Floridians Still Enjoy a Little Heritage and Culture With Their Food

“If you want to ingest some culture with your meals, then eat some Cracker food,” says Floridian Lovett Williams. “Like a lot of Southern dishes, Cracker foods are cultural. If you haven’t grown up eating them, you probably have to learn to like them. But those of us who have eaten this way all our lives can’t get enough of the food.”

Lovett, who owns and operates a hunting lodge on 14,000 acres in inland Florida, is a skilled cook and self-educated food historian who specializes in the curious cuisine of his ancestors, the Florida Crackers. The term Cracker was given to early settlers of the state; it also identifies the cookery indigenous to the area.

Lovett mentions a few favorites in his robust culinary heritage: chitlins (deep-fried hog intestines), cracklin’ bread (made with the crisp leftovers from lard rendering), grits, okra, acre peas and collards. Though some Cracker dishes are eaten almost solely in the South, many others have a much broader appeal, including seafood gumbos, fried fish with fritter-like hush puppies and pies piled with succulent fruits.

This simple, earthy fare ultimately evolved from the combined culinary skills and distinct tastes of the Native Americans, Spanish, West Indians, Cubans, Africans and English who fought over the land and struggled to help tame it.

The name Cracker seems to have its roots in the 18th Century when many Floridians made their living from timber and turpentine. Both industries required ox carts to haul heavy loads over rugged terrain. Drivers developed a fine skill in cracking long rawhide bullwhips to urge their oxen on without touching the animals. The woodsmen even devised a signal system with the cracking of their whips in order to communicate across miles of timber.

The settlers found the sultry climate ideal for cotton, sugar cane, tobacco and rice. But they had to work hard to clear the land for crops. Most lived and died without knowing material wealth.

Though essentially a poor people, early Crackers seldom wanted for substantial meals. Their territory’s native abundance provided more than enough to eat and allowed them to be nearly self-sufficient. Today, Lovett and others of early Floridian descent relish their singular history through this cuisine. Unlike his predecessors, however, Lovett explains, “We eat Cracker-style for fun and when we want to, not because we have nothing else to choose from.”

Lovett, his wife Pam and their two daughters live in the state’s northern midlands. Lovett devotes a half-acre to a garden, growing much of his family’s food. He hunts, fishes and raises a few chickens and hogs.

He also does most of the cooking in his family. Pam, born and raised in the Midwest, has acquired an appreciation for the flavors of his native cuisine but not for its preparation, he says.

Early Floridians cultivated fertile gardens, too. The warm climate meant they had a wealth of fresh produce year-round. They found both land and water to be generous sources of food.

There were mangoes, papayas and persimmons; corn, sweet potatoes, squashes, okra, legumes and collard and mustard greens; swamp cabbage (known to Northerners as costly hearts of palm); and peanuts and pecans.

Many landowners raised their own pigs and chickens. Most supplemented these with wild game, fish and seafood. They prepared possum stew, squirrel pie, roast bear, fried alligator tail, frog legs and turtle steaks. Menus changed throughout the year as gardens, forests, lakes and seas yielded an ever-changing bounty.

Corn, which thrives here, is critical to many traditional recipes. “It all goes back to the Indians, really,” Lovett says. “They taught settlers to use corn with lye to make hominy that could be dried, then ground for grits.”

Florida pioneers learned to cook hoe cakes--pancake-like patties made with cornmeal instead of flour--over an open fire on the surface of a hoe. Later, they used cornmeal to make leavened breads, including corn bread, spoon bread and hush puppies, and to coat fish, seafood, chicken and game before frying.

Feasting was central to every celebration. Whenever many hands were needed--from harvest-time sugar making and hog butchering to building a house--friends and neighbors gathered to share the work and, afterward, a munificent meal.

“These were great family, community events,” Lovett says. “Everyone had a job to do . . . the men did the heaviest work, but women and children had their responsibilities, too. Afterward, there was always a huge meal for everyone involved.”

The feast was likely to include a pilau (pronounced pur-LOO), the catch-all name for a rich mixture of rice and meat. Pilau also is the name of any social occasion at which the dish is served. A pilau can contain any combination of meat, fish or vegetables--provided that rice is the main ingredient. It is, Lovett explains, the cheapest way to feed a lot of people. “Put the meat in a big kettle and cook it until it starts to fall apart, then add a lot of rice and a lot of black pepper, cook some more and you’ve got a pilau.”

Lovett’s own ventures into cooking began in his childhood; he learned from his mother to prepare recipes that her mother had taught her.

“I focus on Cracker food. Of course, it isn’t practical all the time. Cracker food takes a long time to cook and some of it uses a lot of fat. But I like to experiment with the more unusual foods, like wild game. Cooking is a great way to spend a few hours--have some friends over, drink some beer and taste as we go along.”

Lovett has gained an appreciation for his state’s colorful heritage by learning about the sustenance of his forebears, he says.

“It’s fun to know a lot about what you’re eating. Now, we eat all kinds of food. But for us, the steaks, potatoes and all of what I would call the more ordinary foods--well, that’s just eating to stay alive. It’s a lot more fun to eat the things that have some history to them.”