The Pat Conroy Cookbook (29 page)
Read The Pat Conroy Cookbook Online
Authors: Pat Conroy
Randy had asked me to go golfing with him on Easter weekend when his parents were returning to his grandmother’s house in Newberry.
Since I was a military brat, I had never gone to anyone’s house for a whole weekend in my life. My high school years had been excruciatingly lonely ones. My mother was thrilled that Randy had extended this invitation and gave me permission to go immediately.
Randy was six feet four inches tall and fifteen years old, and he was the best pitcher we had on the team that year. But our coach started Jimmy Melvin, a lanky junior who was hit hard by the visiting Wade Hampton team in the first inning. (Jimmy Melvin’s name is now enshrined on the wall of black marble honoring the Vietnam veterans killed in action during that long, dispiriting war.) The coach replaced Jimmy with Bruce Harper, who had a fastball I was afraid of, but Bruce was wild that afternoon. Soon the coach had Randy warming up in what passed for a bullpen at Beaufort High School. (Bruce Harper would walk out of the history of that game and into the history of his time—he would serve with distinction as one of John Ehrlichman’s lawyers during the Watergate trials.)
Then it was Randy Randel’s time, and he was called on to shut down the Wade Hampton Generals. Already there was talk about Randy pitching in the major leagues one day. He set out to prove that there was substance to this talk. He struck out five of the first seven batters he faced, and the other two batters did not even get the ball out of the infield. Randy Randel had not allowed a hit when he fell to the ground after striking out his fifth batter. When the ambulance finally arrived and a girl named Pat Everette gave Randy mouth-to-mouth resuscitation until Dr. Herbert Keyserling moved her aside and injected a shot of pure adrenaline into his heart, every witness to Randy Randel’s fall to the earth had been changed and changed for all time. The doctor said that Randy had been dead when he hit the ground.
In Eugene Norris’s English class the next day, Randy’s empty seat exuded a devastating sense of displacement and loss. His seat’s emptiness filled the room. The whole world seemed misplaced and ill-fitting. My class and I were in a state of shock when Gene Norris walked into the room, cleaning his glasses with his tie.
“I was just thinking about grief and how we express it. Or how we
don’t. Boys seem to have the toughest time showing how much they hurt, but the boys in here shouldn’t. Not in this room. Not among those who loved Randy with you.”
The room came apart, and I cracked like an egg. I wept for two days and could do nothing to stop myself. I wrote my first poem about Randy’s death and gave it to his mother and father after the funeral. Nor did I have to call off my trip to Newberry because Randy was buried in Newberry with his mother’s people in the Rosemont Cemetery. I rode to Newberry with Gene Norris and stayed in his Uncle John and Aunt Elizabeth’s house, where I fell in love with Gene’s pretty cousin Liz, or “Cuz” as he called her.
I did not know then that love and death could find each other at the same dance. Liz was a fetching and uncommonly lovely freshman at Columbia College, and I was smitten the moment she walked into the room. She walked with a dreamy, sophisticated air that made the high school boys who encountered her unsteady in our loafers.
On the way to Randy’s burial service, I asked Mr. Norris, “Does Liz ever date high school boys, Mr. Norris?”
“Of course not,” Gene said, dismissing the possibility out of hand. “She wouldn’t be caught dead with a high school Harry like you. Liz only dates the cream of the crop of the college boys. From the very best fraternities. Her boyfriend’s going to be a doctor. Yes, sir, a doctor.”
“If she ever breaks up with her doctor friend, I’d sure be interested, Mr. Norris.”
“Of course, you’d be interested, boy,” he said. “But she’s got big plans with Clemson men and leaders of fraternities. She left you high school Harrys back in the playgrounds a long time ago. Now, quit mooning over my cousin and start thinking about Randy.”
When I got to Randy’s grandmother’s house, I could smell the food all the way up the hill on Main Street where we parked the car. His grandmother, Mrs. Smith, who would soon become Mamaw to me, introduced me to Dunbar Macaroni. She gave me the history, lore, and legend of the dish as she served me a large portion.
“No one knows who Mr. Dunbar was. But we are absolutely sure he
was a Newberrian. This dish is native to this town. You’ll never find another single soul eating this anywhere. But it’s delicious. Though there are two or three versions of the dish, I’m letting you eat mine. I made it the classic way. No frills or fuss.”
I knew so little about food and the way it was prepared that all I remember about her Dunbar Macaroni was that she watched me closely as I ate her concoction of cheese and macaroni and onions. It was my first South Carolina funeral, and everything about that day remains bright, vivid, and profoundly sad. Though I had never felt sadder, I had never eaten better in my whole life. There was something scandalous to me about combining mourning Randy with the exquisite pleasures of a Newberry table.
I did not eat Dunbar Macaroni again for thirty years. I was in the middle of finishing the novel
Beach Music
when I got a call from Gene Norris, late at night. He could hardly speak as he told me that his cousin Liz, the one who had infatuated me as a boy, had died in her sleep at the age of forty-nine. Liz had followed her plan with immaculate precision and married that Clemson fraternity man, who then set about to become a doctor. They had lived out their lives as important citizens of Newberry, raised two children, attended the Lutheran church, and had some fine years before it began to go wrong with them. Their divorce was almost final when she was found dead in her bed. Sadness had attached itself to her final years, and Gene would periodically ask me to call Liz to cheer her up when things were really bad. I tried to get Liz to come to a screening of
The Prince of Tides
in New York with Gene, but her lawyer said it could be used against her in court. I sent her a bottle of champagne that Barbra Streisand had sent to my hotel room after that screening. Liz called me to tell me she and several of her girlfriends had made an elaborate ceremony out of drinking that champagne. The note I had written to Liz when I sent her the champagne was hanging by a magnet on her refrigerator door when I gathered with her family after her burial.
I was reading my note to Liz when one of her friends tapped me on
the shoulder and said, handing me a plate, “You’ve got to eat this. It’s a Newberry County specialty. We call it Dunbar Macaroni.”
I had never seen Liz Norris after that day of Randy’s funeral. We would speak on the phone, but our paths never crossed again. As I ate Dunbar Macaroni for the second time in my life, I said a prayer for Liz, and thought how strange it was that her high school Harry had finally caught up with her when it was far too late for either one of us.
PICKLED SHRIMP
When a good friend dies, I take two pounds of shrimp for the mourners. When a great friend dies, I go to five pounds. When I die, I fully expect all the shrimp in Beaufort to be pickled that day.
•
SERVES 6 TO 8
1 cup thinly sliced yellow onion
4 bay leaves, crushed
One 2-ounce bottle capers, drained and coarsely chopped
¼ cup fresh lemon juice
1 cup cider vinegar
½ cup olive oil
1 teaspoon minced fresh garlic
1 teaspoon coarse or kosher salt
1 teaspoon celery seeds
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 pounds large (21-25 count) shrimp, peeled and deveined
1. Mix all the ingredients except the shrimp in a large heatproof glass or ceramic bowl.
2. In a medium stockpot over high heat, bring 4 quarts abundantly salted water to a rolling boil. Add the shrimp and cook until just pink, about 2 minutes. (The shrimp will continue to “cook” in the marinade.) Drain and immediately transfer to the marinade.
3. Bring to room temperature, cover tightly, and marinate overnight in the refrigerator. Transfer shrimp and marinade to a glass serving compote or bowl. Serve chilled.
CHEDDAR CHEESE COINS
Cheddar cheese coins are the popular old Southern standbys cheese straws, but our recipe majored in economics. They are mouthwateringly good and a welcome addition to any Southern table at any time of the year.
•
MAKES
72
8 ounces extra-sharp orange cheddar cheese, grated (2 cups)
12 tablespoons (1½ sticks) unsalted butter, chilled but not hard
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1. Preheat the oven to 375°F.
2. In the bowl of a standing mixer, cream the cheese and butter until well combined. Mix the cayenne and black pepper into the flour. Add the flour mixture slowly to the bowl, stopping to scrape down the sides, until the mixture forms a ball.
3. Lightly flour a dry work surface and roll out the dough until ¼ inch thick. Using a 1½-inch straight-sided biscuit cutter, make the coins and transfer them to ungreased baking sheets. Reroll the scraps as needed.
4. Prick the top of each coin several times with the tines of a fork and bake until golden brown, about 15 minutes. Cool on a rack before serving.
FRESH HAM
It is worth all the trouble in the world to fix a fresh ham. It is worth all the trouble in the world to fix fresh anything. I cannot think of ham without thinking of Southern funerals, and I do not believe I have ever eaten lunch after a funeral in the South without at least one ham there to feed the multitudes.
•
SERVES A CROWD (AT LEAST 12 TO 14) WITH LEFTOVERS
1 large garlic head, cloves separated and finely chopped (about 5 tablespoons)
2 tablespoons dried thyme
2 tablespoons coarse or kosher salt
2 tablespoons freshly ground black pepper
One 16-pound fresh ham, skin on
1. Mix the garlic, thyme, salt, and pepper together in a bowl.
2. Place the ham in a large heavy roasting pan.
3. Cut 2-inch-long slashes in both sides of the ham and poke dozens of holes in it as well. Rub the salt mixture into the holes and over the outside of the ham. Let the ham absorb the seasoning for 1 hour at room temperature.
4. Preheat the oven to 450°F.
5. Roast the ham for 20 minutes at 450°F, then turn the oven down to 325°F. Cook for an additional 3½hours, until the internal temperature in the thickest part of the ham is 150°F and the skin is a burnished mahogany color. The skin will crisp to tasty cracklings.
6. Transfer the ham to a large platter, cover with aluminum foil, and let rest for 20 minutes so the juices will redistribute.
7. To carve, remove the skin and cut into strips for cracklings. Carve the ham into thin slices and serve.
DUNBAR MACARONI
Dunbar Macaroni belongs to the town and history of Newberry, South Carolina. This is Julia Randel’s own personal recipe that she inherited from her mother, Mrs. Smith. I have seen several recipes that add ground beef or pork, but Julia insists that Dunbar Macaroni was meatless in its original, purest of forms.
•
SERVES 8 TO 10