EVERY SUNDAY AND HOLIDAY, THE FOOD OF MY KENTUCKY CHILDHOOD OVERFLOWED FROM THE KITCHEN to the sideboard, to the coffee table, even to the tops of the washer and dryer. It was the work of my maternal grandmother, Odessa Moore, now 86 and a retired cook. She learned the craft from her Tennessee mother, Myrtle Sain, called Big Mama even though she was a wisp under 5 feet.
In Logan County, Kentucky, Grandaddy and Granny’s big vegetable garden was full of the practical produce found in the bluegrass hills. They’d bring us sacks of dirt-smudged vegetables, warm from the sun. Our peach trees and blackberry bushes yielded fried pies, cobblers, jams and hand-churned ice cream. My mom, Gloria Beeler, and her sisters inherited Granny’s connection to the earth and everyday…