cooking

You Might As Well…

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Computers and the ensuing internet have been life-changing for humanity. 

People have found long-lost relatives, collaborated on medical breakthroughs, raised money for worthy charities, and had 1,500 ladybugs and uranium ore delivered to their front door in 24 hours. 

But there is a dark side, too.

Cyber-bullying, a whole new way for the nefarious to cheat people, and the rise of the Kardashians.

Closer to home, the world wide web has completely and totally demolished the idea that I am, in any way, an original thinker.

Every once in awhile I think I’ve had a world-shattering idea that’ll change the very fabric of civilization.  I have learned to check online before I call a press conference.     

Because, inevitably, not only am I not the first person to think up this great idea, folks have known about it since Moses was in kindergarten.

I gotta say, it’s pretty darn humbling.

Right now, computers are making life more bearable.

I still don’t Facebook or tweet or insta, but I do read lots of food and cooking websites.  And during this pandemic-imposed sequestration, there seem to be two kitchen projects that are happening in many, many homes all over the country.

The first is people are cultivating sourdough starter and baking bread.  Which makes sense, because folks have time on their hands and getting those hands on fresh bread has become more problematic every day.

I worship at the kitchen temple of Nigella.

And not many things make one feel more like a culinary goddess than baking bread with the wild yeast that you have grown out of literally, thin air.

I began growing sourdough when The Kid was in high school.  Each week I would make a loaf of pumpernickel so our little scholar could take a chicken sandwich on pump every day for lunch.

I baked this loaf last night, with my starter.

But bread baking can be an uncertain thing.  Yeast is alive and can be cranky and temperamental.  As much as it can make you feel god-like, it can turn around and make you feel an abject failure.  But once it gets inside you, you’re lost.

Once you go bread, you’ll bake ‘til you’re dead.

The other thing folks are making right now is banana bread.  It’s still bread, but much easier, takes almost no time, and the stakes are lower.  Plus it uses up wonky bananas.

I adapted this recipe years ago from a Betty Crocker cookbook.  It was one of the first baking projects that I really nailed.  For a super indulgent treat, schmear slices with butter and toast them in a 300° for about 20 minutes.  It’s like quick bread candy.

Thanks for your time.

Contact debbie at d@bullcity.mom.

Country Banana Bread

1 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup butter, softened

1 teaspoon vanilla

2 eggs

1 ½ cups mashed overripe bananas (3-4 medium)

1/3 cup water

1 2/3 cups all-purpose flour

12-15 gratings of fresh nutmeg

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon baking powder

½ cup chopped, toasted pecans

Heat oven to 350°.  Grease bottom only of loaf pan (8 ½ X 4 ½ X 2 ½ or 9 X 5 X 3).

Sift together dry ingredients.  Set aside.

Mix butter and sugar until it’s lighter in color and fluffy.  Add vanilla, then eggs one at a time and beat until they’re completely mixed in.  Add bananas and water, beat 30 seconds more.

Stir in dry ingredients until just mixed in.  If you still have streaks, that’s okay.  Do not overmix, or you’ll get a tough, rubbery product.

Stir in nuts until barely distributed.

Pour into pan.  Bake until toothpick comes out clean, but moist (55-75 minutes).  Set on cooling rack for five minutes in pan, then de-pan and let cool completely on rack. 

This Little Piggy Came Home

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piggy bank vidya suryBaking can be a little trickier, but most of the time when I try a new savory recipe, I’m pretty sure of the end result.

But, not always.

I got three pretty pork loin chops a few weeks ago.  They were thick, but not so thick that they’d be a pain to cook.    I got them on sale because they were slightly long in the tooth.  Not so much that they were furry, but soon would be.  So, they needed to be cooked or frozen right away.But the upshot was, I bought three pretty respectable chops for $3.  And, I had a recipe that I’d been wanting to try.  The only thing I needed to pick up was a small carton of half & half.

The recipe was for a garlicky spinach sauce.  Then put the meat in it and serve with egg noodles and a green salad.

Sounds like we had a nice dinner, doesn’t it?

Yeah, not so much.

Unfortunately, is wasn’t this type of funk…

Somewhere along the way, the sauce picked up some funk.  Not funk like food gone bad, but funk like a whole lot of cheese was in it.

But there was no cheese in anything.  I felt like I was in one of those babysitter horror movies, “It’s coming from inside the house!”, only “It’s coming from inside the sauce!”. I think the spinach and mushrooms just turned the earthy flavor of the sauce up to about a thousand and eleven.  It didn’t work.

So, I am not sharing that recipe.  Instead, I’m going to give you a dish that I have been making for as long as we’ve been married.  And because I’ve been making it since well before I could cook worth a fig, it’s easy.

Pork and Zucchini Cream

zucchini pork

1 pound boneless pork loin, cut into 2 X ½ inch strips

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 pound zucchini, washed, left unpeeled and sliced into ½ inch rounds

1 yellow onion chopped

4-6 cloves garlic

½ teaspoon dry thyme

2 cups heavy cream

¾ cup skim milk

Red pepper flakes (optional)

Big handful of fresh parsley

Salt & pepper

Place the sliced zucchini into colander and sprinkle with ½ teaspoon of salt and let sit for an hour.  After an hour, pat it dry with towel (paper or clean kitchen).

In a large heavy skillet, add half the oil and butter.  When butter’s melted, working in batches, place the zucchini down in one layer and cook at medium-high until there is deep caramelization, flip and cook other side.  Remove to towel-covered plate.  Repeat until all veg is cooked, adding a bit more butter and oil as needed.Add the rest of the fat, onions, and thyme into the same pan and cook until the onions get golden.  Add garlic, and when it just begins to toast, pour in dairy and add pepper flakes.  Lower to medium, bring to boil and let reduce. 

After ten minutes season pork strips and add to sauce.  Cook for ten more minutes or until it’s is of sauce consistency.  Stir in zucchini & parsley and serve over starch of your choice—something unexpected is fun; like Israeli couscous, griddled Texas toast, or grits.

Serves 6.So, there’s a true yin and yang this week.

On the dark side is the reminder that I’m not infallible discerning the flavor of the dish by reading the recipe.

But, on the happier end of the scale, even when I couldn’t cook, every once in a while, I and my diners would get lucky, and I’d turn out something that was actually tasty.Thanks for your time.

I will not comply

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I can’t live by your rules, man!

I have this contrary streak in me.  I absolutely cannot stand it when people think they know what’s best for me.  I’m not talking about highly trained, highly paid experts in their fields like lawyers, doctors, and plumbers.

I’m talking about the Mr. You Shoulds, and Mrs. You Oughtas.  The kind of folks that are ecstatic to tell you what you’re doing wrong in your life, and how to fix yourself.  Like the old lady who’s never had kids, but knows exactly how to raise them.  Or the guy, who because of his particular belief system, knows every answer to every question, and feels duty-bound to share his very special wisdom.I have such an aversion to those people and their rules, that I’m the girl that would rather have a spectacular failure than let somebody tell me what to do.

In the kitchen there are multitudes of experts, each with box cars full of do and don’ts.   But when cooking, as in the rest of my life, I gotta make my own mistakes, and learn from them.

What follows are a few rules folks have decided are mandatory iron-clad laws that should never, on pain of death be ignored.  And why I think they are so much horse hockey.

Never salt your steak before cooking.Nope, and here’s why.  Unless you’re purchasing and cooking restaurant quality aged meat, the best thing that can happen to your steak is some salt and a little rest in the fridge for a couple days.

A good portion of the weight in a piece of beef is water.  When you salt it, loosely wrap it in some paper towels, and let it rest in the refrigerator for a few days, you are doing a homemade dry age.  The salt draws out the water, which concentrates the flavor, and makes that Kroger New York strip taste closer to something you might get at Angus Barn.

Never make a recipe for the first time for guests.

No pressure there…

 

Wrong.  If this is a recipe you have the skill to tackle, do it.  Unless you’ve invited the queen or Coach K, there’s no need to be perfect.  The people who sit at your table are friends and family who want you to succeed.  Be careful, and don’t go too far off the reservation recipe-wise, but go for it.  At best you’ll have a new recipe with lots of feedback, and at worst, you’ll have a funny story they’ll tell at your wake.

The next one pinches a little.  I recently had one of the very few arguments I’ve ever had with my best friend of 37 years, Bo, over this very thing.  Neither of us changed our minds.

bo

My nutty friend, Bo.

Conventional wisdom is to never, ever wash fresh mushrooms.  Again, I say nay.

If I’m prepping for a salad that I’m eating right away, then I brush the dreck off the ‘shrooms.  If they have time to sit in a colander and dry off, I don’t.  If I’m cooking them, I always wash them.

Mushrooms are 90% water.  There is a negligible ability to absorb more.  The few drops left on them from a brief shower will make no appreciable difference to taste or texture.  And for the optimal flavor of cooked mushrooms, you should cook out all the water anyway.

So I guess the moral to this tale is learn, listen to advice, but make up your own mind as to the worth of that advice.

You do you.

Honey, you get that freak flag down from the attic, and you let it fly!

 

Thanks for your time.

Breaking It Down

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The following statement came to me in my sleep: Man can wait, but not breakfast.

It sounds a lot more profound when in a semi-conscious state, but what it means is that with very few exceptions, breakfast foods are meant to be prepared at the last minute, and eaten immediately.

A couple years before the Louisiana Purchase, when I was in the hospital after having The Kid, each day I was delivered a little card with meal choices on it.  Every afternoon I’d fill it out, and look forward to the next day and my picks.

One morning I was really looking forward to lifting that cloche.  I’d ordered an omelet.  Instead, my breakfast was a banana.  Sitting in that warm, moist environment for an extended period had mutated those eggs into a rubber doggy chew toy.  Honest, in all aspects, that omelet had become a silicone movie prop.

rubber food

…and that’s not a steak, an ice cream, or a happy meal either.

Even Petey knew better.  When I complained, he said, “What do you expect? Eggs can’t sit around like that”

Lesson learned.

Growing up, when my mother needed to make dinner fast, or the cupboard was bare and payday a few days away, sometimes we’d have breakfast for supper.  My poor mom would always apologize.  What she never understood is that we looked forward to those nights.  Breakfast for dinner is kinda renegade, a little indulgent, and totally awesome.

Fast forward to present.  Each week I inventory the kitchen and make a semi-flexible meal plan.  And on that schedule is usually some kind of breakfast for supper.

Years ago I realized something.  There’s no way to do much of the cooking beforehand.  Bacon though, is my friend.  You can make it anytime, because as long as it’s crispy, you can happily eat it at any temp.  But almost everything else has to be made right before eating; it needs to be eaten hot.  Reheating just leads to sadness and regret.

My kitchen always looks like a hurricane has hit after dining on breakfast.  Everything gets done at the same time, and there’s no time for tidying before eating.

And that’s why I say breakfast waits for no man.

Here’s a half-exception, though.  Next time you’re baking potatoes, bake an extra few.  When they come out of the oven, let them cool a bit, and then bag them up and toss them in the fridge.

When it’s time for breakfast (AM or PM), peel ‘em or not, then dice into 1-inch pieces and put them into a big bowl.  If you’re not doing baked any time soon, parboil any type tater you’ve got on hand.

Next, it’s time to go treasure hunting.  Open that Frigidaire and look for some sad orphans.   Did you find some leftover pot roast, corned beef, or another protein but not enough for a full meal or even a sandwich for one?  We’re making hash here, so cut it up and throw it in.  What about some droopy mushrooms, carrots, or peppers?  In they go.  Even mostly empty jars of things like jalapeños, beets, or capers work.

And this, you can do even a day or two in advance.

Helpful Hash

hash

Potatoes, diced into 1-inch cubes (about 3 heaping cups)

Refrigerator booty (roughly half as much as potatoes)

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 tablespoon butter

Salt and pepper

Place spuds into bowl.  Put in booty also.  If you have any hard veggies like carrot or parsnip, par-boil until not quite fork tender.  Drizzle in vegetable oil, and gently toss to coat.   Season (then taste for seasoning).

Heat a cast iron skillet on medium-high.  Place butter in it, and when melted, add potatoes and booty in one layer.  Give them a little smoosh with spatula so you get more surface contact, thus get more caramelized, crispy bits.

Let cook until there’s a golden crust, then flip and cook until that side’s crusted.

Plate and top with eggs (for the best scrambled eggs ever, don’t whisk, mix in the blender until frothy then cook quickly in lots of butter).  Serves 4-6.

I love breakfast for supper.  The only way I could love it anymore is if I ate at Waffle House, and let them clean up after me.

After supper, all I have to do is loosen my belt.

Thanks for your time.

 

Sliding Into Home

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Pretty much everything is adorable when it is smaller.  Think about it.

adorable

Babies, ponies, Simone Biles, and Laurie Hernandez: you just want to stick ‘em in your pocket and take them home.  Show The Kid a puppy, and you’ll see my grown, responsible adult child babble like a drunken toddler and swoon like a professional Southern Belle.

Food is the same way.  Those little tiny ears of corn, could they be more precious?  On pancake night, my mom used to always make me a small stack of the baby version—and they always tasted better.

Sliders; the miniature version of burgers are everywhere, from burger joints to fine dining.  The burgers were popularized by the White Castle restaurant chain.  The name came from the Navy, where the burgers were small, greasy, and slid down easy.

Last week I was wandering the interwebs and saw a great variation on hamburger sliders.  Pork, sliced from a cooked tenderloin.  What a great idea; with an approximately 2 ½-inch diameter they are the absolute perfect size for sliders.

I didn’t even stick around long enough to look at the recipe or see how they dressed the sliders.  I had opened up my computer notepad, and was coming up with sandwich variations.  I ended up with eleven different sandwiches.

But first, let’s cook our tenderloin.

Oven-roasted pork tenderloin

tenderloin

1 pork tenderloin, approx. 1 pound

Kosher salt and freshly cracked pepper

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

Preheat oven to 425.  Get a cast iron skillet almost smoking hot.  While it’s heating, brush the oil all over the tenderloin.  Liberally season the pork.

Insert a probe thermometer set to 145 for medium-rare up to 160 for medium.  Place meat in skillet and sear, turning with tongs to brown the entire surface.

When the outside is caramelized, place the skillet with the pork into the oven, and cook until desired temp is reached.  Remove, and let rest, lightly covered for 5-10 minutes.

With a very sharp knife slice into about 10-12 thin-ish slices (you’ll use two slices for each sandwich) Makes 5-6 sliders.

Variations on a Porky Theme:

*Unless another type of bread is noted use any kind of slider bun.

Autumn in Paris-Cut pieces of French bread cut to about 3 inches.  Cut in half horizontally and give the bottom schmear of Dijonaise (50/50 ratio of mayo/Dijon), layer pork, thinly sliced apple slices, and Brie.

The Buckeroo-Place sharp cheddar on top of 2 slices tenderloin.  Melt under broiler.  Spread thin layer of mayo on the bottom and a mild barbecue sauce on cut side of the top of a Hawaiian roll.  Add crispy bacon and tomato.

The Croque-Mix strawberry jam with a little Balsamic vinegar.  Spread on the bottom bun.  Lay on meat, then arugula and shaved red onion.

The Petey (it’s how he likes his ham sandwiches)-Spread mayonnaise on bottom bun.  Layer pork, white American cheese, and kettle potato chips.

Hey Mack-Diced onion, dill pickle slices, American cheese, and 1000 Island dressing.

The Kid-Mix lemon juice into Duke’s mayo to taste.  Spread on bottom bun, then layer pork, crispy pancetta, kale shoots, and shavings of Parmigiano-Reggiano.

The What?-Spread Miracle Whip on bun.  Add pork, fried green tomato, and pea shoots.

The Bayless-Green salsa on bottom bun.  Melt Queso fresco or Oaxaca on the pork, then add thinly sliced avocado.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have space for all of my ideas.  You are welcome to email me and I’ll send you the rest, or…have some fun with the family coming up with some ideas of your own.

Thanks for your time.

Cooking with Nathalie

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Nathalie Dupree has an issue with how the traditional, historic Southern diet is remembered.

This was a very typical dinner.

Sure, folks ate fat back, or streak o’ lean.  But it wasn’t a slab on a plate, it was in a big pot of greens.  And likely the only other food on the menu was a piece of cornbread.  The pork was the sole protein.  A meal didn’t contain  3 or 4 proteins, like fried chicken, ham, and fish.  Those were special occasion foods that most were lucky to eat once a week.

This is not how your average Southern family ate every day.

Life was not a fancy Southern buffet with 20 or 30 different foods.  Families made do.

When it comes to Southern food, cooking, and history, doyenne Nathalie Dupree knows her stuff.

Friday night I attended a cooking class at the Southern Season in Chapel Hill, taught by Nathalie.  There was quite a bit of laughter—she’s really funny.  But there was an equal amount of gasps and “Oh wow!’s”.  Because what Nathalie has forgotten, most of us would be lucky to know.

Here is just a small sampling of what I learned.

A little iodized salt will not kill you–and will prevent this.

1.)Did you know goiters, those thyroid-related neck growths from the mists of time are making a comeback?  The small amounts of iodine in table salt essentially eradicated them.  But since everyone has switched over to fancy sea salt sans iodine, doctors are seeing a resurgence.

2.)When you chop herbs, the smaller pieces fall to the bottom of the pile, so keep moving the pile around to get a uniform cut.

Change the season or the venue–try indoor cultivation.

3.)Speaking of herbs, ever wonder why the tender herbs like cilantro and parsley are a bear to grow, yield little, and play out quickly?    It’s because we don’t live in Maine.  All of those plants do great above the Mason Dixon in the summer.  But down here, not so much.  In actuality, soft, leafy herbs are a fall or spring plant.  Just make sure they don’t stay out overnight in a freeze.

4.)Okra has more protein than any other vegetable.  To eliminate the much feared and loathed slime, cook with acid, like vinegar, lemon, or even tomato.  Okra and bacon taste great together, as shown in the delicious cakes Nathalie made for us.

Here’s her recipe:

Okra Griddle Cakes

okra griddle cakes4 slices cooked bacon, drippings reserved

1 cup cooked okra, finely chopped

1 ½ cup self-rising cornmeal

½ cup all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

2 cups buttermilk (Nathalie likes old-fashioned, full fat buttermilk)

3 tablespoons butter, melted

2 large eggs, lightly beaten

Shortening or vegetable oil for frying

Sour cream (optional)

Finely chop the cooked bacon and okra.

Up to 2 hours before serving, whisk together cornmeal, flour, and sugar in a bowl.  Stir in buttermilk, butter and eggs until just mixed.  Add bacon and okra to batter.

Heat a griddle or large iron skillet until hot.  Add enough oil to coat the bottom.  Sprinkle on a bit of batter to test that the griddle is hot enough to sizzle (Nathalie says that you cook with your ears and your nose) and the batter is of pouring consistency.  Add more water if necessary, 2 tablespoons at a time.

Ladle ¼ cup batter for each griddle cake onto hot griddle and cook until the top of the cake is dotted with large bubbles and the bottom is light brown.  Flip with a large spatula, and cook until the other side is lightly browned.  Keep warm in a 200 degree oven on a rack over a baking sheet or serve immediately.  Continue with the rest of the batter until it’s all gone.  Serve hot with optional sour cream.  Variations:

Top with sour cream and a little extra chopped bacon and okra.  Or, substitute a little chopped turnip greens and hot pepper, a few chopped shrimp or crab in the batter for the okra and bacon.

5.)To check if potatoes are cooked and ready to be mashed, rub one between your fingers, they should be smooth.  If not return to the boil.

6.)Thanksgiving was never meant to be healthy.  Go for broke.  As Nathalie said, “When you’re dead and gone, you want them to lie in bed and say, ‘I wish she were here to make that’.”

7.)And season with love.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Thanks for your time

Of Rice and Men

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I kept seeing it everywhere.

3 mags.png

Every month, without fail, I read three magazines cover to cover: British Cosmopolitan, Mad Magazine, and Our State (you’d think I’d be embarrassed by that admission, but, no, not so much).

I occasionally pick up other titles like InStyle, Family Circle, and the odd cooking magazine.

But I draw the line at those one-off, specialty food publications.  You know the ones; church supper potluck recipes, gifts from the kitchen, 200 recipes for hamburger, that kind of thing.

While I love specially curated culinary collections, they start at about ten bucks and go up from there.  I just can’t justify laying down that amount of cheddar for a magazine that I might only read once.

But lately, every time I’ve stood in line at a grocery or bookstore, this one publication was staring me in the face.  There was a stack of gorgeous, golden fried green tomatoes on the cover, and the promise of many more delights inside.

It was Southern Cast Iron, and after I saw it for the fourteenth time, I finally broke down and bought it.

I’m really glad I did.

It was no bait and switch rag.  It had tons of delicious-sounding recipes, and the inside was as gorgeous as the cover.

There was one story that really caught my eye.  It was an interview with Nathalie Dupree and co-author Cynthia Graubart about their book, Mastering The Art of Southern Vegetables.  This was actually before I knew we’d have a food chat.  Quelle coincidence!

They talked about the history of vegetables in the south, their philosophy, and their love of cast iron cooking.  Along with the interview were some recipes.

One was for okra pilau (unbelievably it’s usually pronounced “per-lou”—don’t ask, I’ve no idea).  Pilau is a Southern take on rice pilaf.

Regardless what it’s called, every rice culture has some kind of pilaf.  It possibly originated in ancient Persia, but traveled far and wide, and showed up in various cultures with names like, pilau, polow, and even paella.

Well last week I made it, and it was a huge hit.  It was simple, but full of flavor.  The Kid thought I had added herbs and spices, but the sole ingredients were bacon, rice, okra, salt and pepper.  Since the magazine has already printed it, I’m doing a pilau which is inspired by Nathalie’s tasty, tasty dish.

Pecan Pilau

corn pilau

3 tablespoons butter

1 cup pecan pieces

1 large yellow onion, sliced into half moons

1 cup white shoe peg corn

1 cup rice

2 cups water

Salt and pepper

Heat large cast iron skillet to medium.  Melt butter and add pecans.  Season and sauté until toasted.  Remove and set aside, leaving the butter.

Add onions, and reduce heat to medium-low.  Season, and cook stirring occasionally until caramel colored.

Turn burner to medium, add corn, and cook until there’s a little color on the kernels.  Add rice, and cook until the grains start to smell nutty.  Add water and bring to boil.

When it begins to boil, cover, reduce heat, and cook for 17-20 minutes or the water’s all cooked in.  Remove from heat, leave covered, and let rest for 10-15 minutes.

When ready to serve, add back pecans, and gently toss with a large fork.  Serves 4-6 as a side.

So, there you go.  You learned a new recipe and some history about rice.  And now you probably know way more about what goes on in the dim, chaotic crawl space of my mind than you ever wanted.

Thanks for your time.

Patriotic Party Guest

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You can ask The Kid, and there will be full confirmation—I am a corny, kitschy, sentimentalist.

When Petey and I travel, we both love to do the touristy thing.  I’m the girl that would totally stop at World’s Largest Jack-in-the-Box (Middletown, CT), the Indian Death Tiki of Awesomeness (Maggie Valley, NC), and spend the night in dog shaped digs at the Dog Bark Park Inn (Cottonwood, ID) or beneath boulders at Kokopelli’s Cave Bed & Breakfast (Farmington, NM).

OMG, I love these things…

Each fall I literally do a happy dance in the grocery store the first time I see the mellow-creme pumpkins on sale (and don’t even start–they are a completely different confection from candy corns).

I buy one loaf of spongy white, Sunbeam or Wonder bread a year.  It’s used to make my annual Thanksgiving night, before bed, turkey sandwich.

My sweater is exactly like the one in the middle.  Yes, folks, it’s so bad they put it in a very famous Saturday Night Live sketch (I owned it before the sketch).

At Christmastime, I watch hours and hours of fifty-year-old cartoon and Claymation holiday-themed productions.  Each year, If not physically restrained by Petey, I would happily perch on Santa’s lap for a nice, long chat.  I own a Christmas sweater so ugly it’s illegal in 25 states and actually has functioning bells on it.

So when there is a barbecue or picnic for the Fourth of July, you darn well better believe that there will be food, beverages, décor and fashion in red, white, and blue.

For dessert, I buy Independence Day hued M&M’s and liberally scatter them, along with handfuls of broken pretzel pieces, on top of my dark chocolate, fudgy brownies.  And I serve Sundaes with homemade vanilla ice cream drenched in fresh cherry and blueberry sauces.

Blue historically, has been hard to find in savory foods.  I guess there’s blue cheese, and I like it fine, but it’s only blue because of mold; which isn’t really very festive when you think about it.

About fifteen years ago, the US was introduced to a colorful new spud.  Even though it’s known as a purple Peruvian potato, don’t be fooled.  Most of them are as blue as the moon in Kentucky, Elvis’ suede shoes, and a K Mart special.

Uncle Sam’s potato salad

red white blue spud salad

3 pound purple/blue potatoes

2 tablespoons olive oil

Juice of half a lemon

Salt and pepper

24 ounces Cherub baby tomatoes, left whole

8 ounces goat cheese crumbled

5 or 6 slices bacon, cooked crisp and crumbled

Leaving on the skin, cut the potatoes into bite-size piece and cook in heavily salted, boiling water until fork-tender (15-20 minutes).  When still hot, toss with 2 tablespoons olive oil and lemon juice.  Season, and taste for seasoning. 

Let cool completely then put into a large bowl with tomatoes.

Dressing

lemon herb dressing

Whisk together:

1/2 cup olive oil

1/4 cup mayonnaise

1/4 cup lemon juice

2 tablespoons parsley, chopped

1 tablespoon fresh mint, chopped

1 tablespoon fresh basil, chopped

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Refrigerate dressing for at least two hours.

Thirty minutes before service, add dressing to potato/tomato mixture, a little at a time until the vegetables are lightly coated.  Gently mix in goat cheese.  Cover and let sit indoors at room temperature (not outside, where it’s hot, you don’t want a trip to the emergency room for dessert).

Before service, sprinkle the bacon on top.  This way it will still be crispy when eaten.  Serves 8-10.

And if you don’t get it together for the fourth, don’t fret.  This potato salad also works for Bastille Day, on the 14th.  Though, you should probably call it Frere Jacques potato salad.

Thanks for your time.

Definitely Dixie (kind of)

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I’m broken, and it’s all because of my mom, The Kid, and Fresh Market.

I used to be like all the other proper Southern children and eat any pimento cheese that was offered.  And like any good Southern child, ate it on spongy white bread.

But then two things happened that changed everything, and broke me.

First, my mom came to visit from Greensboro one day.  I honestly don’t remember her ever having arrived empty-handed.  Well, on this fateful day, knowing that I love both pimento cheese and Fresh Market and she brought me a tub of the goo they make in-house at that culinary Aladdin’s cave.

Secondly, when The Kid was in middle school we made a trip to the supermarket.  In the chip aisle, my spawn asked for a specific bag of pretzels.  The ones requested were Utz Special Dark sourdough; another kid had brought them for lunch, and they were a big hit among the lunchroom set.

They were also a hit at Chez Matthews, I took to keeping them around for The Kid’s lunch and to munch on.

One day I had some fresh pimento cheese from Fresh Market in the fridge.  I also had a bag of dark pretzels on the counter.  I wandered into the kitchen looking for something on which to snack.  I pulled out the cheese, and opened the pretzels.  I dunked and tasted.

My whole world shifted.

When The Kid was little and faced with a new food, I used to say try it, because you never know, it might be your new favorite.

The pretzels and the pimento cheese were both tasty on their own.  But the sum of these savory parts made for a whole that was so intensely delicious I needed to sit down.  I may have passed out from the sheer sensory overload.

A couple years ago, I was making oven-baked pork chops.  I needed some breader.  And I just happened to have the better part of a bag of Utz’s on hand.

After grinding in the food processor, I coated the chops and threw them in the oven.  The special dark specialness did it again.  We loved them.

The other day I was making pork chops had an epiphany: I would make a stuffed hybrid.

Stuffed pretzel pork chops

pimento pork

4-1 ½ inch thick boneless pork loin chops

1 cup your favorite pimento cheese

5 cups Utz Special Dark sourdough pretzels, divided

2 cups heavily seasoned flour

2 cups buttermilk

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

Cooking spray

Prepare stuffing:  Run 5 or 6 pretzels through food processor until finely crushed.  Measure out 2 tablespoons and mix it with pimento cheese.  Set aside.

With a thin flexible knife cut a pocket into chops.  Cut a small slit (2 inches or less), horizontally in the side.  Push knife into pork, being careful not to cut all the way through.  Wiggle the knife back and forth opening up the pocket.

Put cheese mixture into a zip top bag and cut off one small corner.  Place bag into pork chop, and squeeze in about ¼ of cheese into each.  Place into fridge for at least an hour to chill.

Grind up the rest of the pretzels into large, coarse crumbs.  Place into shallow dish.  Put flour into another bag, and pour buttermilk into another shallow dish.

Coat pork with 3-part dredge; shake in flour, dip in buttermilk, and heavily coat with pretzels.  Put back in fridge for another hour to cool and set the cheese.

Preheat oven to 350.  Put oil into a heavy baking dish.  Set in pork chops and give them a spritz of cooking spray on top.

Bake for 15 minutes.  Using a fork and spatula, gently flip them over and bake 15 minutes more. 

Remove from oven and let rest for 5-10 minutes.  Serves 4.

And how did my mom, The Kid, and Fresh Market break me?

They all contributed to spoiling me for any other pimento cheese.  Nobody else’s tastes good anymore.  And when it’s topping a very specific dark brown, knotted piece of dough, I am reclining among the angels in snacking heaven.

Way to go, guys.

Sadly, there’s no kit to fix me…

Thanks for your time.

Use your bean

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

I get excited about all kinds of things…English muffins just happen to be one of them.

So I was making an English muffin for this morning.  I was really looking forward to it (even more than I usually look forward to any and all food).

The reason I was so eager to get at an ordinary piece of toasted carb is because of which spread I was planning to use.

I’ll admit it right here—I have a problem.

It’s an irresistible need to possess copious varieties of jams, jellies and preserves.  If it’s shiny, sweet, and in a jar, I’m in.  I pick them up wherever I go, be it grocery store, garden center, or even somewhere unexpected like TJ Maxx.

There are 18 different jars in my fridge right now.  And that’s not counting the various honies, golden syrup, and Goober Grape residing in cabinets.

jam shelves

This is most of them, but I have more jars than I have shelves.

About a month ago I was in Home Goods, at Brier Creek.  I love them for their uncommon pasta shapes and jellies.  That day I picked up short multi-colored ridged lasagna.  And, I bought a jar of pineapple jam.

I’ve never thought of preserving the fruit.  I love it fresh, and not much beats a piña colada made with pineapple juice, Coco Lopez, rum, and vanilla ice cream.  Happily, it turned out to taste just like the fruit, and really good on the whole-grain toast and English muffins that I prefer.

As good as it is, that didn’t stop me from what I did to it a few days ago.  I mixed in a heaping tablespoon of vanilla paste.  I closed it up and put it back in the chill chest for a bit so the flavors could mingle.

So that’s why I was so looking forward to breakfast today.

4 forms

While my bread was in the toaster I got to thinking about the four fantastic forms of vanilla: beans, extract, paste and powder.  I always try to have some of each in my kitchen, and they are awesome for jacking up the flavor of all kinds of things.

Vanilla beans: Scrape out the beans with a paring knife and use like you would extract (one bean=one teaspoon).  But when used in light colored foods the flecks of beans enhance the visual which in turn enhances the whole experience.  I love putting them in flavored butter, pudding, and homemade marshmallows.

Don’t toss those empty pods, either, throw them in your sugar canister for vanilla sugar, or add 4 pods to a pint of rum or vodka for homemade extract.

Extract: The old baking standby is also terrific added to unexpected dishes.  Try it in barbecue sauce, salad dressing and marinades.  Use it to make vanilla coke and to give French toast and pancake batter extra zip.

But please, for the love of all that’s holy and healthy, only use pure vanilla.  Although it’s no longer produced by milking the anal glands of beavers (yipes), it’s still made with eucalyptus oil, to which many people are allergic, pine tar, and the wood pulp left after making paper.  Mmmm…pulpy goodness.

Paste: Terrific for adding to prepared foods, like honey and syrups.  Paste also makes lemonade and iced tea into something really special.  Whisk a teaspoon of it and a tablespoon of brown sugar into 1 cup of sour cream for fruit salad dressing or cheesecake topping.  Paste works really well as a mix-in for instant hot cereals.

Powder: When baking, I always shake some into my dry ingredients.  It supports and enhances the extract or beans that I add to the wet ingredients.  For the best cinnamon toast you’ve ever had mix ¼ cup sugar, 1 tablespoon cinnamon, 1 tablespoon vanilla powder, 1/8 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg, and a pinch of salt.  Try adding vanilla powder to coffee or sprinkling it on halved stone fruit before grilling.

I’ve also cooked down apple jelly with vanilla beans.  The apple flavor fades, and I’m left with an intense vanilla jam to add to my vast spread collection.

And I know that they say admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery, but I have absolutely no plans to address my affliction (although I have overheard whispered conversations between Petey and The Kid using phrases such as jelly intervention, and jam rehab).

Yeah, yeah, pass me the biscuits; I just got some sassafras jelly.

sassafras

Here is my newest baby.  It tastes kind of like root beer jam.

Thanks for your time.