food/wine journalism: potlikker or pot liquor?

big mamma: Photo: Warren Bobrow

POT LIQUOR OR POTLIKKER? The Cultural Dichotomy of Potlikker vs. Matzo Ball Soup

Preface Originally Published: February 23, 1982 Credit: The New York Times
In an article on Senate debates on food that ran on this page Feb. 10, mention was made of a 1935 filibuster in which Huey Long lectured his colleagues on the merits of potlikker. Due to an unfortunate consultation with a dictionary, that great Southern delicacy was referred to as ”pot liquor,” prompting the following communication from a regional authority on the subject:
Dear Sir:
I always thought The New York Times knew everything, but obviously your editor knows as little about spelling as he or she does about Appalachian cooking and soul food.
Only a culinarily-illiterate damnyankee (one word) who can’t tell the difference between beans and greens would call the liquid left in the pot after cooking greens ”pot liquor” (two words) instead of ”potlikker” (one word) as yours did. And don’t cite Webster as a defense because he didn’t know any better either.” Sincerely, ZELL MILLER Lieutenant Governor State of Georgia
The Southern food heritage authority, John T. Edge wrote his masters degree thesis on the cultural relevance of Potlikker. Why can’t I explain my personal connection with Potlikker? All great Southern Heritage questions should be answered by those who are influenced by the South- for their own perspective on Southern Culture and Southern Cuisines. You don’t have to be a Southerner to be knowledgeable about the history of Southern Cooking. You can even be a Yankee Carpetbagger!
I’m a Damn Yankee, born and raised. Why should I be interested in potlikker? The explanation goes back to my childhood. The kitchen in the big house was the place that made me love bacon, cooked low and slow in a cast iron pan. To whit my first true memories were on the farm, in the kitchen next to Estelle cooking a rooster including all the parts into a stew. The collards, turnip or mustard greens were cooked until they oozed their very souls into a viscous, slightly cloudy fluid-thick with the rendered chunks of salty home-cured, country ham. The pan in which they cooked further flavored those greens. Then they were wiped out with the hunks of hand-cut “light as a feather” biscuits. I would sop up the likker and country ham with a still warm biscuit or hunk of cornbread hot from the old cast iron frying pan. Nothing went to waste. A pot of old black coffee was stirred into a pan of cooking greens. Why throw out coffee? If it tastes good, it will extend the ingredients and flavors in a more complex meal. A top round of roast beef cooked for a Saturday night supper would always have the collard greens on the side- and the potlikker. My earliest memories of family and table involve tasting the ground, the earth beneath my feet and a splash of Southern cooking through liberal application of the likker. Most of these earliest memories were in the kitchen of my grandparent’s “big house.”
Estelle was our cook. With her broad smile and determined yet friendly demeanor in the kitchen, food not only tasted differently, it tasted better. She was a strong willed woman who loved us deeply and not just because she worked for our family. That love translated through the warmth of her hands into creating food that didn’t just feed us, it sustained us. These memories I have are complete and true. They tie me to her kitchen and her teaching. The dishes that my mother cooked for my sister and I had no flavor or discernable memories. That’s not to say she couldn’t cook. She used excellent ingredients all from local farms and grocery stores. It’s just simple…My mother couldn’t cook like Estelle, she wasn’t meant to, after all, my mother is a Yankee, like myself. Estelle was from Georgia. I learned about potlikker at the knee of Estelle, who didn’t actually teach me how to cook, she just cooked and I watched. One of her favorite dishes was served in the fall when the greens were bright and available for next to nothing at the grocery store. Simple foods that speak of the soil are most pleasing after the first frost. They seem to grow better after being “hardened-off.” So far this season we’ve only had one hard freeze and several light frosts. To my palate, this is the best time for one thing and that’s GREENS and memories of meals gone past. The cultural analysis for greens, cooked low and slow, is what is left over after the greens have she their liquids. This likker slides around at the bottom of an ancient cast iron dutch oven- slick with the memories of all the greens cooked in the past. The cultural and historical dichotomy of connecting potlikker and the Jewish culture of matzo ball soup (chicken soup prepared with matzo balls/using typical Jewish ingredients such as a Pullet or an old Rooster is more than just a coincidence. The defining thread of these liquids is akin to the perceived healing properties of the liquid. Evidently, potlikker contains a metaphysical oral history many hundreds of years old, attached to healing, just as matzo ball soup (when made correctly) contains what is known as Jewish Penicillin. Jewish Penicillin is as much a part of the greater world of culinary delights as “potlikker” is mentioned as a cure for scurvy, Vitamin K deficiency and general malaise. Down South, the description of not feeling well is sure to garner the response: “have a cup of likker” as in NYC, where the words “have a cup of matzo ball soup, you’ll feel better” describes a similar experience and cultural history. They are both tied to our stomach and feeling of being… “better.” The combination of drippings from the greens and the broth of a bowl of matzo ball soup are tied into the deepest recesses of the culinary psyche. They both say “heal me from the inside out.”
I share with you Estelle’s greens. Cooked low and slow with a dash of Southern Georgia Pig.
I use salty Smithfield Ham slices or a few smoked ham hocks soaked of their salt
Collard greens are nutritious. You can grow them just about anywhere. The best soil to grow collards is sandy acidic soil, although the will grow almost anywhere that sun shines hot during the day after a cold night under the stars.
Drinkin and Dronin’ starts here while the greens cook down to their sweet essence.
Ingredients:
2 – 3 medium smoked ham hocks or 2 pounds smoked pork neck bones or a few slices of dry and salty aged Smithfield Country Ham
2 teaspoon of salt (if you use Smithfield Country Ham, then do not add any extra salt- it will be salty enough from the ham. Take 2 or 3 smoked ham hocks and put them in a large (6 quart) pot of water. Bring the water to a full boil and let it boil for about 2 1/2 hours. Add more water as it boils down. When the Ham hocks are falling apart you can add the collard greens. Just before they go into the pot wash them carefully in many changes of fresh, sweet water from your well. If you don’t have a well, get your water from someone who does.
Rinse the collard greens thoroughly, stack several leaves on top of each other. Roll these leaves together like rolling a cigar. Slice the leaves into thin strips using a wooden cutting board and large very sharp knife. Smile while you’re making this dish and play this. Rolling them together like a fat Cuban cigar speeds up the process and makes the job more enjoyable.
Next, add your cut and rewashed collard greens to the pot. Since this is a lot of collards, you will need to add them until the pot is full. Then allow them to wilt as they cook – then add some more. Add a bit of salt, only if using ham hocks, not the Smithfield Ham. Cover and cook for twenty minutes on medium heat. Stir every few minutes with an old wooden spoon to distribute the smoked meat taste evenly. Eat the ham hocks or neck bones right along with the collards. Heck, invite the neighborhood over and get a few cases of PBR. Have plenty of fresh cornbread handy to sop up the juices. On our farm we always had plenty of hot sauce (homemade of course) to sprinkle over the greens. The juices that flow from the greens are known simply as “potlikker.” This is the magic liquid that binds hundreds of years of Southern history in a scented broth. I knew a family that always kept a jar of this in the refrigerator, if not for cooking, but for general medicinal purposes.
Like a bowl of Matzo Ball Soup… “Potlikker” heals everything that hurts. Try some!
The wine for “potlikker?” May I suggest a Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer. And thanks to Billy Reid for influencing my stomach.