Affrilachia’s Food Renaissance is My Renaissance, Thanks to the Women Teaching Me a Thing or Two about Cooking

By Crystal Good

Crystal Good with Ronnie Marie Tartt a treasure of a West Virginia culinarian in her kitchen, June, 2024.

With the help of dutiful assistants, Mrs. Ronnie “Mama” Marie Tartt orchestrates her small McDowell County kitchen to prepare meals for the work crews on her farm and the many visitors who come through. She lives with her husband, “Pops,” and her son, Jason Tartt, Sr., who runs T&T Organics, a 300-acre farm with about 25 acres dedicated to forest farming demonstrations and revitalization projects. The Appalachian soil fosters a remarkable abundance of biodiversity and nutrients, feeding the bees, goats, and chickens that also call this mountain land home.

Mrs. Tartt, no stranger to the kitchen, and she represents all the creative home cooks—and the many women who, throughout my life, have occasionally sent me laundry baskets of food, knowing – I don’t cook! 

I’ve always claimed I do not cook. So, when I was asked to write a poem for the Spinster’s Measure and Pour album, prompted by the question, “If you made music the way you cook, what would it sound like?” I responded with a long pause—and a poem repeating the refrain: “I do not cook. I do not cook.”

As those words linger, I’m witnessing a culinary renaissance—both personal and collective—here in West Virginia and Appalachia. At the heart of it are the women in my life, past and present, who have taught me to see cooking, eating, and feeding others through a fresh lens.

One of those women is award-winning author and fellow Affrilachian poet Crystal Wilkinson, whose Praisesong for the Kitchen Ghosts celebrates Black Appalachian and Appalachian cuisine. She credits the spirits of the women in her life for guiding how she stirs the pot. That makes me think of my late grannies, my stepmother, Ms. Ronnie Marie, and so many other home cooks who are part of this revival—my revival.

Because it’s not just beans and cornbread; it’s a legacy of deep roots, nourishment, and love.

Beans and Cornbread from Mama Tartts Kitchen, 2024. 

On the Spinster track, I explained why I don’t cook, recalling my mother’s relationship with a cruel stepfather who never found her cooking good enough and the opposite experience with my stepmother, where the kitchen was my perceived designated woman’s role. I wanted neither: I refused to let someone else’s taste define my purpose or worth.

A friend always reminds me that I can cook, that it is, in me and Crystal Wilkinson’s Praisesong for the Kitchen Ghosts reinforces that ancestral connection, encouraging me to manifest meals from the roots planted long ago.

Watching Mrs. Tartt’s work her magic in the kitchen has shown me that cooking is not just a task—it’s a joy and a high calling. She inherited her mantle from women rooted in Alabama’s Black Belt, who brought their traditions to West Virginia and passed them on to her and her family, including many “adopted” daughters, granddaughters, and her ever-present kitchen crew.

I’ve realized I had a distorted perception of kitchens, the women who cook in them, and my own place at the stove. Now, I’m embracing my food story—because food is, after all, a story, and I love a story.

My journey, by pen and pot, has begun, and I’m grateful to be guided by Mrs. Tartt (Mama), who lets me ask questions, teaches me, and invites me to peek into her pots every time I visit.

For inspiration, follow @ronniemarietartt and @appalachiangoldfoods.

Let her cook!

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Food—from recipes to roots—will be an ongoing conversation at BBG. We encourage you to explore your own kitchen ghosts and share your food story! Meanwhile, pick up a copy of Crystal Wilkinson’s Praisesong for the Kitchen Ghosts for further inspiration.