Amanda Miller
Columnist
Lettuce Eat Local
My answer was confident and immediate.
Waiting in line to board the plane headed to Pensacola, one of my fellow travelers was excited to learn that I was headed back to where I was born in the deep South of Lower Alabama; he was from California and had never been so far that direction. The West Coast is very different than the white sand beaches of the Gulf Coast, and he asked me what food they should make sure and eat while on their trip.
“Boiled peanuts!” Or rather, “boll pea-nut.” This salty delicacy is what is considered an acquired taste by some, and I’ve clearly acquired the taste. Brian says they remind him too much of beans, which I suppose is fair since they are a cooked legume.
Another obvious choice of Southern dining is sweet tea. And I do mean sweet, like syrup-level; unsweet tea is an oxymoron. Do they even serve water there?
But this article isn’t about either of those, because to follow my own theme I would need to write about something with a D. Which works perfectly, because the other essential taste of my Alabama is coleslaw — specifically, David’s Catfish House coleslaw. (Stretching it on the D, I know, but it works — finding a D food other than doughnuts is harder than you might think.)
My parents and two brothers were also in Alabama last weekend, along with almost all of our relatives on that side of the family. My grandma was turning 100 years old, and clearly, that calls for a party. For the first time in many years, all 19 of her grandchildren were there together, and over 40 of her great-grandchildren.
We had many of our meals together as a big family, but my nuclear family also skipped out from one of the lunches to do our own thing. It’s a rule: when we’re back in sweet home Alabama, we eat at David’s Catfish. I don’t do a lot of fried food, but it would be a crime to order anything but those crispy cornmeal-battered catfish fillets, dusted with a bit of Creole seasoning (apparently this should have been the C article). But honestly, even more essential is that accompanying bowl of coleslaw.
The cabbage is chopped super fine, and the mayo-based dressing is creamy and sweet but not thick or cloying. You must, and I repeat must, sprinkle some salty-spicy Tony Chachere’s on top. Crumbled Club crackers are supposed to go on top, although sometimes I go rogue and omit them for the sake of the pure slaw experience.
It’s really a very simple coleslaw, with barely a speck of carrot visible to the naked eye and the dill pickle pieces noticeable only to those who know what they’re looking for. I want to say there’s a special ingredient, but it might just be nostalgia — and that’s more than good enough for me. It’s David’s coleslaw, and there’s nothing quite like it.
Grandma’s been eating it for decades. Who knows, maybe it’s part of her secret ingredient to living for a century. I don’t actually want to live that long, but if I do, y’all better be serving me coleslaw.
Dixie Coleslaw
Although my dad went to school with David and talked to him while we were there, we didn’t get any restaurant slaw secrets divulged. This is my best approximation, with the additional disclaimer that it does also taste different without the aroma of fried fish and hushpuppies in the atmosphere. My sweet aunt got me a to-go portion of slaw that I willed through security to eat in the airport while I waited for my flight home, because that’s the kind of dedication I have to this stuff.
Prep tips: I usually knife-chop my cabbage, but this needs to be finer, so use a food processor. I’m thinking Duke’s mayonnaise might be part of the secret of success as well.
1 small head of cabbage
1 carrot
1 small white onion
2 dill pickle spears
1 cup mayo
½ cup white sugar
¼ cup white vinegar
salt to taste
Tony’s Creole seasoning and Club crackers, to serve
Finely chop veg. Mix in dressing ingredients. Serve with toppings — and sweet tea.
