"We ate whatever the white man ate. My mother was the cook. She had a
cook-room joined to her room [which reached clear over to the white
folks' house.] [HW: see p. 4] Everything she cooked on that stove, we
all ate it, white and black--some of the putting, [HW: pudding] some
of the cakes, some of the pies, some of the custard, some of the
biscuits, some of the corn bread--we all had it, white and black. I
don't know no difference at all. Asa Brown was a good old man. There
was some mean slave owners, but he wasn't one.