On Tuesday, August 25, the world was devastated to learn that Dolly Rebecca Parton departed this mortal plane at age 80. She has been, rightly, recognized as a musical icon and unparalleled philanthropist, penning some of the most beloved songs in the American musical canon and donating over 300 million books to children through her Imagination Library. But because there are so many great things that Dolly did, it is easy enough to forget that she was history’s greatest champion of the working class.
She will be remembered as the writer of “9 to 5,” a song that neatly distills the proletariat struggle into a catchy, four-minute anthem, and rightfully so. But I’ll also remember her as a woman who unabashedly shared her love for humble, simple, home-cooked food. "Every single diet I ever fell off of was because of potatoes and gravy of some sort,” she famously said, echoing the sentiments of all the other gravy-loving women like her. She spoke openly about her appreciation for her mother’s cooking, writing her beloved chocolate cake into 1984's “Tennessee Homesick Blues.”
I think a lot about “Cuppa Cuppa Cuppa,” the dead-simple dessert recipe shared by her character Truvy Jones in the film Steel Magnolias. Just a cup of flour, a cup of sugar, and a cup of canned fruit cocktail — “with the juice” — the recipe is one of those things that anyone could make with just a few simple pantry ingredients. Even in her fictional depictions, Dolly knew that regular folks don’t have time to make elaborate or expensive weekday desserts. She might have dressed up in diamonds and pearls, but she also knew that good food didn’t need a bunch of fancy garnishes or ingredients to be special.
Her Tennessee theme park, Dollywood, is as known for its pillowy cinnamon bread as it is for the attractions and rides. In 2022, she launched a collaboration with Duncan Hines, bringing her legendary name to a line of sweet and savory baking mixes also inspired by her upbringing. I spoke with her about this line in 2023 — a professional pinnacle, to be sure — and something she made clear in that conversation is that she wanted to create something to help busy people (read: working people) get a delicious dessert or side dish on the table a little bit easier.
She was also the author of two cookbooks, the unfortunately titled Dolly’s Dixie Fixins and Good Lookin’ Cookin’, the latter of which was co-written with her sister, Rachel. Both books are full of homey comfort food — think decadent cobblers and fried chicken with her beloved gravy to go alongside — and a bunch of shortcuts to make those recipes easier. After seven decades in show business and decades since she ever actually had to cook for herself, Dolly was still thinking about the needs of people who actually work those 9-to-5 jobs she sang about.
That’s because she was of those people — of working-class Tennesseans who scraped by for generations. As she became a star, she maintained a deep connection to those roots and was open about how food helped her feel close to her family, especially after her mother’s death. Dolly was, as she said, a diamond in a rhinestone world, but she was also a pot of soup beans in a caviar world — nourishing, humble, and ever-present. When we spoke in 2023, she opened up about how she thought her mother might have enjoyed the ease and simplicity of her baking mixes when she was cooking for her twelve children, if only she could have afforded them back then.
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Dolly’s loss is profound in so many ways, and her fans’ connection to her runs even deeper, in part because of the ways that she connected with us beyond her music, like food. The collective outpouring of grief following her death has been a point of connection, and to some extent a comfort. There is peace in knowing that she was as loved by everyone as I loved her. But now that I’ve listened to “I Will Always Love You” and enjoyed a teary screening of “9 to 5” in the comfort of my own home, I’m looking for some comfort in the place she might have sought it — a plate of fried chicken and potatoes, smothered in gravy.
And so I’ll set aside some time this weekend to cook a proper Dolly sendoff. I’ll make her favorite dessert — she told me it was banana pudding — and a big mess of juicy fried chicken with turnip greens and mashed potatoes. A plate connected to my own upbringing and hers, a sort of Southern communion. There will be so much gravy, seasoned in part by my tears. I can’t think of a better way to honor her than diving face-first into a plate of potatoes as “Wildflowers” plays in the background.
RIP, Dolly.
