Hola Mi Gente,
We just got back from four days without WiFi, in beautiful Eastern Oregon on a retreat with the high school youth group at our church. We left the ranch we were at in pillows of snow, and drove into Portland to get even more snow here. It’s been so sorely needed, because this winter has been unexpectedly dry. After a few years here, I know that dry, unusually warm winters, mean poor economic seasons for communities around Mt. Hood, and dry, wildfire-prone forests come summertime. Last year, we got a lot of rain and snow, and we still had ashes raining over the city throughout the summer from wildfires as far away as Vancouver B.C.
So the snow is so very welcome. Snow has a way of slowing down every community I’ve ever lived in. Georgia is historically not good at snow–selling out of milk and bread at the mere mention of the possibility of snow. Last year, Portland was shut down for over a week (while we were happily in Sunny San Diego, might I add) after a massive snow storm. I recognize that this is frustrating and hard for parents, caretakers, and first responders, but goodness, do I love the snow. I love the extra light it gives us. I love how beautiful trees look. I love being stranded at the house for a little while (especially as an introvert recovering from a high-energy, high-interaction weekend).
Yesterday morning, before things got too crazy, I went out to the grocery store to stock our fridge for the week. I had a few specific meals planned out that I was shopping for, but in between getting out of my car and walking into the store I realized that there was no better meal for the night, other than Chili. And while I had planned to make cornbread later on in the week, I couldn’t get the thought of buttery, crumbly cornbread out of my head either. As I walked the wild aisles of Fred Meyer, I started thinking about how to elevate my basic cornbread recipe, and once I landed on the thought of brown butter and rosemary, I couldn’t stop thinking of anything else.
This past weekend was blurry and fast.
The kind of fast that makes you feel alive, though. The kind of fast that happens when you’re savoring the moment and simultaneously building towards a bigger, better moment. I don’t talk a lot about my faith in this space, because generally, I would rather talk about that face to face. I recognize that many people have been hurt by churches and religious leaders (🙋🏽♀️ you are not alone in this), and so I try to communicate as much love and care in this space as possible. But cooking this recipe, and taking the time to slow down after the fast, I couldn’t stop thinking about how God exists in every kind of moment. The blurry fast when it feels like life is rushing out of you, and the gentle slowness that comes with winding down to look back and process the good and hard of this life.
The browning of the butter felt like a reminder that
- good things come from high pressure, high heat situations. That many times when we think we’re burning, we’re being transformed into more flavorful, potent versions of ourselves.
- that what seems like extra work and extra effort, makes you linger in enjoyment at the result.
As I sprinkled on the rosemary and rosemary salt, I literally felt so much gratitude for the way something as small as a few leaves could change the flavor of something so much, for the better. It made me hope big, that my life has the effect of a little rosemary in others’ lives. Adding a little flavor to the everyday. Inviting change to our daily habits. Encouraging a little extra work and a little extra lingering in enjoyment.
Maybe that all sounds a little much for you for a simple cornbread recipe, but I feel like those moments in the kitchen are some of the ways I know I was made for cooking. The mixture of all the flavors to make something cohesively beautiful. I will never ever take for granted the lessons I’ve learned with my apron on. These flavors: the earthy, nutty flavor of brown butter, the rosemary crunched on top–paired with rosemary salt for flavor in every bite–they’re little things with big impact. Just like I’d like to think you and I are.
I hope if you make this recipe, you feel full of flavor. That instead of the daunting task of changing the world, you could and enjoy and celebrate that your individual life makes a difference in your community. You add flavor and you have impact.
Love, love love,
Brown Butter Rosemary Cornbread
Ingredients
- 3 C Cornmeal
- 2 1/4 C All Purpose Flour
- 2 TSP Salt
- 2 1/2 TSP Baking Powder
- 2 1/2 TSP Baking Soda
- 4 TBSP Granulated Sugar
- 3 eggs
- 2 C Milk
- 1 C Butter Browned
- 1 TBSP Dried Rosemary
- Sprinkle Rosemary Salt I used Jacobsen's Rosemary Salt (if you don't have this, crush some dried rosemary with a little kosher salt to sprinkle on top).
Instructions
- In a 12" castiron pan, begin to melt butter over medium-high heat. Allow it to bubble and foam, and after about 5 minutes, check with a spoon to see check that it's becoming golden brown. Cook until there are brown specks in the butter, but it is not burned. Transfer to a bowl and reserve browned butter. Using a baking brush, brush leftover butter in the pan along the bottom and sides of the pan.
- Preheat oven to 425 F. In a large bowl, combine all the dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, and brown butter. Add wet ingredients to the large bowl with flour and dry ingredients and stir until combined. Scoop into the pan and level out with a spatula. Sprinkle with dried rosemary and rosemary salt, and bake for 20 minutes. Let cool for 10 minutes, slice and serve warm.
Mary-Beth Johnson
Mary-Beth is a creative, food-obsessed, Georgia transplant living Chicago. She is proudly and fiercely Latina, and more specifically Chapina. In her day to day she is a food educator to students around Chicagoland aged 3 to 80+, both virtually and in-person. She is passionate about cultivating the truth that every person has an understanding of food that deserves being brought to the table, and that time in the kitchen can be sacred, passionate, and an act of love for self and others. Outside the kitchen you can find her at the intersections of infertility, chronic illness, and a deep love for the dignity of all humans. She hopes to create a space that is holistic about the role of food in the social, political, relational, and physiological dynamics of our world.
