This is a book I have been putting off writing for a long time. Those familiar with my other books know me as a Herbalist. At this point, I have written seven books on Herbal Medicine. Herbal Medicine is something I have spent years learning. But, my first passion is Cooking. I actually came to learn Herbal Medicine through my love of food. Decades ago, it was a conversation about foraging wild edibles with a member of the Hicks family of Beech Creek, NC that started me on my journey as an apprentice herbalist.
I come from a long tradition of excellent cooking. My heritage is, essentially, an equal mix of Irish, French and English. My family began to settle in the Carolinas and Virginia at least by the early 1700s. Not surprisingly, my family’s cooking tradition is very Southern. The French side of my family though, includes traditional French influences, but also Cajun and Creole. The swamps and Low Country of the Carolinas were a refuge for not only Huguenots, but the French settlers who were forced out of Nova Scotia by the British (the Cajuns) and those who left the Caribbean islands during slave revolts, revolutions and invasions (strongly influenced by Creole culture). It was an area in which the majority populations were Scots-Irish, African American descendants of slaves and both the Lumbee and Waccamaw Native American Tribes. The English, French, Irish… and even a few German families were by far the minority. I believe that led to a certain sense of pride regarding my family’s food heritage.
Simply put, my grandmothers and great grandmothers were recognized as among the finest cooks in the community. I once owned and operated a state-wide magazine and took a particular interest in the family cooking traditions of each of North Carolina’s 100 counties. It is not much of an exaggeration to say that while my family included such things as celery and hot peppers in most every meal, most folks who lived between… say, Wilmington and Charlotte did not. Julia Child once made the statement that, “Americans in the 1950s and 60s did not eat salads.” My family did. Rarely, if ever, did a meal at my grandmother’s table not include a tossed salad, a cooked salad such as potato or bean salad or a platter of crudites…. which, is a fancy word for a bunch of raw vegetables that were in season on our farm. We didn’t use many fancy words to describe our food. French being spoken had fallen out of favor decades earlier. We enjoyed hors d’oeuvres and charcuterie, but they were never called such. My great grandfather cured sausages and hams, and kept bees. My grandfather loved cheeses, pickled pig’s feet and eggs, head cheese and liver pates/puddings. My grandmother was an artist in making all sorts of pickled vegetables, jams, preserves and baked goods. Life revolved around food, from pig pickens’ (barbecue) and chicken bogs at political events, to family reunions, weddings, funerals and “supper on the ground” when everyone brought a dish to church, to holiday family gatherings, and the everyday meals of the farmhouse table which were giant feasts by today’s standards.
It was an amazing privilege to learn my family’s cooking tradition. I was in my junior year at the University of Georgia (and a die hard fan of both the original, Japanese version of “Iron Chef” and Alton Brown’s “Good Eats” - Brown is also a UGA alum) when I got two phone calls. I was studying economics and playing guitar out at the bars every possible night, but I was very much a part of the food scene. Most of my friends were chefs, cooks, bartenders and farmers. I fully intended to start classes in UGA’s school of Food Science and culinary school in Atlanta once I got my bachelor’s degree in economics (which I thought was more practical). The first phone call was to inform me that my uncle, who ran the family farm, had a stroke. He died not long after. Then came the call that my grandmother had a heart attack and needed care. Soon, my mother and I were spending full time back in NC, on the farm. My mother cared for my grandmother and I tried to manage everything else.
It was through these unfortunate circumstances that I got the chance to learn to cook directly from my grandmother, who learned to cook from her French grandmother, etc. Now, my mom began to teach me how to cook from an early age. She had me scrambling eggs and even learning to butcher meat and baking from as far back as I can remember. She encouraged me to take my first cooking classes in elementary school. Back then, we had no cable TV and had to rely on 4 channels. One, of course, was PBS. I had very little interest in anything other than the cooking shows. There, I found Julia Child and Jacques Pepin, who would become huge influences on my cooking and real heroes. But also, I found Justin Wilson. Justin Wilson was a “damn good cook” in his own words, a story teller and comedian. He was like a member of my family. He talked like the old folks I grew up around and cooked like them!
When my grandmother found herself confined to a chair and unable to man the stove any longer… and so sick of hospital food, nutritional drinks and most anything other than her home cooking that she was near starvation, both my mother and I were able to help. My grandmother never liked letting other people cook in her kitchen or do much more than wash the dishes. But, my mother learned by watching her and asking questions. Of course, being a real, old fashioned cook, my grandmother’s answers were generally vague. When asked, “How much of ____ do you add?” or “How long does it cook?” Her answer was, “Just taste of it and you will know,” or “Until it is done.”
My mom handled most of the cooking, but I got to cook once a day/evening usually. I would ask, “Mamma, are you hungry?” She would reply, “I’m not very hungry but I would like a taste of something.” “What would you like?” “I tell you, if I was cooking I’d sure know what I’d want.” “Well let me see what’s in the freezer and you tell me what you might want.” On the farm, we had two chest freezers where meats, fish, game, seafood and blanched vegetables were stored. The two fridge/freezers inside were mainly used for fresh food and vegetables and as there were fewer people to be fed, we needed to work through much of what was in the freezers and the huge, walk-in pantry. Her kitchen was fully stocked with dried herbs and spices, home canned good, all manner of pickles and all the staples. The stove and oven were simple and electric, 1960’s era. She had a stand mixer, and every pot, pan, roaster, mixing bowl and knife you could imagine.
So, I would dig something out of the freezer - maybe a chicken, some steaks, a beef or deer roast, spots (a regionally favorite fish), shrimp, quail or even a whole pork loin. Then, I’d grab some greens, beans, peas, corn, etc. The staple was really butterbeans and field peas grown on the farm. Rice was also a staple, the first rice grown in America having been grown in the Carolinas. But, I was free to cook anything I pleased beyond that. My grandmother loved Italian food, so I would make chicken parm or a pizza (with my sourdough starter) once a week or so for a treat. But, most often I would tell her what I had on hand and she would tell me how she wanted it cooked. This simple act was the main thing that pulled her out of her cardiac related dementia. She would sit in her wheelchair, in the kitchen and tell me step by step exactly how to cook whatever meat, fish and vegetables we had thawed that day (or that were fresh from the garden or store) exactly as she had for 80 years or so. She would put her hands on and in the food - a big part of her style of cooking. She would smell and taste it as we went along - a bigger part of her cooking. For an hour or two, she would totally lucid and interested. We would enjoy the meal, watch a show or two and by 8 pm… she was slipping away again. It was a hard, sad time, but one that I would not trade for all the money in the world.
In the same way, she taught me many things, including how to garden. The kitchen garden is usually much less than an acre, located closer to the house than the cultivated fields of a farm. This is where the vegetables and herbs for the family are grown. I moved it even closer, into the backyard, so my grandmother could access it by wheelchair or walker. There, she finally taught me to garden and save seed. It may seem surprising, but my grandmother adamantly opposed me becoming a farmer or a cook. She was the main reason I was discouraged from studying agriculture, horticulture or the culinary arts in college. She believed that to do so was to be doomed to a life of hard work and poverty. However, such things had always been my dream. Finally, I was able to learn the things I wanted and needed to know. She also taught me how to make headcheese and sausage, pickling, baking, advised me on caring for livestock, etc.
Unfortunately, after my grandmother died, the family farm was sold. The legacy of multiple generations was lost due to factors beyond our control such as industrial hog farming, contaminated groundwater and crime. So, obviously, I bought land, farmed it and opened a restaurant… right? No. No, I was deep in debt by that time and I had to employ my other talents. I worked for over a decade in politics and another publishing magazines. I always kept a toe in, so to speak. I did a little catering. I took several Permaculture Design and agriculture classes. I earned many certifications as an herbalist. But, it was only during the COVID lock downs that folks in The Grow Network forums encouraged me to write a book on Herbal Medicine that I even realized I knew anything worth sharing. Now, I make my living writing about all those things I took for granted for all those years.
Now, have you heard of the “Bullcook”?
Some years ago, I became more interested in recipes for wild food, especially fish and game. I did not want the kind of recipes I found in most modern cookbooks - recipes that seemed designed more to cover up the flavor or game meats or to make them similar to commercially raised meats. I wanted to learn as many ways as possible to cook these special delicacies in ways that would highlight the unique characteristics of each. In this search, I found many wonderful historical cookbooks, and several excellent fish and game cookbooks from the classic era of the American hunting lodges. I also found the great George Leonard Herter. I believe that Herter deserves that title… but most people have never heard of him.
George L. Herter was a true American character. After serving in World War II, he returned to take over his family’s sporting goods store in Waseca, Minnesota. Under George’s leadership, he turned the modest business into a nation-wide mail order sporting goods store, through catalogs that were a mixture of Sears and Roebuck, Barnum and Bailey promotion and “Outdoor Life” style stories. Herter was a truly brilliant man and a true eccentric, with a sharp, odd sense of humor and a cynical world view. His answer to society’s ills and personal happiness was to return to nature and to enjoy good food.
He wrote at least two dozen books, many of them well over 400 pages long - all self published and sold through the Herter’s catalogs. He mixed tall tales and outright lies with the knowledge of a woodsman and survivalist and the tastes of a gourmet. He wrote at least six cookbooks, primary among these being the Bullcook series. His cookbooks may be the most significant, least known and truly American cookbooks ever written. He also wrote the Professional Guide’s Manual, How To Get Out Of The Rat Race And Live on $10 A Month, Touch The Earth, How To Live Not Exist and of course, How To Live With A Bitch! Obviously, such titles (other than the last one) would appeal to the “back to the earth” movement of the next generation. But, Herter was no hippie... he spent his time hunting with John Wayne and machine-gunning sharks with Earnest Hemingway! Herter’s outdoor books included much on foraging, first aid and knowledge of the uses of wild plants. Obviously, George Leonard Herter is a major hero of mine.
The Bullcook series was a major inspiration. While several modern food writers, especially those with leftist politics, are quick to condemn Herter as a lunatic, a crank and to say “his recipes don’t work.” Anyone who would make such a claim is a humorless idiot and a bad cook. As Herter was quick to point out, many recipes in popular magazines are very flawed - as anyone who has tried cooking many of them knows all too well. Every cookbook contains type-os, mistaken measurements and flawed memories. Much more importantly, the most important element is the taste and skill of the cook. No one should approach historic cookbooks, or even Escoffier, expecting exact recipes with each ingredient weighed out accurately. An experienced cook looks at ingredients as mere suggestions and proportions as approximations. That, is why cooking is an art, as opposed to baking, which is a science that requires exact measurements and specific ingredients. I have no doubt that George Herter wrote from memory, not recording a recipe as he cooked it.
I have long wanted to do something to honor the mostly forgotten legacy of George L. Herter, and his wife Bertha, who co-wrote his cookbooks. George Herter, like Justin Wilson and many of the colorful cooks of the era when American men were masculine and not politically correct are the type of men who desperately need to be recognized so that their example may inspire future generations. Without a doubt, “sine dubio”, I believe that George L. Herter should be included in the pantheon of classic American cookbook writers that would include Erma Rombauer, James Beard and Sylvia Bashline.
Sylvia Bashline is another author you may not have heard of, but like the very famous James Beard, she wrote classic fish and game cookbooks based on European traditions and a high level of cooking sophistication. As for Mrs. Rombauer, she and her daughter were friends of my mother, summering in the small resort town where I was born. My family owned a small grocery store that catered both to locals, restaurant chefs and the personal chefs of the extremely wealthy movie stars and industrialists who summered with us. They had fresh, local produce, a real butcher shop offering custom meats and fish, imported cheeses and wines and all sorts of specialty ingredients. My mother described Mrs. Rombauer as a tough little lady who hated my father but loved sharing recipes with here. She taught my mother to bake whole or filleted salmon and to make hollandaise to top fresh asparagus. My inherited copy of The Joy of Cooking gives instructions on skinning and dressing rabbits and squirrels (left out of later volumes) and an inscription stating that she had given my mother every recipe and technique she would need but not instructions to “cook his goose” in reference to my father!
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