Month: December 2014

Fee day-o come and I want to eat some

/ momsequitur / 1 Comment

In my daydreams, I’m glamorous and alluring.  Late at night, after an exclusive party, my driver brings me home to my large tastefully-decorated apartment in a luxury building in Art Deco City.

There, still attired in slinky velvet and expensive shoes, I whip up an intimate late supper for my gentleman friend Cary Grant and myself.

This may look like Greta Garbo, but it’s me I tells ya!

In the real world though, money can be tight, and Petey and I need some grub to fill our bellies.  So I still make dinner for two but clothed in a sweat suit and my fuzzy Wigwam socks.

But in both realities, it’s the same dish; a fideo (fid-ay-oh) frittata.  It’s an Italian open-faced omelet.  They’re usually studded with potatoes.  This one isn’t.  This one’s flecked with fideo.

Fideo is the Spanish word for noodle.  This variety is about 2 inches long, and the width of angel hair pasta.  The La Moderna brand is widely available in the Latin section of most grocery stores.  It’s also usually very cheap—like 2 or 3 bags for a dollar cheap.It’s traditionally used in a Mexican soup.  The fideo cooking process though, is not the normal noodle soup method of just tossing it raw into pot of soup.  The secret is in the toasting.

Oil is added to a skillet, and the fideo is gently tossed until brown and nutty.  In my frittata, after rendering the bacon, I pour out all the fat, but don’t wipe the pan, and what little bit of bacon grease left is what I use.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Toasted fideo–it’s worth the effort in the finished product.

It’s the height of folly to employ neglect or abandonment during the toasting portion of the program.  It only takes 5-7 minutes, and even I; impatience incarnate, can manage that.

Getting all your fillings cooked off and out of the way will make the assembly and cooking a breeze whether you’re just in from a late night, or it’s simply time for dinner.   I make my fillings early in the day and stash ‘em in the fridge until it’s time to cook.  You can even do them the day before.  Then in less than 15 minutes you could be sitting down to a meal.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Tossing and coating.

This frittata can be eaten with toast and a fruit salad for breakfast, or some mixed greens, crusty bread, and a glass of dry white for supper.  The other night I served it with some herb-roasted grape tomatoes (and glasses of sun tea).

Fideo Frittata

3 cups broccoli, cut into small florets and blanched until just tender

1/2 small onion, chopped

2 cups mushrooms sliced

2 tablespoons sliced sun-dried tomatoes in oil

2 slices bacon

3/4 cups raw fideo

2 cups chicken stock

6 eggs, well-beaten and seasoned with salt and pepper

1/3 cup mozzarella cheese, cubed or coarsely shredded

3/4 cup Marsala

2 teaspoons olive oil

2 tablespoons butter

Salt and pepper

Cut bacon into 1/2 inch strips, and cook until brown and crispy in heat-proof non-stick skillet.  Remove and place on paper towels.  Discard oil, but don’t wipe out pan.

Put fideo in same pan, and stirring constantly, sauté until pasta has turned amber.  Pour chicken stock into skillet and cook pasta until tender, about 5 minutes.  Drain and set aside.

In same skillet, add olive oil, and cook mushrooms and onions until the edges have begun to crisp and caramelize.  Deglaze pan with Marsala and cook until the liquid has cooked out.

 At this point, you can stop, store everything, and finish later.

Preheat oven to 375.

Heat pan, and melt butter.  Add all the veggies and fideo and toss to coat.  Pour in egg, jiggling so it’s evenly distributed.  Scatter mozzarella and bacon over the top.  Cook for a couple of minutes, ’til bottom is set.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

After assembly, before the oven.

Place in oven and cook for 8-10 minutes.  Remove from oven when middle is just set (check by cutting small slit in center), cheese is melted, and bacon has begun to sizzle.  Don’t let it get brown.

Slice and serve.  Serves 2- 4.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Dinner elegante!

When sliced and plated with a crispy, bright salad, my fideo frittata looks pretty fancy (even though in my real life the closest I get to sophistication is watching BBC America while wearing pants).

Thanks for your time.

Me-O, My-O, Mayo

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

Originally published in the Herald Sun 5/2012

Hello, my name is Debbie Matthews, and I am a white food addict. I just love starches. Right now in my kitchen there is rice, potatoes (white and fingerlings), six different bread products, and about eight different pasta shapes. Just tonight I came home from Costco with enough blue box mac to feed the whole Duggar family for a week. And, no children live at our house. Petey and I will take care of it all.

That’s the stuff.

As much as I love a fluffy baked potato, or a piece of sourdough toast, though, I’ve got to be honest. Just like cake is the delivery device for the frosting, white food is an especially scrumptious platform for the fat I put on it.

Mashed potatoes and gravy. Buttered rice with peas. Pasta with Alfredo sauce. Fresh bagels with obscene amounts of cream cheese.

…and I mean obscene.

And mayonnaise is always in my fridge, and I suspect in most of yours. Unfortunately, because of mayo’s familiarity, we tend to take it for granted. But think about it. Where would your tuna sandwich, potato salad, and deviled eggs be without our creamy friend?

Perfect resting place for mayo.

Perfect resting place for mayo.

It’s a little bit like family. They’re not really appreciated until we feel that they’re being dissed. You want to start a fight? Walk into a room, and announce that Miracle Whip is an abomination. Or, conversely, declare that Duke’s sucks, and Miracle Whip is the only true mayo. Folks will be riled up for hours. I promise.
For many, many years, I was a true-blue Kraft girl. That’s what my mom bought, and that’s what I grew up with. I did have a short-term fling with Duke’s. A cook gave me a terrific lemon potato salad recipe that only works well if made with Duke’s. Soon, though the egginess and lack of zing sent me back into Kraft’s awaiting arms.
One day, The Kid, Petey and I ate at the Raleigh Times (14 E. Hargett St, downtown Raleigh). We were there because we had heard their burgers were amazing. They are. But–they make their fries from scratch–even more amazing. When they brought us delicious mayo to dunk the wonderful fries in, we were convinced it was homemade. It wasn’t; it was Hellmann’s. From that day forward, we were a Hellmann’s family.
No matter which jar you grab at the grocery store, there is an interesting alternative. Make your own. It’s not hard to do, just hard on your arm muscles. You can make it in a blender. But, to really understand how the process works, making it the most basic way is best. Besides, I’ve never made it in a blender, so I can’t speak to that.
The tools are important. You need a nice round bowl, deep enough so you won’t cover yourself in mayo while whisking. A whisk–the bigger the whisk, the more work it will do for you. A vessel for the oil. The first few times I made it, I poured the oil into a large measuring cup, and moved it into the bowl with a small ladle. Eventually, when I got the procedure down, I bought a squeeze bottle, like what ketchup and mustard come in.
The ingredients are simple. It’s likely you have them on hand most of the time. Just remember to take your time. It’s easy to make, but just as easy to ruin.

mayo

Mayo.

Basic Homemade Mayonnaise

2 egg yolks1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
pinch of cayenne pepper
salt and pepper
1 lemon
2 cups (aprox) canola or other mild flavored oil

Place yolks in a bowl with mustard. Whisk them together. Now, here is where it can get tricky. Slowly, one ladle at a time, add the oil. As you’re pouring with one hand, whisk vigorously with the other. When all the oil is incorporated, add another. It should take 3-4 additions of oil before you notice the emulsion beginning. To check, scrape the whisk along the bottom of the bowl. It should hold, and you will see the bowl bottom. With an emulsion, you can add a little faster. But don’t just dump the oil in. You can still destroy your mayo, and end up with a bowl of a watery mess.
When you have a nice, thick bowl of mayo, stop adding oil. This is where you flavor and finish. Add half the juice of the lemon. Liberally salt and pepper. Add the cayenne. Then taste. Fiddle with the flavors ’til you are satisfied.

Homemade mayo is great on tons of stuff. I love to mix it in orzo, fresh aspargus, baby arugula, and some halved grape tomatoes. This makes a tasty, chilled, spring salad.
Made yourself, mayo has all kinds of flavor that doesn’t come in a jar. You can add Tabasco for spice. Or, for garlic mayo, poach a few cloves in some oil. When it’s cooled you can use the oil in the mayo. Use all of the lemon, and garlic infused oil, and you have a lemon-garlic aioli. The kind of stuff that goes for ten bucks a jar at a gourmet grocer. Add pickle relish, a teaspoon of sugar, and some vinegar, you’ve got tartar sauce. Let your imagination go wild.
I was always sure I couldn’t make an emulsion. But, once I tried making it, I realized, as long as I take my time, it’s hard to mess up. And it’s a flavor you just can’t buy.
Homemade is yummy and easy. But some dishes just needs the old supermarket stand-bye to taste right. That’s why I’m still “Team Hellmann’s”.
Which team are you?

Thanks for your time.

Pennies from heaven

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

I consider myself a pretty good home cook.

But even if I won the Nobel prize in brownies, the Pulitzer in meatloaf, or even an Oscar for my green pork chili, my friend Bosco would never let me forget about the cheese straws I made for him.

When The Kid was in preschool, I worked for my friend Bosco at his bookstore.  I thought of him as kind of favorite uncle, who needed my feminine ministrations.  He would let his glasses get so dirty that I had no idea how he was able to read with them.  So, I made it my job to keep them clean.

I also took it upon myself to make him treats.  On Tuesdays I would bring in some type of snack.  Because he was born and raised in NC, one of the first things I decided to make him was cheese straws.

I did some research, found a recipe that sounded authentic, and set to work.

Unfortunately, I had no idea that cheese straws were pastry.  And worse still, I had no clue about the care and handling of pastry dough.  Despite my ignorance, I jumped in and whipped up a batch.

The next day at the store I proudly presented the fruits of my labors to Bosco.

He bit into one, and got a very funny look on his face.

Bosco is a properly-raised Southern gentleman, so I knew him well enough by now to realize there was something very, very wrong with my gift.  So I took one, and bit into it.

If my goal had been to create a new material for rubber boots, they’d have been a rousing success.  But for a flaky cheese straw, it was a heart-rending failure.

When you overwork pastry dough it will develop the gluten and be tough and elastic.

Well, my batch was so developed that it needed a training bra.

I was mortified and grief-stricken, and try as he might, Bosco couldn’t keep peals of laughter from erupting.  And once the comedy dam was breached, all bets were off with my well-mannered, genteel friend.

Forever after any mention of straws, cheese, or my cooking ability has been met with witty one-liners referring to the rubber balls I’d tried to pass off as food.

A few years later, my baking skills had grown so that I was able to make him some pretty tasty tidbits.  But mine were a round cracker shape.  And because the cheese turned them a burnished amber color while baking, I renamed them.

Copper pennies

1 stick plus 6 tablespoons butter (14 tablespoons), room temperature

3 cups sharp Cheddar cheese

1 & 3/4 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for rolling

1/8 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper, more or less to taste

1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

Put the flour, cheese and butter into the container of a food processor. Add salt, cayenne, and Worcestershire. Cover and briefly pulse until the dough comes together and starts to form large lumps.

Remove dough from bowl of food processor, and gently knead just until it comes together and you can shape it into a disk (this is where you can go off the rails, overwork the dough, and end up with a tough finished product).  Divide the disk into four equal portions and roll into logs about 8 inches long by 2 inches in diameter.

Chill logs for at least one hour and then cut into ¼ inch slices. Sprinkle the tops with a little sea or kosher salt.  Place onto parchment lined baking sheet ¼ inch apart.

Bake in preheated 300° oven for 15 minutes and then spin pan 180 degrees and bake 15 minutes more.  At this point, without opening oven, turn off heat and let cheese straws sit inside oven 45 minutes to crisp up.

Remove and let cool.  Makes 6-8 dozen.

The rolls of dough can be refrigerated and baked off for cravings or visitors.  The Kid is serving them at a Christmas party.  For a change, press a pecan half onto each slice before baking.

There’s no joke to close out the column this week.  Just my heartfelt wish for the happiest of holidays for you and yours.

Thanks for your time.

Pink Sauce

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

Originally published in the Herald Sun September 2011.

So, The Kid came home a few days ago, finished with six months of summer internship and first-time completely independent living. Petey and I filled the fridge with childhood favorites like Clementines and RC Cola, and counted the hours.
I made a big pot of childhood’s favorite guilty pleasure; pink sauce.
Despite being the child of an Italian girl from Jersey, I have never liked red sauce (called Sunday gravy by my mom and her sisters). Consequently, I never made it. If Petey or The Kid wanted spaghetti and meatballs, they had to leave home, and get their fix on the streets.
Because I wanted to make some kind of spaghetti for the family, but mainly because I’m always looking for something thick and yummy to ladle onto carbs, I came up with this coral-colored, indulgent concoction.
I invented this recipe before I could really cook, and The Kid has loved it for years. This sauce is not for the faint of heart. It should be no more than an occasional treat if you want to fit into your jeans or look your doctor in the eye. Fat is flavor, and can be the culinary equivilant of false eyelashes and push-up bra for the novice cook.
A big pot of this bubbling velvet starts the day before the finished dish. I make a batch of meatballs. My walnut-sized offerings are made with a mixture of ground veal and pork. Before the meat even comes out of the fridge, I make a panade. A panade is a bread ripped into tiny pieces and soaked until saturated.
My soak is egg, cream, shredded Parm, finely chopped garlic, chiffonade of basil, a splash of both olive oil and marsala wine, and salt and pepper. When the bread and the soak are one, I break the ground meat into small pieces and lightly mix, almost fold the mixture together. If you go nuts and mix your meatballs too much, they will be rubbery and dry.
I can’t fry a spherical meatball to save my life. So, I bake them, on a cooling rack over a cookie sheet, at 350 for twelve minutes, and a few minutes minutes under the broiler, flipped once. This gives them some color that translates to flavor in the finished product.
To get them uniform in size, I use a smallish cookie/portion scoop. I roll them into balls, sprinkle them with salt, pepper, and a little bit of freshly ground nutmeg. About eighteen or so go in the sauce, and any extra go in the freezer for future use.
The sauce itself is pretty simple. I brown 10-12 Italian sausages that I’ve cut into one inch slices. I remove them from the pot and carmelize about 1 1/2 pounds of sliced mushrooms, a small onion chopped, and five or six chopped cloves of garlic. Then I add back the sausage and a can of tomato paste. When the paste has cooked to a deep burgundy, I deglaze with a cup of marsala. When the wine is almost gone, I dump in a quart of chicken stock and 2 cups of cream. Into it I put a couple of tablespoons of sundried tomatoes, 1/2 cup shredded Parm, a tablespoon of sugar, 2 tablespoons of chopped basil, a drizzle of olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste.
When it comes to a boil I thicken it slightly with a peanut butter colored roux and add the meatballs. It then slowly cooks for hours on the stove top.
When we’re ready to eat, I toss in another handful of chopped basil for fresh flavor.
I serve it on spaghetti, bake it into ziti, and use it on a ton of other things. The Kid is convinced it would be tasty on an old tennis shoe. Tonight we’re having leftover sauce on rice, my personal favorite.
Thanks for your time.

Honest to goodness free lunch

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Roasties, sitting in a hot duck fat jacuzzi.

As much as we love it, our family jokes that the worst first date ever would be lunch consisting only of Costco’s free samples.

We adore nibbling our way through the warehouse, and grazing our weight in little bites.

But imagine a lunch date with a brand-new beau, dining on hand-outs.  Not a great first impression.

Last week Petey, The Kid and I visited Costco (1510 North Pointe Drive, Durham).  Because of the holidays, the number of silver food trollies had vastly increased.  We noshed our way through, made our purchases, and left for our next stop.

My mom and dad live in Greensboro, and when visiting, it’s a huge treat to stop by Fresh Market.  So much so, that a few years ago, I asked Santa for a gift card.

There’s a lot to love.  They have a large produce section, full of all the usual suspects, and many lesser known fruit and veg that are usually hard to find.  They have an awesome bakery with a huge variety of beautiful freshly baked breads, and dangerous, decadent desserts.

But no area has the ability to zombify me like the prepared food department zombifies me.

It’s a large island in the middle of the store, with a multitude of ready-to-eat consumables.  Deli, ethnic, finger food, dinner components, you name it.

Their store-made pimento cheese has ruined me.  I literally no longer eat or like any other kind—and I’ve tried.

So upon leaving Costco, we eagerly visited the new Fresh Market (4215 University Drive, Durham), which had opened the previous day.

The place was packed.  Walking into the vestibule where the shopping carts are stored, we were greeted by stacks of the biggest apples I’ve ever seen.  They were honestly as big as a baby’s head.

Creepy yes, but the apples were this big.

Inside the store was a battalion of employees offering a myriad of samples.  Here is only a partial list:

Green salads with 3 different types of dressing

A fruit platter with glossy strawberries, melon, and pineapple

Brie on crackers with roasted garlic, caramelized onion jam

Crab cakes with spicy remoulade

Large servings of slow-cooked baby back ribs

Apple pie

Blueberry banana walnut bread

Onion-y Jarlsberg dip

Smoked Gouda

Fresh brioche

Roasted chicken salad; the best I’ve ever had

And, enough wine to get completely snockered (I wisely stopped after 2 tastes, so as not to embarrass myself)

There was more, but being in a food coma will do things to one’s memory.

At one point, The Kid grabbed me.  In my child’s hand was a tub of rendered duck fat.  This hard to find item is the holy grail of culinary adipose.  It adds huge flavor to anything cooked with it.  Chefs don’t call it ‘liquid gold’ for nothing.

As soon as I saw it, I tossed it into our cart.  I already knew the first thing I would prepare with it.

Duck fat roasties

Roasties are the roasted potatoes traditionally served with an UK Sunday lunch; a big traditional family dinner.  They are beautiful golden spuds, lightly crispy on the outside, and creamy on the inside.

6-8 large, similarly sized and shaped Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled

¼ cup duck fat

1 tablespoon Canola oil

½ teaspoon kosher salt plus more for boiling water

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Place potatoes into a large pot of salted water and bring to boil.  Boil for 5 minutes.

Remove spuds from water and place in colander.  Roll potatoes around in the colander to rough up the outsides.  This step is very important as the rough surfaces will crisp up and color while roasting.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

A roughed-up spud, ready to roast.

Place roasting pan into the oven with the fat until the pan and fat are very hot.  Remove from oven, and put in spuds, making sure the pan is big enough so that they don’t touch.

Season potatoes, then roast, turning them every 15 minutes for 45-60 minutes, or until outside is golden, and insides are tender.

Serves 3-4.

After paying for the duck fat, and some of that amazing chicken salad, we hauled our bloated carcasses to the car.  And I decided that the gastronomic bacchanal at the new Fresh Market would have made the best first date ever (for me, anyway).

Thanks for your time.

Cook Today, Chili Tamale

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

Originally published in the Herald Sun 1/4/2012

I’m not a chili fan. Never sat in front of a bowl of red with anticipation. Wendy’s chili moves me not. Keep that mess away from my dog, I’m a sauerkraut girl. The Kid feels pretty much the same way, except for the sauerkraut (loathes it).
But, we love, adore, and relish a big bowl of a homemade favorite; green pork chili.
It is a pot of many wonders. It’s cheap. It’s easy (not quick-but easy). It can be made on a Saturday afternoon, and will taste even better heated up on a busy Wednesday night. It freezes like a dream, so you can make gallons at a time. If you play your cards right, you can get an extra hunk of slow-cooked pork to use for another meal.
And it’s so very yummy. It’s rich and hearty, without being heavy or greasy. It is jammed full of fresh, healthy veggies, that have cooked down into a rich, roasted nirvana. It’s mellow and comforting, but has a little zip from fresh chiles, lime and cilantro.
It all starts with my old friend, a pork shoulder, or Boston butt (tee hee). Look for it on sale, and buy as big a piece as you have a pot for. You’ll need at least 2-3 pounds for a nice big batch of green. The amounts of the vegetables can also vary, according to taste.

Chili For Folks Who Don’t Like Chili
2-3 pound pork butt (or larger)
1/2-3/4 pounds fresh poblano peppers (for more heat, swap in hotter varieties as desired)
1/2-3/4 pound fresh tomatillos
1 very large white onion
1 head garlic
1 cup white wine or pale beer
6 cups chicken stock
1 large can hominy or posole
2 fresh limes
1 bunch cilantro
Goya Adobo powder with bitter orange (the one with the orange lid)
1/4-1/2 cup white masa (fine corn meal)
*Corn meal can go rancid, quickly. I keep mine indefinitely, in a labled zip-lock bag in the freezer.

The makings of a kick-ass bowl of green chili.

The makings of a kick-ass bowl of green chili.

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Liberally coat and massage adobo into pig. Salt, pepper, dry thyme, cumin, and a dash of dry oregano will make a barely passable substitute for the powder, but the adobo is so much more flavorful and complex. In your biggest, heaviest, lidded pot, sear the meat on all sides in a tablespoon of olive oil. Start with the fat side down, which will add to, and flavor the fat already in the pot. Done right, this will take a good twenty to thirty minutes, so meanwhile, prep your veg.

Slice off the tops of the poblanos, and cut lengthwise in half (If you aren’t an experienced chili head, wearing rubber gloves now will make your life much easier later. The relatively mild poblano’s oils can stay on your skin, even after washing, and burn any tender body parts subsequently touched; yours or anyone else’s). Remove any ribs and all the seeds. Peel off the papery outer skin and rinse the tomatillos (take care: their sap is the stickiest substance known to man). If they’re small (plum-size) halve them, if they are the size of tomatoes, quarter them. Peel onion and roughly cut into five or six big hunks. Peel garlic, and cut off dried ends. Grab a handful of cilantro tops, to taste (I’m not a fan, so I don’t use much, maybe four tablespoons here, with another couple of chopped tablespoons at the end). Slice first lime in half and juice.

When the pork is browned all over, remove and add in the wine or beer. When it has almost all reduced, turn off the stove top, it’s veggie time (not unlike Hammer or Miller). Put about one-quarter of the veg on the bottom of the pot, set in the piggy, fat side up, and put in the rest of the prepped green stuff. Just tuck everything in; around and on top of the meat. Pour in about 2 1/2 cups of the chicken stock and the juice of the first lime. Cover and place in oven.
Check after two hours and then every thirty minutes until the meat is literally falling apart tender. This will probably take at least three hours, please don’t try to rush it, disaster will ensue.
When it’s done, remove the meat to cool some, and put the pot of roasted veg on the stove. Puree vegetables; you can either use a regular blender or an immersion blender (the wand type). Add a few cups of chicken stock, and then with the chili at a low simmer, sprinkle in the masa, a tablespoon at a time until it has tightened up to your taste. Add in drained, rinsed hominy.
Chop or shred three or four cups of the pork, discarding any pieces of fat, and stir it back into the pot with the lime juice from the second lime, and chopped cilantro.
Green Chili!

We serve this over rice. We spoon on some Mexican crema (like sour cream, which can be substituted), and sprinkle on cotija or queso fresco (both are white, salty, crumbly, Latin cheeses).
Rice, such a simple food, can cause acute stress when cooked at home. I promise, my method will eliminate the drama and produce evenly cooked, fluffy separate grains every time. And once you get this method down, you can flavor it to your liking, or even make pilaf this way. The secret is–don’t mess around with it, and it just about takes care of itself.

Basic White Rice
2 cups regular white rice (long grain, jasmine, basmati, all will work, but not the arborio type)
2 3/4 cup water
1 teaspoon kosher salt

Stir rice, salt, and water into a heavy pot with a lid (this is the last time you will stir the rice). Heat on medium-high, and let come to a boil. The second it starts to boil, reduce to medium-low, cover, and set timer for thirteen minutes.
When the time is up, carefully lift the lid, and peek; mindfully–there’s steam. If the water is all gone (you’ll hear hissing, but no bubbling sounds), replace the lid, and take it off the heat. If not, put it back and check every couple of minutes until it is gone.
Leave covered and unmolested for twenty full minutes. At 20, remove the lid, and with a big fork, fluff, don’t stir the rice, to separate the grains. Transfer to a serving dish and serve.
Makes about four cups.

If you have more pork than you need for the chili, bag and freeze. Last time I pulled out a bag, I served it on grilled Texas toast with mashed potatoes and German-scented mushroom gravy. The only limit to what you can do with the bonus meat is the potency of your spirit of adventure.
There’s tons of great things about green pork chili. But one of the best things is the way it makes your house smell all day while it’s cooking. And the way it makes your insides feel when you’re eating it.
Thanks for your time.

Nuts to you

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment
The long awaited successful batch of roasted garbanzo beans.

The long awaited successful batch of roasted garbanzo beans.

First, let me start by saying that I am cognizant of the fact that neither peanuts nor chick peas are nuts.

Both are legumes, but they possess a certain nutty quality.  And not just because they think Jaws 2 was the better than the original and sandals with socks are a good look.

Yeah…not so much.

The chickpeas were the toughest, taking the most tinkering.  I’d made them (badly) in the past and was not impressed.  I thought they were just another healthy food that folks had convinced themselves were tasty, so they would munch on them, and not the potato chips.

But when I finally got a batch in which most were correctly roasted, I understood.  They are uber-crunchy (Petey has never actually tried them, because to him, they sound “too” crunchy—not even sure what that is), and flavored with lots of lemon, garlic, and Puerto Rican spices.

The goal when cooking is to roast them until all the moisture is gone, but they aren’t burned.  Which isn’t as easy as you’d think.  I tried lots of different combinations of heat and time, re-baked ones that weren’t done, and tossed many that were blackened nuggets of despair.

Last week, I finally cracked the code.  They take two hours in the oven, but when they’re finished the entire batch is cooked to uniform doneness.

My recipe produces a citrusy, garlic-y result.  But please, flavor them any way you like.  Go Chinese with toasted sesame oil and five spice powder.  Do a spicy Southwest version with cayenne, paprika, and chili powder.  Or make them Jamaican with some jerk spice.  That’s why making your own is so darn satisfying; you’re the boss of your own chick peas.

Trial and error roasted garbanzos

1 15 ½ ounce can chick peas

1 tablespoon garlic oil

Juice of ½ lemon

2 teaspoons Goya bitter orange adobo

Preheat oven to 325.  Drain and rinse beans.  Put into sturdy, dark, 9 inch round, or square metal pan.  Drizzle on oil and juice, sprinkle on spice.  Roll around to evenly coat and put in single layer.  Bake 30 minutes, then remove from oven and roll around and toss.  Do this every 30 minutes for a total of 1 ½ hours.  Then give them one last jiggle, turn off oven and let sit inside, undisturbed, for 30 more minutes.  Makes 1 ½-2 cups.

When I worked for Bosco, we had a customer who was a caterer and each year at Christmas would bring us homemade Buckeyes.  For the uninitiated, they are delicious little peanut butter balls coated with chocolate.  They are to Reese’s cups what steak is to a Mickey D’s quarter pounder–they both come from a cow, but that’s where the similarity ends.

I often give these as gifts.  I make up the balls, and then freeze.  When I need some, I just coat them with the chocolate, without even thawing them.  Use a toothpick to dunk them, then smooth out the little hole you’ve made.  The wax keeps the chocolate glossy, but you won’t taste it.

Buckeyes

5 ½ cups confectioner’s sugar, sifted

1 c. peanut butter

1/2 lb. (2 sticks) butter, softened

1 teaspoon salt

Caviar from 1 vanilla bean

½ bag semi-sweet chocolate chips

½ bag milk chocolate chips

About 1/3 cup canning paraffin wax, finely chopped

Blend butter, peanut butter and vanilla. Add sugar and beat to dough-like consistency. Form into balls with small scoop and chill or freeze. Melt chocolates and wax in microwave on 20 second intervals, stirring after each, until almost fully melted.  Then stir until completely smooth. Double-dip balls in chocolate, leaving circle of peanut butter showing.  Makes about 6 dozen.

My last recipe is crazy-simple.  But you won’t be able to keep your hands out of these pecans.

Obsessive-compulsive Pecans

Melt 2 tablespoons of butter in skillet on medium.  Add 2 cups whole, shelled pecans.  Salt and pepper to taste.  Stir constantly until they’re lightly browned and smell nutty.  Drain on paper towels.

So here you have it.  Three recipes that are perfect to put out for visitors, or give as gifts.

And, if somebody tells you to go nuts, you can say, “Don’t mind if I do.”

Thanks for your time.

“I was Debbie Ross…”

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment
debbie eighties

Believe it or not, this was considered fashionable, and sexy in the eighties…and all of that hair is mine.

Originally published in the Herald Sun 11/28/2012

In our minds, I and my best friends Rhiannon and Bo, ran the high school and owned the whole of Elizabeth City when we were seniors.

We all had cars and boyfriends (my car was a 1971 Dodge Dart Swinger named Lancelot, and my boyfriend was a stone cold fox named Petey), at 18 we could legally buy beer, we had jobs, so we had a little jingle in our jeans, and we had enough (ati)‘tude to light up Time’s Square.

And it all seems like yesterday.

But yesterday was actually my thirtieth-class reunion. Petey and I got back home a few hours ago.  It was all kinds of fun.

Friday night we donned NHS reunion t-shirts and went to see Northeastern play football.  We stomped First Flight High from Kill Devil Hills 47-7.

Which is kind of amazing, because I’m not sure the Eagles won one game the entire time I was a student there.

Saturday we had an old-fashioned pig pickin’ wonderfully prepared by our uber-talented ‘cue cook and classmate, Frank Lilly Jr.

Eastern NC BBQ is different from other food. It’s something that is only made well by a very few. It’s not a recipe or a ‘dish’.  It is pork slowly basted in mystery, and the past.  Luckily for the class of ‘82, Frank is one of the anointed ones.

Barbecue is never to be attempted by dilettantes and amateurs.

I got crazy sunburned.  Petey, wise man that he is, wore a hat and got into the shade occasionally.   He has a healthy glow–I look like I was staked out in the desert.

Saturday night was the dinner-dance.

There was a catered dinner, a DJ, and a photographer.  Everybody was all dressed up and looking swell.  It was prom for the Spanxx and bald spot set.

Nobody wanted it to end.

When traveling, we don’t like imposing on friends and family.  The visit is happier when all parties can retreat to privacy.

But I don’t like to stay in chain motels.  They all look alike, and usually smell funny.

And Petey doesn’t like Bed and Breakfasts.  He’s very quiet and nest-y, and it makes him feel uncomfortably like a house guest in a stranger’s home.

My conundrum was that is the bulk of the options in town.

The last time I visited E City, Bo showed me where they held the cast party for her local theater production.

It was a beautiful brick Georgian house on Main St, just a short walk from downtown; the Culpepper Inn (609 W Main St, E City).  In addition to hosting parties, it was also a B&B.

When it came time to make a decision about where to stay, I thought about the inn, but I didn’t think Petey would be up for it.  Just in case, I pulled up the website.

The Culpepper Inn. A very elegant home away from home.

Yes, it was a dreaded B&B, but with a neat twist.  They had the most adorable suite upstairs in the carriage house.  It was a separate building, with outside access, and total privacy.  The flat also contains a shower so big you could play half-court b-ball in it.  That’s my idea of nirvana (the shower, not the b-ball).

It’s a charmingly decorated studio apartment with the amenities of a stately, well-appointed residence.  And it comes with a three-course breakfast.

I made reservations.

Holly Koerber, and her lovely daughter Melanie were our hosts, and by the time we left, friends.

The best meal we ate all weekend was at their table, this morning.

Holly’s philosophy is astonishingly Durham-like.  The inn is run in a very environmentally responsible manner.

But it’s her cooking that truly resembles the Bull City.

As much as possible, the food is organic and locally sourced.  I ate some fantastic bacon that they get from a farm in Windsor (a teeny tiny town about 50 miles from E City).  The pumpkin came from a nearby field.  Local honey.  Everything was fresh, and simply, honestly prepared so that the ingredients shined.  Outside our own carriage house door was growing a healthy gaggle of heavenly smelling tomato plants, heavy with luminous jade orbs.

This morning, we had scrambled eggs, the aforementioned yummy bacon, baked cheesy grits, and a pumpkin French toast casserole, along with vibrant fresh fruit.

I thought about that bounty on the 3 ½ hour ride to Durham.  And also about the beauty of that historic home and all of our experiences in town this weekend; how they were truly an illustration of the very best things about Elizabeth City.

As soon as we got back, I called Holly and asked for a recipe.  I was hoping I could beg her for one, but almost before I finished asking, she kindly offered both recipes, the grits and the casserole.

Here they are, in her own words:

Cheese Grits:

Cook ½ cup yellow grits in 2 cups of boiling water with ½ tsp. of salt & ground pepper on low for 5-6 minutes.  Add ¼ cup real butter, 1 cup shredded cheese (any kind you prefer, I like smoked Gouda), and finally, 1 beaten egg.  Put in individual baking dishes and bake at 325 degrees for 25 minutes.  Brush top with more butter and serve.

Pumpkin Bread Breakfast Casserole

5 slices of any bread, cubed. (Inexpensive white bread puffs the nicest!)

1 cup pumpkin puree (canned or fresh)

1/3 cup sugar

1 tsp. pumpkin pie spice

1/2 tsp. cinnamon

1 tsp. vanilla

Pinch salt

3 eggs, beaten

½ cup milk

3oz evap. milk

½ cup chopped pecans

Grease 8X8 casserole. Add cubed bread.  Blend pumpkin, spices, vanilla, salt, eggs, both milks and pour over bread. Top with pecans. Cover with plastic and refrigerate overnight.

Bake uncovered at 350 degrees about 45 minutes until a toothpick in the center comes out clean.  You may serve this with vanilla yogurt on the side.

It was kind of disconcerting seeing all my old classmates this weekend.  In my head they were a bunch of eighteen-year-old kids getting ready to take on the world.  But the folks that showed up looked like the parents of those kids.

Until I looked into their eyes.  And then I recognized those nutty guys from NHS class of ’82 (Of course, Rhi, Bo, and I all still look like teenagers).

Go Eagles!

*Coming soon:  One of my most beloved friends from NHS, Paxton, lives here in Durham.  It was revealed this weekend that the heathen doesn’t like Mexican food.  His partner Alex and I are taking him to Chubby’s for a conversion attempt.

I will spill on our adventures in a future column.

Thanks for your time.

A very merry Matthews Christmas

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

Originally published in the Herald Sun 12/21/2011

Yep, this is a thing that actually happened–in the 80’s.  Check out the pom-poms on Nancy’s shoes…

Twenty-five years ago was our very first Christmas in Durham. It was also the first time Petey and I had been away from family at the holidays. The Kid be wouldn’t be making an appearance for another six years.

We’d moved to town the during the summer that had just passed, and were loving our adventures in the Bull City. We were both busy; separately, at work; and together, exploring our new home. My boss Joodi, a transplant herself, had taken us under her social wing, and we were spending time with Petey’s co-workers at Duke.

During his shifts at the hospital, I frequently visited him for meals. I liked his fellow nurses. We’d had cook-outs and Trivial Pursuit nights together. Late in November, Petey told me the crew at work was having a holiday get-together.

He was casual about it. Just a gathering at somebody’s apartment club house.

I had to work late, so Petey picked me up at the mall on the appointed night.

Dressed for the store, I was attired in off-white cargo pants, black ballet flats, and a hot pink sweater with a slight shimmer running through it. That minor sparkle was the fashion totality of my concession to the holidays.

debbie-eighties

I have nothing to say here; except at the time, this was the epitome of style.

You know something funny? Except for the giant, asymmetrical, shellacked hair-do, shoulder pads that were roughly the size and shape of ironing boards, and the fact that the waistband of my cool canvas pants came almost up to my arm pits, the duds I was styling that night have all come back, sort of.

My handsome knight’s shining armor was a denim jacket, jeans, and a sweat shirt. Even now, in Petey’s forty-sixth consecutive year of autonomous dressing, his play clothes are still the sartorial choice from late October through March. His uniform from April-September? Jeans and a t-shirt.

Ladies and gentleman–the Candian tuxedo; 80’s edition.  Thirty years later and Petey is still rocking this look, albeit with less hair than any of these guys.

I’ve lately started finding “dress sweat shirts” for him. A t-shirt though, no matter what Simon Cowell would have you believe, is sadly still, just a t-shirt. Especially with something like, “Raleigh: Where Barney goes to party”, emblazoned across your chest.

I asked him if we should stop at our place to change.

“Heck no,” he replied. “It’s just another hang-out night, only this one’s in December.”

I secretly fretted that my lightly sparkling outfit was a little dressy for the festivities.Should we bring pizza and a bottle of something? I queried. Nope, they said something about getting stuff. “I’m guessing Rinaldi’s chicken.” he prognosticated.

Then he admitted, “I really hope so. I’m hungry.”

I felt his pain, because I’d been too busy to eat all day. My stomach was already warbling the phrase, “Are we there yet?I’m hungry. Are we there yet?”

This is exactly what our sleigh looked like until somebody dented it in the Crabtree Valley Mall parking lot.

Party bound, we set off in our sleigh by Plymouth Motors.

At the time, I was working at the old South Square Mall. The party was in Hope Valley. The trip should have taken twenty minutes, max. Even with unprecedented traffic.

Unfortunately, the route Petey had gotten from the hostess, started out from our apartment, on Guess Rd. Unfortunate as well, my life mate, possessing the XY combo plate, didn’t write out those wrong directions.

And so, we started our trek by driving to Guess Rd., turning around and getting on 85 South. We kept going south. And going. And going. Until we reached Hillsborough. We figured it was a tad far, so Petey got us turned around. We were now heading north on 85.

We started laughing when Petey yelped, “Hey! 751! There was something about a 751!”We started howling when 751 took us on a tour through Duke campus.

By now, we were both almost swooning with hunger. Somehow, that was funny, too.

It took us more than three hours, but unbelievably, we eventually found the party coordinates.

From the parking lot, it seemed kind of dark in the club house.

Figuring we were still at the wrong place, I decided to peek in the windows while my true love waited in the car.

I scanned the room. There was a party in there. And I recognized some Dukies.

Then I walked back to my husband, got into our buggy, and said, “You wanna do drive-through? Or do you want to stop at Honey’s on the way home?”When he made the sweet little confused puppy face that all men make, I informed my beloved that although we were at the right place, he had been a smidge off, when it came to the dress code.madonna-susanThere were more black stockings, rhinestones and lace in that party than in an entire 1980’s Madonna video. It seems the “little get-together” was casual in the way that Kim Kardashian’s recent uber-wedding was casual. We didn’t even own the type of clothes that would have been appropriate.

Petey was right about one thing. They didn’t need my third-rate potluck contribution. The “stuff” they got, appeared to be a fully catered, gourmet cocktail party, staffed with waiters bearing trays, and a couple of bartenders.

We never did join the soiree. Sitting in our car, he looked at me. I looked at him, and started giggling. That did it. The entire situation hit us, and the comedy floodgates opened.The trip back home, including the delirious devour-ment of a quick dinner at Honey’s, took all of forty five minutes.

He more than made up for our evening of havoc. The next year, Petey took me to the official Duke nurse’s celebration. He looked sharp in a brand-new Alexander Julian suit, and I wore my very first LBD (ladies; insert your own, personal LBD happy dance here).

There were two unexpected benefits from that berserk road trip.

Since then, we have no trouble finding our way on the roads in and around the Big D of NC.And the next morning, Petey offered to bring us breakfast in bed. As I shook my head at the Ben & Jerry’s Heath Bar crunch he had chosen for us, I had a thought:

“Christmas here this year will be great. If after last night, I’m looking forward to tomorrow, and not on the phone with a divorce lawyer, then in a million years we’re still going to be having wacky adventures together in the old folks’ home.”

That was a quarter of a century ago, and we’re still getting all kinds of lost together, all the time. And believe it or not, we still laugh about that night.

lost-bears

I wish, but Petey says a bear would probably kill us.  I think that’s just the lying media with their anti-bear propaganda.

Happiest of Noels everyone.

Thanks for your time.

General Delivery, North Pole

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

Dear Santa Claus,

I know it’s been quite a while since I’ve written to you.  I think the last thing I asked you for was a Donny Osmond cassette and a Malibu Skipper doll.

Skipper and Donny-it's Sophie's choice to pick only one.

Skipper and Donny-it’s Sophie’s choice to pick only one.

I decided to send you a letter this year because you’re magic.  And to happen, most of my list needs a healthy dose of magic.

Last year when Petey was in the hospital, I would often stop at Panera Bread for dinner.

The order always consisted of the same two items; broccoli cheddar soup, and their spinach power salad.  The super-delicious salad was baby spinach, marinated mushrooms, crispy onion rings, and hard-boiled egg.  It came with a Vidalia onion dressing, and an entire large salad was only about fourteen calories (I may be exaggerating a touch here).

But for some reason, this spring, they dropped it from the menu.

Santa, please make them bring it back.  I’ve written a few emails to the company, but they haven’t worked. So I’m turning to a higher authority; you, to make this happen.

Tanya, Konrad, and the folks at Daisy Cakes (401 Foster St, Durham) make the best whoopee pies I’ve ever eaten.  The first time I tried one, it was so good, I almost cried.  But, they don’t have them very often.  So I would like for the chocolate/salted caramel version to be waiting for me every time I visit.

After hoping and wishing for many years, Durham is getting a Krispy Kreme.  Thank you very much.  In addition to this cathedral of crullers, Durham desperately needs a Sonic drive-in.  And they should put their steak sandwich back on the menu.

I would really like it if you could make clementines available year-round and take all the calories out of brie.  Put a Nana Taco much closer to my house, and give Locopops an ice cream truck that comes to my neighborhood every day fully stocked with blueberry/buttermilk pops.

Vaguely Reminiscent (728 9th St, Durham) is one of my favorite stores.  Owner Carol Anderson stocks the perfect merchandise for our funky little Bull City, including lots of distinctive, uncommon kitchen gadgets.  And the clothes, shoes, and accessories are just my style.  So, I’d like a $10,000.00 gift certificate, and a social life befitting all the fashionable raiment I will them own.

When you visit my house you’ll notice I’ve left you saltines.  I’d like to give you some of my mom’s improbably scrumptious frosted sugar cookies, but I only have a very limited amount, so can’t (won’t) share.  But I will give you the recipe, because, as they say, “If you teach an enchanted, immortal holiday figure to fish…”

Mom’s Christmas cookies

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

1 ½ cup all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon baking soda

½ cup sugar

½ cup butter flavored Crisco

1 egg

2 tablespoons milk

1 teaspoon vanilla

Sift dry ingredients into bowl.  With mixer, cut in shortening until it resembles coarse meal.  Blend in egg, milk, and vanilla.

Roll out to 1/8 inch, and cut into shapes.

Bake on parchment lined cookie sheet for 6-8 minutes or until golden.  Remove to cooling rack.

Frost cookies when they are completely cooled.  Makes about 1 ½ dozen.

Mom’s Frosting

1 box powdered sugar (equal to 3 ¾ cups unsifted)

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 scant teaspoon cream of tartar

1/3 cup butter-flavored Crisco

1 egg white

1/4 cup of water (or less)

1 tablespoon vanilla

1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

For decorating: colored sugars and jimmies

Dump all ingredients, except water, into mixer. Beat ingredients at low until it starts to come together.  Put the water in at this point, so you can judge just how much to use. Beat until it is creamy and fluffy. Dye it festive colors, and very heavily frost each cookie, then sprinkle with colored sugar or jimmies.

One last thing.  I’d love to win the lottery, but Petey says I can’t win it, if I’m not in it.  The whole thing is very confusing to me, and because of that, I don’t play.

So, I’d appreciate it if you could slip a winning ticket into my stocking.

Thanks for your time, Santa,

Love Debbie.