Confessions of a Cornbread Flunkie

When the hubs and I got married I was not an experienced cook. Most of our meals were from a box and I often completely missed the mark when I tried to leave my comfort zone and cook something sans recipe. To make matter worse, my MIL was and is a fabulous cook, trained up right by hub's late grandmother, Eula (aka Granny). Granny, in my husband's view, is the cook by which all other cooks are measured. Especially when it comes to cornbread. I'm not sure what voodoo magic she used, but her cornbread possessed magical powers and apparently could not be duplicated, especially by a kitchen newbie like me.

I tried and tried over the early years of our marriage to make cornbread "like Granny's" with miserable results. One reason was that NO ONE had her recipe. All I knew was what my husband and MIL could remember about it. "Jiffy mix is a no-no," they said. Granny's cornbread was made from scratch in a cast iron skillet. Hers had a heavenly crust, crispy, buttery and salty with tender innards and golden brown top. Mine had a tendency towards sogginess with a greasy crust, dense middle and overcooked top.  It was not pretty and I would often be frustrated to the point of tears when yet another cornbread batch rose and fell flat. "It's okay," my sweet husband would say, "we don't have to have cornbread."

Friends would try to help, giving me their "I swear it works every time" cornbread recipes and I would find a way to screw them up. Royally. They would sadly shake their heads and look at Dan with pity in their eyes. They wouldn't say it, but I knew what they were thinking, "Poor man...living in a home with bad cornbread."

I could have shaken it off, but instead, I maturely crossed my arms, stuck out my lip and refused to make cornbread all together for a while. One day, though, I found what looked to be a promising recipe in my colleague David Holloway's Generous Portions column in the Press-Register. Simply titled Cornbread, this recipe held the promise of grandmother-like goodness. I had to give it a go. I got out my trusty, well-seasoned cast iron skillet:

Carefully followed the recipe and ended up with DECENT GRANNY-ESQUE CORNBREAD. My husband was happy, I was redeemed, and I could once again walk into a room without hearing whispers of, "Bless her heart, she can't make cornbread." It was a red letter day for the D-ster. 

(If you are reading this and are not of the Southern persuasion, I will give you a little education. "Bless his/her heart" is the Down South way of claiming fake pity for someone right before you gossip about them.  For example, "Bless her heart, she has terrible hemorrhoids and Bigfoot body odor. I just can't imagine. Poor thing." It's called manners, people.)

I have since had no trouble with cornbread. The curse has been lifted. I now will even adventurously add a cup of cheese or some scallions into the basic recipe when I'm feeling froggy. I recently made a batch of this deceptively simple staple when I prepared Tortilla Soup for dinner. 

Tortilla Soup with cornbread is one of my favorite fall meals, especially on busy work and after school activity days. It's cheap, easy, and everyone loves it. Plus, it makes a boatload, so there's always enough left for the next day's lunch or to freeze for a lazy day. 

Here's the recipe I use, although there are tons of variations out there: 

Tortilla Soup

1 pound lean ground beef, browned and drained

1 onion, diced

1 can corn, drained

1 can pinto beans, drained

1 can petite diced tomatoes with juice

1 can black beans, drained

1 can chili beans with sauce

1 can kidney beans, drained

1 packet ranch dressing mix (Hidden Valley)

1 packet taco seasoning 

Tortilla chips

Sour cream

Shredded cheese

Diced green onions

Sliced pickled jalapenos

Dump everything into a large crockpot. Add two cans full of water. Stir and cover. Cook on low 8-10 hours. Serve with a buffet of toppings and a giant slab of cornbread. Dig in. Serves many. 

Note the crispy crust on this cornbread. I did that. Yes, I did. 

This recipe is also great for Halloween night. It cooks all day and is warm and ready for before, during, or after trick-or-treating. Give it a gross name like Goblin Guts and the kids will shovel it down. It's all about the marketing, baby. 

More craftiness to come...

D-