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256 pages, Hardcover
First published January 23, 2024
We cook. We share our food. We heal.
I know that women in my family have been kitchen ghosts for centuries. Peeping over the shoulders of our daughters and granddaughters and sons and grandsons.
Saying:
Just a little bit more.
Turn your fire down.
Not too much salt.
Please have some we have plenty.
And I imagine myself many years from now, standing in my great-grandchildren's kitchens, nodding my head as they cook, whispering in their ears, "That's right. Keep it up. We will always have plenty."
The concept of kitchen ghosts came to me years ago when I realized that my ancestors are always with me and that the women are most present while I'm chopping or stirring or standing at the stove. The art of cooking and engaging with my kitchen ghosts made me realize that food is never just about the present---every dish, every slice, every crumb and kernel also tethers us to the past. (2)
I invite each kitchen ghost in with open arms.
I take up the knife, the spoon, and the apron.
The watch.
I thank them. (34)
"We church in our own memories while we garden and can and cook" (76).
...I assured her that this moment, too, was as old as time, that we never thought we were as good as those old women who'd done it before us until they were gone. (140)
I am keenly aware that Black Appalachian foodways are a legacy to be treasured, to be passed on to the next and the next and the next. I'm thankful that my children and grandchildren will find their won ways to morph and change culinary traditions, to ad to and subtract from their mother's mother's mother's ways, to honor the calling of the kitchen ghosts, however they see fit. (233)