JC came over to my house the other day to set the keys for some new songs he wanted me to do on our next gig. He's the bandleader/pianist for The "Biggish" Band, also known as Champagne Fountain of Joy. I met him awhile back when Lee Alexander called me and asked if I'd be interested in singing with a swing band again. I figured, why not. It's good for me vocally, it's good for my ear. There's always more to learn, more to improve, no matter how good I get. And I was right. Sitting next to horn players like James Zollar every week is a revelation. Whenever he takes a solo, I go to school. Singing standards forces my voice to do things that it doesn't have to do with other material. And there's a lot to listen to, with a big band-even if it's a "biggish" one.

But they're not standards. Not exactly. The thing about this particular project that's so engaging is that it's all original music but it sounds like songs from the 30's and 40's. It's also a rotating roster of some of the coolest musicians (Flip Barnes, Patience Higgins, J. Walter Hawkins) and vocalists in New York City, which keeps things fresh and interesting and slightly askew. I recall one gig in particular at Joe's Pub that had us opening for Mose Allison with three vocalists: Madeleine Peyroux, Norah Jones and myself.

I want to be the kind of vocalist that can sing anything.

JC was a bundle of nerves, suited up in a three piece gent looking outfit and talking a mile a minute, sputtering in non-sequitors, half sentences and wisecracks. As usual. J. Walter was at the ready, waiting by the phone for the new key change so he could work out the arrangements. We plopped down at my piano and figured it out in no time so we could get to the real matter at hand-lunch.

JC knows that a trip to my house to rehearse means eating something delicious. When I have rehearsals here, I always feed the band. One guy showing up was no exception. It was too hot to use the stove, but I didn't care. There was a batch of red beans and yellow rice with chorizo on the back of the stove and I wanted hot water cornbread.to go with it. When I asked JC if he wanted some, he said yes. I could tell by the way he said it that he had no idea what it was. Hilarious. Of course, I didn't tell him. Curiosity dissolved into surprise, which quickly became elation. No, I won't tell you how to make it. No, I'm not going to tell you what's in it. No, I don't know where you can get a recipe. I never had a recipe, someone showed me how to make it when I lived in Texas. It's an Arklatex thing, I think. I grew up on cracklin' bread. What's cracklin' bread? Maybe I'll make it the next time you come over…

When it comes to culinary delights, as a people we're so much more than fried chicken and collard greens and mac 'n cheese. Not that JC didn't know that, but how would he ever find out, unless he came over to someone's house to eat? I've never had hot water cornbread in a restaurant in this city-or any other restaurant north of the Mason-Dixon line, for that matter. What we love to eat varies from region to region, just like everyone else. No one seems to recognize that. Where I come from, we ate lots of rice and seafood, and things like boiled peanuts and green tomatoes. Dishes like Frogmore Stew and Hoppin' John.

Someday I'm going to open a restaurant and serve black folks' food from my neck of the woods. And when I do, there won't be any of that so-called soul food on the menu.