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Peppered Cornbread -- Gold on the Table, Good Year Coming

New Year's Eve. 2019 arrives in a few hours. Brianna and I are on the couch with champagne (Aldi, same as every year, budget-appropriate bubbles). The kids are asleep. The apartment is quiet. The tree leans left. The salon chair is in the kitchen. The grill and smoker are on the balcony. The cast-iron skillet is on the stove. Everything I have built is in this apartment: the food, the tools, the family, the life. Brianna said, "What do you want next year?" I said, "More of this. Just more of this." She said, "That's not an answer." I said, "Yes it is." She leaned against me. The ball dropped. We kissed. The kiss was better than last year's — warmer, more intentional, the kiss of two people who had a fight and a conversation and a walk and a Christmas and came out the other side still holding hands. The marriage is not fixed. But it is being tended, the way I tend the grill — with attention, with patience, with the understanding that good things take time and heat and the willingness to not walk away. Back at the plant January 2nd. Jerome was there early. "New Year's resolution?" I asked. "Lasted until January 7th last year," he said. "Shooting for the 8th." The line started. The year started. We build. Sunday dinner was black-eyed peas. Peas for luck. Greens for money. Cornbread for gold. Dad said, "Good year coming." He says it every year. I believe him every year. This year, I believe him more than usual. Because this year, I have a grill and a smoker and a cast-iron skillet and a wife who has a salon chair and a son who reads above grade level and a daughter who said "cook" on Christmas morning. 2019. Let's go.

Dad says it every year — “Good year coming” — and every year the cornbread comes out of that cast-iron skillet like he means it. The peas are for luck, the greens are for money, and the cornbread is the gold, same as it’s always been. I made this with a little more pepper than usual that Sunday, because 2019 felt like a year that could handle some heat — a year I was finally ready to step into rather than just survive.

Peppered Cornbread

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

  • 1 cup yellow cornmeal
  • 1 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1 tablespoon baking powder
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 1 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
  • 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional, for extra heat)
  • 1 cup buttermilk
  • 2 large eggs
  • 1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted, plus more for the skillet
  • 2 tablespoons honey

Instructions

  1. Preheat and prep the skillet. Preheat oven to 425°F. Place a 10-inch cast-iron skillet in the oven while it heats up — at least 10 minutes. A hot skillet gives the cornbread its signature crisp crust.
  2. Mix dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the cornmeal, flour, baking powder, salt, black pepper, and cayenne if using. Make sure the pepper is evenly distributed throughout.
  3. Mix wet ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together the buttermilk, eggs, melted butter, and honey until combined.
  4. Combine. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir just until combined — do not overmix. A few lumps are fine. Overmixing makes tough cornbread.
  5. Grease and pour. Carefully remove the hot skillet from the oven. Add a small pat of butter and swirl to coat the bottom and sides — it will sizzle. Pour in the batter immediately and spread it evenly.
  6. Bake. Return the skillet to the oven and bake for 20–25 minutes, until the top is golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
  7. Rest and serve. Let cool in the skillet for 5 minutes before slicing into wedges. Serve warm alongside black-eyed peas and collard greens.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 210 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 8g | Carbs: 30g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 380mg

DeShawn Carter
About the cook who shared this
DeShawn Carter
Week 145 of DeShawn’s 30-year story · Detroit, Michigan
DeShawn is a thirty-six-year-old single dad, auto plant worker, and a man who didn't learn to cook until his wife left and his five-year-old asked, "Daddy, can you cook something?" He called his mama, who came over with two bags of groceries and spent six months teaching him the basics. Now he's the dad at the cookout who brings the ribs, the guy at the plant whose leftover gumbo starts fights, and living proof that it's never too late to learn.

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