Traditional New Year’s Fare
My mother always was a great one, on the food front, for starting New Year’s off right. Our family normally ate our main meal of the day at noon, and in traditional mountain talk we called it dinner.
But every January 1 that routine changed. We had our big meal at supper. That was because Daddy, my brother, and I always spent the heart of New Year’s Day, from dawn until somewhere well into the afternoon, rabbit hunting with friends and our pack of beagles. With us out from underfoot, that gave Momma all day to prepare a traditional feast. Her celebratory menu was as consistent as it was tasty.
Her thoughts on a fitting meal to start the New Year were simple, straightforward, and unvarying. The menu had to include greens to promote economic success during the coming year, with the concept being that leafy cool-weather vegetables such as mustard, kale, and turnip greens represented the color of money. Collards may be the green of choice for flatlanders, but Mom’s pot of greens was a mixture of mustard and turnip greens, and often she would include diced bits of turnip root.
Of course Momma’s method of preparing greens, and for that matter about any other vegetable which readily comes to mind, would have left today’s health food fanatics apoplectic. She invariably used chunks of streaked meat as seasoning. Sometimes it was fried first and then the grease and crispy meat added to the pot; on other occasions she just placed a few slices of cured meat to the pot and set things a-simmering. This process, which went on for several hours, resulted in a marvelous marriage ceremony between the greens and streaked meat. The greens, when table ready, were delicious, with just the right degree of saltiness, and pure, lip-smacking pleasure.
Mountain Greens with Streaked Meat
- 1 peck greens
- 2 or 3 turnip roots
- 2 or 3 slices streaked meat
- Salt and pepper to taste
Wash a big bait of loose greens, ideally fresh from the garden or grocery store shelves, being sure to rinse them multiple times to remove all dirt and grit. Remove any overly large stem ends. Chop up the turnip roots in small pieces (deiced is best) and place greens and turnips in a large pot with plenty of water. Add a couple of streaked meat on top and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer, cover, and allow to cook until greens and turnips are done. Check while the greens simmer to see if you need to add water. Prior to serving salt and pepper to taste but remember that the streaked meat itself is quite salty.
If you are frugal like Momma was, not to mention desirous of getting some of the vitamin goodness of the greens, save the cooking liquid. It is mighty fine for dipping a chunk of cornbread in the juice or, as my Grandpa Joe liked to do, pouring in a soup bowl, crumbling in cornbread, and topping with a few flakes of hot pepper he had dried.
Accompanied by a sizeable chunk of cornbread, at most times a big bowl of greens and perhaps a few slices of streaked meat fried to a crisp crunchiness more than sufficed for our family supper. At New Year’s though, Momma never stopped with just greens and cornbread. She would also cook a big pot of either black-eyed peas or crowder peas. Like, the greens, the peas were seasoned with streaked meat. Momma said the peas represented pennies and were vegetable “coins” joining the “cash money” of greens to form a culinary symbol of good fortune for the coming year.
Dried Peas (Crowder or Black-Eyed)
Our family normally ate crowder peas, as opposed to the more traditional black-eyed peas, on New Year’s Day. When it comes to crowder peas, I’ve never been certain what the proper name is. We variously called them field peas, clay peas, purple hulls, pink eyes, or zip peas. They are all kissing cousins to black-eye peas, although you are much more likely to find the latter on grocery store shelves. Whatever type you choose, preparation is pretty much the same. For dried peas, as opposed to frozen ones, “look” your peas (a check for trash or grit involving two or three washings and rinsings) then soak them overnight in cold water. To cook, add some water and two or three slices of streaked meat. Or, if you’re obligated to pay dietary attention to salt intake, substitute low-sodium bouillon. Bring to a boil in a large sauce pan or a soup pot, and reduce heat to a simmer. Cook, covered, until peas are completely done but not mushy. They are delicious by themselves but a couple of tablespoons of chowchow atop a serving is sort of the culinary lace on a bride’s pajamas.
Traditional New Year’s Fare
Cornbread the Casada way
You really can’t delve into traditional mountain fare, no matter what the season, without including cornbread. Cornbread or its numerous cousins, such as hoe cakes, flapjacks, corn dodgers, hushpuppies, and the like, long has been an integral and important part of high country diet. You can make cornbread in dozens of ways, but to my way of thinking if sugar is an ingredient it ain’t true Southern Appalachian cornbread. Here’s the way my mother, grandmother, late wife, and I have always made it.
- 2 cups of plain yellow cornmeal (if at all possible, get stone-ground, slow-ground meal—fast grinding, which is the approach used for most meal you’ll buy in the grocery store, sacrifices flavor for the sake of speed). Some folks prefer meal from white corn, but I’ve always followed Grandpa Joe’s dictates in that regard: “White is for critters; yellow for folks.”
- Enough buttermilk to make a thick batter (approximately 1½ cups)
- 1 large or 2 small eggs
- 2 or 3 tablespoons cooking oil—if you have it, rendered lard, melted, is better; the same is true for bacon grease saved from breakfast preparation)
- A pinch of salt (only if the meal is unsalted—that won’t be the case with typical store-bought stuff)
- ½ teaspoon baking soda
Sift the cornmeal if you wish (I actually like slightly coarse meal, which you typically get when it is stone-ground) then add the other ingredients. Whisk vigorously and thoroughly until creamy. Batter for cornbread should be quite thick.
Pre-heat your oven to 350-375 degrees and have a greased cast-iron skillet in it while it heats up. Ovens vary a bit but in time you will learn the baking quirks of yours. Pour the prepared batter into the hot skillet and cook until done, usually about 25 minutes. Be sure to leave in the oven long enough to get a dark brown, crispy bottom crust. My wife used to swear a bit of pone invariably stuck to the pan. In truth it slid from her perfectly seasoned skillet, always slick as an icy sidewalk, as easy as you please. It was that she simply couldn’t resist getting a bit of a head start on piping hot crust straight from the oven.
Backbones and Ribs
The final dish in Mom’s quartet of “must have” edibles, joining the greens, cornbread, and black-eyed peas, was backbones-and-ribs we had put up at hog-killing time back before Thanksgiving. While most associate hog jowl with New Year’s dining, she went “higher on the hog.” Momma fully understood the old adage “the closer to the bone the sweeter the meat,” while Daddy, for his part, loved marrow sucked from the soft portion of ribs where they connected to the spine.
It’s purt nigh impossible to find backbones and ribs butcher as we did, but a rack of ribs will work perfectly well. Cooking them is the essence of simplicity. Trim off excess fat and place the meat in a slow cooker with some water and cook on medium or medium-low for several hours (until the meat literally falls from the bones when poked with a fork). With the addition of salt and pepper to taste, you have simple fixin's perfectly suited for heralding another year. If you have leftovers, just chop up the meat, add your favorite barbecue sauce, and you’ve got the makings of a mighty fine sandwich.
•••
Quite possibly there would be other dishes for New Year’s as well. More meals than not, from late fall until spring, we had cooked apples on the table. There would also likely be leftover desserts from Christmas feasting, and a personal favorite of mine was to take a hefty slice of Momma’s applesauce cake and lather it with a goodly helping of canned apples. That alleviated any possibility of the cake being a bit dry and made for a wonderful flavor combination.
While we ate Momma and Daddy might reminisce a bit about New Year’s traditions from the past, but mainly they expressed hope that coming months would bring good cheer, good fortune, good health, and a bright outlook for our clan. It formed a sensible approach to new beginnings, and as a youngster I could always count on one great blessing—awareness that the year ahead would unfold in the embrace of my beloved Smokies. Those are food and family traditions well worth practicing and perpetuating, and here’s hoping this greeting focusing on regional food folkways brings you joy and a fine 2025.