Tomatoes and Okra

My beloved season of autumn has certainly not been short on drama this year. After capping off three seasons of travel between Los Angeles and New York City with spending Labor Day in LA, I made the promise to myself to stay in New York City for its most glorious season. September and early October did not disappoint as golden days offered just the right touch of chill and the palette of auburn, russet, and copper revealed itself in the courtyards and parks. One spontaneous evening treat courtesy of a dear friend was seeing a play in a Times Square I barely recognized, and there were many more evenings of pasta, pumpkin beer and movies with friends. I steadfastly cleaned out the closets, parsing out the proceeds between my favorite charities, and even got in some long overdue mending. Our urban home was fragrant with autumn baking, and on candlelit evenings we fed our minds with good books.

Then Hurricane Sandy blasted the eastern seaboard with a fury that is already noted as historic. At no Thanksgiving in recent memory have the values of gratitude and neighborliness been more important. Yes, someone always needs our stewardship, from people who are down on their luck to the other species with whom we share the planet. But this year, so many are displaced that we have the opportunity -- nay, the obligation -- to inhabit the spirit of community and true sharing that is the core of this holiday. Let we who have full pantries open them to those without, and set an extra place at our tables. May we share of our resources of time, funds and effort. May we remember our favorite causes with a donation, and may we welcome our neighbors to our homes.

Last year at this time, I wrote about Mama Diva, one of the most powerful influences in my life. She never turned anyone away on this holiday, and I can only imagine how she would have responded to the aftermath of the hurricane. Like mine, her neighborhood didn't really flood or lose power during Sandy or afterward. I'm sure that her apartment would have become a destination for anyone who needed a chat, a shower, a sandwich, a cup of tea, or a shot of whiskey.  There would be hot food in the oven for anyone who wanted to fill a plate, and while they were eating, there would have been stories about the Lower East Side of her youth and the Harlem of her womanhood. For, as someone who had lived through so many historic events, Mama Diva understood the importance of individual history during them.

As I was careful to respect in last year's column, Mama Diva was very passionate about the topic of soul cooking. She was exacting in the definition and demanding in the execution. I was always struck not just by her eloquence in discussing the topic but by that which expressed itself at the cook stove. She did it effortlessly, the way a good cook does, and she was both wary of the competition and ready to praise accomplishment when she encountered it. I'll never forget when she took me to a buffet flat in Harlem for one of the best meals and best times of my life. As she dug into some baked macaron' and I all but smeared my face with fried chicken grease, the cooks came over to sit a spell and, as is the custom, deprecate about their cooking. Mama Diva listened with that knowing look in her eye, and with the true gambler's enjoyment of revealing that they hold the winning hand, Mama allowed as how those cooks had done a good job with the spread, then offered that "you just come on over with us for Thanksgiving."

As had my grandmother, Mama liked that I paid attention to the stories of her cooking as well as trying to learn the technique. That trait served me well in Mama Diva's Thanksgiving kitchen, for when it came time for me to contribute, I was prepared to learn to make and serve soul food. To this day it is one of my favorite cuisines, and I shall ever after respect Mama Diva's rules about it: though there are similarities and even crossovers between them, it is racist to call soul cooking southern cooking. It must be authentic to the home, meaning that family recipes are remembered, prepared, eaten and cherished -- and it also means that every cook who is convinced that they have the best recipe for a dish is right. Most importantly, if these two conditions are met, then there need be no color lines to cross at the threshold, in the kitchen, or at the table.

Just as I shared Mama Diva's world-famous greens last Thanksgiving, this year I share another soul side dish: tomatoes and okra. Okra enjoys a somewhat controversial reputation among diners but this immature seed pod of a type of mallow plant, aside from being a fairly common ingredient in tropical cuisines, is fundamental to the soul kitchen. Not only does okra find itself swimming in the company of tomatoes and frisking with corn as with this dish, but no gumbo or pepper pot is complete without it. What kind of fish fry are you hosting if you don't have a big pile of okra rings, dredged in cracker meal and fried in hot lard, served with hot sauce and a jar of pickled okra? Tomatoes, okra and corn, with its bright colors and jumble of flavors, is festive, and these three ingredients -- whose importance in the American kitchen testifies to the importance of soul cooking at the American table -- invokes the neighborliness that is so necessary all of the time, and especially this Thanksgiving.

Tomatoes and Okra

When buying fresh okra, choose bright green pods that display no brown, yellow or black discoloration. If you follow the preparation technique below, the okra will express no slime when it cooks. Use home-canned tomatoes and frozen corn if you have them, but if not, the standard sizes available in any grocery store will work fine.

1 28-ounce can stewed tomatoes

1 10-ounce bag frozen corn

1 pound fresh okra

1 small white onion

2 slices smoked bacon

1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

1/4 teaspoon white sugar

Red-pepper flakes

Salt

1. Place the okra in a colander and rinse the okra under cool water. Leave the colander in the sink to drain.
2. Use kitchen scissors or a paring knife to rough-cut the two slices of bacon into small pieces. Transfer the bacon to a large saucepan.
3. Place the pan on the stovetop and turn the burner to low.
4. Peel the onion and remove the root and stem ends. Place the onion on the cutting board. Halve the onion from root to stem; halve each half. Cut each quarter into thin crescents. Cut across the crescents to form dice. Scrape the diced onion into the pan.
5. Cook the onion and bacon together until the onion is translucent and the bacon is crispy, approximately ten minutes.
6. While bacon and onion are cooking, prepare the okra. Place a pod on a clean cutting board devoted to vegetables. Use a small paring knife to remove the stem without cutting into the cap. Starting below the cap, cut each pod into coins approximately 1/2" thick.
7. Once you have prepared all of the okra and the onion-bacon mixture is ready, gently tumble the okra into the pan. Use a wooden spoon or silicon spatula to stir the onion, bacon, and okra thoroughly. Cook one minute, stirring constantly, so that the okra sears and all of the ingredients are well-mixed.
8. Open the tomatoes and add them to the onion-bacon-okra mixture. Use the silicon spatula to get all of the tomato sauce out of the jar and into the pan.
9. Open the corn and add the corn to the mixture in the pan.
10. Measure the vinegar, sugar, black pepper, a few red pepper flakes, and a sprinkling of salt into the pan. Use the spatula to thoroughly stir the mixture together.
11. Cover the pan and simmer the mixture on low heat, stirring occasionally, until the mixture is very fragrant and all of the ingredients are cooked through, approximately 30 minutes.