December 13, 2019 8.44am EST
Fall is almost gone and winter
is coming, as are hundreds of hearth cooking demonstrations at countless
historic homes and plantations throughout the nation.
Like an automated clock,
historic kitchens become the center stage for historical storytelling at this
time of year.
In New England, these stories
sit firmly in the mythos
of Thanksgiving, focusing on sterilized
versions of the 1621 feast between Pilgrims and Wampanoag. In the
mid-Atlantic, these stories blend their Amish, German and Dutch roots to talk
about Colonial
fare in early America.
But while these two regions
must always deal with issues of accuracy, the South’s historic sites have
remained locked in a myth of their own.
Misrepresenting reality
I spent a decade researching and writing about enslaved
plantation cooks and lecture on the topic at historic sites.
Typically, my lectures include a cooking demonstration organized by my hosts.
This kind of programming
provides a dynamic glimpse into this particular history, and allows the guests
to witness hearth cooking, smell the food, feel the heat of the fire and engage
in conversations with a living history interpreter. As a scholar committed to
public education about this subject, I believe such demonstrations can be
evocative and inspire a contemplative visitor experience.
But out of the dozens of
programs I have participated in, with costumed historical interpreters, only
three have staffed the kitchen with someone depicting an African American cook.
The rest of the cooks have all been white.
These historic kitchens have
power as a stage for historical interpretation and learning, and it is lost
when those telling the first-person stories are not representative of those who
once cooked there.
False images
Imagine showing up to Plimoth Plantation, a 17th-century living
history museum in Massachusetts focusing on the region’s native “Wampanoag People and the Colonial
English community in the 1600s,” only to find first-person interpreters
portraying the 19th-century Lewis
and Clark expedition. Or imagine visiting the Jamestown Settlement and seeing
women portraying the original 1607
colonists, all of whom were men or boys.
Yet at historic sites across
the South, you’ll often find a white woman, dressed in Colonial clothes,
cooking in a big house kitchen.
As a scholar of southern
plantation history and the director of educational programming
at Stratford Hall, the
historic plantation home of the Lee family of Virginia, I know that this image
is a false one.
Southern plantations relied on
the forced labor of enslaved African and African American cooks, who worked
around the clock for the pleasure of the plantation elite. Plantation kitchens
were not romantic spaces where the white mistress of the house would bake pies
and sip tea while reading The
Virginia Housewife.
By the late 17th century,
southern plantations moved away from their
reliance on white indentured servants, whose terms lasted up to seven
years, and replaced them with enslaved Africans, who were held for life. By the
early 18th century, the production of plantation fare was mostly in the hands
of enslaved Africans and African Americans.
As revealed in diaries,
journals, slave narratives and cultural landscape studies, these kitchens
were landscapes of power, control,
pain, sorrow, fear – and only rarely joy. These spaces hold the stories of
the thousands of enslaved cooks who were bound to the fire, cooking what became
southern cuisine.
Reflecting actual history
The vast majority of Americans
get their history not from books, but from media and tourism. The sharp decline in
Americans’ historical knowledge has been building for years and has frightened
many historians, perhaps for the reason that the 19th-century philosopher
George Santayana gave, that “those
who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” We are
living in history’s legacy. History informs the present.
Historic sites have a
significant responsibility to uphold integrity and honesty and adhere to
a code
of ethics. The National Council on Public History’s code of ethics includes
these directives: “Public historians should carry out historical research and
present historical evidence with integrity. Public historians should strive to
be culturally inclusive in the practice of history and in the presentation of
history…research-based decisions and actions may have long-term consequences.”
Thousands of enslaved
cooks were worked to death. They spent their lives cooking for the big
house and rarely receiving credit, while the white mistress of the house
claimed their fame.
This legacy resonates in
plantation museums, when foodways presentations are given in the kitchen or
dining room. But elite white plantation mistresses did not cook in these early
American kitchens, nor did they create the food that gave way to southern
hospitality and American cuisine.
Recipes like gumbo, shrimp and
grits, jambalaya, hoppin’ John, okra stew and fried fish were favorites among
the slave-holding elite. These dishes,
African in origin, became American cuisine because of the forced labor of
enslaved Africans and African Americans. These were their recipes.
Museums are tasked to
represent history in the most honest way possible, through lectures,
programming, historical interpretation, reenactments and exhibits. But when it
comes to slavery, this line is often blurred. Some museums are in the business
of historical fantasy, and Nicole
A. Moore, an African American interpreter and hearth cook, stated in a
personal interview that it is time for museums to be responsible.
“That lack of recognition is
all too common and whether sites want to acknowledge it or not… they won’t make
you uncomfortable by sharing the truth, so please bring your fantasies and
ideas about this time period, and they’ll keep the dream alive.”
This dream is that slavery
wasn’t that bad, that the enslaved
community was happy cooking for the big house, and was at most an
assistant. This fantasy gives full culinary authorship to the white plantation
mistresses.
Correcting the stories
Many visitors want
confirmation of their limited historical perspectives, often gained from grade-school textbooks,
most of which distort the reality of history. Most visit historical sites to
connect with the past and to find a sense of pride in our collective history.
But the reality of the past
can interrupt premeditated concepts of history. Some museums, for example, are
making a conscious effort to properly represent these historic kitchens and
those who cooked in them. Among them is Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello,
which has led this cause for decades by using the stories of enslaved
chef James
Hemings and others, through interactive African American-led programming .
In November 2019, Point of Honor Plantation in
Lynchburg, Virginia, held its first African
American history-focused program, and hired historical interpreters Gloria
Simon and Dontavius Williams as the evening’s storytellers.
Williams was the first African
American interpreter to cook in the plantation museum’s kitchen, marking a
historic moment for the site and its public narrative.
Stratford Hall, the birthplace
of Robert E. Lee and the site where I work, has also hired Williams for
its Christmastide program
in December, where he will cook an 18th-century meal in the historic 1738
kitchen and teach visitors about plantation kitchen labor, enslavement and the
birth of American cuisine.
These sorts of programs
attempt to correct the stories told at these sites, to better represent history
and place.
Plantation museums are having
an identity
crisis. Some visitors are complaining about
having to learn about slavery. Simultaneously, historic plantations are losing
support from wedding
venue sponsors who criticize the promotion of these sites as romantic
and ahistorical.
The latest critiques highlight
the divisions in public opinion about the functions of such sites. The
questions remain, what role do these museums have in telling our nation’s
history, and at what point does representation matter?
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