Photo by Lucie Monk
Dorsey Ebarb Bronson hugged me hello and petted my cat as we greeted one another at the door. We’d only spoken over the phone, but she has such a welcoming way about her that anyone would have mistaken us for old friends. Howard, her husband of forty-seven years, trailed her, balancing a large woven basket. Dorsey had come prepared to make fry bread, one of the traditional recipes she collected for the community cookbook, Louisiana Cooking by the Native American Choctaw-Apache.
Officially recognized by the state in 1978, the Choctaw-Apache tribe is the second largest of eight recognized American Indian communities in Louisiana. The tribe is currently seeking federal recognition by the U.S. Department of the Interior, Bureau of Indian Affairs. At the age of 65, Dorsey is considered a tribe elder.
Dorsey, one of eleven children, grew up in the small community of Ebarb, Louisiana, in western Sabine Parish. Ebarb is just a handful of miles west of Zwolle, of the famed tamale festival. There, she watched her grandmother, Christina Meshell Sepulvado, known to most as “Goodmama,” cook for crowds every Sunday for dinner, or what those of us living south of Alexandria would call “lunch.” When I thanked Dorsey for traveling from her current home in Mobile, Alabama, to cook in my kitchen and tell her story, she corrected me: “Oh, I’m telling Goodmama’s story more than anything.”
Dorsey’s basket was loaded down with ingredients and a medium-sized cutting board, among several other implements. The handle of a deep, well-seasoned cast-iron skillet sticking out of the basket made my heart leap and my stomach growl. Dorsey set about unpacking.
To make fry cakes, or fry bread as some call it, you need flour, shortening, buttermilk, a little sugar, and lard—lots of good, old-fashioned lard. In a matter of minutes, the kitchen was staged, ingredients placed to her left, pastry board in front, and that sturdy skillet sitting ready on the stove. “I’m excited and nervous,” Dorsey said. “This cookbook is my purpose.” As Dorsey began mixing ingredients in her blue-and-white enamel mixing bowl, busying her hands, she seemed to become more comfortable.
Dorsey continued working the ingredients until she had persuaded the dough into the consistency she wanted. She placed the dough on her floured board then requested a jar. I handed her my biggest Ball canning jar, and she rolled it back-and-forth across the dough until it was about a quarter of an inch thick. “This is the way Goodmama would do it,” she said. “She didn’t use many of the kitchen tools we use today. Using her methods helps me feel closer to her.”
Each week, Dorsey told me, nearly the entire community would show up at Goodmama’s, spreading themselves across the house and porch, dining, and catching up with the week’s goings on. In midafternoon, when guests were full and moving slow, Goodmama was back in the kitchen fixing the perfect pick-me-up: traditional fry bread and stove-boiled coffee.
Finished rolling, Dorsey cut the dough into squares and set them aside. Meanwhile, the melting lard in the hot skillet filled the house with the rustic scent of smooth, old wood planks; pine-scented woods; and line-dried sheets. Close your eyes, and you’d swear you were on Goodmama’s porch, anxiously awaiting your portion of flaky fry bread, syrup, and coffee.
“I usually test the oil with a pinch of dough. If it sizzles, it’s ready,” Dorsey advised. “But Goodmama threw a match in. The oil was hot enough when the match lit. Want to give that a try?” Considering Goodmama lived to be 90, who was I to doubt the safety of this technique? We threw a match in and waited. Sure enough, in the blink of an eye, the match lit and extinguished itself. Dorsey glowed; another piece of history gifted from her grandmother.
After the batch of fry bread was done, we headed out to the front porch to try them, where the claim that coffee tastes better at the beach and fry bread tastes better on the porch was immediately settled. The pastries were crisp and flaky on the outside with layers of soft, chewy bread in the center. “We would lift off little flakes of the bread and pour pure cane syrup into the holes,” Dorsey remembered. “It was so delicious.”
Even though Louisiana Cooking by Native American Choctaw-Apache draws from a cross section of the community and its families, Goodmama’s influence runs as rich and strong as her boiled coffee throughout. Little vignettes are sprinkled among the recipes, about her healing methods, her Blue Ribbon Cane Syrup made from her own mill, her astute business sense, and her physical strength. These are the stories her family and friends have shared with one another for more than a century.
Dorsey is not only hoping to share and preserve her Native American heritage through the cookbook, but is also hoping the profits can help protect her culture for future generations. A portion of the proceeds will help fund the Choctaw-Apache tribe’s quest for federal recognition, providing access to government programs that will enhance their land and community.
“Goodmama was very beloved,” Dorsey reflected. “She had a spirt of getting things done. My ancestors were strong people. It is remarkable how they managed so much, with so little. It’s important that we share this way of life with generations to come.”
Details. Details. Details.
Order Louisiana Cooking by Native American Choctaw-Apache, sign up for the e-newsletter, read more about the history and present day Choctaw-Apache tribe and its culture, or make a donation toward the tribe’s application for federal recognition at choctawapachecookbook.com.
Related recipe: Mom's Fry Bread
