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.

Well, it’s that time of year again: the sweltering, moist, and thoroughly unpleasant circle of heck that is summer in North Carolina.

When it gets really miserable, I only want cool.  I don’t even take hot showers.  So turning on the oven on most days isn’t an option.

But how many spinach salads and tuna sandwiches can one eat before succumbing to crankiness and insanity?

Actually, the same summer that drives us (me) around the bend is also responsible for an awesome culinary option.  I’m talking gorgeous, colorful, and delicious fruit salads.

Just head over to the farmer’s market or the Co-op and fill your basket with beautiful, fresh local produce.  Blueberries, blackberries, melons, and stone fruit are all in season right now and the grocery store has tropical fruits like pineapple, mango, and bananas.  Apples and pears are always available.

After you’ve picked out some sweet, colorful fruity stars of the show, then it’s time to choose the guest stars of your production.

Green and spicy stuff.  Adding fresh herbs to your salad can turn it from a fruit cocktail wannabe to something very special.  Fresh mint is a traditional addition.  But almost any herb can work.  Try some fresh basil, thyme or dill.  To go the unexpected route, use cilantro, sage, or very finely chopped rosemary.

Spinach and other sturdy greens can be tossed into the salad along with the fruit.  Or, you can top it with a handful of delicate crispy greens like pea shoots or curly endive.

And don’t ignore your spice cabinet.  Warm notes like nutmeg, cinnamon, or cardamom are lovely.  Exotics like Chinese five spice, cumin, curry or za’atar bring evocative zing.

Crunchy stuff.  Nuts are a natural cohort to fruit.  If you want exotic, try pine nuts, macadamias or pistachios.  Pecans, walnuts, and almonds give a nice cozy, comfort food vibe.  Just toast the nuts if they didn’t come already toasted, to bring out the maximum of flavor.

Nuts aren’t your only crispy option.  Croutons, bacon, and even canned chow mein noodles will add novelty and bite.  But unlike nuts, this crispiness can be lost and sogginess will ensue if they spend an extended time in liquid.  So add them at the last minute, or sprinkle on top, so they stay crunchy until service.

Dressing stuff.  To be a true salad, and not just a mélange of fruit, a dressing should be used.  It can be as simple as some lemon juice, or a splash of rum.  But a composed dressing really transforms it into a main dish, rather than a snack.

Take a cup of low-fat sour cream and stir in one tablespoon of brown sugar, and a splash of vanilla.  Refrigerate for an hour then fold it into the fruit 20-30 minutes before service.

And I’ve always liked the sweet/sour combo and snap of poppy seed dressing.

Poppy seed dressing

¼ cup apple cider vinegar

¼ cup sugar

¼ red onion, roughly chopped

1 ½ tablespoons poppy seeds

½ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon pepper

2 teaspoons Dijon mustard

Place into a blender or a bowl, if using an immersion blender. Blend until smooth.

With blender on low, slowly stream in 1/3 cup olive oil to make an emulsion.  When all the oil has been added, check for seasoning and refrigerate four hours to overnight.  Using less than you think you need, fold into salad, adding more if necessary.  Store covered in fridge up to five days.

And for the simplest, oddest salad of all, my favorite from junior high: toss canned or peeled and chopped pears with bottled blue cheese dressing.  I know, sounds really weird, but it actually has a pretty complete range of flavors and textures.

Anyway, get out there and pick up some of this sweaty season’s bounty.  To round your meal out without heating up the kitchen, pick up some prepared salads from the supermarket or specialty store.  And if you can get some chump…I mean some sweetheart, to stand over the grill and make the burgers this weekend, you’re all set (guess who the chump usually is at my mom’s cookouts).

Thanks for your time.

My cousins Gerry and Cookie affectionately called me Pinochi-nose.

They thought my small turned-up nose was cute (Or that I stuck said nose into business I shouldn’t.  I’m not really sure).

My nose is small but powerful.  My dad has an impressively large schnoz.  At the beach, we never needed an umbrella because we luxuriated in the abundant shade of his proboscis.

Years ago I had a cranial CAT scan.  The doctor informed me that while outwardly I didn’t inherit Dad’s honker, on the inside, I had.  My nose innards were way too big for me.

The upshot of all of this is that my sniffing abilities could give a bloodhound a run for his money.  I smell the cigar smoke coming from two cars ahead of me on the freeway.  I can tell when the milk’s gone wonky—days before anyone else.  Walking past a house I know whether or not they own a cat, and if they need to change the kitty litter.

All of these olfactory ramblings bring me to peach cobbler.

It’s Petey’s very favorite dessert.  But because he likes it so much, I want it to be perfect each time I make it for him.  I always make sure I have some vanilla Haagen Dazs or Ben & Jerry’s to serve with it.

And I never make it unless local peaches are in season.  And the way I can tell how ripe and sweet the peaches are, is that their aroma is so strong to me I can smell it from the parking lot.  The scent grabs me, and physically pulls me into the store by my nose like an old cartoon gag.

Petey’s summer peach cobbler

Peaches:

4 cups peeled, sliced fresh peaches

1 cup granulated sugar

Zest of one lemon

1 tablespoon vanilla

¼ teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg

½ teaspoon salt

½ cup water

Juice of one lemon

1 tablespoon cornstarch, mixed into ¼ cup cold water

Combine all ingredients except corn starch slurry and lemon juice in a saucepan and mix well. Bring to a boil, and then simmer for 10 minutes.  Add lemon juice and thicken with corn starch slurry.  Remove from the heat.

Cobbler:

8 tablespoons butter, melted

1 ½ cups self-rising flour

¼ cup granulated sugar

¾ cup light brown sugar

1 cup milk

½ cup cream

2 teaspoons vanilla or the caviar from 1 vanilla bean

Preheat oven to 350.

Pour the melted butter into a 9X13 baking dish and swirl to coat bottom.

Mix sugar and flour with whisk. Combine milk, cream, and vanilla.  Whisk into dry ingredients until smooth.  Pour mixture over melted butter. Do not stir.

Spoon fruit over batter, carefully pouring in the syrup. Batter will rise to top during baking.

Bake for 35 to 45 minutes or until golden and bubbly.  Remove pan from oven and coat top with a thin layer of granulated sugar.  Put under broiler and watch carefully until sugar’s crusted and lightly browned.

Serve warm or cold. 

If I could pick a superpower, I’d probably take the power of flight, or spinning straw into fully loaded debit cards.  But having a turbo-powered nose is kind of neat.

I can tell when winter is over by the perfume of the warming earth.  Mostly my world is a place redolent with evocative aromas.  But I’m also able to discern when a skunk has had his knickers in a twist anywhere within a ten-mile radius.

It’s both a blessing and a curse.

Thanks for your time.

Your great-great aunt Eugenia passes away.  The funeral is in the hometown of this 86-year-old genteel lady; Burlington, NC.

Your great-great aunt Carmelita passes away.  The funeral is in the hometown of this 86-year-old gentlewoman; Burlington, NJ.

At each funeral you can be certain of a few things.

Both homes will be jam-packed full of nonsensical knick-knacks and bizarre bric-a-brac.  There will be multiple embarrassing childhood stories told about you by elderly relatives whom you couldn’t pick out of a line-up.  And there’s one phone, a corded land-line, which hangs on a kitchen wall.

After the service there will be enough food to feed a Division 1 football team.  In North Carolina, you can bet your sweet bippy there will be mass quantities of ham biscuits, buckets of sweet tea, and at least three pecan pies.

North of the Mason-Dixon and in all Italian families there’s an alternate edible mainstay of mourning: baked ziti.

Technically, ziti is the name of the pasta shape.  It’s a hollow tube with straight, ridged sides.  The hollow and the ridges catch the sauce.  The larger size holds up to the double cooking process of boiling and baking better than a smaller, thinner noodle.  But it’s still very important to undercook it quite a bit during the boiling stage.

But what’s traditional is not what’s mandatory.

You can use any larger, sturdy pasta.  I like to go to a HomeGoods store, and pick out something fun and novel, like a striped campanelle (trumpet shaped), a beet creste di gallo (large, ridged elbow with a crest), or spinach lumaconi (ridged, snail shell-shaped).

Instead of store-bought sauce, I have a suggestion.  Go to the farmer’s market right before closing time.  Pick up four pounds of orphan tomatoes; you know: the leftover, the misshapen, the bruised.  Marinara made from scratch is easy and tastes so much better.  And it’s so much better for you than processed sauce, which is disturbingly full of sugar and sodium.

Oven-roasted marinara

4 pounds tomatoes

1 head garlic

1 yellow onion, chopped

½ cup Marsala or red wine

3 tablespoons basil, cut into ribbons

Olive oil

Salt & pepper

Preheat oven to 400.  Cut cores out of the tomatoes, and halve.  Break garlic head into cloves, but don’t peel.  Place tomatoes cut side up, and garlic cloves onto rimmed sheet pan.  Drizzle with olive oil and generously sprinkle with salt and pepper.  Bake 20 minutes.

While tomatoes are roasting, set a Dutch oven on medium-high and put in a tablespoon of olive oil.  Add onions, season, and sauté until soft and lightly golden.  Turn down to medium.

When tomatoes and garlic are done, slip garlic out of their skins, and put into Dutch oven, along with the tomatoes.  Stir in wine and cook for 2-3 minutes.  Puree everything with an immersion blender.  Thin with water, if necessary.  Simmer for 5-10 minutes.  Take off heat, add basil, and check for seasoning.

Baked “ziti”

Marinara sauce

1 pound pasta

2-8 ounce balls of fresh mozzarella cheese

Olive oil

Kosher salt

Turn oven to 350.  Boil noodles in heavily salted water for half the time the package instructs.  Drain.

Lightly grease a 9X13 and 8X8 pan (or 3 8X8 pans).  In a large bowl, mix sauce and pasta.  Add a lot more than you think you need (the noodles will absorb tons of sauce while baking).  Heat the extra sauce and spoon onto each serving of ziti.

Pour into pans.  Pinch off pieces of mozzarella and drop on top.  Drizzle on a bit of olive oil.  Cover with parchment, then foil.  If you’re freezing, place in freezer at this point. 

Bake at 350 for thirty minutes covered, then uncover and bake 30 more or until browned and bubbly.  Remove from oven and let sit for 15 minutes. 

Ziti isn’t just for funerals.  Pre-assembled, they’re really convenient for busy week nights.  They’re also perfect for folks who aren’t able to cook for themselves (like new parents or old husbands).

They freeze really well.  In fact no self-respecting Italian mother has less than two pans of ziti in the freezer at any one moment.  Because you never know when somebody’ll check into the Horizontal Hilton and you’ve got to whip one out.

Thanks for your time.

Each week I reveal a little bit of myself in this column.

But I use a nom de guerre for my friends and family.  Because while it might be OK to know the odd personal fact about my bestie Bo, there’s no need to know the true identity of the teenage girl who made out with Mickey Sonbek under the shrubbery at Bush Gardens during a class trip.

I don’t really mind folks knowing embarrassing facts about me, because my entire life; in print and in person, is one long, slow, humiliating pratfall.  It’s just how I roll.  The red face of shame is my default complexion.

This week I confess to you, Gentle Reader, the fact that hot, muggy weather turns me into a big, giant, sweaty, whiny, baby.  Really.  You don’t want to be anywhere near me when the temp is above 90.  Just ask poor old Petey.

So cooking and eating a large hot meal holds zero appeal.

Before Petey and I were married, my Aunt Eliza visited our little trailer, way out in the country.  We still lived with our respective families, and would move in after the wedding.  But I was so proud of our honeymoon “cottage” I wanted her to see it.

Fact: nobody can enter my home and not be offered food.   That day I made finger sandwiches of chicken and ham salad.  But instead of bread, I served them in giant pasta shells; the kind normally stuffed and baked.  They can be made ahead of time, and are ready to eat when you are.  They also travel really well.  All you need to do is stuff them and roll in plastic wrap.

When you cook them, they need to be cooked through, but with enough structural integrity left to stand up to stuffing and eating.  It’s actually easier if you refrigerate them for a while before filling.  Cook them the night before or early in the day, when it’s cooler.

To make my dad’s ham salad, use a one pound canned ham.  Cut into chunks and toss it into food processor with half a white onion.  Process until it’s in very small, uniform pieces.  Stir in 1/4-1/3 cup sweet salad cubes or relish, and mix in enough mayo until it’s of spreading consistency.  Garnish with a sprinkling of smoked paprika.

For the chicken salad, buy a rotisserie clucker at the grocery store and let those guys do the hot, messy work.  Pull all the meat off the carcass.  Use about half of the meat, and save the other half for something yummy like chicken tacos.

Chop into smallish, bite-size pieces.  Toss in a half cup each of fresh blueberries and toasted pecan pieces.  Add ½ diced yellow bell pepper, and diced shallots.  Toss with a dressing of 2/3 cup mayo or yogurt and 3 tablespoons Dijon mustard, then thin with 2 tablespoons fresh orange juice, season with salt and pepper, and chopped fresh tarragon.  Top with more tarragon.

If you don’t like ham or chicken, use tuna, egg, or shrimp salad.  Just load cooled shells and serve.  Be careful not to overstuff, though.

And even though the names have been changed, it’s not like those knuckleheads are innocent.  Like my little brother Bud, who back in high school almost burned down our shared bathroom with a homemade flamethrower.  Luckily it was just youthful hijinks, because now instead of doing hard time as a serial arsonist he’s a college-educated, gainfully employed engineer.

Thanks for your time.

Bless her heart, the poor thing.

There wasn’t a whole lot else on this afternoon, so I was watching Food Network, like I do.  There’s an actress, Haylie Duff, with a popular food blog who has a new show, called “Real Girl’s Kitchen”.

This episode had Haylie and her friends having a potluck.  Each person was to make something their moms cooked, something they really enjoyed as children.

During the first half of the show, Haylie’s mother Suze was with her in the kitchen, cooking classic cornbread and chili.  They were talking about family recipes.  Haylie said there were some dishes that she wanted from her mom.  Suze told her to basically pound sand—it wasn’t gonna happen.

Culinary red card for Suze!

Here are Queen Debbie’s ironclad rules for the sharing of recipes:

Share them.

Unless you’re in business and your livelihood is dependent on being the only one in town that knows how to make fluffer-nutter leg of lamb (or whatever), be complimented that somebody likes it enough to want to recreate it, and graciously hand it over.

Especially family members.

There are many ways to look at cooking.  A very wise woman, Vimala Rajendran, is the talented, ethical chef/owner of Vimala’s Curryblossom Café (431 W Franklin St Suite 16, Chapel Hill) and a food activist.  Her view is that food is communication.

I look at food as a gift.  But not like my food is so awesome that it’s God’s gift to humanity.  It’s more in the sense that cooking is something that I can do reasonably well and I want to nourish you, or pamper you, or just make you happy.   And on actual gift-giving occasions, very often the present is something from my kitchen.

When you offer up a recipe, it’s the gift that keeps on giving.  Give a man a pancake and he can eat it once, give him the pancake recipe…

And when you do share, give with an open heart.  Later in the show Haylie was talking to a girlfriend about recipes from her mom.  She said that more often than not, Mommy Dearest leaves off an important ingredient, or procedure, so it doesn’t come out right, and she has to go home to get the correctly cooked dish.

I love it when my child comes home.  The days that The Kid visits are red-letter days at Chez Matthews.  We cherish every one.  But I would never intentionally provide to anyone a recipe with something missing so that only I can make it taste right.  That’s just mean and devious.  It’s worse than not giving it in the first place.

Years ago we visited Elizabeth City, and Petey’s mom had cooked for us.  She served this really unusual, delicious cornbread.  It was full of cheese, which isn’t odd.  But surprisingly, the cornbread was studded with broccoli.  It also contained cottage cheese, which I don’t normally like because of the texture; it reminds me of curdled milk.

I asked my mother-in-law for the recipe, and she didn’t hesitate, or prevaricate.  She handed it over almost before I finished asking.

That, gentle reader, is the definition of culinary generosity.

Broccoli cheddar cornbread

Ingredients:

2 (8.5-ounce) boxes corn muffin mix

½ cup whole milk

2 cloves minced garlic

1 (8-ounce) container cottage cheese

4 large eggs

1 tablespoon salt

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons grated Cheddar

1 stick butter

1 medium onion, chopped

1 (10-ounce) package frozen chopped broccoli, thawed but not drained

Directions:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

Mix together all ingredients in a bowl except 2 tablespoons Cheddar, broccoli, onions and butter.   

In a 10-inch cast iron skillet or 8X8 pan, melt butter.  Sauté onions and broccoli until soft. Pour batter over the vegetable mixture and sprinkle top evenly with remaining cheese.

Bake in oven until golden, 30 minutes.

You wanna know what I really love about this dish?  This is one of the recipes that Haylie wanted from mom, but no dice.

So Haylie Duff, here is that recipe you wanted.  I think you should make a batch, and share it with your mother.

Thanks for your time.

I firmly believe my mother was a mature adult at birth.  I’m still waiting for a notice in the mail informing me that I’m a grown-up.

One thing about her though, is adorably child-like.  Mom is absolutely bonkers over those festively shaped, chocolate-covered marshmallows that show up in stores around the holidays.

When Easter was over she bought up what was left on clearance.   And once her stash was gone she was so bummed, I decided to make her some from scratch.

Homemade marshmallows

3 packages unflavored gelatin

1 cup ice cold water, divided

1 ½ cups granulated sugar

1 cup light corn syrup

½ teaspoon kosher salt

1 vanilla bean, scraped, reserving pod

½ cup confectioners’ sugar

Nonstick spray

Place gelatin into bowl of stand mixer with ½ cup water.

In small saucepan combine remaining water, granulated sugar, corn syrup, salt, and empty vanilla pod. Place over medium high heat, cover and allow to cook for 3 to 4 minutes. Uncover, clip a candy thermometer onto side of pan and continue to cook until mixture reaches 240 degrees, approximately 7 minutes. Once mixture reaches temp, immediately remove from heat and remove vanilla pod.

Turn on mixer.  Using whisk attachment, turn on low speed and, while running, slowly pour sugar syrup down side of the bowl into gelatin mixture. Once you’ve added all of the syrup, increase speed to high. Continue to whip until mixture becomes very thick and is lukewarm, approximately 10 to 13 minutes. Add the vanilla bean caviar during last minute of whipping. While the mixture’s whipping prepare pan as follows:

Put confectioners’ sugar into a small bowl. Lightly spray a 13 by 9-inch metal baking pan with nonstick cooking spray. Cover it with a piece of oiled foil.  Add the sugar and swirl to coat bottom and sides.  Save remaining sugar for later use.

When ready, pour mixture into prepared pan, using oiled spatula for even spreading. Dust top with enough of the remaining sugar to lightly cover. Reserve the rest again.  Allow marshmallows to sit uncovered for a few hours before cutting.

Once the candy is set, place a piece of parchment onto large cutting board.  Turn the marshmallows out and peel off foil.  Dust bottom and sides with more powdered sugar.  Using powder sugar dusted pizza cutter, cut the candy; 8 pieces wide and 4 long (cut those in half and they’re perfect for s’mores).  As you cut, place into a zip top bag that has some confectioners’ sugar in it.  Gently shake to coat, and place onto parchment to fully set. 

Coating:

3-12 ounce bags milk chocolate chips (may use semi-sweet or combination if desired)

½ bar Gulf Paraffin Wax (This is an easy alternative to tempering.  It will give your chocolate sheen, a snap, and keep it from melting too easily. Feel free to temper instead.)

Place chocolate and very finely chopped wax into bowl, and microwave on 30 second intervals, stirring well after each.  When it’s mostly melted, stir until fully melted and smooth so you don’t scorch it.  Using forks, place cut marshmallows into chocolate, and coat completely.  Set on parchment paper and let harden.  After dipping, drizzle a swirl of chocolate on top of each bar for decoration.

Makes 32

I used to be afraid of candy making.  But if you’re organized, take your time, and remain alert, it’s not too hard.

And after all my mom does for us, even if it was difficult and death-defying, I’d do it anyway (but I’m really glad it’s not).

Thanks for your time.