photograph by pat kerr tigrett
Martha Stewart with Michael Donahue in the kitchen of Maplewood, the author's home in Red Banks, Mississippi.
In honor of National Drink Wine Day (Friday, February 18th), I’m sharing the story about the day Martha Stewart drank my homemade corn wine in the kitchen of my home in Red Banks, Mississippi.
Yes, THE Martha Stewart: the writer, publisher, and TV personality who probably knows more about home decor, gardening, and lifestyles than anybody. She’s also the founder of the Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia Inc. merchandising and media company.
All of which is pretty daunting when you discover that same woman is going to drop by your house in a matter of hours.
But first, a bit about the corn wine. Decades ago, the local postmaster told me about a Red Banks resident who gave her a bottle of homemade corn wine every Christmas. The woman made it the old-fashioned way, without using intricate equipment from a wine-making store.
I was intrigued. I wanted to learn to make wine like that. So I invited the local winemaker to my house to show me how to make it. I bought the earthenware crock and the ingredients.
Stewart got really excited when I told her my story about how I began making the corn wine. She wanted the recipe.
Instead of videotaping the process, I took notes reporter-style while she showed me the steps. The ingredients were ears of corn, yeast, sugar, raisins, and water. Put all that in a crock covered with a towel and “let it work,” the woman told me. And, she said, after you pour the wine into a glass jug, don’t screw the top down too tight until all the bubbles rise to the top — or the whole thing will explode.
I managed to make several batches with no explosions.
Getting back to Stewart. In 1993, I got a call from Pat Kerr Tigrett, the fashion designer and Memphis booster. She said she and her buddy, Martha Stewart, were traveling to Holly Springs, Mississippi, on their way to visit author John Grisham who was living then in Oxford, Mississippi.
I said, “Bring her by my house on the way.” Stewart had just published Martha Stewart’s New Old House, which was about restoring an old house. I honestly thought if she saw my circa-1832 farmhouse, she’d do another book on restoring my house.
After Tigrett called back and said they were stopping by, I cleaned my house like it had never been cleaned before. I remember finding a dyed and (thankfully) unbroken Easter egg still hidden in the living room from months before.
Then Stewart and Tigrett showed up. I’m sure I had an unnatural fixed smile on my face for most of their visit. I gave Stewart a tour. She was holding a little camera, but she wasn’t furiously snapping away. In fact, I don’t remember her taking a single photo.
I used to have a set of antique Eastlake furniture, which isn’t the most sought-after Victorian style, in my living room. Springs were sticking out of almost every piece and the old upholstery was ripped or missing. I’d always planned to have the set reupholstered.
I remember Stewart looking at it and graciously saying something along the lines of, “Well, all the pieces match.” I felt the book idea starting to fade.
She looked serious most of the time. It was a different story when she got to the kitchen and saw the wine crocks on the table. She asked what I was making, and when I told her “corn wine,” she suddenly brightened up. I brought out a jug of the wine I had made some time before and poured glasses for everybody.
She loved it.
Tigrett snapped this photo of me about to pour a glass of wine for everybody as Stewart and I, both wearing heavy coats, smiled into the camera on that cold afternoon. In the photo, my kitchen table is adorned with a wooden bowl with fruit, including a pineapple, in it, which is not the norm at my house.
A copy of Martha Stewart Living magazine looks like it’s strategically placed on the table, but I think they brought that magazine with them.
Stewart got really excited when I told her my story about how I began making the corn wine. She wanted the recipe.
I began telling her from memory how I made it while she wrote everything down. But I couldn’t remember how much sugar I used. I couldn’t find my original notes, so I told her I’d call her later and give her the correct amount.
But I never called Stewart. That recipe never appeared in Martha Stewart Living. And, needless to say, a coffee-table book about my house does not exist. Well, not yet anyway.
Tigrett got on my rotary phone to tell Grisham they were on their way, and they left.
But I now know I can invite anybody to my house without fear. After all, THE Martha Stewart once was a visitor.
And I pulled it off. I guess.
