The Southern Way To Eat Leftover Cornbread (It’s So Much Better)

When I was little, I stayed with my grandparents after school and during the summer. My pawpaw (my mom’s dad) regularly challenged my young palate with delicacies that were woven into those long afternoons like a gold thread that I still tug on from time to time when I feel homesick or just nostalgic.

In the fall, he’d pick a wormy apple from a tree, expertly carve away the mottled skin in a single long strip with the Case pocketknife he took everywhere, and feed me the good bits piece by little piece.

In the spring, he’d pull purple-topped turnips out of the red clay soil, wash them at the outdoor spigot, and coax me into trying a slice. I was suspicious of raw vegetables, but I trusted him. I learned that turnips, despite being roughly the same color and shape as onions—which I despised and still do—are mild and sweet.

And just about any day of the week, any time of the year, I watched him perform a food ritual that was a little too exciting for my immature taste buds. He’d take a stale piece of my nana’s cornbread, which was baked to a dark, burnished brown and not a bit sweet, crumble it into a tall glass—the kind you’d fill up with iced sweet tea—pour in thick buttermilk, and eat it with a spoon.

I just wasn’t ready for that particular flavor experience. The tang of buttermilk reminded me of spoiled milk (which is not far from the truth), and I wanted to drench my cornbread in butter and honey.

10-odd years later, in college, I worked as a production baker at a grocery store. I made cornbread every morning—a full-sized sheet pan of the stuff—and there were always day-olds hanging around. Since my day started at 5 a.m., I never ate breakfast before leaving my apartment, so I’d start picking at the day-old pastries a couple of hours into my shift.

The memory of Pawpaw’s cornbread snack came back to me, and with a few years and more food experiences under my belt, I decided to try it. My tall glass of cornbread and buttermilk prompted a lot of wide-eyed stares and dubious remarks among the other kitchen staff, most of whom weren’t originally from the South, but I loved it at first bite.

The dry cornbread was crusty enough to retain some texture even after being drenched in buttermilk, whose lemony tang contrasted with the subtle sweetness of the cornbread. I wanted it more savory than sweet, so I added a pinch of salt and some black pepper, and it was the perfect breakfast.

It’s only a slight exaggeration to say that now I make cornbread just so I can enjoy the remnants the day after, crumbled up and bathed in buttermilk. I think of it as Southern breakfast cereal, and unlike Honey Nut Cheerios or Cap’n Crunch, it sticks with me for hours and tastes like home.

If you want to try this Southern delicacy, here are a few tidbits of advice:

• Use a less sweet cornbread—I’ll use just about any cornbread for this specialty, including cornbread with mix-ins like diced chiles and cheddar. However, lean cornbread (one without sugar and made exclusively from cornmeal) provides the best textural experience. It dries out enough to maintain some texture as it sits in the buttermilk. If your cornbread is moist, I recommend drying it out in a 350°F oven for 10 to 15 minutes.
• Use full-fat buttermilk—Though it’s harder to find than low-fat buttermilk, the full-fat version is worth seeking out for its extra creamy, thick consistency and superior flavor. However, any old buttermilk works just fine.
• Go sweet or savory—While I grew up on sugar-free cornbread, I won’t yuck anyone else’s yum. If you prefer sweet cornbread, I recommend leaning into the sweetness and drizzling your crumbled, buttermilk-doused cornbread with honey or maple syrup. For a savory experience, sprinkle it with salt and pepper or a few dashes of hot sauce.