Hallelujah! The Welcome Table: A Lifetime of Memories with Recipes

Hallelujah! The Welcome Table: A Lifetime of Memories with Recipes

Maya Angelou

Language: English

Pages: 240

ISBN: 1400062896

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Throughout Maya Angelou’s life, from her childhood in Stamps, Arkansas, to her world travels as a bestselling writer, good food has played a central role. Preparing and enjoying homemade meals provides a sense of purpose and calm, accomplishment and connection. Now in Hallelujah! The Welcome Table, Angelou shares memories pithy and poignant–and the recipes that helped to make them both indelible and irreplaceable.

Angelou tells us about the time she was expelled from school for being afraid to speak–and her mother baked a delicious maple cake to brighten her spirits. She gives us her recipe for short ribs along with a story about a job she had as a cook at a Creole restaurant (never mind that she didn’t know how to cook and had no idea what Creole food might entail). There was the time in London when she attended a wretched dinner party full of wretched people; but all wasn’t lost–she did experience her initial taste of a savory onion tart. She recounts her very first night in her new home in Sonoma, California, when she invited M. F. K. Fisher over for cassoulet, and the evening Deca Mitford roasted a chicken when she was beyond tipsy–and created Chicken Drunkard Style. And then there was the hearty brunch Angelou made for a homesick Southerner, a meal that earned her both a job offer and a prophetic compliment: “If you can write half as good as you can cook, you are going to be famous.”

Maya Angelou is renowned in her wide and generous circle of friends as a marvelous chef. Her kitchen is a social center. From fried meat pies, chicken livers, and beef Wellington to caramel cake, bread pudding, and chocolate éclairs, the one hundred-plus recipes included here are all tried and true, and come from Angelou’s heart and her home. Hallelujah! The Welcome Table is a stunning collaboration between the two things Angelou loves best: writing and cooking.

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new recipe. I would at the same time satisfy my always-hungry son. Bailey was two years older than I and seven inches shorter, but he made it very clear all my life that he was my big brother. He was a good cook, and occasionally brilliance would overtake him at the stove and his culinary efforts would bedazzle. Our mother, who was the best and most adventurous cook in our family, encouraged us to be daring in creating recipes and bold in competing with each other. I couldn’t afford the ham

brought him home to look after the house and five roomers who rented from us. He sorted and counted the linen when the laundry truck picked it up and returned it, then grudgingly handed out fresh sheets to the roomers. He cooked massive and delicious dinners when Mother was busy, and he sat in the tall-ceiling kitchen drinking coffee by the potfuls. Papa Ford loved my mother (as did nearly everyone) with a childlike devotion. He went so far as to control his profanity when she was around,

medium heat until translucent. Let cool. Puree livers, veal, and onions. Mix in cinnamon, nutmeg, and cognac, then chicken stock. Pour mixture into loaf pan. Bake 30 minutes. Remove and cool. Place in refrigerator with another loaf pan holding two 15-ounce cans vegetables on top of pate for 24 hours (to remove any air pockets in the baked mixture). Slice and serve cold. Molded Eggs Polignac SERVES 6 9 teaspoons butter, plus more for toast and garnish 6 truffle slices 6 large

from the refrigerator and ran a knife around the side of the dish and unmolded the contents. She asked, “What is that?” I said, “Souse.” We looked at each other, then at our so different dishes. There was nothing for it but to laugh. She asked, “You call that souse?” “Everybody I know in Arkansas calls that souse and we call what you’ve got pickled pig’s feet.” She said, “Of course you make souse out of pig’s feet. Here, have a taste.” Her dish was wonderful. The skin on the pig’s feet was

am someone’s granddaughter.” Momma said, “Well, this child here is my grandbaby.” Then she slapped her. Not full force but hard enough for the sound to go around the room and to elicit gasps from the students. “Now, Sister, nobody has the right to hit nobody in the face. So I am wrong this time, but I’m teaching a lesson.” She looked at me. “Now find yourself a seat and sit down and get your lesson.” Momma left the room and it was suddenly empty and very quiet. Miss Williams left the room for

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