Spoonbread and Strawberry Wine: Recipes and Reminiscences of a Family
By Norma Jean and Carole Darden. Harlem Moon/Broadway Books, $18.95.

It is hard to believe that this groundbreaking modern classic is already 25 years old: it is still as fresh and lovely as it was when it first appeared—perhaps even lovelier, thanks to a new edition in celebration of its quarter century of success. Harlem Moon, a division of Broadway Books, has printed a handsome and affordable softcover book with a broad page format that is practical in the kitchen (it lies flat when you cook from it) and yet good looking enough for the coffee table. It is a great reason to get reacquainted with this timeless classic, and for acquainting a new generation with it, too.

Damon Lee Fowler

New Soul Cooking
By Tanya Holland. Stewart, Tabori & Chang, $30.

For Tanya Holland, chef and co-owner of Le Theater, a French restaurant in Berkeley, California, and regular host of the Food Network Melting Pot Soul Kitchen, the term “soul food” refers to “the foods common in African-American communities that connect people to their shared roots.” In addition to the foods of the American South, soul food incorporates influences from Africa, Brazil, and the Caribbean. Her interpretation of this cooking is influenced by her French training—cooking with seasonal and fresh ingredients—and her preference for a more health-conscious approach to traditional Southern foods.

Holland’s recipes, illustrated by splendid photographs by Ellen Silverman, range from African recipes such as groundnut stew to new treatments of traditional soul food dishes—okra tempura and peppered gruyëre baked grits and raspberry grit parfaits—that some might argue stretch the term ”soul food” into meaninglessness. But many of the recipes are appealing and imaginative, and the book would have been even better with more careful editing. It’s a collection that owes more to the sensibilities of a gifted cook than to any strict definitions imposed by ethnicity or geography.

Thomas Head

Harold’s BBQ: The White Man’s Blues, Stew, & ’Cue

If country music is the white man’s blues, then Harold’s Barbecue in Atlanta is its culinary expression. Harold’s original location, which opened in 1947 in south Atlanta, comprises every element of the perfect country music song. As David Allen Coe says in “You Never Even Call Me By My Name,” those include Mama, trucks, a train, prison, rain, and getting drunk. With the exception of the last, Harold’s Barbecue is about all these things. The strongest drink you’re likely to find here is iced tea, but it’s so sweet it can perm your hair. Harold’s has everything else —and it’s not a bad place to nurse a hangover.

In an industrial section of town where heavy trucks pockmark the streets, you’ll have to cross the railroad tracks to get there—no matter where you’re coming from. Atlanta’s federal penitentiary is so close it nearly overshadows the little building with the crooked smokestack and barred windows. Harold’s is best on cold, rainy days, because the best dish here, hands down, is the thick-as-the-Okefenokee stew. “But what about Mama?” you might ask. As if any true Southerner could leave her out: Who else could have produced the three generations that run the place, outlasting segregation, the Talmadge dynasty, and pay phones? Also: I can never visit Harold’s without wanting to order a glass of buttermilk from the menu. With cornbread crumbled in it, it’s always been my own mom’s favorite dessert.

Today, Harold’s serves as touchstone as much as restaurant, with as diverse a crowd as you’re likely to find in Atlanta. It’s a favorite of Atlanta University faculty and guvmint workers, cops and truck drivers, grandparents and kids. Lots of folks come for the chopped pork, and you’ll usually find Lee Hembree at a worn chopping block, working away at the smoked hams. Harold Hembree Jr., son of the original owner and now in his 70s, is behind the cash register, and a sister, Kay, works there too.

Harold’s uses an electric cooker, but finishes the pork and eye-of-round beef over hickory coals. You can request a bit of outside meat, or a mix, to get your fix of carbon. Sandwiches come on lightly toasted white bread with a Monarch dill pickle. Aficionados know to order them with the slightly sweet slaw on top. The sauce is tomato-based and lightly vinegary. I like the barbecue here, but the ribs are anemic little things, tasty but skinny as a supermodel. Harold’s Brunswick stew, on the other hand, is a thick, smoky symphony of pork, chicken, tomato and corn, perfect with the lace-edged cracklin’ cornbread. That’s right—you can still find cornbread with these little fat bombs of flavor, reminiscent of porky raisins.

The waitresses are lightning-fast in their sockless Keds, and really do say things like “It’s so good your tongue will slap your brain.” Window unit air-conditioners wheeze away, oblivious to outside temperatures. The whole place bears the ochre stain of wood-smoke, and the decorations run to old Saturday Evening Post covers, corny cartoons, and religious homilies. “If you have time to pray,” one says, “God has time to listen.”

The only thing different from a country music song is that a visit to Harold’s always has a happy ending.

Harold’s Barbecue, 171 McDonough Boulevard (at Lakewood), Atlanta; 404-627-9268. Open Monday through Saturday 10:30 a.m. to 7:30 p.m.

Krista Reese