Local Flavor

Not so dull Southern cooking
A tribute to Mrs. S.R. Dull, one of the South's most accomplished culinarians.

by Deb Barshafsky

FIRST IT WAS THE CASTLEBERRYS. I managed to offend a whole nest of them a couple years ago with a droll (I thought) reference to botulism and their storied barbecue past in a column I penned for this magazine. That damage, thankfully, has been repaired. Missy (one of the signers of a somewhat testy Letter to the Editor) and I have sipped wine in the same room and hugged. And Katherine (also a signer) and I have developed a close and comfortable friendship despite my editor’s awkward and unexpected introduction of us in a pool during an exercise class.

“Oh, Deb,” she effused. “This is Katherine. She’s a Castleberry.”

“And Katherine,” she continued to bubble, “this is Deb. She wrote that column that offended your family.”

And then Madame Editor paddled off to the other side of the pool while Katherine and I treaded water and wondered—in a highly synchronized fashion—what Carson Elliot might think of an introduction like that.

This past fall, I elicited the ire of a woman I’ll have to call Reader X, since she very clearly stated that her letter of chastisement was not (emphasis hers) intended for publication. She took exception to a paragraph in one of my columns in which I poked fun at a series of lectures and cooking classes billed as a “highly interesting, instructive and entertaining program”—taught by a woman named (wait for it) Mrs. Dull. I titled that bit “Most Compelling Reason To Keep Your Maiden Name.” I was amused, but apparently Mrs. Dull’s cousin (yes, her cousin—the aforementioned Reader X) was not.

Reader X took the time to write a short note taking me to task for my “critical” and “sarcastic” comments. She also sent me a few photocopied pages of Mrs. Dull’s book, Southern Cooking, including the dedication page, which bears a hand-written inscription to Reader X that reads thusly:

If by chance you like to cook,
There’s lots of help in this, my book.
But should you the lady play,
There are many problems day by day,
And it’s very helpful and lots of fun
Just to know how it should be done.

Touching.

I’m not kidding, people. As “critical” and “sarcastic” as I can be, I find that sentiment very touching and hope that Reader X doesn’t mind that I’ve shared it. I wrote Reader X a few months ago to thank her for the note, to assure her that as a student of gastronomy I both recognize and appreciate Mrs. Dull’s contributions to the Southern culinaria and to invite her to share her favorite recipes from her cousin’s cookbook—recipes that I offered to prepare and write about in this column. An olive branch, if you will, extended from my mailbox to hers.

I didn’t receive a response from Reader X so I had to make my own selections from my well-worn copy of Southern Cooking. Reader X is probably suspicious of my motives. If I only knew the me you see in these columns, I would probably be suspicious too. I really do have a serious side, but that’s not what my fans (yes, I do receive a complimentary note every now and then) have come to expect. My gut tells me most of you don’t want to read about the impact of globalization on national cuisines, the mythology of confectionery or the evolution of the 19th-century dining styles. But back to our heroine.

Mrs. S.R. Dull was born Henrietta Stanley in 1863 in Laurens County, Ga. She exited this life a full century later in 1964, the year I was born. Perhaps we passed on our journeys. Mrs. Dull left a significant mark during her 100 years on this earth, including organizing the first home economics departments in Georgia colleges and schools, introducing Georgia yams to New York City housewives and dispensing significant culinary knowledge in the lecture series and cooking classes that got me into this pickle. She was the long-time editor of the Atlanta Journal’s home economics page, the precursor of the AJC’s food and drink coverage, and when she died, the Atlanta Journal lauded Southern Cooking as “the standard by which regional cooks have been measured since 1928.” Mrs. Dull was a rock star food personality before we had rock star food personalities. But she was also a quintessential Southern lady. In the preface to her iconic cookbook, Hal M. Stanley writes:

Her fame is established, but those who follow her advice will always appreciate the fact that a gentle, Southern woman has put her knowledge upon the printed page and thus benefited mankind.
I dare say no one is going to say that about Paula Deen, particularly after watching her prepare Beer in the Rear Chicken during an episode of her raunchy evening cooking show, Paula’s Party. But I digress....

Mrs. Dull’s cookbook, which was re-released in 2006 by the University of Georgia Press, contains more than 1,300 recipes—everything from beef brain croquettes to avocado aspic to baked ‘possum. Those, of course, are some of the more extreme examples of Southern cuisine—not the dishes I chose to prepare. Any recipe that includes a directive to “pull off hair while hot” is out of my league.

I opted for lettuce soup, sugared ham, a mold of spinach, duchess potatoes and Willie’s strawberry pie—a simple meal, but as Mrs. Dull notes in Chapter XXII, “it matters not how simple the meal or the table, if attractively arranged a pleasant atmosphere is created and the appetite is better.” So I attractively arranged a pleasant atmosphere and enjoyed my meal under the watchful eye of Mrs. Dull. Thanks to Reader X for sending along her photo as well.

And your point is, you ask? Well, my point is not to provide you with running commentary on every bite of my meal—although I would like to say that Willie and her strawberries are welcome at my table any day. No, this isn’t about dissecting Mrs. Dull’s recipes. As she herself notes in the foreword to her book, they are “gleaned from 40 years of experience in the practical study and application of cooking in the Southern way.” That’s what we refer to in urban locales as “street cred.” This column, dear readers and dear Reader X, is about celebrating Southern cooks and Southern cooking—particularly Mrs. S.R. Dull and her prune soufflé, tomato fez and log cabin salad.

For three years now, I’ve taken an annual stroll through the Augusta Archives to discover and write about historical superlatives, high notes and miscellaneous curiosities from Augusta’s food scene of yore for the Best of Augusta issue. (That’s what I do with my time when I’m not studying the evolution of oxtails from slave fare to haute cuisine, the history of Southern moonshine or the politics of soul food during the 1960s.) And for the past two years, I’ve managed to rub somebody the wrong way.

Be forewarned: I’ll be penning the same playful column this October. I’m not intentionally going for the trifecta of transgressions, but if I happen to put a bee in your bonnet with one of my mischievous references this year, please drop me a note. Reader X did and it gave me this opportunity to let her know that Mrs. Dull’s classic cookbook has long occupied a space on my bookshelf, right next to my 1919 edition of 101 Salads, and to introduce Mrs. Dull—a most gracious and talented Southern lady—to those of you unfamiliar with her significant culinary charms.