When I was originally asked to write this weekly column, there were only two requirements.

It had to be about food in some manner, and it had to be true.

Even though every thousand years or so I’ll use hyperbole or exaggeration, the soul of each essay is absolutely true.  Whether I come off looking like a hero, or far more likely, a giant dork, from me you always get the straight dope.  In print I’ve almost totally lost the ability to suffer embarrassment.

So, here goes.

I like something sweet at night, when I’m in my jammies watching TV or reading.  Not a ton, just a couple of bites will suffice (unless it’s Dewey’s birthday cake with extra frosting– there’s an ingredient in it that makes me lose my mind and thus, my self-control).  Right now it’s usually exactly 20 plain M&M’s, but it might be a quarter of a cupcake, 5 or 6 bites of cheesecake, or a small piece of a cookie sandwich with extra frosting (I’m sensing a theme here…).

It hasn’t happened for years, but occasionally I’d find myself with no cookies, candy, or anything else with which to feed the beast that is my sweet tooth.  In those cases I’d inventory the kitchen and improvise.

One of those ad-libbed confections was something I charitably called “candy”.  It was tasty, but a little weird.  It was a mixture of peanut butter, brown sugar, and corn syrup; just stirred together and eaten with a spoon.

The other night I tried to convert it from desperate stoner food to a more sophisticated, nuanced confection.  I already had something sweet for my bedtime treat, but I’d been thinking that there might be a column in the attempt.

I decided to cook the peanut better concoction on the stovetop into something fudge-like.

Into a non-stick sauce pan I put a big glob of peanut better, a scoop of brown sugar, and a couple of glugs of corn syrup, and broke out my candy thermometer.   I cooked it to soft ball stage, then began stirring it, similar to fudge procedure.

It was an unmitigated disaster.  It separated, tasted burnt, and was as hard as the heart of a Wall Street banker.  Fail.

I went back to the drawing board.

I thought about what I really liked about my so-called candy, and what I wanted to bring to the new and improved version.

The flavor was good; the peanut butter was tempered by the brown sugar to give it hints of caramelized sugar and an almost baked aftertaste.  And I didn’t need to cook it because the texture was already fudgy with a silky/dense mouth feel like a Reese’s cup.  I really just wanted to make it hand-held, and more respectable looking.

Mother Hubbard peanut butter truffles

For truffles:

2/3 cup creamy peanut butter

2/3 cup light brown sugar

3 tablespoons light corn syrup

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Big pinch of salt

Mix ingredients with a wooden spoon or silicone spatula until fully incorporated.  Portion into 1 tablespoon amounts (a portion scoop makes this much easier).  Roll into balls.

Coating:

You can go into an infinite number of directions here. 

Some suggestions:

Cocoa powder

Coconut

Finely chopped salted peanuts

Finely chopped pecans toasted in brown butter

Ice cream sprinkles or jimmies

Powdered sugar

Powdered sugar spiked with cayenne

Granulated sugar mixed with cinnamon and nutmeg

Granulated sugar mixed with Chinese 5-spice powder

Melted milk, dark, or white chocolate

And so on and so forth…

Place coating ingredients into a steep sided bowl.  Roll truffles until coated.  Place on parchment or wax paper.  Refrigerate until chilled and set, about 90 minutes.

For PB&J truffles:

Warm jelly until it becomes thinned and syrupy.  Roll truffles in jelly and chill until set (this will be a messy job, latex gloves will make it neater and easier).

When cooled, roll in ½ cup breadcrumbs that you’ve toasted in a pan with about ½ tablespoon of butter, and then cooled.  Place in fridge again until they can be handled without icky stickiness.

Makes about 20 truffles.

Even in desperation and disaster, things can be learned.  And no matter how ridiculous I look, I promise I’ll spill about it.

Thanks for your time.

My folks are in San Diego this week.  They’re visiting Mom’s sister Tootie.  My family lived there in the 70’s when my Coast Guard father (now retired) was stationed at the tiny downtown airbase.

I wasn’t crazy about living there.  Although to be perfectly honest, I was in junior high at the time, and it’s the nature of the adolescent beast to ooze ennui regardless of circumstance.

But for vacations, San Diego is practically perfect.

The weather is consistently amazing.  Geographically they’re right next to many different beaches, and within an hour or so of Mexico, the desert, or snow-capped mountains.

San Diego offers a ton of stuff to do, as well.  Among them are shopping, dining, lots of funky little tourist districts, Lego Land, two professional sports teams, whale-watching, sky-diving, and the renowned San Diego Zoo.

But my very favorite place in all of San Diego is Balboa Park.

It’s as if the Smithsonian, New York’s Central Park, and the Old Globe Theater had a California love child.  The Spanish Colonial architecture is literally breathtaking.  There are performance spaces and multiple museums.  They have a little street of cottages staffed with people from all over the world who happily share their culture.  You could literally spend two weeks in town and never leave this awesome place.  I think it’s a terrific model for Raleigh to look to when making plans for the Dix hospital property.

I told Mom not to bring us anything because they already do too much for us.  But I did ask her to visit our old neighborhood of Claremont.  We often ate at a joint called Troy’s Family Restaurant, which happily, is still in business

I requested that Mom go and indulge in something we both love.

At Troy’s I had my very first patty melt.  Like chocolate and caramel, buttered rice and peas, and bacon with anything, a patty melt is the very definition of gestalt; the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.  And even better, the components can be tweaked with no loss of quality and deliciousness.

Classic patty melt

1 ½-2 pounds 80/20 hamburger

8 slices Swiss cheese

2 large yellow onions, sliced into half-moons and slowly sautéed ‘til golden

8 slices seeded rye

4 tablespoons butter

Salt and pepper

Make 4 patties and mold them into the same shape as the bread, but about 20% larger all around (the meat will shrink while cooking).  Make a slight depression in the center so that when cooked, it stays flat.  Season and cook in a medium-high skillet 5-7 minutes on each side.  Remove and wipe out pan.

Construct sandwiches: Layer cheese, onions, burger, more onions, and the second piece of cheese (cheese is your sandwich glue).

Turn burner to medium-low.  Place 2 tablespoons butter into pan and swirl to coat bottom.  Place sandwiches into pan and cover (if pan is too small for 4, do two at a time or use 2 pans).  Cook 6-8 minutes until bottom bread is toasted and bottom cheese is melty.  Flip, add rest of the butter, and toast second side. 

Any of the ingredients can be changed.  Mix chiles with the onions for some heat.  Switch out the bread or cheese; I’m usually a sourdough/cheddar girl.  Tonight we had chicken kale burgers and provolone on multi-grain bread.  It all depends on mood and pantry.

*Disclaimer: I absolutely promise this column was not provided by the San Diego visitors’ council.  It’s just by me, The Enthusiastic Melty Cheese and Burger Eater’s Council.

Thanks for your time.

If I gotten into a different line, it wouldn’t have happened.

If I’d waited for that sample of Costco ice cream in the frozen foods aisle, it wouldn’t have happened.

If I’d even put on one more coat of mascara, it wouldn’t have happened.

But it did, and I ended up getting a tutorial in Puerto Rican food, eating my weight in said food, and getting to know one of the most adorable couples in Durham.

Last week I stopped at Costco.  At the checkout, the lady in line in front of me was very friendly.  Then I noticed her husband.

He looked really familiar, but it took me a second to place him.  It was the chief of the Durham police department, Jose Lopez.  We began chatting.  I told him about my column, and he told me two things that got me very excited.

He told me that both he and his wife Becky are Puerto Rican and she is the best cook in the world.  I lived in Puerto Rico as a child, it’s my favorite cuisine, and I’ve long wanted instruction in it.

One thought came to me—Food chat!

I asked them about it, they agreed to one, and I could get a cooking lesson.

When I arrived at their home, the meal preparation was well underway.  The menu for the day consisted of habichuelas blancas (white beans), rice, stewed chicken, fried ripe plantains, and bacalaito (a fritter made from bacalao; dried and salted cod).  The fritter was crispy and delicious, with absolutely no fishiness.

Setting up the visit, Chief Lopez had asked me what I wanted Becky to teach me.  I requested the foundation of almost every savory Puerto Rican dish.  Sofrito is a mixture of aromatic vegetables, similar to the French mirepoix, or the holy trinity of Creole cooking.

First I learned it’s not always called sofrito.  In its raw state it’s recaito.  Once it’s been lightly cooked in annatto oil, then it’s sofrito.  And mixed into a dish it becomes guisado.  When making it, fresh herbs are a must.  Culantro is not the same thing as cilantro; it’s an herb used in a variety of Hispanic food.  It has tall spiky leaves, and can be found in Latin American grocery stores, like Compare.

Recaito

Big handful of culantro, including stems

Big handful of cilantro, including stems

¼ large green bell pepper

¼ large red bell pepper

½ yellow onion

2-3 garlic cloves, peeled

Small bunch fresh oregano

Roughly tear herbs, roughly chop veggies.  Place everything into blender or food processor, and blend until it’s fully chopped and looks like pesto.

Makes 1-1 ½ cups.  Store in fridge.  May be made into much larger batches and frozen until needed.

Annatto oil

Don’t limit yourself to sofrito.  This oil brings color, depth of flavor and a unique piquancy to anything in which it’s used.

32 ounces lard (yes lard, if you’re averse, use 4 cups olive oil)

10 ounces annatto seed  

Place lard and seeds into a large, very heavy pot.  Turn on low.  Let lard melt. The seeds will color the fat.  Once the oil’s warmed, remove from heat and strain into container.  Don’t let it get very hot or let the seeds turn dark—it will become bitter and inedible.  Stored in airtight container in fridge, it lasts almost indefinitely.  Makes 4 cups.

Sofrito

Batch of recaito

1-2 tablespoons annatto oil

Melt oil in skillet.  Add recaito.  Cook on medium low until warmed and fragrant.  If desired, you can add ½ small can tomato sauce for “sofrito tomate”.

Use as base for almost all savory dishes.

There are so many other things I learned from what has become one of my favorite food chat/playdates.  In future columns I will share more of the day, along with additional delicious recipes.

Petey and The Kid constantly caution me against talking to strangers.  But Chief Lopez and his wife Becky were warm, generous, and hospitable (and so cute together).  That’s why I think that when Petey was stuffing himself with the massive plate Becky sent home with me, he was extremely happy I had talked to those particular strangers.

And so am I.

Thanks for your time.

A jillion years ago, back when fire was considered magic, I worked as a bartender at a country club in Raleigh.  And if I wasn’t at my post in the bar, there was only one place where I could be found.

The kitchen.

When I began working there, I hung out in the kitchen because, food (the employees were exceedingly well-fed) But then I got to know the cooks and appreciate their work, thus became interested in cooking.  This also taught me another very important lesson: that everybody who cooks has something to teach me.

There were countless really good cooks that I never thought to learn from; and because of time, distance, or mortality, the opportunity has passed.  So now I bug everyone that will put up with me.

When I originally began writing a food column, I decided to have two categories of special pieces.  Along with my normal ramblings, occasionally I would have field trips; hanging out and cooking with people I admire, and also food chats; talks about food with both well-known and regular, anonymous folks.

Last week I had the first fusion of the two.

When I was little I lived in Puerto Rico, and it was like living in Mayberry.  I loved it.  I also learned to love Puerto Rican food; it’s now my favorite cuisine.  But because I was a dumb kid, I never learned to cook it, so I could only recreate it from memory and hope.

But.

I recently met the chief of the Durham police department Jose Lopez, and learned both he and his wife, Becky are Puerto Rican.  And according to Chief Lopez, his wife is the best cook in the world.

I talked my way into their kitchen, and had an afternoon of cooking, laughter, learning, and eating.  Becky and the chief were warm, gracious, and very hospitable.  I left with new recipes, a full belly, and a huge amount of food to take home (which Petey happily devoured).

One of the dishes that we ate was plantains.  I love green plantains, either cooked similarly to French fries; tostones, or mashed, like potatoes; mofongo.  But Becky served ripe plantains.

They were a perfect accompaniment to our stewed chicken, rice and beans.  They contributed sweetness and crispiness.  I’ve become a big fan of ripe plantains.

Fried ripe plantains (platanos maduros fritos)

2 ripe plantains

Oil for frying

These aren’t regular bananas, they’re inedible raw and don’t peel as easily.  To peel: cut off bottom and top, and a slice couple of slits in skin all the way down each plantain; then peel it off in strips.  Slice on an angle, about ¾ inch thick.

Heat about 1 ½ inches of vegetable oil in a heavy-bottomed pan until it reaches 350.  Fry slices until they are lightly browned and crispy around the edges.  They can be eaten as dessert with some ice cream or pudding, or as a welcome sweet punch to a savory plate.

I begged Becky, and she agreed to be my Puerto Rican cooking coach (woo-hoo!).  So I’ll be sharing more of her lessons and recipes in upcoming columns.

Other than eating, there isn’t much I love more than soaking up the knowledge of other cooks.  So please, I’d love for each of you to join my pantheon of instructors.  Write to me, and take me to school.  I will appreciate each communication, and I’ll share with the rest of the class in future Dispatch essays.

Thanks for your time.

Some people think it’s wrong and wicked.

I don’t agree.  Although it may be kind of unusual, the combination works.  There is a natural affinity.

I’m talking about eating chicken and eggs together.

Years ago, Paul Simon, who was in Simon and Garfunkel at the time, was eating at a Chinese restaurant.  On the menu was a dish with chicken and eggs.  Its name was ‘Mother and Child Reunion’.  And he said, “I gotta use that one”.And the rest is Top 40 history.

One morning I went to Hardees when they had a chicken biscuit on the menu.  For some reason, on that day I had a craving for a reunion that I couldn’t shake.  When I ordered eggs on my chicken, the girl at the register gazed at me with both anger and confusion.  It was as if I’d asked for fricassee of puppy, served on a fresh bible.

After a long conversation in which I convinced her that yes, I actually wanted chicken and scrambled eggs together on one biscuit, and no, I was neither a Yankee nor the antichrist, she gave my order to the kitchen.

Despite being the only customer in the restaurant, it took thirty minutes to get my order.  But by that time, I would’ve waited overnight for it.  It was a combination of out-of-control craving, and pure-T stubbornness.  Darn it, as an American citizen, I have the God-given right to a chicken/egg biscuit if I want one.

A sandwich is a classic way to eat the combination.  A nice soft bun, lots of mayo, some greens, salt and pepper is all you need.  But you can also incorporate things like bacon, cheeses, and fried onion straws.

But.

I’ve recently been monkeying about with a kind of pie/quiche thing.  The reunion isn’t the only quirky part of the recipe; the crust is unlike any other.

Mother and child reunion quiche

3 cups, shredded frozen hash browns, thawed and drained

2 tablespoons butter, melted

1 tablespoon olive oil

3 large eggs, beaten

1 cup half-and-half

1 ½ cups shredded cooked chicken meat (white, dark, or a combo)

8 ounces mushrooms, cleaned and sliced

4 ounces goat cheese

4 ounces pancetta, cut into cubes and cooked in skillet on medium-low until fully rendered

3 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

3 tablespoons snipped fresh chives

Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Preheat oven to 450.

Press the drained hash browns between paper towels to dry them as much as possible. In a 9-inch pie pan, lightly season with salt and pepper, then toss hash browns with the melted butter and olive oil. Firmly press them into the bottom and up the sides evenly to form a crust. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes until they’re golden brown and starting to crisp.

Using a couple teaspoons of fat from the pancetta or a splash of olive oil, season, then sauté mushrooms until all the liquid is cooked out and they’re lightly browned.

Meanwhile, in blender or using hand blender, mix eggs until lighter in color and thickened.  Stir in dairy, pancetta, ‘shrooms, nutmeg, chives, and parsley.  Season with ¼ teaspoon salt and 1/8 teaspoon pepper.  When the hash brown crust is ready, spread out the chicken in the bottom, then pour the egg mixture over it.  Pinch off pieces of the goat cheese and sprinkle them over the top.  Return quiche to the oven.

Lower the oven temperature to 350 and bake for about 30 minutes until the quiche is very light golden on top and puffed. 

I like to serve this topped with very lightly dressed greens.  If you’re serving it for dinner or brunch, add some crusty bread and a white, like a Vouvray, Zeller Schwarze Katz, or maybe a fizzy Spanish cava.

Have your own mother/child reunion.  Only this kind comes without the hassle of a long car or plane ride.  Best of all, the quiche won’t tell you it doesn’t like your hair that way, and bug you to call home more often.  Or conversely, ask you to do its laundry, or hit you up for a loan.

It’ll just sit there quietly so you can eat it.

Thanks for your time.

I’ve done the math (sort of).

In thirty-some years, I’ve made (and eaten) approximately 1000 batches of potato salad.  When I see it in black and white like this it’s a little staggering.  But I tell myself it’s OK, because I haven’t eaten it all in one sitting.

But what this computation really comes down to is that I have an abundance of experience.  I have made, along with that enormous quantity, enough missteps and boo-boos to qualify me as a bona fide expert.

Don’t peel the potatoes before cooking them.  This will cause the outside of the spud to toughen up, which will make it almost impervious to herbs, spices, and dressing.

You want them to absorb flavors, but in a limited way.  So, in that vein, never dress hot potatoes, or they will absorb everything, and make your salad very dry, and the potatoes will become weird.  But…if you want them to absorb some flavor, you can sprinkle on a couple tablespoons of lemon juice or infused vinegar and gently toss them while they’re still warm.  Then let them cool all the way before fully dressing.

When cooking the potatoes, always start them in cold water.  This will cook them more evenly.  Heavily, heavily salt the water—it should be a salty as the ocean.  Also, add a couple of tablespoons of vinegar to the water, which will slow the cooking enough so that they won’t go too quickly from fully cooked to full-on mush.

I love to use fresh herbs from my own herb garden.  A good rule of thumb for amount is about one teaspoon of each fresh herb per spud.  Dry herbs are much more potent than fresh, so if using them, back it down to about a third teaspoon.

I’ve also recently discovered a new procedure that results in the potatoes being coated in the dressing in a most satisfying way. After you peel and cube cooled potatoes, add the chopped onion, herbs, and salt and pepper.  Then gently fold everything together with a tablespoon of vegetable oil, with another tablespoon about 10 minutes before serving.  This step will completely distribute everything before dressing, and the later one will loosen the salad up so it isn’t like a block of cement when served and eaten.

Fresh herb tater salad

6 medium Yukon gold potatoes, boiled, peeled, and cut into 1-1½ inch cubes

½ small yellow onion, diced

2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill

2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

½ teaspoon kosher salt

¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

¾-1 cup mayonnaise

5 slices bacon, cooked crisp and crumbled (optional)

30 minutes before service place potatoes, onions, herbs, salt and pepper into a large bowl.  Toss with 1 tablespoon veg oil.  Starting with half, fold in mayo, adding more as needed.  Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary.  About 10-15 minutes before service, fold in last tablespoon of oil.  Right before plating, stir in bacon if using.

Serves 4.

This version is very basic, thus can be changed or amended.  Add some chopped tomatoes, minced garlic, basil, and smoked mozzarella, and you have an Italian potato salad.  Add mustard, hard-cooked eggs, and pickle relish; it then becomes old-fashioned Southern-style.  Add some Old Bay to the mayo, and some celery and lobster meat, and you have New England “tatah sahlad”.

So there are a few tips and tricks as well as some recipes for my very favorite dish.  Now you only have to make 996 more.

Go you!

Thanks for your time.

We went over to see The Kid’s new apartment.

The take-out was on us so we chose a long-time favorite. A place where the food is consistently delicious and we could get grub that was quick and easy to buy, but messy and time consuming to prepare at home.

We went to the Dog House. Those funny little faux dog chateaux with the fire hydrant trash cans are liberally scattered throughout the Bull City.

If I were making a hot dog dinner at home, there’s no way I could do it cheaper. After I buy the package of frankfurters, the bag of buns, and the various toppings for everybody’s taste, it adds up. Then there’s the fries, the oil in which to cook them, the beverages, and if desired, dessert.

They’re quick too. Even when there’s a long line of hungry Durhamites, I’ve never had to wait more than 20 minutes, start to finish.

And finally, we get to the food.

For me, there is one question about a hot dog that is make-or-break. It culls the herd right off the bat, before I know anything else about the eatery.

Are the dogs grilled, or are they wet cooked; i.e., boiled, poached, or steamed? There’s something that happens to the fat of a hot dog once it’s been cooked on dry heat. It changes it, and to me, is extremely unappetizing. If the skin is greasy and blistered, thanks, but no thanks.

The Dog House folks steam theirs. So, it’s a go.

The menu is a large board in the enclosure. Each frank is named for a different dog. I love the German shepherd, with sauerkraut, spicy mustard, and onions. Petey goes for the Hound Dog; with chili, and the Ol’ Yallow; with cheese and bacon. The Kid is all over the place. The plain puppy dog used to be chosen, but lately it’s been the German shepherd—no onions.

Their sides are authentic and Southern. They’ve got beans, cole slaw and Brunswick stew. But wait, they make crinkle fries; hot, salty, crispy, crinkle fries. Feeling a little reckless? They can cover them with lashings of neon orange cheese sauce. And if afterward if you have any space left in your overly stuffed belly, they serve homemade fried apple pies (as much as I love them, sadly I rarely have room).

When Petey and I were dating, back before cattle were domesticated, whenever he came to see me, he’d bring me an icy pink lemonade from Sonic. And while Durham still tragically lacks a Sonic, the Dog House has the very same kind my sweet spouse employed to woo me. The cups they’re served in are large enough to bathe a toddler.

In case you’re not in the mood for hot dogs, there are numerous other Durham spots where one can grab a cheap, tasty, and quick meal.

Bojangles. Home of the too-spicy-for-me chicken serves delicious breakfast biscuit sandwiches all day long. Order their yummy onion-spiked potato bo-rounds as a side. And if you’ve never had one, next time you’re there, make sure you get a buttery, sweet, frosted, bo-berry biscuit. It’s great as dessert, or in the morning with coffee.

Costco. The snack bar’s menu has enough variety to please the whole family. And it’s cheap enough to please the family’s financial officer. They serve pizza, hot dogs, sandwiches and salads. And don’t even get me started on their beautiful and exciting vanilla fro-yo.

Whole Foods. Visit the extensive prepared foods department. Two huge slices of fresh gourmet pizza go for $6.00 (the turkey carbonara pizza is my very favorite pizza—anywhere). They have a salad sampler plate for around five bucks. And a wisely composed salad or hot bar meal will fill you up on the cheap.

It is possible to get some good eats on the run. Some are healthy, some not so much. But occasionally everyone deserves something just because it’s good, not because it’s good for you. Like Oscar Wide said, “Everything in moderation, including moderation.”

Now that’s one guy who I think would’ve appreciated the odd plate of sloppy, gloppy cheese fries.

Thanks for your time.

I wish I could sing.

I wish I could, but I really, really can’t.  Years ago I met a very old bluesman in Chicago, and told him I couldn’t sing.

He responded, “Never say you can’t.  If you want it badly enough you can do anything.”

So I sang for him.

He didn’t say anything.  But I could see it in his eyes; I broke him.  I had destroyed a fundamental belief.  That night, he discovered what the blues truly were.  He played no more that night.  I don’t know that he ever made music again.  That was the day I realized that I had a weaponized voice.

Because of this, and other experiences, I rarely sing around humans.  But I love music.  There aren’t many music styles I don’t like.  Some of my favorites are 80’s new wave, classic rock, big band, and ragtime.  And I adore zydeco.

Zydeco is a mixture of blues, and rhythm and blues from the Louisiana bayou.  It is the absolute best road trip music there is.  It’s also physically impossible to hear it and be sad or motionless.  It’s a party for your ears.

A big zydeco star is a guy named Beau Jocque.  One of his biggest hits is a song called, “Gimme Cornbread”.

For many years nobody ever told me to, “Gimme cornbread”, unless they wanted me to pass somebody else’s to them.  Sadly my cornbread had more in common with yellow cake uranium than a sweet, moist, yellow quick bread.  It was dry and uninspired.  It could be choked down, but only by blanketing in lethal amounts of butter.  Even then it was a dismal, depressing experience.

When I finally possessed a well-seasoned cast iron skillet I wanted to test its nonstickability with a batch of cornbread.  But I desired to make some cornbread that was worthy of the time and care I had lavished upon my frying pan.

I looked around and found a recipe.  The cornbread wasn’t dry, but it wasn’t terribly special.  So I started tinkering.  What I ended up with was moist, tender, tasty, and like me, just a little off-kilter.

Brown butter shoe-peg cornbread

1 cup self-rising cornmeal

½ cup self-rising flour

3 tablespoons brown sugar

1 tablespoon cold butter

3 tablespoons brown butter

1 ¼ cups non-fat buttermilk

2 eggs, lightly beaten

1 cup frozen shoe peg corn, thawed

½ teaspoon kosher salt

¼ teaspoon pepper

½ teaspoon vanilla

Generous grating of fresh nutmeg

*Browning butter: Melt butter over medium-low heat in saucepan.  Continue to cook until it foams, subsides, and foams again (approx. 5 minutes).  Finally the foam will begin to brown.  At this point watch carefully until solids are caramel-colored. Remove from heat and let cool enough to mix with eggs.

Preheat oven to 400.  Place the cold butter into a 10-inch cast iron skillet, or 8X8 baking dish and put in oven. 

In a bowl, mix together the cornmeal, flour, sugar, salt, pepper, and nutmeg.  Combine cooled brown butter, buttermilk, eggs, and vanilla.  Pour them into dry ingredients and mix.  Fold in corn.  Spread in pan.  Bake for 20-25 minutes or until set and just cooked through.  Don’t overbake.  Serves 6.

I guess I could purchase some pricy Auto-Tune software.  But that’s the audio equivalent of photo shop.  It wouldn’t be real.  It doesn’t change the fact that I long to sing like a nightingale but instead sound like a crow with a throat condition.

But I can make a tasty pan of cornbread.

And that’s the truth.

Thanks for your time.