My mom’s cookies look like normal, boring, everybody’s-had-one frosted sugar cookies.

Then you take a bite.

And fall off your chair.

The Kid and I discuss them each time we’re lucky enough to get our mitts on some.  We can’t figure them out.  How is it that this little, regulation baked good can pack such an extraordinary punch?  We joke that maybe she puts crack in them, or fairy dust.

When Kid was in college, Gramma baked a batch freshman year, and shipped them up to our little scholar in Vermont.

Those NECI people had no idea what they were in for.

There were probably four dozen cookies in the box.  The Kid ate some, and then decided to share with a few lucky souls.

Nobody was very enthused to be offered boring baked goods from some random grandmother in North Carolina.  My child didn’t try to talk anyone into a sample.  If they didn’t want one, it was just more for The Kid.

Then one person took one.  Eyes lit up, and word got around.  People came out of the woodwork wanting these miraculous confections.  Chef-instructors approached The Kid to ask when Gramma would send more.

Mom’s Christmas Cookies

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

1½ cups 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 (whole or 2%)

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 pound box powdered sugar

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. We usually dye it festive colors.

I’ve tried to gentrify the ingredients.

Don’t do it.

Something about the synthesis of these particular components are the secret of the amazing results.  Don’t substitute butter, or cake flour, or speak with a French accent while making them (unless you legitimately speak with a French accent).

When icing the cookies; the more the better.  A fifty/fifty ratio of frosting to cookie is just about right.  Sprinkle right after frosting each one, so it sticks.

About two weeks before Christmas, Mom has a frosting party. Everyone shows up and decorates hundreds of cookies.  We have lunch, and then negotiate how many cookies we can take home.

There is one rule: you break it, you eat it.

You’d think, awesome!   You’d think we break as many as we can, and gorge on frosting cloaked shards.

Yeah, not so much.

Mom’s no dummy, and she can tell when a cookie is broken on purpose.  And that woman has a mom-eye glare that can chill you to your very soul.

So, we usually only scarf about two per session.

When Petey and I were dating, we had a giant, bear-like, man-child of a friend named Pig.  He frosted with us each year. He adored my mother, her cookies, and her spaghetti lunch.  Mom loved him right back.

When he learned the broken cookie rule, he lit up like a neon sign.  The first year, he broke almost every cookie he touched.

We watched this dance with sideways glances and shallow breath.  It was only a matter of time before mom turned her furry eyeball on him, and he would dissolve into a puddle of contrition.

It never occurred.

Every year after that mom made a batch just for her buddy to frost, break, and eat.  It was, and remains, her sole exception.

She never makes a batch like that for me.

I guess I’m not as charming as the Pig.

Thanks for your time.

Contact me at d@bullcity.mom.

In France when you get married, you have to have a civil ceremony down at whatever they call city hall (Le Hall du Citie?).  Thus if you get married in a church, you have to have two weddings.

So, when The Kid told me the name of what I was making was “re-wedding”, I figured that was the deal. I mean, the French have plenty of cute, odd culinary terms, so what’s one more?

A short list of quirky French food terminology:

Bain Marie-“Mary’s bath”.  Cooking vessels in a pan of water, like custards or cheesecakes.  It helps keep a moist environment.

Roux-This sauce thickener made of cooked equal parts fat and flour translates to “red head”, or for you Anglophiles; “Ginger”.

Aiguillettes-“Little needle”.  Long thin strips of poultry, traditionally duck.

Vol-Au-Vent-A container made of puff pastry.  Literally translates to ‘flight in the wind’.

The current project came from two different things.

 

I’ve been purchasing rotisserie chickens from Costco.  They cost like $5, and are so big they could be of the fleet of a low-cost airline (though I’m positive the overhead bin space would be sorely lacking).  I get about six cups of mixed white and dark meat.

But the birds come with a bonus.

After I’ve stripped off all meat from the carcass that I can, I then take said carcass, and make stock.  Because the bird has already been cooked, instead of an eight hour ordeal, the whole process takes 3-ish hours.

Revival stock

To make this stock you’ll need the carcass of a large rotisserie chicken, as well as skin.  There will also be some juice and a sort of jelly in the container.  Use all of this.  The gel is collagen that will give you a much, much richer stock.

This stock is crazy forgiving.  The additional ingredients are very adjustable.  Got more or less of something?  Go for it.  I promise, the stock police will not show up at your door.

Additional ingredients:

2-3 carrots

4-5 celery stalks

1 onion

5-6 cloves garlic

1 ½ teaspoons dry thyme

2-3 bay leaves

2-3 sprigs of fresh rosemary

10-15 peppercorns

1 ½ teaspoons salt

Pinch of sugar

1 cup white wine

8 cups cold water

Wash the vegetables, but don’t bother peeling anything except the onion.  Cut the onion into quarters, whack the garlic with your knife to bruise and throw both into a large heavy pot.  Cut the celery and carrots into 2-3 inch pieces and toss them in.  Put in all the chicken bits and pieces.  Throw in herbs and spices.  Pour in water and wine.

Turn on medium, and cook for about 30 minutes.  Using a small mesh strainer, skim off any scum that’s risen to the top.  Make sure everything is submerged, turn to medium-low, and let cook for about 2 more hours.

 

 

Strain with the finest strainer you have into a large bowl.  You should have about 8 cups of stock.

Refrigerate overnight, and in the morning, skim off fat that’s risen and hardened.  The stock should have a slight gelatinous texture when cold—this is a very good thing; it means you got all the good stuff out of the chicken.

Refrigerate up to a week or freeze for up to two months.

 

 

Oh, and I misunderstood The Kid.  This stock isn’t called re-wedding…it’s remouillage, which means rewetting.  I guess it means hitting the water twice (but it’s French, so I don’t know—I took Spanish in high school.).

Thanks for your time.

 

This is an agreement between ________________ (hereafter referred to as Host), ________________ (hereafter referred to Significant Other, or SO), and dinner guests (designated by relationship to host), to express terms of the first Thanksgiving dinner prepared by Host.

1.)Home preparation.  When not working, grocery shopping, or cooking, Host will spend the 2 weeks preceding Thanksgiving cleaning the abode from top to bottom.  Areas not gazed upon since moving-in day will be scoured down to the studs.  On the day before Thanksgiving the arrivals of Mother-in-law with two small, loud, incontinent, shedding dogs and twin 4-year-old Nephews will negate all earlier efforts.

2.)Attire.  An expensive, appropriate, dry-clean-only dress with accompanying uncomfortable shoes will be purchased.  An ill-timed game of chase through the kitchen, the resulting splashing gravy, and a woefully insubstantial (also new) holiday apron will see Host serving dinner in jeans and a sweat shirt.

3.)Decoration.  Two of the SO’s only responsibilities will be to change out the sofa cushions and bathroom towels for festive pilgrim-clad versions and on Wednesday night, pick up the table centerpiece from the florist.  The florist will be forgotten on the trip home from work, and not remembered until after closing time.  Because of an exciting, can’t miss 41-3 nail-biter of a football game, the towels and pillows will also be “forgotten” until the absence is noticed by Host during dessert service.

4.)Technology.  A fall-themed basket will be set up by the front door into which guests can place their cell phones in the hopes that everyone will be present in the moment, and engage with one another face-to-face.  This basket will elicit no mobiles, but huge laughs, with guests falling into further rib-bruising hysterics during the day whenever anyone mentions or spies the empty, forlorn basket.

5.)Appetizers.  Although the rest of the meal will be provided and cooked by Host, Sister has successfully conducted a take-no-prisoners, month-long campaign to furnish the pre-dinner bites.  After agonizing for weeks (and texting Host 86 times) over recipe choices such as  blinis with caviar, goat cheese-stuffed endive, or duck confit-filled pastries Sister shows up 20 minutes before dinner with one bag of sour cream and cheddar chips and an opened can of Slim Jims.

6.)Turkey.  The heritage bird will be fresh, free-range, and ordered weeks in advance from an artisan butcher.  It will be expertly brined, tied, and tucked into a brand-new All-Clad roasting pan.  Everything will be going according to culinary plan until noxious fumes coming from the kitchen will alert everyone to the fact that the giblets, still ensconced in their plastic bag, were left in the turkey cavity.

7.)Mashed potatoes.  Each dinner guest will volunteer to assist in the kitchen.  The offers will be gracefully declined, but not before every wannabe sous chef, unbeknownst to Host, seasons the potatoes.  The resulting salt lick will be inedible.

8.)Rolls.  In the frenzy of last minute dinner prep, the yeast rolls will be neglected.  In order to bake them in time to bring to the table, the oven will be turned to 500 degrees.  After sawing off the blackened bottoms, they will be perfectly edible.

9.) Alcohol. Host will procure at least two bottles of chilled white wine.  Plus, whatever everyone else will be having.

 

 

10.)Table talk.  The Aunts will regale the table with colorful, physiologically-explicit descriptions of surgeries of days past.  Uncle, after liberally sampling all of the adult beverages, will wax poetic on the pitiful state of the country, with particular venomous attention paid to youth, immigrants, and working women.  After a particularly vociferous exclamation, he will fall asleep in his cranberry sauce.  Conversation throughout the meal will be punctuated with drapery-fluttering sighs from Goth Niece, who also will announce her extremely recent conversion to veganism immediately after sitting down at the dining table.

11.)Post dinner.  After single-handedly preparing and serving a Thanksgiving feast, the exhausted Host decides to swallow her pride, and finally accept help for clean-up by the guests which have been offering assistance all day.  Entering the living room to gather the troops, Host discovers half the guests have left for a shopping trip, and the other half is unconscious in front of the television.

Happy Thanksgiving

And

Thanks for your time.

 

 

 

There are 40,000 different varieties of rice on this earth, and in keeping with a life-long rebellious spirit, my favorite, wild rice, isn’t even rice at all—it’s a grass.

After thirty years of wedded bliss, and soon after purchasing a bag of brown rice from Costco the approximate size of a grain silo and, my beloved husband Petey decided to reveal he’s no fan of brown.

I like white rice just fine.  But white is white because all the healthy stuff has been stripped away.  It’s so nutritionally void that US law mandates the resulting grain must be “enriched” with vitamins B1, B3, and iron.  Brown rice is a whole grain.  It’s also more flavorful, with a chewy, nutty texture.

But anyway, back to Petey.  I discovered that if I prepare rice blends I can get him to eat the healthier version.  Most grocery stores have blends.  Usually there’s brown, wild, and maybe red or black.  The prepacked blends are convenient because they’re meant to cook together, with no math necessary to calculate preparation times of each grain.

Recently I came up with something using a whole grain blend and loads of vegetables.  It didn’t have a ton of fat, and was flavorful enough to eat without any kind of gravy or sauce.  And the rice that was left over I made into patties, and fried them into cakes to serve with bacon and eggs another night when we had breakfast for dinner.

Confetti rice pilaf

1 onion, chopped

6 celery stalks, cut in half length-wise and sliced

1 teaspoon dry thyme

1 cup rice blend

1 cup white wine

2 cups chicken stock

2 cups frozen peas

¼ cup shredded Parmesan cheese

salt and pepper

1 tablespoon oil or bacon fat

1 tablespoon butter

Heat fat in medium saucepan.  Stir in onions, celery, thyme, and a pinch of salt and pepper.

Cook until all liquid is released, cooked in, and the veggies are starting to caramelize around the edges. Pour uncooked rice in pan and cook, stirring frequently until it’s nutty smelling, and the rice starts to lightly brown.

Stir in wine, and cook until the wine is totally absorbed.  Stir in cold butter until it’s melted in and the rice and veg have started to brown a tiny bit more.

Pour in stock and bring to boil.  Cover, lower to medium-low and cook for 20-25 minutes or until all the liquid has cooked in.

Pour peas on top of rice and without stirring, re-cover and let stand for 15 minutes.  Gently fold in peas, add cheese into rice, and serve.

Serves 4.

If you’re contributing to the Thanksgiving table, add steamed broccoli, mushroom soup (homemade), a heavy hit of hoop cheese, and this confetti pilaf can be the foundation of a jacked-up broccoli rice casserole. Or, add dried cranberries, toasted pecans, some sage, and some oysters, you’ve upped the game on dressing.  For something crazy unexpected, put the rice into ramekins, cover them with a custard, bake slowly in a water bath, and you have an elegant rice flan to liven up the table and get folks talking—plus it’s delicious.

Then sit back and watch Uncle Ezra, who hasn’t had a vegetable since the Carter administration chowing down on something that’s actually good for him.  But I still don’t think you’re gonna get him to swap out his slice of bacon maple pumpkin cheesecake for quinoa/goji berry “cookies” topped with tofu icing.

It’s still the holidays after all.  Cut the poor guy some slack.

 

 

Thanks for your time.

 

 

Our poor old hippopotamus-canine would have starved.

Up until the 1950’s, there really wasn’t much of a dog food industry.  Pet owners fed table scraps to their pups which were then supplemented with whatever the pooch could hunt or scavenge on their own.

If that was the diet of Riker, our 200 pound Anatolian shepherd, his daily intake would consist of six peas, half a pine cone, and a paper towel.

So instead, we regularly buy him 40 pound bags of kibble at Barnes Supply (774 9th St, Durham).  He actually doesn’t eat as much as you might think.

But he would eat much, much less if he relied on me for table scraps.

I plan our meals so that we get plenty to eat, but nothing goes to waste.  I divide big recipes and freeze half.  Extra helpings become ingredients in future meals.  And sometimes it gets nuked and we just eat straight-up leftovers.

On Thanksgiving it’s almost a given that you’re going to end up with a fridge full of leftovers.

My casserole can use up a ton of turkey day remainders or can be made from scratch.  If you don’t have turkey, use a rotisserie clucker.  If you haven’t got enough gravy, make it fresh.  Throw a couple rolls or pieces of cornbread into the oven at 200 for 15 minutes or so, and then toss them in the food processor for bread crumbs.  Or use some Panko from the grocery store.  If you aren’t a pea family, use broccoli or corn.

And this recipe makes a bunch.  So make it up Friday, and on Saturday all you have to do is throw it in the oven when you get home from the mall, maybe open some salad bags, and you’ll have another dinner for a crowd.

Post Turkey-Day Tetrazzini

3-4 cups turkey, cut into bite-size chunks

16 ounces egg noodles

24 ounces mushrooms, sliced

1 onion, chopped

12 ounces frozen peas, thawed

4 tablespoons butter (2 tablespoons if you’re not making sauce)

Big pinch salt

Little pinch pepper

1½ teaspoons dry thyme

2 bay leaves

1 cup white wine

1-2 cups shredded Swiss or gruyere

¾ cup Panko breadcrumbs or breadcrumbs from rolls or cornbread

Sauce:

4 cups turkey gravy

Or for fresh:

5 tablespoons flour

3 cups chicken or turkey stock

1 cup skim milk

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

1 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon pepper

Preheat oven to 400.

Cook egg noodles for two minutes less than directions call for.  Drain.

Melt butter in large heavy pot.  Pour in mushrooms and onions.  Add thyme, bay leaves, salt and pepper. Cover and cook over medium for 5 minutes to let the water release from veg.  Uncover and cook until water has all cooked off, there’s some browning, and bottom of the pot has little brown bits sticking to it.

Turn up to medium-high, pour in wine, scrape up the flavorful bits, and let cook until it’s all absorbed.

At this point, if you have turkey gravy, stir together everything except cheese and breadcrumbs.

If you don’t have gravy:

Sprinkle flour on top of mushrooms and onions.  Cook for 1-2 minutes.  Adding about a cup at a time, add stock and milk and stir until sauce starts to thicken.  Do this until all the liquids have been added.  Stir into noodle mixture.

Then:

Gently stir in thawed peas.

Pour into one large greased pan or two smaller greased dishes.  Sprinkle cheese evenly over top.

Cover with parchment and then foil.  Bake for 40 minutes.  Remove from oven, discard foil and parchment, and sprinkle with breadcrumbs.

Return to oven and let cook 15-25 minutes or until browned and bubbly.

Let sit 15 minutes before slicing and serving.

I’ll let you in on a little secret:

My plan was not to cook it up as a casserole, but serve the turkey mushroom sauce over a starch.  I even thought I might spoon it over rice.  But Petey liked the idea of baking it together with egg noodles.  And it turned out so pretty and tasty I have to admit he was right.

So I guess this week the recipe is a collaboration of Petey and me.

Thanks for your time.

 

*Note-Last week the Henderson column did not run in the paper.  It’s running ths week, but has already been posted here.  So please enjoy a throw-back.

When I went to high school, I lived in Elizabeth City. Way back then, we had horse-less carriages, and gas was only about fifty cents a gallon. So, on the weekend, we would hop into our vehicles, and cruise through town all night long. My best friend Waldo, would load the back of his little Toyota pick-up with lawn chairs. The lucky chosen settled into those seats, and waved to all of our friends as we tooled around. We called these excursions “Hey Rides”.

No evening was complete without stopping at the Sonic drive-thru. They had tons of tasty, cheap food, like frito chili pies, and steak sandwiches (actually breaded and deep-fried hamburger patties). But no matter what, my order always, always, included tater tots, sometimes covered with melted slices of cheese.

I just love those little gems. These days, when we visit Elizabeth City, The Kid won’t leave town until we’ve stopped by Sonic for tots. When we drove our little scholar up to college for the first time, our route was planned in conjunction with the Sonic national map.

Recently, tater tots have acquired celebrity. I looked at eight restaurants in Durham. Four had tots on the menu. I’m sure it won’t be long before they have their own reality show.

Every manufacturer that has frozen potatoes sells tater tots. I’ve tried many of them. I’ve baked them and fried them. They’re all pretty much interchangeable, and loaded with sodium, and unpronounceable chemicals. Mmmm, factory goodness.

Following my philosophy of “Why buy pre-made when I can fiddle in the kitchen for multiple hours and make it myself?”, I decided to try and make homemade tater tots.

Surprisingly, they weren’t too hard to make from scratch. The cool thing about making your own is you can add any flavors that you like to the potatoes. I like sauted onion and garlic. You can add chopped bacon, or roasted chiles, sun dried tomatoes, or herbs and spices. Add in any tastes you have a hankering for.

Tater Tots For People With Time On Their Hands

1 pound waxy potatoes cooked whole‘til fork tender (like you’re making potato salad)
2 cups flour
3 eggs
1 cup milk (low-fat is just fine)
panko bread crumbs
oil for frying
salt and pepper

When the cooked potatoes are cool, peel. Grate them, by hand, largest shred. Into potatoes, add salt pepper, and one egg, lightly beaten. This is also where you add in any extra flavoring ingredients. Gingerly toss together until combined, and place in fridge for 30 minutes.

Portion cold tater mixture into tablespoons (a very small ice cream or portion scoop works great for this). When all the mixture is portioned, shape by hand into tater tot shapes. Refrigerate for one hour. This will help keep their shape when you bread them.

Prepare three part dredge:
In one container put seasoned (salt and pepper and any herbs and spices) flour.
Beat remaining eggs and milk in another.
Pour out bread crumbs into third dish.
Toss tots in flour, this dries the exterior a bit and allows egg wash to stick.
Dip into egg wash.
Roll in bread crumbs, lightly patting crumbs so each is completely covered.

Refrigerate for one hour, or, freeze them now, and cook at a later date.
Heat oil in a large pot until it reaches 325-350 degrees. Cook in small batches until golden brown and delicious.
Wah Lah…tater tots!

They really do taste better when made at home, and instead of boring frozen potato things, you have a special treat, made with one ingredient no factory can add-love.

This past Christmas, I was experimenting in the kitchen. My mom absolutely loves rice crispy treats, and I wanted to make some candy out of them specifically for her. I took very thin (1/4 inch) slices about four or five inches long, and rolled them, length-wise to get short rounds. My idea was to make something that looked like rosettes. Then, I coated them with melted chocolate. Guess what? When dipped, they looked nothing like roses, but looked exactly like tater tots.

I was going to put them into small paper cups (like for tiny cupcakes), and place them in a little tin. They looked nice, but of course I’ve never been one to leave well-enough alone. There was room in the box for sixteen. I left of them four plain. On top of four I sprinkled chopped cashews (Mom’s fave) on them before the chocolate hardened. Another four I sprinkled with crushed candy cane pieces. And for the last four, I went insane, and topped with freshly made bacon bits (I adore salty/sweet).
Placed into the box in pretty rows of four, they looked like they came from a fancy, expensive chocolatier. Mom loved them, but was a little timid about the bacon ones. Then she tried a bite. They were the hit of the collection.

There’s one dish using tater tots that I’ve thought about, but not been daring enough to make. Tater tot poutine. Poutine is a Canadian dish which starts with a plate of fries. You sprinkle them with cheese curds (another northern food that’s very much like small pieces of mozzarella cheese). Then the whole shebang is smothered in rich beef gravy. It’s the kind of food that keeps a farmer going up in the frozen north, working twelve hours of brutal, physical labor. This is something most folks don’t do anymore, so it really should be an extremely infrequent treat. But, gosh, it’s yummy

If I do make tot poutine, you can check with me to see how it turned out. You will likely find me in a bed at the cardiac unit at Duke.

Thanks for your time.

For my entire life, my mom has been making bread pudding.  When there was some bread ready to go south or there was nothing sweet in the house and somebody was Jonesing, or there just wasn’t enough money on hand for store-bought treats.

And that’s kind of how I thought of it; as a substitution, or fill-in, or an also-ran.  I really enjoyed it, but it wasn’t my all-time favorite (although my brother, Bud adores it).

Mom’s bread pudding

Exactly 13 slices sandwich bread (Like Sun Beam), cubed

4 cups milk (any kind)

1 cup raisins (I like golden raisins)

1 cup chopped roasted pecans (optional)

4 large eggs

1 ½ cups sugar

Pinch of salt

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

½ teaspoon cinnamon

¼ teaspoon fresh nutmeg

Preheat oven to 325.

In very large bowl, whisk together everything but bread, raisins, and nuts.  Pour the bread into the custard and with your hands, mix and mash until the bread is completely worked in and the custard is a mostly smooth batter.  Stir in raisins and pecans.

Pour into greased 9X13 baking dish and bake for 50 minutes or until moist, but set.

Then I worked for Sara Foster at her Bull City institution, Foster’s (2694 Durham-Chapel Hill Blvd), and met her mother, Say.

Say made the bread pudding for the restaurant.  I helped her make it a couple times.  She’d go around the store and scoop up any bread products that weren’t totally fresh.  Croissants, bagels, biscuits, you name it. It got ripped up and dumped into a big silver hotel pan.

This stuff was different from the bread pudding I grew up with.  Apple and oranges are both fruit and grow on trees.  This was more like shoes and giraffes.

My mom’s was mixed until it was homogenous—it baked up more like a dense flan.  Say’s was chunky, with crispy edges of bread peeking out.  Then Say baptized her pudding in a sweet, buttery, boozy sauce.  That sauce is so good it could make a sugar-hating food cop tear up their ticket book and go rogue.

What got me thinking about bread pudding and sauce was a dinner Petey and I had at Pan-Pan diner (Northgate Mall, in Durham).

They are a terrific eatery to get your Southern on, and an awesome place to take out-of-towners.  After eating my weight at their buffet in delicious things like popcorn shrimp, fried chicken, pintos and rice, cabbage and mac and cheese, I went in for dessert.

The choices were apple and peach cobblers, sweet potato pie, and bread pudding.  I picked bread pudding.

When I unwrapped it, I noticed it was uniform in consistency, like Mom’s.  It was also sliced into thin slabs, about 2 by 3 inches, and ½ inch thick.  My brain started clicking away and making connections.

I suddenly thought, “What if I made my mom’s pudding, chilled it, and cut it into slices like this?  Then what if I melted some butter in a skillet, and browned and crisped up both sides, like I do when I make meatloaf sandwiches?  Then…what if I drenched it in something like Say’s amazing bourbon-butter sauce?  Could the world handle the awesomeness that would ensue?”

Say-inspired brown butter rum sauce

1 stick butter

2 cups powdered sugar, sifted

¾ cup heavy cream

1/3 cup amber rum, like Bacardi Gold

1 vanilla bean

Big pinch of salt

In a heavy saucepan, melt butter on medium-low, then watching carefully, continue to cook until it has browned to a light caramel color.  Take off heat. 

Whisk in sugar, ½ cup at a time until smooth and fully incorporated. 

Split the vanilla bean in half, scrape out the caviar inside and add to the butter/sugar mixture.

Whisk in cream and rum, and salt.  Cover, and keep warm if using right away.  To store, refrigerate, then warm on very low heat before service.

Having lived in Puerto Rico, I have a soft spot for rum.  Plus I think the notes of molasses go well with brown butter.

So, thanks mom and Say, for this recipe mash-up.  Mothers are pretty darn terrific (Did you catch that, sweet child o’ mine?).

Thanks for your time.

My mom is an Italian girl from Jersey.

Her red sauce with meatballs or stewed beef was beloved by my buddies.  So much so that sometimes I wondered if it was her food, rather than my sparkling personality that lured my friends to the house.

Sort of like the idea of tying pork chops around your child’s neck to get the dog to play with them (my parents hardly ever had to do that with me).

Ironically, I’ve never been a fan of tomato-based sauces.  Not even in pizza.  The only dishes I like it in is eggplant and other parmigiana recipes, and although it embarrasses me to admit, Chef Boyardee ravioli.

I recently worked up a new lasagna made with a modified béchamel (cream sauce), and full of things I love.

Chicken, pea, and kale lasagna

For the Lasagna:

15 no-boil lasagna noodles, or more, if necessary

3 to 4 cups shredded rotisserie chicken meat

12 ounces frozen peas, thawed and drained

¾ cup grated Parmesan cheese

1 cup coarsely grated Swiss or Gruyere cheese

1 cup chicken stock

¾ cup panko breadcrumbs

For the sauce:

6 tablespoons butter

4 large cloves of garlic, diced finely

1 shallot diced

1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, minced

1 teaspoon dry thyme

¼ teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg

6 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon kosher salt (or to taste)

½ teaspoon pepper

5 cups dairy (I used 4 ½ cups skim, and ½ cup heavy cream, ‘cause it’s what I had)

1 cup frozen chopped kale thawed, with the water squeezed out.

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Melt butter in a large saucepan over medium heat.

Add garlic and shallots, sauté about 1 minute stirring frequently.

Whisk in flour, herbs and salt. Cook for 1-2 minutes.

Add the milk, a cup at a time, whisking smooth after each addition and allowing it to thicken before adding next cup. When all the milk is in, and it starts to gently bubble, remove from heat, and stir in kale.

Grease 9×13 pan with cooking spray (or 2-8X8’s).

Cover bottom of pan with lasagna noodles (if needed, use broken pieces to fill), half of the chicken, peas, and Parmesan, ⅓ cup stock, and 1½ cups sauce (if using 8X8’s just cut all measurements in half and fill both dishes at the same time).

Repeat this layer once more.

Lastly, top with third layer of noodles, the rest of sauce and stock, and all the Swiss cheese.

Spray underside of a piece of foil with cooking spray. Cover casserole with foil and bake 40 minutes.

Remove foil (if you need to at this point use paper towels and blot up any grease on top), sprinkle evenly with breadcrumbs, and bake until top is golden brown and bubbly and internal temp in center is 165 degrees (approx. 15-25 minutes).

Let stand 15 minutes before slicing.  Serves 8.

When I make this, I usually divide it into two casseroles.  I tightly wrap one up, label it, and freeze it.  I can then take it out of the chill chest, let it defrost, and make it for supper another night.  Or, in a pinch, I can just cook it a little longer straight from frozen.

It works great for a potluck dish, or to carry to a neighbor who needs a hand with cooking (i.e., new baby, sickness, or bereavement).

This stuff is so good that I don’t need my mom’s spaghetti to make friends for me anymore.  My lasagna brings all the folks to the yard.

Thanks for your time.

I’ve had so much fun doing these “Would you rather” columns.

It’s been a terrific chance to get to know local chefs.  But this week our chef isn’t local.

When I was nine we moved to Puerto Rico.  I made friends with the daughters of our base commander and had a crush on one of his sons, Michael.

The other?  Not so much.

He was snotty, snarky, and perpetually crabby.

When we moved to Elizabeth City the family lived there, and we renewed our friendship.  I still had a crush on Michael, and still thought the other son was a stinker.

Then I started dating Grouchy’s best friend, a boy named Petey.  Despite his buddy’s dire warnings, we married and lived happily ever after.

Years later, somehow, Mr. Cranky Pants and I became genuine BFFs; not the reality show kind.

That guy is Chef Chrissy, my culinary sensei; the one who’s taught me more things culinary than any other person.  He’s true-blue and usually takes my calls.

We still love to pick.  Other than cooking and writing, my biggest creative outlet is coming up with blistering, expressive put-downs to lob at him.

Below is Chef Chrissy’s questionnaire.  Hopefully it’ll amuse, and give a little insight into the type of damaged human (me) who would, without hefty remuneration, choose to be his friend.

1.)Would you rather eat fast food every day for a year, or never eat mushrooms again?

Chef Chrissy(CC)-I would rather go through the trauma of eating fast food for a year, than never eating mushrooms. A small price to pay.

2.)Would you rather give up eating pork forever or never cook with butter again?

CC-Never cook with butter again. Three words, bacon, ribs, and BBQ.

3.)Would rather lose your sense of taste or smell?

CC-Hard to say. They are so intertwined. If I had to choose I would say taste. I could smell the food as it passed under my nose and know. I could tell by texture and other mouth feel, if it was right.

4.)Would you rather have a nut or egg allergy?

CC-Nut allergy. Eggs are too important as a food ingredient.

5.)Would you rather never bake again, or never fry?

CC-Frying. I like frying quite a bit. Baking is the greater greater tool as far as versatility is concerned.

6.)Would you rather eat creme brule or candy bars?

CC-Candy bars. More variety.

7.)Would you rather only use frozen fish sticks or instant grits?

CC-Instant grits. Can’t beat fresh fish.

8.)Would you rather give up pasta or potatoes?

CC-Potatoes. I would miss potatoes, but, die without my noodles. So many noodles, so little time.

9.)Would you rather smell like Limburger or durian fruit?

CC-Depends where I live. Wisconsin if I smelled like Limburger. Southeast Asia if I smell like durian. The third option would be keep cold so the odor would be muted.

10.)Eating alone–read or watch TV?

CC-Television. I like watching old movies while scarfing good food.

11.)Would you rather never have mayo again or mustard; to eat and cook?

CC-Mayo. My blood is 25% mayo now but, mustard has more uses in the way I cook.

12.)Would you rather give up beer or doughnuts?

CC-I’ve already given up beer. Can’t beat a brand new doughnut that’s still warm.

13.)Would you rather become a vegetarian, or only eat processed meat?

CC-Hands down vegetarian. What is processed meat? Don’t wanna know.

14.)Would you rather give up your favorite food, or never try anything new again?

CC-I would reluctantly give up my favorite food. I love exploring different cuisines.

15.)Would you rather cook for the president, or other chefs?

CC-Other chefs. There would be a certain amount of prestige and notoriety that comes with cooking for our President. I would get more satisfaction cooking for a group of my peers and getting their approval. I feel that cooking for a group of people that know and understand food gives me a greater sense of accomplishment that cooking for celebrities or dignitaries.   There you go, Rat Breath (that’s my charming Chrissy).

Despite everything I have to put up with, I’m so grateful to have him in my life (just don’t tell ole Playdough brain I said so).

Thanks for your time.

Unlike Homer Simpson, Petey is smart, a great dad, doesn’t drink, and rarely smells.

But in one aspect he meets or exceeds the “Homer scale”.

My husband loves pork chops.  But the word love barely describes the depth and breadth of his passion for a thick slice of porcine loin.  I would term it more a shameless obsession.

He loves smothered chops.  Years ago I made them from a base of canned cream of mushroom soup.  Now they’re made from scratch, either with a homemade mushroom sauce, or Dijon mustard/onion marmalade gravy.

Through the years, though, crispy, oven-baked pork has always been number one on Petey’s hit parade.

Tragically, for years the breader came from a box, from the supermarket.

But it has literally been decades since it was store-bought.

There are three reasons why I make, and don’t buy:

1.)The cost.  Depending on where you shop, a box of mix that will coat eight chops can cost almost five dollars.  I use leftover breads, chips, and crackers, so even with added herbs, oils, and other flavorings, it costs pennies per serving.

2.)I can make the crumbs from anything I like, and flavor them depending on mood and on-hand ingredients.  I’ve made more types than I can count, and am still coming up with new combinations.

3.)And finally, I don’t have any idea of what is actually in that manufactured stuff.  I’ve read the ingredients, and it’s a straight-up list of chemicals.  I do know that they’re chockfull of sodium and sugar, and other processed nightmares.

So, I’m gonna pay somebody a 5000% premium to sell me junk?  Yeah…no thanks; not this go-round.

As I said I’m still coming up with new coating mixes.  Last week I made the best one we’ve had in a while (although at one point adding the cheddar made me afraid I’d bungled it).  It’s become my new favorite variety.

Pecan-cheddar pork breader

2 cups pretzels

¾ cup pecans

1/3 cup finely shredded sharp cheddar

1 teaspoon dried thyme

½ + 1 teaspoon kosher salt

¼ + ½ teaspoon freshly cracked pepper

3 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 cup rye or whole-wheat flour

1 ½ cups fat-free buttermilk

½ teaspoon seasoned salt of your choice (I used Goya adobo with Pepper)

4-1&½ inch thick pork chops

Preheat oven to 425.

Place pretzels, thyme, ½ teaspoon salt, ¼ teaspoon pepper and 1 tablespoon oil in food processor.  Grind until it’s no larger than peas or corn kernels. 

Add pecans and run processor until it’s in uniform and the size of panko bread crumbs.  Place in shallow dish.  Add cheese, and work in with your fingers until it’s not lumpy but fully incorporated.

In another shallow dish pour in buttermilk.

Put flour, a teaspoon salt and ½ teaspoon pepper into zip-top bag.

Place 2 tablespoons oil into shallow baking dish.

Dry off chops with paper towels.  Sprinkle seasoned salt on both sides.  One at a time, put in flour bag, seal, and shake until coated.

Place floured chop into buttermilk, covering the entire piece of meat.  Let any extra drip off.  Put into pretzel/pecan crumbs.  Cover the whole chop, pressing them in so that they are well-coated. 

Place in casserole dish. Bake for 20 minutes, flipping once.

Let rest 10 minutes before serving.

Serves 4 

So even though pork chops are a substantial rival for my husband’s affections, I’ll keep on making them.  Because they make him so darn happy.

I guess that’s true love (and confidentially, I really like ‘em myself).

Thanks for your time.