The humble history behind the Southern chicken favorite
Every year, the cold weather brings with it a conflict that pits brother against brother, mother against daughter, duck against dynasty. Families find themselves unexpectedly face-to-face with the culinary Other, thrust onto the front of a battle they did not volunteer for, a war they did not anticipate—a fight for the very heart of chicken and dumplings.
There’s no debate over the iconic status of Southern chicken and dumplings and there’s certainly no questioning the soul-hugging embrace you experience with every delicious bite. The conflict arises over the glutinous treasures floating in every bowl; the ying to this dish’s chicken yang; those delightful pockets of heaven that adorn this underrated star of Southern cuisine: the dumplings.
I was raised by a good Southern family that loved me and cared about the food that graced our dinner table, so of course, chicken and dumplings in our home were always made with fluffy, delectable, buttermilk drop dumplings.
I remember watching my grandmother’s weathered hands delicately pinch off pieces of slightly sticky, buttermilk dumpling dough and drop them into a simmering pot of spectacularly rich and aromatic chicken broth. Before long, those bits of dough would rise to the top of the broth like edible clouds floating above the bosom of Abraham.
Each time I bit into one of those fluffy dumplings it was like experiencing my first kiss, a mother’s hug, and crawling into a box full of kittens all in one moment. Chicken and dumplings were a safe space where I could do a culinary trust fall and never have any doubt that those downy-light, buttermilk dumplings would catch me, hold me, and take care of me like none other.
But for hundreds of years before Southern cooks perfected the drop dumpling, chicken and dumpling makers rolled their dumpling dough into thick, gummy noodle-like rectangles that seemed to be spawned from the Devil himself in order to sow discord among otherwise peaceful dumpling eaters.
According to the earliest written recipes, these rolled, flat dumplings made from flour, suet (beef or mutton fat from around the loins and kidneys), water and salt were the norm in European cooking from the early 1600’s until the late 1800’s. Other early variations wrapped a crude suet pastry dough around boiled meat, folded it into a small, calzone-shaped pie which was then wrapped inside of a thick cloth and boiled.
It wasn’t until the late 19th century, however, that the magical union between chicken and dumpling began to materialize on the tables of both humble, working-class folks and people of means. Keep in mind that chicken didn’t become a cheap “commodity” food until the middle of the last century. Prior to that, most Americans raised chickens for eggs, so the animal itself was valuable and only eaten on rare occasions or by wealthier families who could afford the meat, which prior to the 1960s (when industrialized farming began on a large scale) was more expensive than most cuts of beef or even veal.
The idea that chicken and dumplings came out of the poverty and sustenance practices of the Civil War and Great Depression makes a good story, but it simply isn’t true. Chicken and dumplings have been enjoyed by Southerners from all walks of life in times of both feast and famine, with both rolled and drop dumplings duking it out for dumpling supremacy.
The conflicting origins from various regions, countries and cultures have left us with a variety of competing dumpling recipes, as well as a hodgepodge of recipes for the full dish. Some dumpling recipes call for herbs to be added to the dough, some use water or plain milk rather than buttermilk; some recipes use baked chicken thighs and breasts as the base for the broth while others start with a whole chicken, including the head and feet. There are even recipes that confuse chicken and dumplings with chicken pot pie and include carrots, peas and celery (I’m looking at you, “Pioneer” Woman).
In spite of my own personal preferences for how chicken and dumplings should be made, I must admit there is no one “true” recipe for Southern chicken and dumplings. The battle that rages inside of me every winter is one I will have to wage quietly, and internally to keep peace between the flat dumpling eaters in my extended family, and the fluffy, buttermilk drop dumpling eaters in my immediate family who keep the one true dumpling faith alive.
As for me and my house, we will serve drop dumplings, the way the Lord intended.
Mike McJunkin is a native Chattanoogan who has traveled abroad extensively, trained chefs, and owned and operated restaurants. Join him on Facebook at facebook.com/SushiAndBiscuits