Memory Monday: Cornbread and Our Family

CORNBREAD AND OUR FAMILY

There were a number of things I learned to cook when I was very young. One of them was cornbread.  Mother had special pans for the cornbread. They were cast iron with indentions that looked like ears of corn. My mother taught me to put them in a very hot oven to heat while I made the cornbread batter by scratch from a recipe she had in her green cookbook. By the time it was ready the pans would be ready, too. I would carefully open the oven door and pull out the rack where the pans sat. I’d spoon in some melted bacon drippings, followed by the cornbread batter, then shove the rack back in and close the oven door. All of this had to done rather quickly so the oven didn’t lose too much heat. Twenty minutes later, I’d take out the best cornbread ever. We then would chunk up a couple of sticks apiece and put them in a glass and pour in milk (that my mother had milked from her cows that morning). It was crunchy and creamy and sweet—that’s because I liked “sweet” cornbread. I remember my dad saying occasionally that the cornbread seemed rather sweet—I didn’t tell him I was the one that made it that day and I always added a little more sugar than the recipe called for.

Today I only make cornbread from a mix and usually in an old metal 9”x13” and then only once every two or three years when we have turkey and dressing. But I still have my mother’s corn stick pans in the drawer below my oven. My daughter has already asked if she can “inherit” them. One last tidbit, I recently found a cast iron mini-corn stick pan. I bought it so when my granddaughter gets old enough to teach her how to make corn bread—from scratch—she will have her own special pan. The picture at the top of the post was taken yesterday--my mother's corn stick pan and the one waiting for my granddaughter.