| Whitebread
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. Sure, I agree that white bread is lacking in flavor, texture, and character. There’s even a brand of it, Bunny Bread, from southeastern Massachusetts, whose name expresses that perfectly. When Arlene and I first heard it we didn’t even know it was a brand name; we thought the people who mentioned it were simply expressing their judgement of white bread in general. Sure, I can see how black folks feel that the majority culture is similarly lacking in flavor, texture, and character. Look at the history of American music and see where the creativity comes from. Look at recent literature, Alice Walker, Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, Jamaica Kincaid. Look at Chris Rock, Richard Pryor, Eddie Murphy, Sinbad. It’s not a black monopoly, but I can understand how black folks can feel that the energy is coming from them. But the bread analogy breaks down when it comes to bread. In my three summers eating in the Tuskegee Institute dining hall, the one food I had a real craving for was some good rye bread. Well, and Greek olives. I like a big breakfast, so grits and links or grits and scrambled eggs or grits and fried eggs was great. I learned to like collard greens, mustard greens, or turnip greens with salt pork as part of every supper, though I never could tell which of the three it was. Before the first of those summers I was eating in a college dining hall and the TI food was just as good and more interesting. Before the others I was a starving graduate student, so having a good big meal that I didn’t have to buy or cook suited me fine. The food probably had more salt and pepper than I was used to, but that was OK by me. An occasional pork trotter looked strange, but wasn’t a problem. The cafeteria never had chit’lins, and I wish I had had a chance to try them. Stereotypes have to be approached with caution. They probably don’t apply in any given case, but something got them started. Take watermelon. It’s a sensitive subject, but the truth will out: my concept of how many servings there are in a watermelon was changed forever by being in Tuskegee. The cafeteria occasionally had watermelon for dessert and the servings were about 90 degrees across and an inch thick, pretty much like my mother sliced it, but when the students had a watermelon party I learned the way it is: you get eight servings from one watermelon. Trouble is, my big Semitic nose bumps into the melon before I can get to the bottom of a proper slice. Or take fried chicken. I’ve never had fried chicken anywhere else as good as we used to get for evening snacks at the Chicken Coop, just off campus. Don’t let me off the subject without mentioning the time Claudette invited me to dinner at her aunt Laly’s house to see what real soul food was like, when her aunt made a pot roast just like my mother’s (and my mother had once said that only Jewish women knew what cut makes the best pot roast! hmmph!) and Claudette made a great lemon meringue pie. I also have to mention the best breakfast I’ve ever had, the one Jesse Barron’s momma made me the morning after we drove to DC at the end of the summer session and I crashed on the living room couch. So I like soul food fine, preferably homemade, but even the dining hall variety. Maybe it has more flavor, texture, and character than most American cooking. But get real about the bread! The TI caf never had any bread except white bread and cornbread. By the end of each summer I was longing for a loaf of good chewy Jewish caraway rye or Russian pumpernickel.
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