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A friend from New York recently asked me to describe a southern Christmas. Well, the South is a mighty big place but I think I can conjure up some images of what it’s like down here in coastal Georgia, where we live.
The cool, dusty blue light of December sun brushes the tops of the marsh grass and the camellias are blooming in Old Savannah. Wreathes of real holly and evergreen hang on the big solid doors of the old mansions and you can hear the bells on the bridles of the mules and horses as they pull tourists, huddled in carriages, through the dappled streets and around the lush, shady squares. Carolers can be heard over in City Market. It’s not humid this time of year so their voices carry far and clear.
Over the river in Bluffton, SC, old women work furiously to shuck and pack the briny oysters just pulled from the cold May River. It’s oyster season, by gosh, by golly, and we low country folk can’t get enough of them. I drive over there because I’m going to make an oyster pie for Christmas dinner. It’s been my assignment. I buy twice as much as I need. Eat half of them on the way back home. I carry my own oyster knife from October until April but it’s now that I really work that bad boy.
We southerners worship at the altar of the deep fryer. In recent years, I’ve been handed the additional duty of frying the turkey for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. (This procedure frees the oven for more important operations such as cobbler baking and the final heating of my grandmother’s homemade yeast rolls.) I like to sizzle those turkeys. I inject them with melted butter and cayenne. I fire up that burner outside and grab a beer. I lower that bird into the bubbling cauldron and stare at it, hypnotized, until it’s time to draw him back out and onto the serving platter. I am happy and in the moment.
Then, like anywhere else, we sit back and enjoy the family, the laughter of the children, the smells that comfort and the sounds that remember. And, of course, the food. There’s the beef roast that has been poked, trussed and timed by my uncle like he’s on some critical mission from NASA. The crab dip that my grandmother used to make but now is prepared by my aunt. The spiced pecans. And, after the presents have been opened, the boiled egg custard, the bourbon candy and pralines.
Although fireworks are illegal in Georgia, they can be purchased across the river and we do just that. Into the night, we ignite the cool, black sky then run inside, breathless…collapsing onto the sofa, the floor, the discarded wrapping paper. Bushed.
So, to my New York pals, and anyone else north of the Mason-Dixon, come down sometime and enjoy your own southern Christmas. God bless us, every one!
OYSTER PIE
Ingredients:
1 quart shucked oysters with their liquid
2 cups crushed saltine crackers
3 or 4 scallions, finely chopped
1 shallot, finely chopped
1/4 cup flat leaf parsley, chopped
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon worchestershire sauce
1/2 teaspoon Louisiana style hot sauce
1 cup half and half
cold butter
salt and pepper to taste
Cooking Directions:
Preheat oven to 400F.
Mix all wet ingredients including oyster liquid in a non-reactive bowl and set aside.
Grease a 1 1/2 quart baking dish with some butter.
Sprinkle the bottom of the baking dish with cracker crumbs until it’s covered.
Arrange one layer of oysters into the dish then lightly salt and pepper.
Add some of the parsley, shallot and onion on top of the oysters.
Add another layer of crackers then dot with some of the cold butter.
Repeat these layers until the oysters and crackers are gone.
Dot top with butter and pour in the wet mixture.
Bake for around 30 minutes
Serves 6
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