By Sue Ann Elkins
Eckert, Colo.
March 5, 2008

Even today, after sixty years, the thought of Grandma’s cornbread makes my mouth water. It was crunchy, nutty, and rich, filling the kitchen with sweet-smelling aromas. Always, after dinner, Grandma made two batches: one for her people and one for Grandpa’s dogs, Spot and Bill.
Since 1898, Grandpa had raised a variety of corn called Bloody Butcher. The kernels were deep red and dried with dents in each grain. He saved the best ears for seed, then culled those ears that were not well filled out, tossing them into the corncrib. The remainder, he braided into long ropes, which he looped over the barn rafters to dry. Come winter, when the air was blue with cold, he shucked the ears and wrung the cobs free of kernels. When Grandma ran short, he toted a sack of corn to town where he had it ground into coarse, orangy meal.
After the dinner dishes were done, Grandma sent me to the hen house to get eggs. She needed four she told me each time, as if, at five and a half, I would not remember how many she needed. She raised White Leghorn chickens for the abundance of eggs they laid, and earned her pin money selling these in town. I hated her hens. They were mean and jabbed at me with their beaks when I reached under them. Out in the yard, they chased me leaving scabby henpecks on the backs of my legs. My Mama’s hens were ladies who laid large, brown eggs, each a different texture and shade. Mama’s chickens sang to me when I took their eggs, and they never ever pecked.
Grandma made the people cornbread first. As she measured the cornmeal into the mixing bowl, she told me that some people cut their cornbread with flour, losing the true flavor of the corn. She added that she never used sugar either. Her cornbread, she told me, was pure. She gently folded in the wet ingredients so as not to toughen the bread, then carefully set it in the oven. While baking, it filled the kitchen with a fragrance much earthier and sweeter than Mama’s cornbread. Mama said it smelled better because it was fresher. I couldn’t understand how old, dried corn from barn rafters could be fresher than what Mama bought at the store.

What with hogs, and dogs, and chickens to feed, nothing from Grandma’s kitchen was wasted. She saved every peel and husk, every inedible scrap and pan scraping, every morsel left uneaten went into three lard pails that were labeled: Hogs, Chickens, Dogs. After breakfast, Grandma scraped the bacon bits left in the skillet into the Dogs lard pail. After supper, she added the leftover creamed corn and ham bits, and after dinner, she added the salty, brown crumbs of fried chicken. Sometimes there were green beans leftover, or a little buttermilk from the churn. All these went into the Dogs bucket.
While the people cornbread was baking in her wood fired stove, Grandma turned her energies to cornbread for Spot and Bill. The basics were the same, but she also folded in all the contents of Dogs pail. Often she added chopped onions, pieces of apple from the noonday pie, or trimmings from dinner greens. By the time she had finished adding, the dog’s pan was twice as full as the people’s. It was ready to put in the oven as she took out the people pan.
We all gathered at the kitchen table—Papa, Mama, Grandpa, Grandma, Baby Jane, and I. Grandpa helped himself to two big slices which he broke into an oversized cereal bowl, then doused the whole to the brim with fresh buttermilk. Grandma daintily ate hers with a fork, spooning apple butter or peach preserves liberally over one bite at a time. Mama spread hers with fresh churned butter and dipped each bite in a puddle of Mr. Root’s honey. One time Papa asked for another piece of apple pie instead. Grandma told him that pie was for dinner and cornbread was for bedtime. He never asked again, but ate cornbread with the rest of us spreading it with a liberal dose of homemade peanut butter from Grandpa’s peanut patch.

When Spot and Bill’s cornbread was baked, Grandma set it on the warming shelf to cool. The dogs, she told us each evening, didn’t like anything hot. My sister and I had learned early on that the cornbread she made for the dogs tasted better than that she made for people. It was all afloat with crunchy goodies and surprising pockets of taste. So we waited impatiently each evening until Grandma and Mama discussed whether we should be allowed to eat some Dogsbread or not.
“I made it for the DOGS!!” Grandma was adamant. “It’s not fit for little ladies.”
“It is clean and filled with the same food we just ate ourselves. Besides, there’s plenty of it for the dogs,” Mama argued. “And, the girls are right, it does taste better than our cornbread.”
“But, I made it for the dogs”, Grandma muttered to herself.
Finally realizing she had lost the battle another time, Grandma begrudgingly dug thick pieces out of the pan for Baby Jane and me. We ate our slices without anything on them, and drank our buttermilk like proper little ladies. Spot and Bill wolfed theirs down on the front porch where they, being dogs, also got to lick the pan.

Note: The following recipe is an adaptation of Grandma’s original cornbread that my mother modernized in the 1950s when “real” ground cornmeal was unavailable to us. I make it today just the way I was taught. I have found that cornbread is very forgiving—you may add almost anything you want to it and it will rise to the occasion.

Grandma’s Cornbread
2 Cups Cornmeal, red, blue, yellow all work just fine
1 Cup Boiling water
2 Egg yolks, beaten until creamy
4 Tbs. Oil or bacon grease, divided
½ tsp. Soda
1 tsp. Baking powder
½ tsp. Salt
¾ Cup Buttermilk, can be made from soured powdered milk
2 Egg whites, beaten until stiff

You may also add:
1 Cup Fresh or canned Corn, dranied well
1 Cup chopped onions
1 Tbs. Jalapenos, more or less to taste

Put 2 Tbs. of oil or bacon grease in 12-14 inch cast iron skillet and place in oven while you preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Using a large mixing bowl, pour boiling water over cornmeal to soften.
Add all other ingredients but egg whites and gently stir enough to moisten. Do not over blend or cornbread will be tough.
Fold in beaten egg whites.
Pour mixture into hot skillet and bake for 25-30 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean.
Let it cool for 5 minutes then invert on a plate. Cut and enjoy.