Miss Wayola...

You could say that my early love of cooking and baking came from watching my mom in the kitchen. Being the aspiring Domestic Diva that I was, I spent childhood time with her in the kitchen learning basic skills. Without fail, she prepared dinner for our family every night, which was on the table promptly by the time my dad came home from work. Weekends were a bit more casual, but dinner during the week was like clockwork. My dad came home at 5:20 p.m., dinner was on the table by 5:30 p.m. and dishes were well under way by 6:00 p.m. Regimented, yes we were. My dad was a military man and routine was, and still is, his way. We dined on pot roast and potatoes, hamburgers and French fries, spaghetti and garlic bread and many other delicious meals. I enjoyed my mom's food and especially looked forward to dinner, my favorite meal of the day.

When I was in my late teens, I met my soon to be husband. He was the youngest sibling in a family of ten children; six boys and four girls. I remember the day I met his eldest sister. Her name was Wayola. It was a Sunday, a family day filled with church, food and laughter. She was maternal, with a big heart and warm smile. She was the matriarch of their family. A devout Southern Baptist woman, she sang in the church choir and rarely missed a Sunday sermon. She was strong in her appearance and had a robust laugh that warmed my heart. I immediately fell in love with her. We met in her kitchen and talked about life and love. It was a special place and we soon realized the common ground we were standing on; our love of cooking and baking. That day, I watched her make fried chicken, barbequed ribs, collard greens, black eyed peas, hot water cornbread and strawberry pie. My senses were overwhelmed as I was taken on a soulful culinary journey to a place I had never been before. I ate until my heart was content. I had found my heaven, my Southern family. Wayola was my kitchen idol and I wanted to be just like her.

Throughout the years, Wayola taught me how to cook many soul food dishes such as smothered pork chops, grits, corn bread stuffing and sweet potato pie. She rarely followed recipes, just a pinch of this and a handful of that. Everything she made was from her heart, a perfect reflection of her beauty. She canned her own fresh fruits and vegetables from the crates of produce her husband brought home from work. Peaches, raspberries, strawberries, tomatoes, jalapenos, you name it, she canned it or froze it. The freezer in her garage was full of fresh frozen foods. Wayola also had a green thumb. She grew her own vegetables and in particular, collard greens. I remember seeing them in her front yard for the first time and thinking, kind of ugly. Perhaps some lovely rose bushes would look prettier, as I redesigned her front yard in my mind. Young and naive, I had so much to learn about her way. She was a great teacher and I was a captivated student. I paid attention to everything she did because I was determined to get it right. After all, it would eventually be her legacy.

Sadly, Wayola passed away last fall. My time with her was special. She taught me how to cook and bake from my soul and love from my heart. She touched so many lives and gave so much to this world. I will always remember her fondly and am thankful for the time we spent together in her kitchen and for her gifts of food and wisdom.

In Wayola's memory, I plan to post soul food recipes in the coming months to a soon to be created section of my blog titled, the Soulful Spot. I hope you will come back soon and share my tribute to an amazing woman.

God bless you Miss Wayola. I know god is happy you are home…