The Food We Eat, the Stories We Tell

Filled with thoughtful pieces by both folklorists and friends of the field, The Food We Eat, the Stories We Tell: Contemporary Appalachian Tables offers “new ways into understanding past, present, and future American food practices” (back cover). Entries in this collection of poetry, personal anecdotes, and more traditionally academic articles about Appalachian foodways range from whimsical to rueful.I'll admit to being first attracted to this book by its colorful, collage-style cover by Emily Wallace, who contributed other illustrations throughout (and authored chap. 9, “Best Pal: Big on Hot Dogs, Hamburgers, and Quick Service”). These fun images go a long way toward communicating the accessible, friendly nature of this book. The Food We Eat proves that serious scholarship isn't always stuffy—lest any potential readers be put off by pretty pictures.Engelhardt's introduction (“Two Walnuts, a Piece of Quartz, a Pencil, Dad's Pocketknife, and a Quarter: Things I Carry”) explains some unorthodox editorial decisions, like punctuating the book's 14 chapters with five explicitly creative pieces, four of which are poems. She describes this collection as “a carrier bag” in which “each essay is an object knocking around” (p. 7).Chapter 1, “The Household Searchlight Recipe Book” by Lora E. Smith, relays maternal family stories and recipes from an inherited diary and asserts that these kinds of accounts “provide us with new possibilities for creating the future traditions and knowledge our communities will need to survive” (p. 17). The poem that follows the chapter, “Clearing Your House,” by George Ella Lyon, reasserts the significance of family belongings—collections of both tangible and intangible artifacts. Chapter 2, “Setting Tobacco, Banquet-Style,” by Erica Abrams Locklear, and chapter 3, “Gardens of Eden,” by Karida L. Brown, discuss the authors’ families’ negotiation of food-related labor. Chapter 4, “A Preliminary Taxonomy of the Blue Ridge Taco,” by Daniel S. Margolies, provides “a first step to a comprehensive geography of the taco in Appalachia” and demonstrates “the evolving and transnational sensibilities of migrant culinary expression” (pp. 76–7).The poem “Chowchow,” by Jeff Mann also explores its titular food item, as does chapter 5, “An Education in Beans,” by Abigail Huggins. Chapter 6, “My Great-Grandmother Is a Cherokee . . . ,” by Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle, discusses cultural reverence for older generations—particularly while waiting in line for food. “Terrain,” by Crystal Wilkinson, Kentucky's 2021–2022 Poet Laureate, explores the author's corporeal embodiment of the place(s) she has called home. “I can't say the landscape of me is all honeysuckle and clover cause there have always been mines in these lily-covered valleys,” she writes (p. 97).Departing from previous themes, chapter 7, “Eating to Go,” by Courtney Balestier, shares the experiences of people who've traveled the so-called “Hillbilly Highway” while migrating from their Appalachian homes to Michigan in order to take advantage of better employment opportunities. Chapter 8, “What You Find and What You Lose When You Seek a New Home,” by Michael Croley, also explores what being Appalachian looks like in new contexts.Chapter 9, “Best Pal: Big on Hot Dogs, Hamburgers, and Quick Service,” by Emily Wallace; chapter 10, “Confessions of a Spear Packer,” by Robert Gipe; and chapter 11, “‘Good Luck in Preserving’: Canning and the Uncanny in Appalachia,” by Danille Elise Christensen, all explore commercialization of local foods. Gipe's piece is among my favorites. Something about his rueful account of working on a pickle-packing line and the illustrations remind me of Roald Dahl and Quentin Blake's work.Chapter 12, “Cornbread and Fabada: Savoring a West Virginia Story,” by Suronda Gonzalez, and chapter 14, “‘The Reason We Make These Deep-Fat-Fried Treats’: In Conversation with the Rosettes of Helvetia, West Virginia,” by Emily Hilliard, address the racial, religious, and ethnic traditions of communities bound by European heritage. Chapter 13, “Haute Appalachia: Wine and Wine Tourism,” by Jessie Blackburn and William Schumann, vaguely fits into this category too; the authors situate winemaking's “Old World” origins in relatively new, Appalachian contexts.The book's final “objects,” “How to Kill a Rooster” and “How to Kill a Hen,” poems by Rebecca Gayle Howell, explore gender dynamics, food, and its modes of production. Ronni Lundy's beautifully written afterword tidies up this jumbled, crowded “carrier bag.” “Passing our foods and our stories to one another, and extending them to you,” she writes, “we can see our way into the future” (p. 202).Each “object” in The Foods We Eat can stand alone or be contextualized by others. In different groupings, they take on different meanings. Although I read the book from front to back, I look forward to assigning selections grouped by theme to students in my undergraduate folklife classes.This collection of work conveniently compiles diverse perspectives and elucidates so much of what outsiders like me find so intriguing and so appealing about Appalachia. I'm grateful to the authors for sharing deeply personal family stories and experiences in this approachable format.Since its time of publication, several of this book's contributors have published exciting new works. For instance, released in November 2022 was Emily Hilliard's monograph, Making Our Future: Visionary Folklore and Everyday Culture in Appalachia, which draws from her experiences as West Virginia's state folklorist

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