Hoecakes, Johnnycakes, Cornpone and Hushpuppies

“Don’t mess with my Johnnycakes, you sneaking ole’ cornpone of a Grandpappy. You can have a hushpuppy. Now, get on out of the kitchen before I take this spatula to ya’. Can’t get no peace ‘round here these days. Get going quick there. Land of Goshen, what’s a body to do.”

Long before Columbus, Native Americans were growing and grinding corn, adding a bit of water and a pinch of salt, and forming a cake which was fried over an open fire. With the arrival of the Europeans to the Atlantic shores, indentured servants seeking a new life cleared the land and worked the fields to repay their passage and earn their freedom. Those workers were hungry. One day, a kind-hearted Indian offered a worker a cake of fried cornmeal. Before you could say “Algonguian,” those field hands were mixing up the corn mush themselves and frying the paddies up on the blades of their hoes. Well, a certain foreman was watching. That boss man on his fancy horse laughed at the hoecake a certain field hand by the name of Johnny was having for lunch. Now that Johnny was a smart one — he could tell one end of a hoecake handle from the other, and then some. Johnny added a pinch of sugar to his cakes and he reached up and offered one to the overseer. The smile back earned Johnny light duty in the cook tent and the early repayment of his debt. The Johnnycake was born to move west and south with the pioneering families to the culinary delight of a new and growing nation.

Johnny joined the migration. Some years later, Grandpappy Johnny was making lunch for his fellow travelers. He’d just mixed up a batch of Johnnycake batter when he noticed Grandmammy’s big ole’ cast iron frying pan hanging from the side of the wagon. They were part of a wagon train heading down Louisiana way and they had quite a few mouths to feed. Well, that Johnny was always a thinker. He grabbed that big old pan and poured in the whole mess of cake mix. Grandmammy turned, saw, took up her rolling pin and was headin’ over to give Grandpappy a what-ya-think-ya-doin’-fore-I-crack-yer-skull, when she stopped and watched. Johnny cooked up that whole big batch of corn-pour-pan quick as a wink, flipped ‘er over on big rock and cut up pieces enough for everyone to enjoy – with a big dollop of fresh butter each. That whole train of folks was lickin’ their lips and saying that corn-pour-pan was the best yet. Johnny – seeing the rolling pin in Grandmammy’s arms — said right quick to one and to all that it was Grandmammy’s idea and wasn’t she the smartest to come up with the new “cornpone” way to cook them cakes for a crowd. Johnny always had a way of mixing things up, but cornpone sounded better than corn-pour-pan to all there present, and it was easier to say. Grandmammy, she got this big grin on her face, and she walked over and gave Grandpappy a kiss right in front of everyone and called him her little cornpone. The name stuck and ever after folksy Grandpappy Johnny was poked and called you old cornpone.

Before long, Johnnycakes and cornpone had become the stable fare of meals served in fields, on trips and even in fancy parlors and restaurants. The lowly cake and pone were everywhere – especially after Grandpappy’s new idea of adding a little bakin’ soda so the cake and pone would rise a bit and be a tad lighter. The rough and ready dish had become gentrified. Befitting its wider acceptance, the cake and pone were called simply cornbread, and Johnny and his folksy cornpone ways faded from the general memory.

For his part, Johnny was quite content to be forgotten and let the new bakeries do the work of feeding a nation now reaching to connect the coasts. Besides, he was busy enough as the proprietor of a stylish, popular and successful restaurant of his own in the booming river town of New Orleans. He still liked to experiment. It was his blood. He just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Sitting watching Grandmammy at the stove there with the pan of hot grease for the fish, with that bowl of his new sweet rising cornbread mixed up in his lap, he just had to take a bit of the mix, roll it in a ball, and throw it into the grease – when Grandmammy’s back was turned. She heard the sizzle, popped around and was about to pop Grandpappy when she stopped. That ball was floating in that hot grease, looking so crunchy and golden brown. She couldn’t resist. Grandmammy took her spoon and flipped that fried ball to cool on a towel. She carefully lifted the still-warm sphere to her lips, took a bite and chewed slowly. Grandpappy was about to say something, when Grandmammy gave a contented sigh, pointed that big spoon at him, and said with a smile, “Hush Pappy.”

That night at dinner, the new balled and deep-fried cornbread was a success as an accompaniment to the fried fish and other seafood dishes that were Grandmammy’s specialties. The customers loved the taste and the shape. Many dined with their pet canine friends at their feet, and the patrons could not resist tossing the deep-fried cornbread balls to their little puppies and saying at the same time, “Hush puppy.” To which, Grandmammy laughed, because she knew the name was really “Hush Pappy,” but Grandmammy was just as smart as Grandpappy, and they both knew the customer is always right.

A meal with cornbread is a meal with fun. Don’t forget the Johnnycake, or a big slice of cornpone, or some of those newfangled hushpuppies for yourself and your friends — two-footed and four-footed alike.

And, thank you Grandmammy, for letting Grandpappy keep on experimenting.

He is one smart old cornpone,

Grandpa Jim