The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, aka NOAA, is not predicting the same winter for you and me as the Farmers’ Almanac. NOAA says mild and wet, but the Farmers’ Almanac is calling for above average wet, below average temperatures, a circumstance that increases the welcome, wonderful, exciting possibility of SNOW in the ‘BERRY!

Early and late February, according to Farmers, will be chilled by Arctic air, and our best chance of snow is late February.

Believe the Farmers’, dear children. Over the past 100+ years, the Almanac has an 80-85 percent accuracy rate. That is a solid C, and in connection with anything math-related, a glory to behold.

So it is, we must prepare ourselves for the snow and the cold, dear children. We must fill our freezers with good soup and cornbread, so that if we are fortunate enough to find ourselves with snow, we might spend our time playing in it or appreciating its beauty from a window—and still warm our noses at lunch time with a steaming bowl of good-for-you, home-comfort, microwave-easy vegetable soup.

Some days, dear children, are simply soup days. Just go with the flow.

It’s a law of man and nature. When the temperature falls below 25 degrees, thou shalt eat soup. Yes, you can cook up a big pot on the spot, or you can prepare yourself for the inevitability by stuffing your freezer full.

No, ma’am, that dry yellow powder in an aluminum pouch and/or paper envelope in a cardboard box does not qualify as soup. Neither does that congealed-pink starchy mass inside a red and white can.

On soup days we must return to our roots, the kitchen. That means home-made soup made with no preservatives, no additives, and so many chunks you can’t say “mm-mmm good” with your mouth full.

Some folks, I know, like hunky ham and bean or zesty chicken gumbo as a cold weather soup, but my soup of choice is vegetable—not vegetarian vegetable, but vegetable cooked with plenty of meat. Some folks, I know, use ham or beef bones to make vegetable soup, but I use hamburger meat like my momma taught me.

Some folks, I know, eat vegetable soup with soda crackers, but my family would just as soon eat a styrofoam cup and call it a doughnut. Soup without cornbread is a like a church-supper chicken casserole without mushroom soup. Of course, it can be done, but decent people ought be ashamed to think of it.

Those of us who are grandmother-trained soup-makers start from scratch, of course. We retrieve from the pantry that rarely-used stock pot into which 12-year-old children have crawled during games of hide-and-seek. (Martha Stewart might say: “It would be a good thing to rinse out the pot before adding water.”)

With the lid on the pot, we simmer a ham or beef bone (or hamburger meat) through reruns of Matlock and Law and Order—until at last, the meat is so tender it would be baby food with one tap of a gavel.

All the while the meat is simmering, we grandmother-trained soup-makers are slicing and dicing, chopping and dropping veggies into the pot: okra and potatoes, green beans and English peas, carrots and celery, lima beans and corn, cabbage and onions. All through the afternoon, we are tasting and seasoning—and stirring every few minutes to keep the soup from sticking to anything but the ribs.

By now it should be self-evident: real soup, like real love, takes time. Why, my grandmother started preparing her mid-winter soup in mid-summer. She put up “soup mixture” from her garden in steaming jars by the dozen, and there’s nothing like home-grown tomatoes in soup.

Alas, I’m a city girl now. I long ago made peace with canned tomatoes, but I still add a healthy dose of sugar or Sweet n’ Low. That’s a grandmother secret of good soup, you know. Cut the acid with a spoonful of sweet. Another grandmother secret? Cabbage. Some vegetables, you can make do without, but not the cabbage.

Singing over the pot seems to add a nice flavor, too. After all, soup in cold weather is more about love than nutrition, anyway.

Yes, when a soup day is decreed by cold weather, there’s nothing like a steaming bowl of vegetable soup to warm your heart—and blister your tongue, if you’re not careful.

But not every soup day is decreed by cold weather.
Soup days can be decreed by pesky viruses, too.

When your nose drizzles damp and your stuffy head aches and the coughing and the sneezing rattle your bones, don’t just go poking around in the medicine cabinet for industrial strength antihistamines and rambling through the vitamin bottles in search of mega-potent C and scrounging in the basement for the humidifier you haven’t used since your teenagers were babies.

Some days are soup days. Just go with the flow.

Pull out a quart of soup from the freezer. Defrost and heat in the microwave. Add another can of tomatoes and a little more sugar—a little more salt and pepper, if you like.
This soup can be stretched for days, for 4-5 more people than you anticipate feeding. Just add more tomatoes, another bag of frozen corn.

But please, dear children, have your freezer full when the cold weather strikes. That’s brrrr cold and achoo cold.
Remember, too, to eat cornbread with soup. Not soda crackers. You are ‘Berry folks. Crumble in the bowl, like you were raised to do.

Amen, and soup well.

Vegetable Soup

3 lb. ground beef (I use low-fat)
1 pkg. fresh (or frozen, cut) okra
1/2 cabbage, chopped
2 large potatoes, chopped
1 lb. carrots, sliced
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 onions, chopped (Texas sweet)6 ears corn (or 2 pkgs super-sweet, frozen)1 lb. green beans, strung and snapped
1 lb. sugar snaps, strung and halved
1 lb. lima beans
2 lg. cans crushed tomatoes
4-6 lg. cans diced tomatoes, petite (maybe more)
2 C. water (maybe more)
1 tsp. (maybe more) Sweet n’ Low (to taste)
Salt & pepper (to taste)

Cook hamburger in large soup pot. Chop fresh vegetables. Pour juice from canned tomatoes into hamburger with some water. Pour in vegetables and cook until tender. Add diced tomatoes and crushed tomatoes. Add more water, if needed, or more tomatoes. Season with salt and pepper, Sweet ‘n Low or sugar. (Ah, the secret vegetable ingredient makes yet another appearance.) Serve with cornbread. Second day: add more cooked hamburger, another can of tomatoes. This soup can be stretched for days and days.

Mama’s Cornbread (the “creme de la pone”)

Marquerite Palmer, Newberry Art Center Director

(When Marquerite Palmer left home, her grandmother Mama gave her this recipe, written on a notecard. It was the only recipe Marquerite took with her, and she still has the card.)

Take a large black iron fry-pan and put 2 large serving spoon size portions of Crisco in the pan. (You may also use any kind of oil—vegetable, canola, etc. If using oil, pour in the pan until it is about 1/3 inch deep in pan.)

Place pan in oven at 375 degrees.
While this is heating, mix together in a large (not plastic) mixing bowl (with a handle is best):

3 C. corn meal (Adluh self-rising white corn meal)
1/2 C. flour
1 tsp. salt
3 tsp. baking powder
pinch soda
Mix well and add: 2 eggs.

Mix well and add buttermilk until the batter is the consistency of a thin milk shake. (Better to err on too much than too little. Must be able to stir easily and pour well.)

When this is all mixed well, you must pull the pan of hot oil from the oven (don’t let it get hot enough to catch fire) and pour hot oil into batter. If it sizzles and pops and makes lots of noise and steam, you’ve “done good.” Leave just a little oil in the pan (enough to coat bottom).

*Put a pot holder on the handle of the pan, so that in all the excitement, you don’t forget and grab that hot handle bare handed.

Stir the oil in the batter until it is all blended. (This is why you need a mixing bowl with a handle. This is hot stuff!)

Pour all of this into the hot fry-pan. A little oil will form around the edge of the pan. This gives the crust that good, crunchy texture. Bake at 375 degrees until edge is dark brown and top is a warm golden brown (35-50 minutes).

This cornbread freezes well and makes the best dressing you’ve ever eaten.