Gardening – Mississippi Sideboard

September 2, 2026September 2, 2026

A Prince of Troy Meets the Garden Club

Aurora, goddess of the dawn, fell in love with Tithonus, the son of King Laomedon of Troy, and took him to Olympus. The goddess asked her father Zeus to make him immortal and he agreed, but she had not thought to ask also that he should remain young. So Tithonus grew old but could not die. Twisted and immobilized by age, he prayed for death. Aurora, with a divine feeling for the natural fitness of things, turned him into a cricket that sings to her as the day warms.

he Mexican sunflower was first described by the British botanist Joseph Dalton Hooker, who visited the United States in 1877. He came at the invitation of American botanist Asa Gray, who with Dalton intended to investigate the connection between the floras of eastern United States and those of eastern continental Asia and Japan.It was during this visit that he visited the American Southwest where—in addition to meeting Brigham Young—Hooker collected specimens of the plant, which he sent to England that year along with over a thousand others. Hooker, as the discoverer of the species, was entitled to give it a name, and for reasons that may forever remain fathomed, he named it after the prince who sings to the morning sun.

Though considered coarse by our doyen of Southern gardening, Elizabeth Lawrence (among others) she (along with those others) unfailingly mentions in the same breath that the Mexican sunflower (Tithonia roundifolia) sets Monet’s gardens at Giverny ablaze in late summer. Their orange-brushed branches tower over his gentle lines and mounds of green and blue, pink and purple, an aesthetic pedigree most appealing to those ladies, God love ’em.

August 17, 2026August 17, 2026

Drying Cayennes

Select peppers without bruising, mold, or tears. Wash, drain, and remove stems and husks. Spread in a single layer on a sheet pan and place in a very low oven. In most ovens, this is the “warm” setting, about 170 degrees. Vent slightly (I use a wooden spoon.) Toss and turn every half hour or so until thoroughly dry. Store in a vented container for a day or so before crushing. This process works for most thin-skinned peppers.

August 11, 2026

Muscadines and Scuppernongs

It’s late summer. The exhausting heat endures, and September’s sure to extend the drought, but on a (rather singular) bright note, muscadines are beginning to appear in markets.

North America has two native grape species, Vitis labrusa, often called the fox or possum grape, which has several cultivars, and the more popular Vitis roundifolia, which most people call a muscadine. Muscadines have a thick skin and rind–they’re actually chewy; when you bit into them, you get an explosion of sweet, sharp flavor, and of course that essential hint of musk. They’re a little bit pricey, but to me, they’re worth it. Naturally, both species are widely used for making wines, which are most often cloyingly sweet, the sort of thing a little old lady would poison, pour into cut crystal aperitifs, and serve to a middle-aged rogue she’d discovered was cheating on her with the choir director.

The name muscadine comes from its similarity to early settlers with the Muscat grape, a Mediterranean type used in making muscatel, both words deriving from the Sanskrit muska-s (testicle,) in reference to the musky scent of the fruit. (Never underestimate etymology.) Muscadines come in a variety of colors, but there are two basic color types: the black/purple and the white/bronze. The white/bronze type is called a scuppernong because of a natural cultivar discovered on the Scuppernong River in North Carolina. Because this plant is such an early variety, any ”white” muscadine is called a scuppernong.

Use muscadines as you might any berry: in pies and cobblers, muffins, jams and jellies as well as the aforementioned wines, but the fresh fruit is incredibly wonderful, so keep a bowl out to nibble on.

August 4, 2026

Fresh Pimentos with Cheese

Before bells became the most popular mild pepper, everyone grew pimentos. These beautiful, thick-walled fruits work well in dishes across the main board. For this recipe, we used both green and red pods. Halve and seed fresh pimentos. For two cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese use about a half a cup of diced peppers lightly sauteed in scant oil. Use enough mayonnaise to just moisten, a bit of granulated garlic, and chopped scallions or shallots. Salt to taste.

July 21, 2026

Pepper Vinegar

Most other Americans seem to think that the quintessential Southern hot sauce is a Tabasco-type mash, but restaurants across the middle South usually offer pepper vinegar as well. Many people find pepper vinegar essential for flavoring greens, and some—like me—like it on peas and beans. Any hot pepper can be used, but long cayennes and sports are most common. Make it in jars, and serve it in a shaker bottle. Prick the peppers; you don’t have to stem them. Pack the containers until the lid just mushes the fruit. Use white vinegar, full strength, salted, something like a tablespoon of salt per quart of liquid. Heat the vinegar until just simmering. Add a few drops of vegetable oil in with the peppers before pouring in the hot vinegar. This adds a little kick, and no, I don’t know the science behind it. Some people add sugar, but don’t. Pepper vinegar ages well over several weeks and you can infuse the peppers with more vinegar–no heating required, but shake well–to stretch a jar.

July 3, 2026July 3, 2026

Pea Hull Jelly

Purple hull pea hulls give a grape-flavored jelly, white crowder hulls a honey-flavored jelly, lady pea hulls an apple-flavored jelly, and if you mix the hulls of crowder, purple, whippoorwill, and lady peas, you get a rich jelly with notes of apricot, plum, and pear. Wash 1 gallon pea hulls thoroughly, at least twice, then bring to boil in a heavy pan with enough water to cover. Boil over low heat for 8 to 10 minutes. Save the juice, approximately 8 cups, and discard hulls. Combine juice with 2 pkgs. Sure-Jell in heavy saucepan and bring to a boil. Boil for 2 minutes. Add 8 cups of sugar and boil an additional minute. Pour mixture into glass jars and seal.

July 1, 2026

Dragon Peach

The sun was well up, blaring over the trees when I parked in front of Rick’s apartment building. He stepped out of his door wearing a straw fedora and linen jacket, worn chinos, and canvas loafers, the very picture of a dirt road dandy gone to seed. Watching him wrangle his legs down the steep stairs, Ricky suddenly seemed frail to me, and I felt a pang in my chest. I’d known hm for less than five years, but in those years, I’d come to love him like a brother; he’d filled my losses, propped me up, and pushed me back into a life I could lead on my own. He claimed to be sixty-eight, but he said a lot of things I didn’t question.

He clambered into my old truck and we headed to Linda’s market north of downtown. The market sits far back from traffic under a long tin roof, a colorful oasis in a dull, hot desert of asphalt surrounded by cars parked without regard to space or bearing. As we drew closer, we could hear the shuffling rattle of a homemade pea sheller.

Under the roof, our eyes adjusted to the shade and found melons mottled and striped, green-upon-green, blazing red cayennes, motley purple peas, and speckled beans. We paused over the corn, looking for fresh ears with tight shucks, green stem ends, and sweet-smelling tassels. We chose cucumbers that were slightly under-ripe, firm, and shading to jade. The tin roof popped as the sun bore down. Ricky walked over to the peaches, rows of baskets filled with Chilton County Elbertas, saffron blushing to carmine, some with stems and leaves. Over these he lingered, walking back and forth, occasionally reaching down to brush one with his fingers, picking another up, holding it to his nose, and putting it down.

I brought him a paper sack and shook it open with a pop. “What do you look for?” I asked.

Ricky snapped out of his reverie, looked at me and smiled. “A dragon,” he said.

“Jackson, Mississippi is nowhere near Middle-Earth, Ricky.”

“Yancy, listen for once,” he said. (As if I didn’t always.)

“The world is full of magical and wonderful things. A few of them amaze you so much you can’t get rid of them,” he said. “Those are the dragons, the ones you keep looking for. I remember this peach from a basket in Tupelo. When I bit into it, suddenly I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear. That peach just sucked everything out of me, and all I could do was eat that peach, and I’ve spent the rest of my life buying lousy peaches chasing that dragon.”

We loaded our sacks in the truck. As we were pulling onto the highway, Ricky reached into the back, rummaged around and pulled out a peach. He wiped it with the handkerchief he kept in his back pocket, turned it around in his hand, and took a bite. I looked at him expectantly. He smiled and shook his head, rolled down the window, and threw it out.

“I’ll find it one day,” he said, and my heart broke.

June 29, 2026June 29, 2026

Mississippi’s Ark of Taste

The Ark of Taste is an online catalogue developed and maintained by the Slow Food Foundation that records small-scale quality productions of foodstuffs belonging to the cultures, history and traditions of our world. The Ark grows day by day, gathering alerts from people who see the flavors of their childhood disappearing. This is a selection of the foods in the catalogue tagged with Mississippi. Native Mississippians will find many familiar, some surprising, and likely a few objectionable. As a Calhoun County native, I’m proud to include two sweet potato varieties.

American Native Pecan
American Paddlefish
American Persimmon
Bradford Watermelon
Cotton Patch Goose
Hayman Sweet Potato
Louisiana Mirlitron
Mississippi Silver Hull Bean
Moon and Stars Watermelon
Nancy Hall Sweet Potato
Pawpaw
Piney Woods Cattle
Shagbark Hickory
Southern Field Peas
Traditional Sorghum Syrup
Tupelo Honey
Watermelon Pickles
White African Sorghum
White Velvet Okra
Wild Gulf Coast Shrimp
Yellow-Meated Watermelon

June 17, 2026June 18, 2026

Pocahontas Garlic

My friend Buddy lives in Pocahontas, Mississippi. Buddy is the hardest-working person I know; he does drywall, roofs, painting, whatever work he can find to keep his home safe and his family fed. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known, and, like most you–without a smidgen of justification, I hasten to add–thinks I’m a bum.

Buddy’s always bringing me stuff from his garden; tomatoes, okra, and peppers in season, odds and ends like herbs and knotty apples, holly and smilax during the holidays. Some years ago in the late summer, he brought me a bundle of fresh garlic. The bulbs cloves were large and mild, resembling most what I know as elephant garlic.

I’ve since learned, it’s actually a leek, Allium ampeloprassum. You’ll find this onion growing around old home places all over the South. Here in south Hinds County, it’s practically endemic. You can use the fresh stems and bulbs before they divide out for a very strong garlic-y onion flavor. For the bulbs to clove, cut the blossom before it sets seed. Once the foliage has yellowed and the stem stiffened—this is a hardneck garlic—you can dig the buds. They will divide as they dry.

This old allium is a wonderful pass-along; plant toes/cloves after first frost in your strongest sun. Buddy tells me it spreads all over the place, and he has to thin his out twice a year. He also swears that it keeps him and his wife healthy. They’re both pushing 80 now and show no signs of letting up.