sentient—or at least standing—while waiting for the bride and groom to leave. Finally the bride, perhaps sensing that something was amiss, asked a doyenne, “When can we go? Everyone is still here.”
“We thought they’d never leave,” said a bitter aunt as she hurled her birdseed with a vengeance. These girls just want to par-tee. We’ve heard it a million times: “I have all my friends here and this is a wonderful party, great food, music; why should I leave?” So the guesties can go home, for one reason (and to show you’re a blushing bride, even if this calls forth your best thespian skills). But like so much else, maybe this last vestige of nice manners will go, too.
Some couples, fortunately, have an inbred gentility that tells them that it just isn’t nice to spend your entire wedding night cavorting with hundreds of your nearest and dearest. Theoretically, you should be cavorting with your new husband. Even if you are having more fun than a barrel of monkeys, you should pretend that you’re going off to cavort with your new spouse. Roberta Shaw and her new husband could have partied all night, as, indeed, the couple and all their friends had done in nightly revels that preceded their at-home nuptials. But Roberta is a lady. She and her new husband tore themselves away from the festivities at a decent hour, spending their wedding night clandestinely at a friend’s house. The next morning, they got up bright and early to fly to Eureka Springs, a beautiful Victorian town nestled in the Ozarks.
Of course, after days and nights of manic celebration, they felt like death warmed over. They were set to uphold another fine old Delta tradition: hair of the dog that bit you. That’s what we in the Delta call a toddy for the body that has already had quite a few toddies. Of all the hangover remedies that don’t actually work, we regard this one as the best. Roberta and her beloved rang for room service and prepared to feel human again. It was then that they discovered a horrible truth: Eureka Springs was a dry county. Being a dry county in Mississippi never meant that you couldn’t drink like a fish. Everybody visited the bootlegger frequently. But in some places dry meant dry; the neon lights outside the window of Roberta and her beloved, flashing temperance messages, did not help their throbbing headaches. But the marriage has lasted, and that’s what matters.
As the couple departs, if they depart, the MOB, who has for the last six months been, in effect, running a business, still has an important obligation to fulfill: She must ruin the initial months of the marriage by relentlessly hounding the bride about… thank-you notes. Southerners are obsessed with thank-you notes. Why, goes a joke, don’t Delta girls engage in group sex? Because they’d have to write too many thank-you notes. There are Southerners who will write you a diabetes-inducing thank-you note if you so much as nod at them across the back alley. “Thank you for nodding at me. It was a truly beautiful moment that I will always cherish.” Southern families view the writing of thank-you notes as a competitive activity. Mothers expect their children to have X-ray vision so they can write their Christmas notes before actually opening the gift. Mothers mentally chalk up the time it takes nieces and nephews to do their notes, and, if their own children are beaten in this all-important race, they will suffer intensely—but not in silence. “There’s not an important event in my life that wasn’t wrecked by Mama’s harping on thank-you notes,” says Jane Bell Dixon.
A bride has a year to write thank-you notes for her wedding gifts. She must use nice quality informals. Traditionally, these in-formals were the first time she used her new name. Maybe today it’s the first time she uses her new hyphenated name. Since a note from a Southern girl must be personal, with a telling anecdote, thank-you notes require a certain amount of art. In small Southern towns, there are ladies whose claim to fame is that they write nice notes. It has been said that a note from a well-bred Southern girl, who has been taught to gush, gush, gush from day one, never has a fill-in-the-blank feel. That is why it was so shocking that one of the most august ladies in the Delta sent… fill-in-the-blank thank-you notes. She had been to one of the finest finishing schools in the country, and it was said that on cold days, she often mused, “Why aren’t the other girls wearing their furs?” She had fill-in-the-blank cards that duplicated her own handwriting. Nobody would ever have guessed that they were fill-in-the-blank cards, if Aunt Amelia hadn’t accidentally mailed them before the bride had… filled in the blanks. An old lady from Leland still recalls the shock of receiving a thank-you note from such a lovely bride informing her, “Horace and I will certainly enjoy using your thoughtful BLANK.”
It was the single most shocking event in Delta marital history until Annie Wade took a shotgun to her husband, George. He did not survive, but she had a good lawyer. Strangely, over lunch at the Leland Café, Annie Wade recently confided to an elderly friend, “I sure do miss George.” “Then why did you kill him?” the older lady asked. We were so afraid Annie Wade would take it the wrong way. But she was a lady and so she pretended she hadn’t heard.
Just to prevent having to shoot yourself because you can’t get your notes written fast enough to satisfy your mother, some brides send out an engraved card saying the gift has been received and a thank-you note will follow. This gives you ample time to dream up sweet personal anecdotes to flatter some old coot you hope you never have to lay eyes on again. It also lets the sender know that the gift has arrived—and that it’s just your ill-bred rudeness, not the postal service, that’s responsible for their delay in receiving the note.
After the family has helped pick up the egg rolls behind the ficus trees at the Greenville Country Club—rest assured that whatever was served at the wedding will be on the menu for Sunday lunch—and returned the borrowed silver, and done some intermediate harassing about notes, the MOB and her husband are entitled to another Delta tradition—the restorative cocktail. The poor MOB and FOB have been called upon to exercise amazing restraint… starting right off with the groom. It’s time they have the opportunity to “let it out and let go”… that’s really what the restorative cocktail is all about. They may be headed for the poorhouse, but that should not stop them from getting out the best liquor—not the Old Mr. Boston that might have been served at the reception!—and relaxing with their friends.
A restorative cocktail, with only your good friends—and not all the people you’ve had to include at the wedding—is a good use for wedding leftovers, and a time to celebrate—and to cross your fingers for the two young (or not so young) people who have just been launched. We wish them all the happiness—and good luck—in the world. Here’s to them—and to us, for surviving their wedding festivities!
Make these on the day that you don’t feel like weeding or pruning. It’s very therapeutic to abuse something that is going to turn out delicious. You have to be tough with this dough. Whether you use a beaten biscuit brake or an axe handle, you must beat the dough until it blisters. Also, make sure your biscuits are tiny. Southerners like small, small and thin, thin, thin. Small biscuits and thin ham, that is. We know that’s extra nice. Gentlemen learn to carve at an early age… something they learn from their fathers and grandfathers. Some are so good that it makes the local surgeon blush.
1½ teaspoonsalt
Pinch of sugar (optional)
4 cups flour
1 cup shortening
1 cup very cold milk
Extra flour for preparing the biscuit brake
Preheat the oven to 400°.
Sift salt, sugar, and 4 cups of flour together. Cut the shortening in using two silver knives.
Add the milk slowly until a stiff dough is formed. Beat the dough with a heavy rolling pin and fold. Beat and fold. Turn, beat, and fold. Continue for about 15 minutes or until the dough is silky smooth and small blisters appear (on the dough, not on your fingers). The dough should also be very shiny.
Roll to a thickness of about an inch or less. Cut to the size of a quarter and prick the tops with the tines of a fork. Bake at 400° on an ungreased baking sheet for 15 minutes or until the top is creamy in color… not brown or even close. You should have a multilayered delicacy that is served with the thinnest possible sliver of ham.
If you are using a biscuit brake:
Flour the brake and the rollers. Work the dough through the rollers for at least 15 minutes, or until the dough is shiny and blistered. Roll to an inch or less in thickness. Cut and prick. Bake according to the above instructions.
Makes forty to fifty.
These are lovely and delicious, appropriate for the bridal picnic basket or as a pickup food for the restorative cocktail.
1 stick unsalted butter
1 cup sugar
3 eggs
2 cups all-purpose flour
1½ teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk mixed with 1 teaspoon white vinegar
32 fresh figs, or enough to make two cups, pulverized
Preheat the oven to 350°. Cream the butter and sugar. Add eggs one at a time. Mix flour, cinnamon, soda, and salt. Add by the quarter cup to the creamed mixture. Add milk and vinegar mixture. Using a food processor, pulse the figs until just pulverized. Do not over-process. Fold 2 cups of processed figs into the batter, making sure that the figs are evenly distributed. Fill a large greased loaf pan (12 × 4¾ works nicely). Smooth the top. Bake at 350° for approximately 1 hour or until firm to the touch.
Allow the loaf to cool slightly and turn out. Cool completely before slicing.
Slice the loaf and then use a decorative (fluted) biscuit cutter to make small rounds. Cover each round with lime cream and follow with a piece of shaved ham or prosciutto. Slick ham just will not work.
1 lime
1 cup sour cream
Squeeze the juice from half the lime into the sour cream. Taste and add the juice from the other half if necessary. If you like a strong lime flavor, use the entire lime.
Makes forty.
This is an old recipe of Linda Haik’s. While these little tarts could be served at the reception, they are also ideal for a restorative cocktail party. If prepared for the reception, be sure to use small individual tart pans.
1 pound shrimp, peeled and deveined
4 slices bacon
½ cup grated Parmesan cheese
4 eggs
2 cups milk
2 teaspoons thyme
3 teaspoons Tabasco
Salt and pepper
Preheat the oven to 450°.
Line tart pans with pre-made pastry. Arrange the shrimp on the bottom of each pan. Cook the bacon until crisp, and then crumble and sprinkle over the shrimp. Sprinkle a layer of Parmesan cheese over the bacon. Beat eggs slightly. Add milk, thyme, Tabasco, salt, and pepper. Pour into pastry shells. Bake at 450° for about 20 minutes. Don’t overbake, because that will dry the tarts.
Serves eight.
When Linda Haik served marinated tomatoes and avocados, everyone wished for a spoon (a big one). Seems it was particularly aggravating when there were no forks or plates… just skewers. Linda had hundreds of gallon glass jars that she would always use to marinate this. She would travel to the party with these jars filled and then drain and serve. There was never any left. Linda always served this in a wide, shallow glass bowl. She left behind no recipe, but her imitators do it this way:
Peel and slice six tomatoes, then quarter each slice. To peel a tomato, dip it quickly in boiling water; that will make it easy to slip the knife right in under the skin. Peel and thickly slice six avocados. Cut into “chunks.” Peel and thinly slice two yellow onions. In a glass jar, layer the above ingredients, starting with the onions. Cover with your favorite vinaigrette. Chill. Drain well before serving. Depending on your vinaigrette, you could use a dash of salt and a generous grind of fresh black pepper.
Olive oil is just like whisky: Buy the best you can afford. We always try to pick some up good olive oil when we’re in Memphis. Linda’s vinaigrette may be lost to posterity, but this one goes well with her legendary tomatoes and avocados.
½ cup olive oil
½ cup vegetable oil
cup vinegar, or a bit more to taste
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon whole-grain Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons coarsely ground black pepper
Pinch of sugar (optional)
Place all ingredients in a jar and shake until blended. Chill.
For the day of the wedding brunch, serve this hash on halved cornbread squares, slathered with butter. It’s a wonderful dish to have on hand because it will keep well for the exhausted family and pesky guests to eat in the days following the main event. The late Mary Adleine McKamy, another great cook, who was good at putting menus together, helped Jane develop this recipe. She always suggested a peach half filled with chutney and sprinkled with sherry to accompany this. Jane Hovas is one of the best cooks in Greenville, and we felt we owed the world the benefit of Jane’s culinary genius!
Jane gave this to us in steps:
1. Bake a 14-pound Butterball turkey, de-bone, and save fat.
2. Cook 2 packages chicken breasts and 2 packages thighs and legs in celery, onion, carrots, and peppercorn. De-bone and save and strain the broth.
3. Brown 2 cups flour in an iron skillet in 250° oven.
4. Sauté the following in turkey fat: 4 chopped onions, 1 chopped bell pepper, 1 chopped celery stalk. When done, lift out with slotted spoon and add to chopped, de-boned turkey and chicken.
5. Add browned flour to turkey fat and make a roux. Use chicken broth to thin. Add to turkey mixture.
6. Sauté 2 pounds sliced mushrooms in 1 stick butter. Add 1 pound grated carrots. Cook until done and add to turkey and chicken meat.
7. Adjust seasonings (salt, pepper, kitchen bouquet, Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce).
8. Add more chicken broth until the mixture reaches the desired consistency. Serve over cornbread squares.
Makes twenty to thirty servings.
This recipe came from Ann’s paternal grandmother, Irma Alston Jennings, from Clarksdale, Mississippi. It was her trademark recipe. Passed down by her aunt Medora Sifford Jennings, it came in handwritten form to Ann’s mother, Dot Jennings of Little Rock. When Ann’s aunt and grandmother teamed up to make this, Mrs. Jennings would turn away so Aunt Medora wouldn’t see how much oil of clove she was using. Mrs. Jennings took this secret to her grave, and so the amounts are approximate. This is an excellent accompaniment to restorative cocktails.
15 pounds watermelon rind, cut into 1-inch squares, all pink and green removed
1 cup lime
2 tablespoons alum (an old-fashioned canning agent) Sugar
1 quart cider vinegar
1 quart water
1 teaspoon oil of clove
1 teaspoon cinnamon
3 pieces ginger root
3 lemons, sliced thin
Cover rind with water and add lime. Soak overnight. Next morning, wash thoroughly. Cover with water again. Add alum and bring to a boil. Boil for 45 minutes. Wash thoroughly again, and soak in ice water for 1 hour (this keeps it crisp, and you don’t want it to go mushy). Mix sugar, cup for cup, with rind, cider vinegar, water, oil of clove, cinnamon, ginger root, and lemons. Boil until rind is tender—a toothpick should go through it easily. Put in sterilized jars, cover with boiling water, and seal.
Makes at least eight pints.
This is a savory treat that is an excellent accompaniment for cocktails. Using larger molds, you can also make it as a salad. A heart-shaped red caviar salad would be nice at a bridal luncheon.
1 tablespoon unflavored gelatin
¼ cup cold water
1 cup boiling water
1 grated onion
½ tablespoon salt
½ tablespoon white pepper
½ cup heavy cream
½ cup mayonnaise
Juice of ½ lemon
1 large jar red caviar
Salad oil for greasing
Dissolve gelatin in water. Add 1 cup boiling water, grated onion, salt, and white pepper. Stir until dissolved. Then put in the refrigerator until it begins to thicken. Beat cream and mix with mayonnaise (preferably homemade) and lemon juice. Add gelatin and gently fold in red caviar. Fill decorative molds greased with salad oil. Refrigerate until set. Should unmold easily when inverted. May be served with dressing.
¾ cup mayonnaise
Chopped chives and parsley
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon A.1. sauce
2 tablespoons ketchup
Salt and pepper to taste
Small amount of cream
Mix and thin with a little cream.
Makes eight as a first course.
Tacky—but men love tacky. Pass these with drinks.
1 cup shredded Swiss cheese
½ cup mayonnaise
½ tablespoon grated onion
1 can diced Rotel tomatoes, well drained
1 teaspoon dried basil
8 slices bacon, fried and chopped
Preheat the oven to 400°.
Combine the above and fill miniature phyllo or pastry cups.
Bake at 400° for 10 minutes.
Makes thirty servings.
An old-time hit. This recipe has been popular year in and year out.
3 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 packages (8 ounces each) cream cheese
2 teaspoons Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce Garlic to taste
2 cans smoked oysters, chopped Parsley
Cream mayonnaise into cheese to hold it together. Add Worcestershire sauce.
Combine.
Spread about ½ inch thick on waxed paper. Add garlic to oysters and spread them on top of cheese mixture.
Roll as for a jelly roll.
Chill 24 hours.
Cover with parsley before serving. Serve with crackers (not saltines).
Serves twenty.