VOLUME 6, ISSUE 1 | Around Our Table

AROUND OUR TABLE VOL. 6, ISSUE 1 | JANUARY - APRIL 2020

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EDITOR’S NOTE

What would it look like if everyone in Jackson were represented at a table?

This was the question I posed to our contributors when I decided to create an issue of Our Jackson Home centered around food. After all, our dinner tables say a lot about us: where we come from, what we value, who is welcome, who we belong to, what we have in abundance, and what we lack.

The answer to this question was complicated as COVID-19 entered the picture, and social distancing measures required us to find new ways to come together, even if not around a table or at our favorite restaurant.

It has become clear in the midst of this pandemic that food is about more than just filling our bellies. We gather at our local restaurants, we take pride in them, and they strengthen our communal sense of identity. Our grocery store clerks and servers aren’t just minimum wage workers, they’re essential forces in our society. The ability to put food on the table is crucial to our physical and mental well being.

That Saturday morning trip to the Farmer’s Market for a donut as large as our face might not be healthy, but it is good for us — it brings us joy.

With store shelves emptied of flour and Instagram posts full of fresh bread and cinnamon rolls, we know that food is a comfort to us in times of distress. The uptick in donated meals at places like ComeUnity Cafe and RIFA indicate that it is a necessity far too many are struggling to find, even prior to the economic downturn.

In the midst of what seems like an uncertain future for the restaurants in our community and the dinner tables in our homes, I believe the stories in this issue reach far deeper and wider than I could have imagined when I set out to create an issue centered around food. From students at Lane College learning to grow food to combat food insecurity among their neighbors to grandmothers lovingly filling the table for their family, these are the stories that remind me of the ways we are connected and the ways we will be strengthened when we come back to the table together. It’s been said by many that we will not be the same after this crisis, and I hope that if anything, we find we need more room to welcome each other to our tables.

C O U R T N E Y S E A R C Y, E D I T O R - I N - C H I E F

THE JOURNAL

A publication of Our Jackson Home Vol. 6, Issue 1: Around Our Table Brought to you by theCO | www.attheco.com

editorial board

contributors

EDI TOR-I N-CHI EF DESI GNER

F E AT U RE D WRI T E RS

Olivia Chin December Hansen Gabe Hart

Courtney Searcy COPY EDI TOR

Olivia Chin

GU E ST WRI T E RW

Kyler C. Stubblefield

contact

FEAT U RE D P H OTOGRAP H E RS

WEBSI TE & BLOG

Cari Griffith December Hansen

ourjacksonhome.com

F E AT U RE D P OE T

PHONE & EMAI L

Bobby C. Rogers

731.554.5555 courtney@attheco.com

I L LU ST RATORS

Hilary Griffith Abby Wolfzorn Ruby

ADDRESS

541 Wiley Parker Road Jackson TN 38301

POLI CY

Our Jackson Home: The Journal is a volunteer-created publication of Our Jackson Home brought to you by theCO and published three times a year.

Our Jackson Home seeks to celebrate the people and the stories of the city we all love: Jackson, Tennessee. Perspectives are the opinions of their creators, not Our Jackson Home or theCO. All rights reserved.

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contents 2 | E DI TOR’ S NOT E

Setting the Table Courtney Searcy 8 | STORY

Lane College Urban Farm Kyler C. Stubblefield 1 4 | STORY

Our Kitchens, Our Souls December Rain Hansen 31 | P OE M

Get Well Note for Elizabeth Caldwell Bobby C. Rogers 32 | RE C I P E S

ComeUnity at Home Austin L. Brown 42 | STORY

The Woolworth’s Sit-Ins Gabe Hart

49 | GU I DE

Around the World Courtney Searcy 52 | E SSAY

The Miracle Mac n' Cheese Olivia Chin

BY ABBY WOLFZORN RUBY

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LANE COLLEGE URBAN FARM Connecting Students To Community Needs

BY KYLER C. STUBBLEFIELD PHOTOS BY LANE COLLEGE M A S S C O M M U N I C AT I O N S T U D E N T S

The definition of the word “vision” is the following: the ability to think about or plan the future with imagination or wisdom. Lane College has a variety of visions that have made positive impacts on both the institution and the community of East Jackson as well.

Lane College is a liberal arts institution located on the Eastern side of Jackson, Tennessee. The college was founded in the year 1882 by Isaac Lane, a former slave, and bishop of

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the Colored Methodist Episcopal (CME) Church. Through his actions of selling Bibles for profit, Lane College became a reality.

The college is the first institution established by the Methodist Episcopal Church. While Lane receives praise for making changes within the school, the college is more confident in future changes to come about in its community.

With a primary purpose of providing higher education, Lane College’s vision gives students and faculty the opportunity to be the change needed for the people of East Jackson.

According to “Areavibes,” the average household income in Jackson is $39,747 (which is 15% lower than the state’s average and 28% lower than the national average) and the average unemployment rate is 5% (which is 4% higher than the national average). The poverty rate in Jackson totals up to 23% (which is 54% higher than the national average). These statistics show how much of an asset the urban farm can be to the community.

The purpose of the Urban Farm is not only to create a place of beauty for the community, but VOL . 6 , I SS U E 1 : AROU ND OU R TAB L E • 1 1

also to provide community service opportunities for the students.

“Students will learn how to build a concrete skill set around gardening. Whether it’s math skills, skills associated with planting, planning ahead, learning how to be self-sufficient in terms of growing your own food and harvesting your own food, and also giving students opportunities to think through issues of injustice in communities of color,” said Deborah Rogers, Ph.D, Director of Lane Institute.

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Lane continuously works to show the “power of potential.” The hope is that the Urban Farm will provide several varieties of food and plant products to the campus and surrounding community. This effort will provide valuable opportunities for students to help the community of East Jackson tackle the problems of food insecurity and create stronger relationships between the college and the community.

The future of the Lane College Urban Farm is bright. •

“ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT THINGS YOU CAN DO ON THIS EARTH IS TO LET PEOPLE KNOW THEY ARE NOT ALONE.” SHANNON L. ALDER

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Our Kitchens, Our Souls A PHOTOGRAPHER IN THE HEART OF FOUR LOCAL KITCHENS

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BY DECEMBER HANSEN

Food, and my relationship with it, is an important facet of not only my personal identity, but also of my culture, and the culture I grew up in. I believe food is spiritual and that the act of creating, serving, and eating a meal is an act of holy worship — a practice of religion. I myself am agnostic, but sometimes when I make a meal for my fiancé after a long day’s work, or when I eat something special made just for me, I can see the existence of God. I grew up in Anchorage, Alaska.

For most of my life, there weren’t many chain restaurants. We ate good, and we ate ninety-nine percent local.

Anchorage is a melting pot of races and cultures. I was privileged to eat the freshest seafood, try Nepalese, indulge in giant bowls of Pho, and have some of the best Thai that side of the Arctic Ocean minutes down the street.

Moving to West Tennessee was a bit of a culture shock for me foodwise, to say the least. In the seven years I’ve lived here though, I’ve seen a push and a desire for change and new things. We have a need for more variety in local restaurants and new options in this area, and certain citizens in Jackson are working very hard to make that happen.

One of the first things that came to my mind when thinking about

what I wanted to write for this issue of Our Jackson Home, was setting up interviews with chefs. Not just restaurant chefs, though, home chefs too. I wanted to touch as many corners of our little world as I could.

I believe that every individual has valuable stories and a history that needs to be shared. Jackson has a rich history and a constantly growing and changing demographic. Food is a great way of exploring that history and giving a tangible communal element to getting to know someone and our community better.

I had the honor of breaking bread or clinking glasses with four wonderful chefs. Each one has their own style and flavor, their own audience, their own passions and drives for cooking what they serve and I was given intimate insight to their hows and whys. I hope these interviews not only encourage you to try something new, but also to step back from fast options for just a second and feel the inspiration from within to create something new and different and share it with your loved ones. I’m proud to say that each one of these individuals pour their heart, soul, and artistry into everything they make. If I’m sure about one thing, it’s that food made with love just tastes so much better.

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Who ya gonna call?

JENNIFER DICKERSON C H A N D E L I E R R E S TA U R A N T

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I

almost cancelled my meeting with Chef Jennifer. I had an awful day at work and the impending COVID-19 shutdowns were weighing heavy on my mind, and I felt like I wasn't going to be able to be “on” like I wanted to be. I texted her to confirm about an hour prior, half hoping she’d be too stressed with the coronavirus business to meet. She wasn’t, and I couldn’t be more thankful that I put on my big girl pants and showed up, despite all my anxiety and unease. The minute I walked into Chandelier, all of my worries and stresses melted away for a little bit.

I got to observe Jennifer working with her media team to record their weekly marketing video. Things were changing and they were doing their best to keep up with the new regulations for restaurants. It was emotional behind the scenes — so much uncertainty and worry. I saw how much this restaurant means to Jennifer, and the effort she was putting in to make sure everyone could be fed. They were working on a new menu and pricing for takeout orders that were designed for families and met all kinds of budget needs.

“I’m proud to be a part of this community,”she told me later during

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our sit down. “Good food needs to be accessible for everybody.”

The culture surrounding Chandelier as a workplace was a beautiful thing to witness. It was one of the first things I noticed when I started asking her questions about the restaurant and her food.

Everything was centered around the idea that Chandelier is not only a place for creative expression but also an environment that prided itself on its family bond. Those who worked there found strong leadership in Jennifer, as well as a sense of belonging. What they thought and how they felt mattered to her.

High quality food is another important facet of the restaurant.

When I asked her if she thought COVID-19 would influence the way we ate long term, she said, “We will all come together.'' The question she had been musing on was centered around how to feed everyone in a way that was fulfilling to her not only as a chef, but also incredibly accessible.

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Jennifer cares about what she makes.

Yes, something plain or processed can get the job done, but it was apparent to me that Chef Jennifer is constantly pushing herself to find ways to do better for her community than just getting the job done.

Good food nourishes not only the body but the soul, too. There is a lot of soul in the dishes and meals that Jennifer plans. For her third Thursday wine dinners, instead of pairing the wine to the food, she creates the food based off of the wine.

We talked about inspiration. She finds hers in color, taste, smell, and the way certain vegetables look next to each other at the market, among a million other things. I felt an artistic kinship to her in that sense.

Her desire as a culinary artist is always to take something familiar and make it brand new. Whether that's Japanese Danish fusion, or her Chandelier staple Sexy Southern, you know it will be full of soul. From the moment you walk into Chandelier

We are in a time of malnourishment: body, mind and soul. People like Chef Jennifer are the few who will fill your cup to running over, if you give them the chance to.

and order a bourbon, to the second you lay your fork down when you're done, it is a carefully and artfully curated experience.

When you let artists control the art, you’ll get the best results. That goes for all mediums. Tattoo artists, painters, sculptures, and chefs, too.

You’ll be hard-pressed to find many other chefs who are able to make their food a direct reflection of themselves.

When I sit at her bar and have a drink she makes, and when I look at the food that she has presented and prepared, I feel like I can see her and understand who she is better than talking. Like all good art, her food comes from the soul. Those who are willing to bear their souls for us like

this give more joy and life to all who they come into contact with. We are in a time of malnourishment: body, mind and soul. People like Chef Jennifer are a part of the few who will fill your cup to running over, if you give them the chance to.

Since this article was written, Chandelier Restaurant has closed.

While we are sad to say goodbye to this restaurant, Chef Jennifer hopes to open another restaurant in Jackson.

To donate to her next venture, visit https://www.gofundme.com/f/keepchefjennifer-in-jackson.

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TANNER WADE JACKSON COUNTRY CLUB

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W

hen I tell you the meal Chef Tanner cooked for me for our interview was the best meal I’ve had since living in Tennessee, I ain’t lyin’. Tanner is a chef, but I'd liken his skills in the kitchen to those of a culinary engineer. His food is thoughtfully designed and delicious. HOW you eat it matters just as much as the taste.

He made me three classic southern dishes: fried green tomatoes, deviled eggs and catfish, white beans and greens. Do not let the simplicity fool you.

Let's start with an absolute gem of southern cooking, a homemade favorite: fried green tomatoes. What

Tanner has done with this dish is downright ingenious. Without giving away too many of the secrets, these bad boys are breaded in panko.

The flavor is the same, maybe a little more savory than traditional bread crumbs, but the biggest advantage?

Never soggy. Not in the slightest.

When you take a bite, you get a bite.

Not a burn-your-mouth-half-bite where you accidentally pull out the whole tomato and are left with a sad empty shelf of soggy breading. But a crunchy, perfect tomato-to-breading ratio bite. The top is garnished with a homemade pimento cheese and candied bacon garnish. If that wasn’t enough, this bad boy sits on a bed of

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caramelized onions. Every single bite of this fried green tomato gets you singing "Dixieland Delight" in your head and praising Jesus every day of the week.

The deviled eggs were no ordinary hard-boiled two step either.

These were crawfish deviled eggs with roasted poblano peppers and fried crawfish tails. Deviled eggs are always good, even bad mayo-y ones are good. Now crawfish deviled eggs are a whole new experience all together. I didn’t know that boiled egg yoke needed crawfish in it so bad.

But, somehow, the Creole cooking gods whispered the sweet song of crawdaddies into Tanner’s dreams and made their way onto his menu.

An absolute gift.

I am not a picky person. I will eat just about anything, but I don’t generally choose to eat catfish. The batter is always a little too gritty or salty, and the seasoning falls short of doing the fish any justice. I set no expectations for Tanner’s version, which sat on a beautiful bed of white bean, bacon, and braised collard greens, but it absolutely changed my perspective of catfish as a meal. Instead of using a traditional breading, this catfish is potato crusted. The tartar sauce? Made from banana peppers. Revolutionary. The tartar sauce added so much depth to the dish, depth that the traditional fried catfish plate so desperately needed.

Getting to know Tanner was just as fun as eating his food. He’s clever and strives to give members at the

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Jackson Country Club something they know, but refreshed and with a twist. Being able to have a smaller, devoted customer base has its perks.

Tanner has grown with them and helped people try new and different things in a comfortable way.

We connected immediately in our lamentations about the culture surrounding food in West Tennessee.

I asked him about his efforts to expand the palette of his members.

One way he does this is through special Farm To Table dinners with wine pairings. All ingredients are sourced locally. He doesn’t release the menu. It's a surprise until it's brought out to the table where he comes out and explains each dish and the thoughts behind it.

“You gotta force yourself to change a little bit,” he said, when I asked what advice he could give to people who wanted to try something different but were hesitant. “Ask your waiter too, they’ve usually tried everything on the menu.” I believe that is great advice. Sometimes trying new things can be scary; you want to stick to what you know because you know it's good. But asking someone's advice, rather than trying to guess what something might taste like, can definitely give you the confidence to branch out. The human element is what helps make a local restaurant dining experience as special as it is, and has potential to be.

Some people may be put off by the fact that even to eat at the restaurant in the Country Club you have to have a membership. To

many, that isn’t an affordable luxury.

But if you are someone who loves food, and loves having a nice, quiet place to go and have a meal before a night out or a nightcap on your way back in, I believe it's worth it if your lifestyle allows it. In this day and age we sacrifice a lot of niceties. Things are more informal and relaxed for the sake of convenience. If you’ve been

considering any sort of membership there I’d say go for it, if only for the food and the ingenious culinary design that Chef Tanner creates.

Not only is Tanner a breath of fresh air, but his food is, too. It gives me hope for a resurgence and refinement of classical southern cooking (with the godsent Cajun influence) in our West Tennessee area.

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MARY FRIX HOME CHEF

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I

fell in love with Mary the moment I walked through her door.

She was warm and inviting and we spent the first hour of our meeting just chatting over a glass of wine.

Cooking is something that Mary found a passion for as a way to not only be frugal, but also as a way to express her love. The particular dish she made me, chicken marsala, is one she learned how to make as a date night meal to have with her husband, Wesley. “I was craving Olive Garden, but we were young and trying to save money so I decided to learn how to make it at home,” she tells me. “We ate a lot of chicken marsala for a while after that.”

Mary didn’t necessarily grow up cooking, but she always loved to bake.

Her mom is Filipino, and her dad American. Dinner was either classic meat, potatoes, or burgers if dad was cooking. If it was mom, traditional pancit or adobo. We bonded over our mutual love for Filipino food.

When I asked her if she could cook any of those dishes, she said that she has done adobo before, but her big goal is to ace pork belly. I told her I definitely need an invite to that taste test.

Cooking is one of Mary’s favorite creative outlets. She puts the time and love into whatever she makes, because she loves to make a good meal for her and her husband to share. Time spent eating together is an important

aspect of Mary’s relationship. When I asked her if Wesley was any help while she cooks, Mary said, “He can peel the hell out of a potato.”

You can tell Mary loves the technical side of the culinary arts.

She uses Pinterest to find new recipes, but there is always a learning curve.

“You have to get to know your kitchen,” she tells me. “Trial and error is the key to gaining confidence.” For example, when she wanted to learn how to make macaroons, it took several rounds to figure out that the 315 degree temp on most recipes was too hot for her oven. “280 was the sweet spot,” she said.

Mary finds a lot of joy in creating and serving a meal. When she handed me the plate to photograph (and then devour) I saw her eyes light up.

I remarked at how beautiful it looked and how wonderful it smelled and I could feel the intense amount of love and pride she had for what she made.

It made the meal itself all the more better.

As I ate it, I thought about Mary and her husband when they were young and just starting out, and the comfort they felt in being able to eat something at home that was better than the restaurants. While it’s nice to have a night out once in a while, it’s really tough to beat a home cooked meal made just for you, and Mary reminded me of that simple and beautiful pleasure.

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PAT RICE NANA

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client of mine named Hailee reached out to me when she heard I was working on this project. Her Nana, Pat Rice, had just turned 80 years old and was the steadfast, keep-the-home-fires burnin’ matriarch of the family — and her deserts were to die for.

I met her in her own home in North Jackson. Hailee and her children (Pat’s great grandchildren) were moseying about enjoying the afternoon with Nana. Pat was born in Finley, Tennessee, and started cooking sooner than most. Both her parents worked, so it was her responsibility to make sure dinner was ready for everyone in the evenings.

“They were harder to cook for than kids!” She laughed when she told me this. “Dad didn’t like pasta.”

White beans, cabbage, and cornbread

were the usual staple. “We had a happy life,” she told me, and the way she said it made me believe her.

Joy radiates from Pat, and we share the common feelings that having a meal with your family is the most important thing you can do and that love is absolutely the most important ingredient in any meal.

Pat’s faith is very important to her. Where she went to church and her beliefs in Jesus were some of the first things she told me. She leads with love, in every aspect of her life: “I love to give of myself.” To Pat, there is nothing better than the family coming together for dinner.

That was her family’s favorite time of the day during her childhood. It was their chance to catch everyone up on their busy lives, make decisions, ask for guidance, and, of course, enjoy a hot meal. “Sometimes we discussed

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mighty loud and mighty hard,” she said.

“But we always got it all worked out.”

Even now, Pat makes it her duty to make sure her loved ones are fed, loved, and cared for. Her children and grandchildren all have active, busy lives.

When her granddaughter Hailee works her shifts at the hospital, Pat makes sure she’s got a casserole waiting for her when she gets home.

I asked Pat if she had a recipe book she used, and she excitedly grabbed a very well-loved cookbook that she's had for years. I gently thumbed through the yellowed pages; I held it with two hands and was mindful of the collapsing spine.

I thought of how many times she may have had this open during the holidays or big Sunday dinners, casually referencing temperatures and ratios.

Pat makes everything from scratch. I joined her in the kitchen and got to watch her whip up some peanut butter fudge.

She told me that the key to successful fudge is letting it boil long enough to form “the ball stage.” Soft-ball stage refers to a specific temperature range when cooking sugar syrups, occurring between 235 and 245 F. In addition to using a candy thermometer, this stage can be determined by dropping a spoonful of 2 8 • OUR JAC KSO N HO ME

hot syrup into a bowl of very cold water.

She demonstrated this technique as it was all new information to me — I don’t fancy myself a dessert maker beyond box brownies and funfetti cake.

It was fascinating to watch her work.

Her great-grandchildren huddled around her, and she let them be a part of each step.

It was a beautiful thing to bear witness to.

Without a doubt, peanut butter fudge is a national treasure in itself, and I think it is a very important element to the happiness of the average person. However, the bigger takeaway from my visit with Pat is the confirmation that who makes your food is just as important as actually eating it. We all deserve to be loved and love others in some capacity, and food is a beautiful way of expressing and receiving that love. Pat was an excellent example of said love in motion. In the short time I spent with her, I felt loved and cared for like she was my own Nana.

Pat is a reflection of all that is good and wholesome in this world. She shows her loved ones and strangers care and tenderness through her service to others in and outside of this kitchen. We are lucky to have citizens like Pat Rice in our community. •

We all deserve to be loved and love others in some capacity, and food is a beautiful way of expressing and receiving that love.

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POEM | BOBBY R O GE R S

Get Well Note for Elizabeth Caldwell When my second grade teacher was dying, my mother had me sit down and write her

a note. I was in the third grade by then with no idea what to say. “Thank her for being a good teacher” (my mother was a master

of the form), “and tell her you hope she gets well soon.” But I couldn’t have said if she was a good teacher, and from the way it

was discussed—not the words so much as the perfection of the silences that shimmed them apart—the getting well soon was not

in the offing. I’d already forgotten most of second grade, which had been a repeat of first, nothing new to be learned except

how to keep your pencil on the page so a line of childish print could turn to cursive. Wasn’t I supposed to leave it behind, get

promoted and move on? She’d disappeared into the house where her husband the doctor had already died. So I sat down finally and

wrote the words I’d been told to write in the slanting characters Mrs. Caldwell had taught me, but she was dead before the

mailman delivered them, my get well note staled into elegy. What’s an elegy ever done for the elegized? It’s a prettified excuse for

not saying all you should have said when it might have mattered. No town name was needed with the street address, just

“City” and an 8¢ Willa Cather stamp. Why was it this hard to get something down my mother could say so easily aloud? Every week on the

way to piano lessons I rode my bike past her house. The new owners would be working in the flowerbeds or washing their

station wagon in the narrow driveway, proud of their shelter. They’d put on a layer of asphalt shingles and painted the bricks a

stately gray, but the house never lost its name, the Dr. Caldwell house, where my teacher died and a useless letter,

penned in a creditable cursive hand, is waiting to be opened. .

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COMEUNITY CAFÉ CHEFS

ComeUnity at Home O N C O O K I N G F R O M S C R AT C H

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I N T R O BY AU STI N L . B R OW N P HOTOG R A P H Y BY C A R I G R I F F I TH ST YL I N G BY MO R G A N WA L K E R C A R KU F F P L AT ES BY ME G A N W I N TE R

AUSTIN BROWN

JESSE PERKINS

Cooking at home should never be stressful or frustrating.

Whether you’re throwing together a simple lunch or making dinner for the neighborhood, it should be a pleasant, relaxing experience. You also don’t need to be a classically trained chef or have a kitchen stocked with exotic ingredients to whip up something delicious. Anyone can do this.

Jesse Perkins and I have been chefs at the ComeUnity Café for six years now. Jesse has been there since day one, and I came on board about a year later. The Café’s menu changes daily, with items made from as many locally sourced ingredients as possible. To us, creative freedom coupled with helping the community makes cooking there a dream job.

However, when people hear about our routine, their response is often how terrifying that sounds. Then sprinkle on the fact that most mornings we go into our kitchen with no idea what we’ll be making that day; I can see how that may sound intimidating to some. However, like I said, cooking should never be stressful.

The process of making our menus isn’t grandiose. Sometimes we plan

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out a menu a day or two before, food on her blog, but we’ll use but most days everything you see it more as a guide than anything was hastily thrown together from else. We like to cook instinctually what we currently had in the at the Café, and so should you.

(Unless you’re baking. Then you fridge.

Our first step, after starting better follow that recipe to the the coffee and tea, is usually Jesse letter.) After the dust settles, and I shambling to the fridges, we get to work, delegating the shouting “Soooo, what do we easier tasks to our volunteers and handling the more have” to each other demanding prep in between quoting Guy Ritchie’s Snatch We like to cook work ourselves.

While our menus and 90’s Jim Carrey instinctually at are a collective effort, movies. We take a the Café, and Jesse usually takes quick inventory of so should you. point on the soups. what’s available and plan accordingly.

(Unless you’re Let me tell you, he is great at it. We’ve Often it’s Jesse’s baking. Then worked together for latest haul from the you better almost a decade, and Farmer’s Market, follow that he has never ceased but not always. In to amaze me with his fact, sizable portions recipe to the culinary creativity of our ingredients letter.) and ingenuity. What are donations from that man can do people looking to help out, or from Grubb's Grocery, with random groceries, a kitchen who we are not ashamed to admit knife, and a wooden spoon is like have saved our skins more times watching Rembrandt with his than we can count. This menu, paintbrush or Mozart with his... for instance, was purposefully music stick? My point is, the composed of groceries you may number of times I’ve witnessed already have sitting in your fridge. Jesse pull a miracle from a If not, that’s okay too, everything toboggan would make your head we use is quite affordable. We’re spin.

Anyway, enough story time. all about getting the most bang If you read through this, good on for your buck at the Café.

After we determine what the you. I hope my introduction was menu will be, depending on the slightly more entertaining than obscurity of our ideas, we’ll check Karen’s casserole stories.

Now’s the time to wash your to see if any of it already exists on the internet. Most of the time it hands, glove up, and get to work. does, and we’ll take note of how You can do it. I believe in you. someone like “Karen” makes her Let’s go!

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B

Sandwich T L

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THINGS YOU WILL NEED:

Heat source (oven, stove, the sun) Soup pot and wooden spoon Cutting utensil (kitchen knife, laser beam) Cutting surface (cutting board, chopping block for deserters of the Night’s Watch) Food processor/immersion blender (or a pestle & mortar if you want to be oletimey) GROCERIES YOU WILL NEED:

• • • • • • • • • • •

Avocado Bacon Bunch green onion Bunch parsley Butter Chicken broth Crusty bread (we prefer sourdough) Feta crumbles Fresh dill Good mayo (we prefer Duke’s) Garlic

C R E A M Y F E TA D I L L DRESSING:

1 C plain yogurt 1 T good mayo 2 cloves garlic (minced) Juice of 1 lemon Salt & pepper to taste ½ C feta crumbles 1 T fresh dill 1 T red wine vinegar

In a large bowl, combine everything thoroughly.

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• • • • • • • • • • •

Heavy cream Heirloom tomato Lemons Olive oil Parmesan Rose Creek lettuce Plain Greek yogurt Radish Red wine vinegar Sprig rosemary Yellow onion

ROSE CREEK GARDEN SALAD:

Avocado (sliced or diced) Radish (sliced super-duper thin) Green onion (chopped) Heirloom tomato (if the tomato is large, dice. If not, quarter it) Rose Creek lettuce Toss everything in a salad bowl and add the desired amount of creamy dressing.

Creek Ga e s o rde R n

Sa

la d

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WINTER GARLIC SOUP 10-12 cloves garlic Olive oil 2 T butter 1 yellow onion 1 sprig rosemary 1 qt chicken broth ½ loaf stale crusty bread (perhaps the leftover sourdough) 1 C heavy cream

Preheat soup pot to 350.

Toss garlic in olive oil and roast until golden brown.

Sauté onion and garlic in butter.

Add chicken broth, simmer.

Add cream and bread, simmer (I’m going to be honest with you, at this stage, the soup won’t look pretty. But worry not, this frog will turn into a prince soon enough. Trust me.)

Blend thoroughly with immersion or food processor.

Enjoy!

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Winter Garlic Soup

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B LT

Marmilu Farms bacon (If you want to get a little crazy, sprinkle ~1 T brown sugar over the bacon halfway through cooking. Candied bacon is a true unsung hero) Pesto Heirloom tomato (sliced) Rose Creek lettuce Crusty sourdough

Cook bacon (Technically, you can cook the bacon however you want. At the Café, we prefer to preheat the oven at 400 and cook the bacon on an oven-safe wire rack over a tray. Helps drain the grease and gives it an excellent crisp.)

Toast sourdough and spread on pesto.

Stack the sandwich to your liking, adding as much bacon, tomato, or lettuce as you desire. Nothing has to be even. It’s your BLT, after all.

PESTO 4 oz Rose Creek basil Bunch green onion Bunch parsley 4 cloves garlic Salt & pepper Squeeze of lemon ¼ C Parmesan Olive oil

Combine all except olive oil in the food processor.

Pulse, gradually adding olive oil, until reaching desired smoothness.

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The Woolworth’s Sit-Ins PRESERVING LOCAL CIVIL RIGHTS HISTORY

BY GABE HART I L L U S T R AT I O N S B Y H I L A R Y G R I F F I T H

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W

hen I was 28 years old, I separated my right shoulder. It happened during the first game of an all day flag football tournament. I was chasing the quarterback and moving a lot faster in my mind than in reality, and I dove with my right arm extended as far as I could stretch it. I landed on the ground just like that, my right arm stretched to exhaustion. When I hit the ground, my shoulder separated from whatever ligament or socket it was supposed to be attached. I knew immediately that something was wrong. I stayed face down on the field for a few seconds and slowly made my way up to my feet. The only thing I could think of was to find someone to “pop my shoulder back into place.” Luckily, there were multiple volunteers who offered to do it, and I stood leaning against the palms of an opponent as my shoulder found its way back home.

Over the course of the day and multiple games, my shoulder went in and out of place until finally it froze.

That’s the medical term the doctor used to describe it when I went to the walkin clinic that night. He said my shoulder had essentially become stuck in place (which was actually out of place) in order to protect itself. It’s like my brain had overridden my desire to instinctively move my arm to play a silly game. My body and mind were protecting me from further injury because I was too stubborn (see: dumb) to protect myself.

For several months, I couldn’t lift my right arm all the way up. I was coaching middle school softball at the time, and I couldn’t throw batting practice the entire season. There were times when my shoulder would feel completely fine, and then I would move it too far one way or

too far another way and the pain would come back. Finally, after several months, my pain was gone. I could reach as high as I wanted. I could pick my daughter up with both arms again. It’s like my shoulder had never been separated from its natural location.

The new football season started in April, and I was back out there because recreational sports meant a little more to me than they should have. The first game of the season, I once again found myself pursuing the quarterback and, once again, I dove out of instinct. This time, however, I automatically tucked my right shoulder before I hit the ground. The next time I dove, the same thing happened. Even when I would tell myself not to tuck, my right arm still found a way to pull itself into my body before I hit the ground.

My body was once again protecting itself from my stupidity.

Despite what you may read in your local gym, pain is not weakness leaving the body. In fact, pain is a reminder that we are weak. Our bodies are temporary.

They break down. They age. Pain is our alarm system. It’s not something to be ignored.

Pain is not exclusive to our bodies.

We all have suffered emotional pain for different reasons — a loved one passes, affection from someone isn’t returned, a friend moves away. On a deeper level, there are pains that we may not have experienced or inflicted directly.

These are generational pains. These pains can include racism, sexism, and any inequality that one group of people imposes on another group of people. This pain should not simply be forgotten or ignored. It’s a story that should be told again and again to remind us to protect ourselves.

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O

nly sixty years ago, our town, like much of the south, was in the middle of its own pain. Jim Crow laws had allowed states and communities to practice legal segregation under the guise of “separate but equal.” While clearly separating “coloreds” from “whites,” the results of that separation were anything but equal. Many times, these laws would be enforced by racist vigilantes before they were ever enforced by local law enforcement. Law enforcement would take a protester to jail; a vigilante would degrade a protester through physical and emotional violence.

The effects of this pain have been residual — reverberating across decades and generations. Its consequences have left some people fighting to claw their way out from under the oppression. It has caused some people to simply give up.

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I

n 1960, the Civil Rights everyone just sort of stopped and movement was spreading looked. They knew why we were rapidly across the southern there, though. It didn’t take them United States. This was especially long to start harassing us once we sat true in larger cities like Nashville, down. They didn’t touch me because Memphis, and Birmingham. I was a woman, but I did get spit on.

However, in Jackson, segregation They hit the boys in the side of their was still in full effect. Schools were heads. They boxed their ears,” Mrs. obviously segregated. The same went Mercer recalled. for restaurants and water fountains.

I’ve seen the black and white The city buses also had preferential video clips of the horrific scenes from seating based on one’s skin color. the Civil Rights Movement. I’ve read A group of Lane College students words from a page that described had heard about the moments of T H E F I R S T D AY lunch counter situnnecessary trauma. ins and bus boycotts I’ve viewed the W E WA L K E D in other cities and interactive exhibits IN THERE wanted to bring the at the National Civil E V E RYO N E same type of pressure Rights Museum in J U S T S O RT O F Memphis. Until I to Jackson. One of S TO P P E D A N D spoke with Mrs. those four students was Shirlene Mercer, L O O K E D . T H E Y Mercer, however, who still lives in K N E W W H Y W E I had never heard Jackson today. those stories from W E R E T H E R E , “I was only someone who THOUGH. seventeen when we experienced that started the protests,” pain willingly and Mrs. Mercer explained. “We had sacrificially for the greater good of heard about the lunch counter sit-ins her people. in Nashville and decided we need to “We were arrested every day,” do that here, too.”

Mrs. Mercer said. “They didn’t take Mrs. Mercer said that the group me to jail because I was a woman, targeted public transportation first. but we kept going back. It lasted a With support from the African- couple of years.”

American community in Jackson, bus Day after day, the group of boycotts had an almost immediate students would sit at a table and not impact. In a matter of days, public be served. They would be hit. They transportation was desegregated. The would be spat on. They would be group then turned their attention to arrested. All of this occurring in a town where people knew each other, lunch counters.

“The first day we walked in there at the very least by face, if not name.

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“ I WA S O N L Y S E V E N T E E N W H E N W E STAR TED THE PROTESTS,” MRS. MERCER EXPLAINED. “WE HAD HEARD ABOUT THE LUNCH COUNTER SIT-INS IN NASHVILLE AND DECIDED WE NEED TO DO THAT HERE, TOO.”

It’s one thing to be ignored by a stranger or mocked by someone you’ve never seen. It’s an entirely different type of humiliation to be degraded by a fellow Jacksonian — by a person who you may have seen countless times before you were struck in the face by them.

“One Sunday, we walked into a white church. Some members got up and left the sanctuary. I didn’t understand that. I didn’t understand the water fountains, either. The water was coming from the same place. We were drinking the same water.”

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S

ixty years after Mrs. Mercer and her friends sat at the Woolworth’s lunch counter, that very same counter and chairs were put on display at The Old Country Store as a way to preserve the sacrifice, bravery, and pain of Jackson’s civil rights pioneers.

Along with the original chairs and counter, the exhibit also has a narrative displayed that tells the story of these Lane College students and the risks they took that most people will never truly understand or appreciate unless they’ve lived that life themselves.

At the unveiling of the exhibit, Lane College President Logan

I

Hampton spoke. NAACP President Harrell Carter spoke. Jackson Mayor Scott Conger offered words of encouragement to a group of students who were present. Clark Shaw explained the importance of the display. Each of these men play a significant role in our community.

Two black men and two white men spoke in front of a display that is there to remind us that from pain can come healing, but there cannot be healing without the acknowledgment of pain. We have to understand our wounds to treat them. We also have to realize that there is scar tissue that still needs to be stretched. Yes, it hurts, but it’s also necessary.

f I look close enough in the mirror, I can see that my right shoulder hangs just a fraction lower than my left. It never quite made it back to where it was before it unnaturally separated from the joint. My days of recklessly throwing my body around a field are long gone, but sometimes when I’m exercising or reaching a little more than I should for something, my shoulder will catch — just a flash of pain reminding me to be careful.

I didn’t ask Mrs. Mercer if she ever pictures herself at that lunch counter or ever has dreams about those days that feel so real that she wakes up suddenly. I didn’t ask her if she feels like those events happened to a different person because, in a way, she has lived two lives, pre and post segregation. I didn’t need to ask her those questions, though, because she made it clear that this is a story worth telling. “As long as I can, I’ll tell this story,” she said.

There are four words in bold at the top of the exhibit - faith, courage, sacrifice, freedom. Each of those words are accurate descriptors for what took place in Jackson in the 1960’s. I think two words could be added to that list — pain and healing. •

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THE WORLD RIGHT HERE

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AT H O M E

ORLD

EXPLORE

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THE

A VOL . 6 , ISS U E 1 : AROU ND OU R TAB L E • 49

BY COURTNEY SEARCY

I love a good recommendation. If you can tell me what you love and why you love it, chances are it will open me up to trying a new dish I wouldn't have tried on my own. Chronic indecision? Let someone else decide for you.

The Jackson International Food and Art Festival has given us the chance to experience more food from the International community, and every year I look forward to making my way down the street lined with vendors and sampling a little something of everything.

My favorite moment of the festival is the parade, when every culture represented takes to the street in their traditional clothing, music playing and the streets full of dancing and cheers. It's a glimpse of our city in all of its fullness, and a vision of hope for unity in the future. Many of the vendors present have restaurants here in Jackson we can support all year long, so I asked my friends to reccomend their favorite dishes from these restaurants. While many of our travel plans are on hold, take it as a chance to branch out to a new dish our two.

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JAMAICAN & AFRICAN C U I S I N E Jerk Chicken. Kevin

Adelsberger put me on to this place a few years ago and it is one of my favorites. Food is amazing. Nothing else like it in Jackson and the owners are so kind and appreciative every time I visit. Love them and this place! Ryan

Porter

I was nervous to branch out and ate there everyday last week. Jerk Chicken, Rice & Beans, Cabbage. Spinach soup is pretty good too. Brian James SAKURA

is my favorite restaurant anywhere, hands down. I love their mermaid salad, the quail eggs, and the shitake mushroom rolls. I have warm memories of going there with my friends and family for years. It was the go-to "fancy" date for me and my husband when we were dating. I go there any time I go to Jackson for a visit and it never fails to feel like just another piece of being home. Heather

Wyatt Dozier

The tacos al pastor from T A K O S B O R U K A S are absolutely insane Jesse Perkins

MEDITERRANEAN C U I S I N E Shawarma Beef

Platter.

The meat is seasoned to perfection. The saffron rice is killer, and where else in town can you get some saffron rice?

The pita and hummus is amazing.

Everything is top notch! Kelsey

Meadows

T A K O S U P R E M O is our favorite taco. Be sure to get the fresh cilantro, onion and lime no matter what you order. Tops off everything perfectly. The family is so kind and they make you feel appreciated when you walk in.

They are also on top of their service.

E L M A R I A C H I They have the best quesadillas in town. So we think.

Excellent service with a smile. Best bang for your buck. Dawn Measley Carlton

THE A & S I N T E R N AT I O N A L F O O D M A R K E T has the best gyros and

tzatziki sauce and the people there are the most genuine. I have the most enjoyable conversations anytime I go in there and the food is incredible. Marianne Hawes

I love the Phoenix roll at A S I A G A R D E N , and T H A I C A F E shrimp with lobster sauce.

The food is fantastic & seasoned according to your desired spice level, and the portion sizes are on the generous side of gigantic. Alfred Custer

L A C U B A N I T A I love their chicken empanada and tostones rellenos. The owners are so sweet and the food is always great. Lisa Garner SIZZLER

Shrimp Mala Curry is probably my favorite dish in all of Jackson. I’ve tried to recreate it myself and have gotten pretty close but never quite the same! Angel Hodgin

L A M I C H O C H A N A I have a sweet tooth, so the popsicles are a goto treat for me. I'm a big fan of the avocado flavor, if you're looking to try something new.

Courtney Searcy THAI CAFE

Shrimp fried rice.

Seriously one of the best dishes I’ve ever eaten. Super consistent, so flavorful, and prepared with so much love. I adore the chef and staff. Such a safe, warm place to hang. Katie Howerton

L O S P O R T A L E S Enchiladas Suiza - one of each.The cheese sauce, green salsa, and filling variety cannot be beat!

Los Portales is a staple in Jackson. The service is always friendly, the food is quick, they use quality ingredients, and it is always delicious! Allison Erath

Shipp

G O N Z Á L E Z PA P U S E R I A

The pupusas, such a great good. They are a traditional street food in El Salvador.

Make sure you get some of the pickled cabbage too. González is a very welcoming place, and everything they have is delicious. I also very much like to order plantains with refried beans and sour cream. L A B A M B A is an underappreciated hole in the wall. While it is mainly a Hispanic grocery store, they also have hot food and a small seating area (actually all the Hispanic groceries in Jackson are like this). I recommend a Baleada Especial, it's a traditional Honduran breakfast served in a flour tortilla. John Mark Maust

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The Miracle Mac n’ Cheese

BY OLIVIA CHIN

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One cloudy summer evening in a quiet Memphis neighborhood, a miracle occurred.

The miracle worker, born and raised in Bells, was my grandmother, Nell Davis Skelton. She had curly, dyed brown hair that was often styled in a pouf reminiscent of a sixties beehive. The large, pitch-black sunglasses that she often wore made me think of a movie star, and she acted like one, too: confident, stylish, opinionated. There was always some new gossip to talk about with Grandmama, and she’d worry and judge and laugh about it in turn. She’d twist her ankle around and around as she talked to you, a sign of pent-up, nervous energy.

Grandmama was, among other things, a cook. Her kitchen was small, but it smelled like fresh rolls or greens, depending on the day. The ranch-style Memphis house that she lived in was just the right size to host my family of four for a meal. Even though Grandmama was getting older, she still loved to cook for herself and us. We’d ask her to sit down, let us stir what was in the boiling pot, but she’d be right back up again before we could blink. Her back problems meant nothing to her when she was trying to cook.

We enjoyed Grandmama’s cooking, especially the Sara Lee rolls that she covered in butter. But to be honest, Grandmama was not known for her skills at mac n' cheese. I don’t know which kinds of cheese she used for it- Velveeta? American?- but her mac n' cheese was often crusty. The noodles were a light yellow color, while huge globs of a dark

orange mixture melded it all together. My brother and I were taught to scoop a small bit onto our plates and eat it anyway, but we made sure to immediately wash it down with whichever Coke product that Grandmama had in her spare refrigerator. It wasn’t like the mac n' cheese that Mom made at home in Jackson, which was full of various shredded cheeses and milk and was creamy, not crunchy.

Everything would change on that one summer evening. _______ Dad drove Mom, my brother Nathaniel, and me back from our Arizona trip with the tired focus of a man on a mission. Piled up in our gold minivan that we just called “The Van,” we stared out the windows and listened to our stomachs begin to rumble. We were returning from our one and only big road trip as a family, and I felt both relieved and sad. I had never been to the Southwest before, and I fell in love with the dry air and blue skies. Returning to the Southeast was both a comfort and an annoyance. We’d left behind the cacti, oil wells, and succulent gardens to drive back to humidity, giant trees, and clouds. The weather is always unpredictable in Tennessee, but one thing is for sure: the summer air is going to be so thick you may as well choke on it.

The Van wound its way through miles and miles of Interstate until we reached Memphis, our last stop before Jackson. I remember pulling up to my Grandmama’s house, yellow brick with a small front porch, and I think we parked in her backyard for some reason? Then the four of us tumbled out of The Van and into her kitchen.

Grandmama had prepared a home-cooked dinner for us in celebration of our return.

Sometimes we’d just order Papa John’s and eat sausage pizza at Grandmama’s table, but not today. She had been working in the kitchen for hours to cultivate a feast.

I can’t remember everything we ate in detail, but it was probably something like this: creamed corn, turnip greens, Sara Lee rolls, VOL . 6 , ISS U E 1 : AROU ND OU R TAB L E • 53

dry white turkey. What I do remember, and and we just desperately craved some home what my family still talks about in wonder to cooking? Had Grandmama forgotten that this day, was the mac n' cheese. There it was, she had made a change to the recipe? Was in its yellow and orange glory, in a giant glass Grandmama’s crusty mac n' cheese actually dish that begged to be eaten by less-than- objectively good all along, and it took a more willing but dutiful grandchildren. Nathaniel creamy batch for us to finally see the light? eyed the dish like it was a prison cell for his There was one thing that we all agreed tastebuds, but he plopped the mixture onto on: this was to be known henceforth as his plate like always, and I quickly followed. the “Miracle Mac n' Cheese.” We couldn’t The first bite of the mac n' cheese was explain it, and my dad’s pastor status gave followed instantly by gasps around the table. the word “Miracle” a little extra weight to “Grandmama,” I groaned. “This is the the event. Grandmama never made that best mac n' cheese you have ever made!” same quality of mac n' cheese again- she Somehow, a miracle had happened. stopped cooking in the years that followed, Everyone was getting seconds before their as her health started to decline and she firsts were even finished. Plates were piling moved away from her home to live with my up with mac n' cheese all over the kitchen. uncle and his partner in Southaven.

Grandmama beamed as Watching Grandmama we all praised the mac n' missing out on her favorite The first cheese, which was abruptly activities due to her health bite of the creamy and delicious instead — cooking, doing her hair of crunchy and weird like and makeup, shopping, mac ‘n’ cheese her other batches (we didn’t on the floor with was followed playing mention her other batches great-grandchildren was instantly by in the praise). Mom later devastating. seemed offended. Didn’t Still, even after gasps around we remember how much Grandmama had passed the table. we liked her mac n' cheese away, we always remembered at home, which was always the brightness that made her consistent? — but we were all united in how who she was. She was the strong woman this special batch of mac n' cheese was the who kept the family going when Grandaddy greatest we had ever tasted at Grandmama’s died suddenly, and she was the powerhouse. walking, deal-finding investigator whose We asked Grandmama what she had put energy for shopping outlasted the younger in the mac n' cheese, careful not to make family members every time. Grandmama disparaging remarks about her former held baby after baby- her own, and then her batches, but she said that she had just mixed grandchildren and great-grandchildren- and the same ingredients and set the same cook her arms didn’t tire. She sang hymns when time that she had for years. The oven was the Grandaddy annoyed her, and she answered same, the kitchen the same, the glass dish the to every name that we gave her over the same. It was secretly infuriating. What had years: “Sweetheart,” “Grandmama,” and changed?

“Mother.” I think we remember the Miracle Years later, my family would still speculate Mac n' Cheese not as a joke, although it about just why the mac n' cheese was so was funny, but as a tribute to Grandmama. good that day. Was it the fact that we were all She wasn’t perfect. None of us are — but she so tired and hungry from our long road trip, was loved. •

54 • OUR JAC KS O N HO M E

She wasn’t perfect.

None of us are — but she was loved.

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A U S T I N L . B R O W N is a chef at

ComeUnity Cafe and has lived in Jackson his entire life. He graduated from Northside High School by the skin of his teeth in 2007.

He discovered his passion for cooking in 2010 and joined the Cafe in 2014. He lives in midtown, and enjoys binge watching YouTube with his lovely wife, Chelsea, playing with his two children, Aiden, 9, and Willow Rose, 4, and loves writing, getting tattoos, reading, cooking, and listening to reggae music while drinking on his porch with friends.

O L I V I A C H I N is the Circulation Manager at the Union University Library.

Her best Halloween costumes (so far) have been David Bowie and Freddie Mercury.

Her favorite hobbies include drinking local coffee, reading true crime novels, and going to emo concerts with her husband.

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C A R I G R I F F I T H is a photographer by

trade who loves storytelling of all kinds. After a couple of years away in Nashville, she and her husband Rob decided Jackson was calling them home, and they moved back to their beloved Lambuth area neighborhood. Cari's other loves include gardening, cooking, sharing meals with her friends, and trying to talk Rob into getting a dog.

H I L A R Y G R I F F I T H is a freelance

illustrator, designer, storyteller, artist and mama. After a few years of residing in Nashville, she and her family recently moved back to Jackson, her hometown. In the in-betweens, she just tries to take time to remember and appreciate the good things.

Contributors IN THIS ISSUE

DECEMBER RAIN HANSEN

was born and raised in Anchorage, Alaska but has made West Tennessee her home for the last 7 years. She is a photographer and writer who looks for ways to push her own boundaries within her work and seeks to question the world around her.

G A B E H A R T is an English and

Language Arts teacher at Northeast Middle School. He was born and raised in Jackson, graduating from Jackson Central-Merry in 1997 and Union University in 2001. Gabe enjoys spending time and traveling with his daughter, Jordan, who is eight years old.

His hobbies include reading, writing, and playing sports, even though he’s getting too old for the last one. Gabe lives in Midtown Jackson and has a desire to see all of Jackson grow together.

A B B Y W O L F Z O R N R U B Y is a

multi media artist living in Jackson, TN. She grew up overseas in a family of six and now lives with her husband in the states.

She explores the sacredness of the everyday life in her work.

B O B B Y C . R O G E R S is the author

of Paper Anniversary, which won the Agnes Lynch Starrett Prize, and Social History, in the Southern Messenger Poets Series from LSU Press. He teaches at Union University.

K Y L E R C . S T U B B L E F I E L D is

a Mass Communication major at Lane College. Her home town is Richmond, Texas. She aspires to help others as well as her community through writing.

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