Slaw Abiding Citizens: A Quest for the West Virginia Hot Dog →

We arrived at the small country store at dusk, giddy for our first hot dog. The hand-painted sign outside Buddy B’s in Sissonville, West Virginia, advertised fresh produce, pinto beans and cornbread, and “Best In Town Hot Dogs.” Inside, bulk seeds, bags of peanuts, and jars of penny candy lined the red gingham–papered walls, and a cash register and food counter stood on either side of the door. We gawked like tourists at the hot dog clock and hand-painted hot dog sign, outlined by the triple-underlined text, try our hot dogs they are go-o-o-o-d. As the cashier-cook prepared our dogs, we surreptitiously took pictures.

Read on in Gravy

The State Folklorist's Notebook: What Is Folklore? →

In our Spring issue, we introduced West Virginia’s new state folklorist, Emily Hilliard. Emily will be writing a regular column for GOLDENSEAL about her discoveries in West Virginia folklore.

Whenever someone asks me what I do for work, the conversation often goes something like this: I say, “I’m a folklorist.”

The questioner usually replies with something to the effect of “That’s so cool!” Then there’s a beat while he or she stops to ponder and works up the courage to ask sheepishly, “Now . . . what is that exactly?”

Read on in Goldenseal

Ramp Fingerprints: Field Notes from the Helvetia Ramp Supper →

The last Friday in April, I drove along the Buckhannon River through the village of Helvetia, West Virginia to the coat of arms-adorned community hall in the center of town. Though I’ve been visiting the Swiss-German community for five years now— first as a tourist, then as a journalist, and now as a folklorist— this was my first time here in the spring. Having previously contended with whiteout blizzards just to make it to the 59-resident town perched in a high mountain valley, I was struck by how lush and alive everything seemed. Spring ephemerals dotted the roadsides, locals were out walking and doing yard work, and the distinctively pungent smell of ramps wafted out from the kitchen of the hall.

Read on via the Southern Foodways Alliance blog

“Written and Composed by Nora E. Carpenter” Song Lyric Scrapbooks, Home Recordings, and Self-Documentation →

Essay in Southern Cultures' Documentary Arts Issue, Spring 2016

Read on in Southern Cultures

Pop Culture: Southern Soda Vinegars →

Travis Milton greets me at the door of his Richmond, Virginia, house, bearded and burly in a plaid shirt, horn-rimmed glasses, and a “Virginia is for lovers” ball cap. Peeking out from his rolled-up shirt sleeve is a tattoo of his great-grandfather’s farm logo surrounded by vegetables. He offers me whiskey before I’m through the door, and I spy his collection of Star Wars and Ghostbusters action figures in the next room. As we cross the hall, he reverently points out his grandmother’s last written recipe hanging in a small wooden frame among family photos and album covers—Rick James, Hank Williams, and Thin Lizzy.

In the living room, he’s piled at least a dozen notebooks of varying sizes on the coffee table, their open pages revealing scrawled handwriting and sketches of kitchen layouts. I’ve heard about these notebooks before. When I first met Travis at Comfort, where he was executive chef, he told me that he keeps 19 journals in various locations—restaurant kitchen, home kitchen, glove compartment, and nightstand. When ideas strike, he records them before they flit away.

Read on in Gravy

The Anthropology of Pie →

Cover story and recipe feature for King Arthur Flour's Sift magazine, Fall 2015 issue. 

Swiss Village + West Virginia + Mardi Gras Feast = Fasnacht →

On Saturday evening, I found myself in a white-out blizzard, driving up steep and curvy West Virginia back roads. Normally, I would have admitted defeat and turned back. But I kept going, propelled up the mountain by thoughts of the unique Mardi Gras foods and festivities that awaited me in an improbable-seeming Swiss village at top.

Helvetia, population 59, is an incongruous place — an Alpine village nestled in the isolated wilderness of West Virginia. It was settled in 1869 by Swiss craftsmen drawn by the large tracts of cheap land, beautiful mountains and plentiful forests of game. The town is situated along the Buckhannon River in a high mountain valley, and as I was reminded on my drive, is not very easy to get to.

Read on via NPR

The Foodways of Holidays

Here at the Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage, we have a meta-foodways tradition. Whenever a staff member travels to an interesting place—whether foreign or to their hometown, it is customary to bring back a traditional food item to share with the office. News of a shared treat generally comes by way of an inter-office email: “The Original Derby Pie brought back from my home state of Kentucky, now in the kitchen while supplies last,” it might read, or “Back from Jakarta, I offer Bangkit Jaghe (a spicy ginger cookie) from Macassar in South Sulawesi.” We’ve had kiffles from Hungary,ampelmännchen gummis from East Germany, and a favorite: peanut butter-filled taffy chews from a third-generation Bakersfield, California, confectionery company.

Read on in Talk Story

Heavenly Work: The Fleeting Legacy of the Shakers →

Ten years have passed since my first visit to Canterbury Shaker Village, but walking again past the apple trees and old wooden buildings, I’m struck by the same feeling. In this small settlement nestled among New Hampshire’s green, rolling hills, a serenity seeps into my bones and muscles, compelling me to walk slowly, deliberately, with reverence. The Shakers believed they were creating and living in a heaven on earth, and that belief feels tangible here, a surviving legacy. But the sentiment also implies a tension—between permanence and transience, between mortal and eternal existence—that is itself ephemeral, difficult to grasp.

Read on in Ecotone

Australian Participatory Music, Two Ways →

My primary framework for understanding Australia: Music from the New England Tablelands of New South Wales, 1850–1900, a collection of modern interpretations of “bush music” dating back to the latter half of the 19th century, largely comes from my own experience playing American old-time music.

Both traditions have origins in English, Scottish, Irish, and other European musical forms, and the two even share some of the same repertoire. “Barbara Allen” (track 13), arranged on this album with vocals, guitar, violin, cello, kendang (a type of skin-head drum), and clapsticks, is also one of the most popular Appalachian ballads in the old-time tradition. “William Grimes the Drover” (track 15) is another classic American folk song and is included in Cecil Sharp’s Appalachian collection.

Read on via Smithsonian Folkways