With Any Luck

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Mandy Newham-Cobb illustration

Every December 31st, while millions of Americans from Maine to California resolve to lose the last few pinches of pudge, Southerners have already gotten a jump (or, rather, a hoppin’ john) on the rest of the country. Though we may not have recognized it, Southerners have been ahead of the “cleanse dieting” craze for generations.

While America recovers from two months of holiday gastronomic cheer—topped off with champagne bubbles—kitchens below the Mason Dixon are steaming with collard greens and hog jowls. Colon cleanse, here we come!

Though I have several loved ones that swear their allegiance to this meal, I cannot imagine a blander or saltier meal (depending on who is in the kitchen) with which to ring in a new year. My own yearly tradition is to concoct complex excuses in order to avoid this meal, knowing deep down that I should embrace it as the first opportunity I will have to begin my annual diet. The leftover turkey sandwiches of Thanksgiving are long gone. The sugary shards of broken candy canes have already adhered themselves to my couch cushions. Restaurants are closed. It is bitter black-eyed peas or fasting; I choose fasting every time. I can step on the scale on January 2nd and be grateful for one less pound of the twenty I pick up each November and December, even if it will magically reappear by the next day. In the short term, I am grateful to skip out on the tradition.

Of course, this is not the reason for the traditional southern New Year’s Day meal. We eat greens so that our year will be profitable. And while the collards might bring dollars, that is not enough. We also eat black-eyed peas to symbolize coins filling our pockets. Actually, as writer Jessica Harris explained a few years ago in the New York Times, black-eyed peas were introduced to America in the holds of slave ships and became one of the cash crops of Carolina plantations. 

According to About.com writer Amanda Galiano, the peas factored in the Civil War, too: “When Union soldiers raided the Confederates food supplies, legend says they took everything except the peas and salted pork. The Confederates considered themselves lucky to be left with those meager supplies, and survived the winter.” 

Peas became symbolic of luck. Ideally, one must eat 365—one for each day of the coming year. And, if we manage to survive this task, there is always the hog jowl lurking in the cast-iron, waiting to gag the senses. Pigs, unable to turn their heads to look backward, are said to signify progress. Progress and high sodium content seem like strange bedfellows. How I am expected to transition smoothly from sweet pumpkin pie and fluffy mashed potatoes to pig cheek, I will never understand.

If we are truly to begin a new year with luck and ambition, perhaps we have it all wrong. January 1st might just be the start of your new life. For me, it tends to be nothing more than a bad hair day. Maybe June 20th should be the coming out of the new me; at least I’d have a tan then, and that always hides a few pounds.

Consider for a moment the New Year’s traditions of the Cherokee—also Southerners, also fond of greens and pork, but far more flexible when it comes to opportunities for renewal. Major Cherokee celebrations and ceremonies have never been tied to a specific calendar day. Instead, seasonal changes (atmospherically and agriculturally) drive the coming of a new year. The Great New Moon Festival, held around October, acknowledges the creation of world, believed to have occurred in autumn. Not unlike other cultures, the Cherokee belief system provides for several opportunities throughout the year for both cleansing and forgiveness. None of which fail to account for our ever-changing environment and all of which ensure that food is celebrated for its nourishment rather than its resemblance to currency.

The rejuvenation of Cherokee practice is not just about bettering ourselves as individuals, but building—sometimes rebuilding—friendships and other relationships. It is about community and     collective progress, not just coins in our pockets. Yes, let us focus on committing to a better self, but only as a means for committing to a better “us.” After all, the traditional Southern New Year’s Day meal persists not because it is tasty, but because it is provides one more occasion to gather before we all retreat to our new 5 a.m. workout routines, corporate ladder climbing, or reading of War and Peace. As I reflect on the guilt trips laid down by generations of grandmothers, it is clear that they simply wanted another occasion for the family to gather, to share in one more reminder that if nothing else, the coming year will be bearable if we face it arm in arm, forks in hand. 

Sure, there is no harm in hoping that we might eat our way to unearned prosperity, but luck is unsustainable by nature. So if we are going to continue to celebrate a new year only once every 365 days, perhaps we should focus less on luck and more on sustenance when we begin our journey. Likely this message is what really lies behind our grandmothers’ dinner invitations. While I’d never suggest the forgoing of a tradition—new or old, tasty or tasteless—I would propose we supplement the symbolism with something that will stick to our ribs: perpetual dedication to a “commonwealth.” Regardless of the calendar reading January 1st or 5th, every day is a new opportunity to better our lives and the lives of those around us—whether by greens, beans, piggy parts, or otherwise.

About the author: Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle is an award-winning author and member of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians.