Carla Hall
That time in my life is the inspiration behind my children’s book, “Carla and the Christmas Cornbread.” Food, family and love were all wrapped together during those early days, and that’s the story the book tells. In reality, though, our Christmas table wasn’t just for my immediate family — cousins, aunts, uncles and other relatives would come from all over Tennessee, New York and Michigan, filling the house with energy and laughter.
One of my fondest memories is how Granny would wait until we arrived to start making her famous cornbread. She made it fresh, and her cinnamon butter really took it over the top — just butter, powdered sugar, cinnamon and a splash of vanilla extract. You had to eat it hot, right out of the oven.
And then there were her yeast rolls. She always placed the dough in the warmest spot in the house, usually near a radiator, to let it rise. The smell of those rolls filled the house throughout the day. That memory stuck with me so much that to this day I always add a little extra yeast to my bread recipes, trying to recapture that magic.
Dinner at Granny and Doc’s always was a feast. My grandfather was a doctor, and in those days many people didn’t have cash to pay him. Instead, they’d bring food — hams, turkeys and even fresh produce from their gardens. So, our Christmas table overflowed with abundance. Granny’s pickled condiments, like cucumbers and onions with a touch of dill, were served alongside peeled, sliced tomatoes. There were always her mixed greens — collards and mustards — and candied sweet potatoes with marshmallows for the kids.
Of all the dishes, her five-flavor pound cake with boiled custard was my favorite. Years later, when I went to culinary school, I learned that what we called “boiled custard” was actually crème anglaise. But to me, it will always be boiled custard, and that cake always will remind me of her.
The day wasn’t just about food, though. My grandfather would collect coins throughout the year, and on Christmas Day my sister and I would pour them all out onto the floor to divide up. We’d start with the quarters — one for her, one for me — and work our way down to the pennies. Then, we’d put the coins into those little saver books you could get from the bank. I loved those books and wish I’d saved at least one.
By the afternoon, the house was packed with relatives — 20 or 30 people at its peak. People were always coming and going, making it feel so festive. Granny had a carousel of candy canes in different flavors. My favorite was lemon, but I’d always grab a peppermint, too.
At the end of the day, we’d get back into the car and head home. We never spent the night; it was just that one perfect day. Those Christmases were special and always will be. Even now, when I visit Nashville, I still feel like that kid waiting for Christmas. It’s my favorite holiday, a time when old memories mix with new ones, just like a recipe that deepens in flavor with each passing year.