A Southern Table

The Bishops gathering together at Yard Farm.

Today, the minister of our church came to visit. Being a special visitor and all, there was a certain intentionality to the Saturday cleaning. Things that haven't seen a dust rag in months were treated to a brushing off. Pillows were fluffed. Dog hair painstakingly removed, since I'm not going to be the one whose dog's hair rides on the preacher's pants next Sunday.

In breathless anticipation of the spiritual stopover, the idea of Preacher Cake came to mind. I remember hearing grown-ups talking about this when I was little, but couldn't remember what it was. I looked through every southern cookbook I have but nothing included anything called a Preacher Cake. If Charleston Receipts doesn't have a recipe for it, is it really a thing?

Thank goodness for Google, which pointed me to this lovely website with a recipe for what is, essentially, Hummingbird Cake - a wonderful dessert with ingredients that could be found in any pantry in case the preacher announced he was coming to dinner that night.

http://www.southyourmouth.com/2013/11/preacher-cake.html

In my ruminations on special visitors, I thought back to a time that seems to be long gone when families dressed up in ties and dresses for family dinners. Linen tablecloths were pressed, and the fine china and crystal laid out carefully. I tried to continue this practice with my own children, but they felt a little constricted by the fanciness of it, so we ended up going the Chinet way of the world. I was disappointed not to continue the tradition.

Even my own mother, who was raised on perfection at dinnertime, has gotten to the point where she's fairly comfortable (though not completely) putting pepper jelly on the table in the jar, rather than serving it in a little crystal bowl with a tiny silver spoon. I think she hates it, actually, but therapy is helping. She can be counted on to say at least once, "Don't bring the china serving bowl", which really means "I am completely embarrassed that I'm serving this food in a Pyrex dish". 

There's something sad and poignant about china collecting dust in a cabinet, and real silverware tarnishing in a red velvet-lined case. It heralds longingly back to days when families lived close enough together to have a special meal every now and then, outside of Christmas. When if you wanted to know what was going on with your uncle or your grandmother, you had to actually talk to them (or to your aunt, who knew everything about everyone). When manners mattered, and napkins were real, not paper. We've become so casual - which certainly makes getting everyone together a lot easier and, for mom, a lot more enjoyable - but I think we're giving up something we'll be sorry we let go of so easily.

So I contend that maybe we should consider the benefit of pulling out the stops of a real southern table every now and then. Because nothing says "You're special to me" more than going to the trouble of pressing the tablecloth, polishing the forks, and trusting that no one will drop any of Grandma's china, lest there no longer be a matched set.

Proust once wrote, " “Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.” But I think he was wrong. Because when I think of the love, and security, and sense of family that came with using the china, I'm sure I remember it exactly the way that it was.