an unspoken competition for bragging rights for their various specialties. Most tents serve only the evening meal, but the families that take the week off to stay on-site enjoy three meals a day.
Field Feast An array of Southern favorites; one of the highlights is the nightly sherbet
It is dinner time, and I’ve been invited to join the Jordan family in Tent #24 for the evening meal. “Faith, family, friends, and food—that’s what Camp Meeting is all about,” says Mrs. Miriam Jordan, whose family has occupied this tent for over 40 years. As soon as “amen” sounds at the end of the blessing, heaping platters begin to make their way around the table. Sliced ham and pulled pork, tomatoes and cucumbers, rice with rich brown gravy, grits, macaroni and cheese, and fruit salad are passed from one end to the other. The conversation is easy, and the spirit of Mrs. Jordan’s words is evident in the family’s collective embrace of a newcomer in their midst. And then, the stars of this cooking show appear on the table, fresh from their baptism by fryer. The golden fried chicken that I have followed with my nose all afternoon is finally a reality on my plate, along with fried pork chops and fried side meat—thick cut slices of bacon, dredged in flour and deep fried. Praise the Lord and pass the side meat—if there is a restaurant in heaven, I am positive this culinary phenomenon will be on the menu. Ms. Johnnie Mae Riley has run this kitchen for 32 years. She and Ms. Mary Hart—a relative newcomer of only 14 years, are the hands behind the platters and bowls, which like the miraculous loaves and fishes, never seem to run out.
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I am tucked into the table amidst at least four generations of the Jordan family, and when the desserts began to appear it is my fervent prayer that the laws governing cholesterol are suspended for this meal, sodium has the day off, and sugar has no power. Caramel, red velvet, and chocolate cakes are dished up,
along with a huge bowl of banana pudding set aside for me to take to my husband. Despite having eaten the equivalent of a week’s calories, the experience is not complete without a trip to the stand where Archie Braxton’s whirling machine cranks out his