Hunger at Home


For over 25 years, the primary focus of my professional career has been food.

In my personal life, food has played a major role, falling just behind faith, family, and friends.

I create, prepare, and sell food for a living. When I’m not working, I’m traveling, eating, and writing about traveling and eating. I eat a lot. When recognized while out of town, I’m often asked, “Aren’t you that guy who eats a lot?” Again, food.

I grew up in a modest middle class home, raised by a single working mom, though I never wanted for food. I could probably count on the fingers of one hand the times I’ve been truly hungry— possibly never.

In my life, I have been food rich. I once ate a 32-course, five-hour meal at The French Laundry, the nation’s premiere restaurant. In a few weeks, I’m going back there to participate in another culinary bacchanalia.

I realize how lucky I have been.

Millions have not been so lucky. While you’re reading this, a significant number of our nation’s seniors are debating on whether to pay the water bill or buy groceries. Over the course of a day, 12.4 million children are living at risk of hunger. Real skipping-meals, days-without-food hunger— not in some remote foreign country— here in America.

While we’re planning our next family vacation, there are millions of parents hoping to just make it through the night. They have no clue as to what they’ll feed their children for breakfast.

Of all of the 50 states, Mississippi is at the top of the list for food insecurity. Walker Satterwhite, Executive Director of the Mississippi Food Network, told me recently that last year MFN was feeding 65,000 needy Mississippians each month. Today, that number— due to the change in the economic climate— has risen almost 50% to 100,000 people.

MFN supplies 320 food pantries and soup kitchens across Mississippi with over one million pounds of food every month, but there is still a huge void. “Many Mississippi communities with larger populations have multiple non-profits, large numbers of giving churches, public transportation and friends and family who can assist the needy,” Satterwhite said. “This is not the case in many rural areas. We are seeking out churches, civic groups, and non-profits in the extreme rural areas to take advantage of our program in underserved areas. We have the expertise to assist these organizations in the process of opening these agencies.”

If you are reading this, and live in one of those smaller communities that need help in feeding its under-resourced citizens, please call Mississippi Food Network 601-353-7286.

Walker Satterwhite is one of my heroes. This state is full of heroes. Cookie and Bill Prout formed Christian Services in Hattiesburg in 1986. They prepare and serve 600 meals per day. They also prepare food for Meals on Wheels, which feeds seniors who are homebound. As if that weren’t enough, the Prouts prepare food and distribute it out of a delivery van in three underprivileged neighborhoods in town.

I never focus on how someone got to the point of needing food. That’s a problem for someone else to solve. I care that there are children in my town who are going to bed hungry every night. I know that they had nothing to do with the circumstances that put them in that situation.

My son and I visited The Edwards Street Mission in Hattiesburg a few weeks ago and the shelves had been depleted. Edwards Street is feeding 600 families every month. They need help. Today.

They all need help, today. Send food, volunteer time, send money. Just do something, and do it today.

I’ve spent 25 years in the surplus side of the food business. I’m about to spend a large portion of the next 25 in the food-deficit side— making sure that those who don’t have access to food get it. Join me, and join Walker Satterwhite and the 320 agencies supported by the Mississippi Food Network, or the local soup kitchen or mission pantry in your area, and make a difference.

Let the Riots Begin

           

I’m no Nostradamus, but I am about to make a bold prediction: Within a matter of days this country will witness a take-it-to-the-streets rebellion and massive, frenzied uprising like we have never seen.

Be warned: These riotous insurrections will occur instantly, without notice, and will quickly spread across every town and community in this country. I predict that the National Guard will have to be called out in all 50 states, Puerto Rico, the U.S. Virgin Islands, and Guam, to try and restrain the nation’s frenzied citizens. The Southern states, namely Mississippi, Alabama, Louisiana, and Georgia will be hit the hardest as this event will make the current riots in Iran look like an afternoon on the playground.

How can I be so sure of this impending crisis? Today I read a news article in the Cleveland Leader with the headline: “Chubby People Live Longer than Skinny People.” Hallelujah, amen, and pass the cinnamon rolls! Let the gluttony begin.

The Cleveland Leader stated, “People who are a little overweight at age 40 live six to seven years longer than very thin people, whose average life expectancy was shorter by some five years than that of obese people, the study found,”

"We found skinny people run the highest risk," said Shinichi Kuriyama, an associate professor at Tohoku University's Graduate School of Medicine who worked on the long-term study of middle-aged and elderly people. Ha! I knew it. The skinny people are going first.

I don’t know who this Kuriyama fellow is, but he’s obviously brilliant. He has become an instant deity in my book, a sage, a learned prophet, and a man whose true genius will be honored by fat people like me for years to come. All hail Kuriyama!

Again, be warned: As soon as people read this news story, panic is sure to engulf the continent, a culinary red alert will take the threat level to orange, or at least something similar to orange-flavored cake.

We will see food shortages and surpluses simultaneously. The shortages will begin at the nation’s donut shops. There will be mass, sugar-fueled uprisings as crazed mobs tear down donut-shop doors screaming, “I want a hot one! Where are all the hot ones?”

The candy isles in convenience stores will be ransacked as excited gangs of junk-food pillagers take to the streets vandalizing and looting chocolate and sweets. It will then spread to ice cream parlors which should run out of product within minutes. In a matter of hours, barbeque stands will be torn apart, and unprecedented scarcities of cream, cheese, and bacon will be the norm.

On a brighter note, there will be a surplus of granola across the land, which, if the president is smart, he can ship to Iran to make their mobs even angrier.

The National Guard will be forced to concentrate their efforts around the thousands of Weight Watchers clinics and dieting centers, where millions of angry fat people will storm the weight-loss offices and threaten to sit on their diet counselors until they receive instant cash-back refunds, while burning Richard Simmons in effigy

A national culinary emergency will be on our hands, and a pig-out of gargantuan proportions will ensue. Instantly, restaurants which serve nothing but Chili-Cheese Fries and chocolate shakes will replace all of the salad bars and veggie-wrap sprout bars.

Our new Supreme Leader, hereafter referred to as Lord Kuriyama, said, "We had expected thin people would show the shortest life expectancy but didn't expect the difference to be this large.”

If being fat means living longer, call me Methuselah. Ladies and gentlemen, let the eating begin.

 

Tennessee Top Ten

My wife and I dropped the kids off at summer camp in Arkansas and then spent a week eating our way through Tennessee (summer camp for adults). Here are the top ten culinary highlights from the journey.

10.) BBQ Memphis— Actually, I had planned on eating bbq in Memphis, but we arrived too late and everything was closed. However, the night before in Hot Springs, AR, we ate at a restaurant named McClard’s. The restaurant has been there for decades and the bbq is OK., but what really blew us away was a tamale dish. It is called Tamale Spread and it looks just like a big cheesy-brown blob on a plate. I wasn’t too excited about it, and ordered it for the kids. The adults laid it to waste. It had tamales, chopped beef, beans, bbq sauce, corn chips, cheese, and onions. Surprisingly tasty.

9.) Hot Water Cornbread—Watermark, Nashville— We took our friend Julia to dinner at Watermark in the Gulch neighborhood. The Hot Water Cornbread was actually a component of a BBQ Shrimp dish at this white-tablecloth restaurant. It was so good I asked for seconds on just the cornbread component, even though there was a breadbasket on the table.

8.) Lunch Salad— Blackberry Farm— The salad was served with Allan Benton’s bacon and a Chopped Egg Vinaigrette. The best salad I’ve eaten in two years.

7.) Tri-Tip Steak— The City House, Nashville. Our friend Julia took us to The City House where I ate one of the more flavorful tri-tips in recent memory.

6.) Grits Soufflé—Watermark, Nashville— Joe Shaw, the restaurant’s executive chef, studied under Frank Stitt in Birmingham. It shows. This dish was amazing.

5.) Onion Soup— Blackberry Farm— Adam Cooke is the new Executive Chef at Blackberry. John Fleer put them on the map, but when he and Blackberry parted ways, the chef from Danny Meyer’s restaurant at the Museum of Modern art in Manhattan, The Modern, took the reins. While his food was first rate, I never thought it “fit” the Blackberry mold. Cooke’s does. For this simple onion soup, he used fresh, sweet onions from the gardens on the grounds, cooked them down, and thickened the soup with bread— simple, subtle, beautiful.

4.) Sweet Potato Pancakes— The Pancake Pantry, Nashville— whenever I’m in Nashville I eat breakfast at The Pancake Pantry. This marked the first time I had eaten their Sweet Potato Pancakes served with cinnamon butter and syrup. Along with our friend, Bobby, we tore them up.

3.) Mexican Popsicles— Las Paletas, Nashville— Five years ago, two sisters opened a business which serves homemade popsicles and that’s all. The flavors are exotic, original, and each popsicle is made daily from fresh ingredients. I know this because while I was ordering, one of the sisters was unloading flats of strawberries, cases of limes, bananas, and all manner of berries to be used in the next day’s offerings. There wasn’t even a sign outside of the business and the place was slammed. I am glad there’s not a Las Paletas anywhere near my house. I’d weigh twice what I do now.

2.) Sourdough Yeast Rolls— Barbara’s Home Cooking, Franklin, TN— 

Barbara grew up just a few miles down the road from me in New Augusta, MS. I’m not sure where her Sourdough Yeast Roll recipe comes from, but no one in this part of the country has ever made anything that comes close. Again, I’m glad this food item isn’t available anywhere near my hometown.

1.) Heirloom Sharlyn Melon and Champagne Terrine with Benton’s Ham— Blackberry Farm— I had never heard of a Sharlyn melon. It’s a cross between a cantaloupe and a honeydew. Cooke drew inspiration from Thomas Keller’s Bouchon and compressed the melon in a v

acuum-sealed bag before serving it alongside champagne-mint gelee and a small, rolled-up sliver of Allan Benton’s 16-month aged domestic prosciutto. This marked the first time in my fine-dining eating career that I have ever ordered seconds on an amuse bouche.

Honorable Mention Gi Gi’s Cupcakes Nashville, Strawberry Shortcake at Barbara’s Home Cooking Franklin, TN, and everything that we ate during our stay at Blackberry Farm that wasn’t listed here— especially those items served during breakfast, lunch, and dinner.




Foie Gras with Toasted Brioche, Fig Relish and reduced Port Wine Glaze

1 lb. Foie Gras cut into 2 ounce slices
1 1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/4 tsp fresh ground black pepper
8 Slice Fresh Brioche, crusts removed and cut in half on a diagonal
1 recipe Fig Relish
1 Recipe Port Wine Glaze

Preheat oven to 450

Arrange the brioche on a baking sheet.
Season the foie gras with the salt and black pepper. Heat a large skillet over high heat and arrange the foie gras in the skillet so they do not touch. Cook 45 seconds. Carefully turn each piece over and cook for 1-2 minutes. Turn off the heat.
Place the brioche in the oven to toast.
To serve, place one piece of the brioche toast on each serving plate, top with one piece of the cooked foie gras. Top each piece of foie gras with 2 tsp of the fig relish. Rest another piece of toast atop of the foie gras. Drizzle the plate with the port wine glaze and serve immediately.

Yield: 8 servings.


Fig Relish

1 Tbl butter
2 Tbl minced shallots
1 1/2 cups whole fig preserves, small dice
2 Tbl brown sugar
2 Tbl sherry vinegar
2 Tbl minced celery
2 Tbl small diced red peppers
1/2 tsp fresh thyme leave, chopped
salt and pepper to taste

Melt the butter over low heat in a small sauce pot. Cook the shallots for 3 minutes. Add in the diced figs and brown sugar, and cook 5-6 minutes, stirring often to prevent sticking and burning. Add in the sherry vinegar, celery and red bell peppers and lower the heat. Cook for 10 minutes, stirring often. Add thyme, salt and black pepper and remove from heat. Best if made a day or two in advance. When ready to use, warm it slowly in a small sauté pan over a low heat.

Yield:
1 1/2 cups

Port Wine Glaze

1 cup chicken stock
1 Tbl brown sugar
1 cup port wine
2 tsp balsamic vinegar

Place all ingredients in a small sauce pot. Simmer and reduce until mixture forms a thick syrup.
Yield: One quarter cup

The Piney Woods Challenge

 

Yesterday I drove a carload of kids— under the age of 12— on a seven-hour trek that ended in Arkansas’ Ouachita National Forrest so they could attend summer camp.

Early on, the van was relatively calm. Most surprising, the van was quiet. I think it’s because my wife packed the snacks. The kids were munching on pita chips, cheese crackers, and bottled water. I stopped for gas in some small town an hour from our destination and the kids went inside by themselves to get their own snacks— ice cream and candy bars.

I learned two things: 1.) Even though they might claim to have the capacity, kids have NO clue how to take care of themselves. 2.) Left on their own, they would die from sugar poisoning and daily overdoses of chocolate and corn chips.

The van instantly became raucous. The sugar fueled their madness as arguments began to break out between warring factions of the middle seat versus the way-back seat. Things were being thrown, toys were getting broken, and strange odors began to materialize. The tranquility that had enveloped the van moments earlier was a distant memory.

I thought back to my youth. Water didn’t come in bottles and pita was never chipped. I mainlined sugar through any source available— soft drinks, punch, Kool-Aid, my grandfather used to make glasses of homemade lemonade, which contained probably a half of a cup of sugar.

When snack time came at the park, I bought candy bars (chocolate and sugar), cotton candy (spun sugar), Orange soda (liquid sugar), hard candy (hard sugar), and those large plastic straws filled with — you guessed it— colored sugar.

I rarely drank iced tea in my youth, but when I did, it was loaded with sugar. Sweet and Low, Equal, and Splenda were nowhere to be found. My mom had some little saccharin pills in a bottle, but I used those as ammunition for my slingshot— not because I was creative when it came to ammo— but because I was so hyped up on sugar at the time, my judgment was clouded and it seemed like a good idea. Artificial sugar? Ha! We used it to kill birds.

My son eats healthy, grown-up cereals like Special K and Kashi. I ate sugary cereal when I was a kid, and if the Frosted Flakes didn’t taste sweet enough, I poured on more sugar until there was a layer of thick sugary sludge in the bottom of the bowl (which always made the second bowl of cereal even tastier).

I was the poster child for hyperactivity. I spent most of my days babbling on, twitching involuntarily, and bouncing off of the walls in the classroom. “Robert, finish your Cap’n Crunch, chocolate milk, and sweet rolls. You’re going to be late for school.”

 “Mrs. St. John, Robert won’t sit still in class.”

“He’ll be fine, just give him a few Twinkies and some chocolate milk. That’ll settle him down.”

I stayed in trouble. I ate sugary stuff all day long, never skipped dessert, and smuggled cookies into my bedroom late at night. With the money I made mowing lawns, I bought whole cases of Sour Apple Jolly Rancher candies.

My youth was filled with sugar-fueled moments that didn’t turn out well. Most notably there was The Piney Woods Challenge. I remember that event like it was yesterday (probably because I had a carload of screaming kids yesterday). In my mind’s eye, I can see my brother and mother in the front seat of the old yellow Plymouth. I was in the backseat— which smelled like our wet Cocker Spaniel— eating miniature Milky Way bars and drinking Mountain Dew. I was jabbering a mile a minute and my mother, who was at the end of her rope, issued a challenge: “If you can be totally still and completely quiet until we get to Jackson, I will give you five dollars.”

We were passing the Piney Woods School at the time. It would be 25 minutes, at the most. Twenty-five minutes of silence for five dollars. I said, “O.K. you’ve got a deal,” and then took another swig of my soft drink. Five dollars was a ton of money in 1969.

I sat on my hands and looked out the window with my lips drawn in and my mouth closed tightly. I concentrated on the five dollars while I twitched involuntarily. The pressure mounted as the car drove on. The pounding in my head grew louder. Be still. I wanted to tell someone about it. Be quiet. I wiggled and squirmed. Five dollars. Five dollars. Finally, I could take it no longer. Somewhere around Star, Mississippi, I screamed, “Where are my Jolly Ranchers? And began jumping up and down on the back seat.

I didn’t make it five miles. I did my best, but I failed. My brother, whom I think had been pulling for me said, “That’s alright Robert. Cheer up, you’ll get it next time. Here, have my Snickers and Orange Crush.”

 

Praline Bacon

For the last few months I have been hearing about a dish called “Praline Bacon.”

It was popping up in conversations, in emails, on websites, and inmagazines. I had never heard of Praline Bacon, so I took these randomoccurrences as a Celestine suggestion, and made a decision to lookinto this strange new food product.

Of course, it didn’t take to much inner dialogue to convince myself,as “Bacon” is in the title. Had I kept hearing about PralineCauliflower or Candied Brussels Sprouts, I might have just pushed therandomly occurring hints aside.

After researching Praline Bacon on the Internet, a restaurant in NewOrleans named Elizabeth’s appeared to be ground zero.

Around the time I was looking into this strange foodstuff, my friend,Bill Kirby invited me to breakfast. He, too, had been hearing aboutPraline Bacon and wanted to check it out.
I am blessed to have a lot of friends with diverse interests andtastes. Kirby, is a kindred spirit of the culinary variety. He, likeme, has no problem driving five hours with the sole purpose of eatinga perfectly fried piece of chicken, only to turn around and drive fivehours home.
Our culinary field trip was set.

Elizabeth’s is located at the foot of a levee in the Bywater sectionof the Upper Ninth Ward in a house that looks and feels each of it’s100 years. We arrived around 8:30 a.m. and were only one of threetables.

Kirby has a lot of rules about diners and breakfast joints. He oncetold me, “If you get a mean waitress, that usually means it’s going tobe a good meal.” Sitting in Elizabeth’s he said, “You see all of themismatched chairs and tablecloths? That’s a good sign. This is goingto be good.” Coming from a man who woke up at 6 a.m. and rode twohours to eat bacon, I’ll take him at his word.
Our waitress wasn’t mean, but efficient. Kirby ordered the EggsFlorentine (poached eggs, creamed spinach, fried oysters, andhollandaise). I ordered Eggs Elizabeth (poached eggs, ham,hollandaise, and toasted French bread croutons). I told Kirby that, “Ihave always believed that if a dish is good enough to use either theowner’s name or the restaurant’s name, it’s a safe bet.” As I spoke, Ifelt he was mentally filing my assumption away to add to hismismatched-chairs and mean-waitress theories.

I ordered an entrée of Strawberry and Cream Cheese French Toast forthe table and we each ordered a rasher of Praline Bacon. “Do you wantthe bacon first?” the waitress asked. It was a strange question. I hadnever ordered an appetizer course for breakfast, but the query caughtme off guard, and I figured that the bacon must be so good that peoplecan’t wait to eat it, or they have to eat it immediately. Or maybe therestaurant wants people to order it first because they know they’llorder more later, beefing up the check average. Either way, all of thesigns pointed towards good bacon, so I said, “Yes.”

Through research, and a little help from our waitress, I learned thatPraline Bacon is everyday, run-of-the-mill bacon that is partiallycooked on a sheet pan in the oven, and a sprinkling of brown sugar andfinely chopped pecans is added halfway through the cooking process.
The Praline Bacon arrived to the table a few minutes later. I begantaking photos to upload to my Facebook page and blog. The bacon lookednice— a little greasy— with a crust that came from a light dusting ofbrown sugar. I took a few photos, blotted a few grease spots, took afew more photos, and then looked over to Kirby. His bacon was gone—all four pieces.

“Where’s your bacon?” I asked.

He smiled and said, “I ate it.”

Indeed he had— four pieces in 90 seconds— an average of 22.5 seconds per slice.
I took a bite. It was good, but I’m not sure if it lived up to itspre-billing. The brown-sugar crusted bacon was certainly much betterwhen paired with the slightly sweet Strawberry French Toast than thesavory egg dishes.

Sharing breakfast with a friend is one of life’s greatest pleasures. Aculinary field trip with a fellow food lover makes it even better.

So was Praline Bacon worth the trip? It depends on whom you ask. Icould take it or leave it. Kirby might be able to add anothersupposition to his stable of mismatched chairs and mean waitresstheories: If bacon is good, it can only become better with theaddition of brown sugar and pecans.

Stuffed French Toast
Filling:
2 lbs Cream cheese, softened
1 Tbl Orange zest
3 /4 cup Sugar
2 tsp Vanilla
1 1 /2 tsp Cinnamon

Batter:
2 cups Half and half
2 cups Milk
8 Eggs + 4 yolks
1 tsp Vanilla
3 /4 cup Sugar
1 tsp Cinnamon
1 /2 tsp. Nutmeg
French Bread, cut into 8 five-inch-long pieces

To make the filling, mix all ingredients together using an electricmixer until light and fluffy. Hollow out a one-inch tunnel through thecenter of the French bread pieces. Fill a pastry bag with the creamcheese filling and stuff the French bread.

Make the batter mixture and pour it over the stuffed French toast. Letsoak for two hours or longer. Rotate the bread often so that all sidesbecome equally saturated.
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Place French toast on a well-buttered sheet pan and place in oven.Bake 12 minutes. Remove and turn bread over. Return to oven and bakeeight more minutes. Serve with warm maple syrup and fresh slicedstrawberries. Yield: eight servings

Is That A Piece of Cornbread In Your Pocket…

 

My grandmother made the world’s best biscuits.

She passed away 20 years ago and I have been trying to replicate them ever since. Her biscuits were small, light, and slightly salty with a hint buttermilk. She never followed a recipe, yet they were consistent every time she made them. I could eat a dozen over the course of a Sunday afternoon meal.

A few years ago I gave a speech in Natchez. Afterwards my hosts invited me to lunch at the Carriage House Restaurant. At the Carriage House, they served my grandmother’s biscuits, or at least a recipe that tasted exactly like my grandmother’s biscuits. They were great. I ate a dozen of them.

Yesterday, I was invited to be a part of an after-church luncheon to celebrate a friend’s book release. The meal was of the standard Deep-South-after-church-Sunday-meal variety— roast beef, gravy, corn, beans, fried okra, and iced tea— right up my alley, and all good.

There was a basket of cornbread— sticks and muffins— at the end of the sideboard. I opted for a stick. I took one bite and was instantly transformed to my grandmother’s table. My grandmother served biscuits with formal Sunday lunches, but cornbread with casual Saturday afternoon meals. This cornbread tasted just like my grandmothers.

The cornbread at my friend Chalie’s (note to editors: the name is “Chalie”—no “r”) house was crisp on the bottom from baking in hot cast-iron and dusted with a light sprinkling of corn meal. It wasn’t sweet, crumbly, cakelike, or dense. It was everything I require from a stick of cornbread. Beautiful.

I threw manners out the window and placed a second and third piece of cornbread on my plate. I ate a few pieces of okra and pushed some roast beef around and then grabbed my fourth piece of cornbread.

The table conversation was rapid-fire and graciously raucous. I spoke a little, but held back because my mother always told me not to speak with my mouth full, and at this meal my mouth always seemed to be crammed with cornbread.

Every once in a while I would add to the conversation with something like, “Did someone steal my cornbread?” Or “I could have sworn that there were two pieces of cornbread on my plate just a few seconds ago.”

There was no subtle way of gorging myself with cornbread because the basket was located across the room and I had to get up and walk over to it every time I wanted another piece. Had the basket been on the table, I could have placed it in front of me and then pointed to an imaginary something out the window. “Is that a woolly mammoth in the front yard?  And while everyone’s heads were turned I could have grabbed a few pieces of cornbread and hidden them in my lap.

I was debating on slipping a few cornbread sticks in my pocket and taking them into the bathroom to eat in private when I noticed that all of the sticks were gone— only muffins remained. But I wasn’t finished. I wanted more. I was desperate, but no so desperate as to walk around the house with cornbread muffins poking out of my front pockets— sticks, maybe… muffins— no way.

The lunch was being served during a thunderstorm. By the time the electricity went out, I was on my seventh piece of cornbread. In the dark, I snuck over to the sideboard to nab number eight. I don’t think anyone saw me. They might have heard some contented moaning and smacking coming from my end of the table, but there was no visual evidence of my gluttony.

“No dessert, thank you. Is there any more cornbread?"

Just for one brief moment I was back at my grandmother’s table, for that I will be forever grateful.

 

Summer Succotash

 

3 Tbl                         Bacon grease (or canola oil)

2 cups                         Squash, medium dice

1 /4 cup             Onion, small chopped

1                         Red bell pepper, medium dice

1 cup                         Fresh butter beans, cooked

1cup                         Silverqueen Corn kernels, freshly scraped

1 /2 cup             Chicken broth

2 tsp                         Creole Seasoning

1 tsp                         Thyme

1 /2 tsp                        Rosemary

1 Tbl                        Butter

Salt and pepper to taste

Heat bacon grease over medium high heat. Add squash, onion and bell pepper. Cook until softened. Add beans and corn. Continue cooking for two minutes. Add chicken broth. 

James Beard Foundation Awards

 

A couple of weeks ago The James Beard Foundation Awards ceremony was held in 

New York to honor the nation’s best chefs, restaurants, cookbook authors, and food journalists.

The James Beard Foundation Awards are the Academy Awards of the food business and my home state of Mississippi was

 represented well.

John Currence, chef/owner of City Grocery in Oxford, Miss took home the Beard award for Best Chef: South. Martha Foose, the Mississippi Delta chef and cookbook author, won a James Beard Book Award in the category “American Cooking” for her cook

book, “Screen Doors and Sweet Tea: Recipes and Tales from a Southern Cook.” John T. Edge, also of Oxford, a director of the Southern Foodways Alliance, won recognition as Who’s Who of Food & Beverage in America.

That’s a big night for a small state. It’s an even bigger night for a small town. Currence and Edge have both been living in Oxford for a couple of decades. Foose spent her early days in the restaurant business working in Oxford— first for Currence, then at The Bottletree Bakery

For years, I have considered Currence the best chef in Mississippi. I still do. His creativity, New Orleans roots, and sound culinary fundamentals have kept him at the top of the food chain in this state. If I were in charge of an awards ceremony, I’d give him another medal just for bringing breakfast back to the forefront of the Mississippi culinary scene by opening Big Bad Breakfast in Oxford.

Currence, who was in jeopardy of becoming the Susan Lucci of the Beard Awards, finally got his due— though in my opinion, long overdue due— and was recognized as the best chef in the South, which I am sure is the first of many to come.

I purchase and receive hundreds of cookbooks every year. Martha Foose wrote my favorite cookbook of 2008. Last November, I recommended Foose’s cookbook in this column with these words, “My publisher says that if someone cooks six recipes out of a cookbook, it is a major success. The first time I thumbed through Foose's book, there were several dozen recipes I wanted to prepare.”

“Foose got her start at the La Brea Bakery in Los Angeles, and moved on to several bakeries in Mississippi. However, where Foose shines in this, her first publishing effort, is on the savory courses that take place well before dessert— Inside Out Sweet Potatoes, Lady Pea Salad, and Chicken Thighs and Dumplings to list just a few.”

From the banana pudding she cooked for Oprah (in individual Mason jars) to Catfish in a Paper Sack, “Screen Doors and Sweet Tea” is filled with recipes new, true, and Southern.

John T. Edge, one of the founders of The Southern Foodways Alliance, has done more than most to draw attention to Southern cuisine and culture. I am serious about food, but I don’t take food too seriously. John T. takes food seriously. Actually, I don’t know anyone who is as serious about food as John T. Edge. With an academician’s focus, he has written a series of book that focused on classic American foods— “Donuts An American Passion,” “Hamburgers and Fries An American Story,” and other books focusing on fried chicken and apple pie. Anyone who is as serious about food as John T. certainly deserves to be listed among the nation’s Who’s Who.

I don’t have the exact statistics, but I would venture to guess that this year Mississippi received more James Beard Awards per capita than any other state. It’s time more people knew what we’ve known for a long time: This is a great state for good food. Currence, Foose, and Edge, have helped spread the word through their hard work, devotion, and enthusiasm. For this, and everything else they have done, they should be recognized, congratulated, and honored often.

Amaretto-Brulee Breakfast Bread

1 /3 cup             Butter, melted

3 /4 cup             Brown sugar

2 Tbl                  Honey

2 Tbl                Pecans, chopped (optional)

2 Tbl                Almonds, slivered and blanched (optional)

8                      Slices of sourdough bread, cut into 1-inch thick rounds

4                       Eggs

2 /3 cup           Milk

1 /4 cup            Heavy cream

1 /8 tsp              Cinnamon

1 /8 tsp               Nutmeg

1 Tbl                  Vanilla

1 Tbl                   Amaretto

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a cast iron skillet, combine butter, brown sugar and honey over medium-high heat. Cook mixture, stirring constantly until bubbly and sugar has dissolved. Add nuts. Pour Brulee into the bottom of a round, two-quart Pyrex baking dish. Allow Brulee to cool slightly then top with the sourdough bread croutons. There should be enough bread to cover the bottom of the dish. If your sourdough loaf is small, add more bread slices so that the entire dish is covered in one layer of bread.

In a large mixing bowl whisk eggs, milk, heavy cream, cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla and Amaretto. Pour mixture evenly over the bread. Using the tips of your fingers, press bread down gently to force custard into croutons without breaking. Cover dish with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

Allow custard to come to room temperature one hour before baking. Bake uncovered until bread is puffed and edges of croutons are golden brown, (approximately 40 minutes). Place a plate on top of the baking dish. Using dish towels or pot holders, invert dish onto a plate. Top with powdered sugar. Yield: four to six servings

 

I Am Not On Al Gore’s Christmas Card List

 

I stirred up a lot of trouble when I was a kid.

Possessing an overactive imagination and a hyperactive disposition, I was responsible for a fair share of the havoc created in and around my school and neighborhood.

Most of the parents in the neighborhood had, on at least one occasion, found the need to admonish my actions and activities. Whether I was running over Dr. Phillips newly planted shrubbery on my bicycle, or soaking Dr. Ross’ important medical papers by giving an impromptu demonstration of his new underground sprinkler system, I was responsible for countless acts of unintentional destruction and mayhem through the years.

Most of the incidences were unintended and harmless. I never flushed a M-80 down a toilet or ran over someone in my car. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I have ever inflicted deliberate physical harm on anyone.

I have made it 47 years without destroying too much around my hometown. But I have just recently learned that I may be responsible for the end of the world as we know it.

The end of the world— that’s a heavy burden to bear. Maybe my principal, Mr. Curry, was right when he told my ninth-grade class that I was “Nothing but trouble” and “…would never amount to anything.”

Growing up, I always thought that the end of the world would come from a nuclear holocaust instigated by the Russians. They’d bomb us, we’d bomb them, and both countries would continue to bomb each other while we squatted in school corridors with our heads tucked between our knees.

Today I learned that the end of the world wouldn’t come from mutual nuclear annihilation, or terrorist attacks, or any of the fun stuff we always imagined. No. The world will cease to exist because I am fat.

I just read a New York Times story that quoted a British scientist who believes that fat people are causing global warming. I can’t cite the science behind the fat-people-are-going-to-kill-us-all theory, but you can Google it and take the time to read the study if you like.

A man named Dr. Phil Edwards in London makes his case by stating that fat people eat more (really?) and are more likely to drive instead of walk creating more CO2 gas emissions and causing the earth to warm (note to reader: I deserve columnist credit here for skipping the obvious fat-people-and-gas-emissions joke).

So, if fat people are causing global warming, and if my home state of Mississippi is the perennial statistical leader as the most obese state in the country, that means that I am writing this column from Armageddon headquarters. No wonder I’m not on Al Gore’s Christmas card list.

Remember, Mississippi, the next time you ask for seconds on pork chops, a little more of the polar ice cap will melt away. Eat blackberry cobbler for dessert and watch sea levels rise. Biscuits for breakfast— deforestation in the Amazon.

We Mississippians are used to 98 percent humidity on 100-degree afternoons. We laugh in the face of global warming. Of course, we are laughing with our mouths full.

Mr. Curry always said, “You boys better stop eating all of those hamburgers and pizza. It’ll kill you.” Who knew?

I survived childhood. My neighborhood is still standing. Today, Dr. Phillips shrubs— notwithstanding recent holes in the ozone layer— are over 18 feet tall. Dr. Ross’ sprinkler system is in perfect working condition and his grass is greener than ever. It seems that I have made it through all of the challenges of growing up, only to learn that I have been eating us into oblivion.

Pass the potatoes, please.

Crescent City Grill Creole Cheese Fritters

3/4 cup             Parmesan cheese, grated

3                         Eggs                       

1/4 cup             Parsley, chopped fine

1/4 cup             Green onions, medium dice

1/4 cup             Horseradish

1/4 cup             Sour cream

1 1/2 Tbl           Garlic, minced

1 Tbl                   Creole Seasoning

1/4 tsp                Red pepper, crushed

1 cup                    Flour

1/2 Tbl             Hot Sauce

10 oz                         pepper jack cheese, grated

6 oz                         mozzarella cheese, grated

6 oz                         cheddar cheese, grated

 

            Place Parmesan cheese, eggs, parsley, onions, horseradish, sour cream, garlic, Creole Seasoning, red pepper, flour, and hot sauce in an electric mixer and combine at medium speed. Add the 3 cheeses and continue mixing until well blended. Do not over mix.

            Heat oil to 350 in a cast iron skillet. Drop golf ball-size spoonfuls of cheese fritter mixture into hot oil, making sure not to cook too many at once.

            Serve with Comeback Sauce for dipping. Yield: 24–30

 

Crescent City Grill Comeback Sauce

 

1 cup                         mayonnaise

1/ 2 cup             ketchup

1/ 2 cup             chili sauce

1/ 2 cup             cottonseed oil

1/ 2 cup             yellow onion, grated

3 Tbl                         lemon juice

2 Tbl                         garlic, minced

1 Tbl                        paprika

1 Tbl                         water

1 Tbl                         Worcestershire

1 tsp                         pepper

1/ 2 tsp                        dry mustard

1 tsp                         salt

 

Combine all ingredients in a food processor and mix well.

Yield: 3 1/2 cups

 

 

Pizza

 

 

Yesterday I ordered a pizza online.

 

I didn’t get in my car, I didn’t pick up the phone, I never even spoke to anyone. I just logged onto my laptop and 30 minutes later, I was shaking crushed red pepper flakes over my thin-crust pepperoni.

 

The ordering of the pizza and the ingredient selection was easy. Once I made my choices, the website told me that my pizza would be ready in 20-24 minutes.

 

Next, the website— in real time— let me know that someone named Sarah was prepping my pizza. A few minutes later, the website told me that, at 4:50 p.m., Sarah had placed my pizza in the oven. The site then let me know that, at 4:57 p.m., they had placed my pizza in some type of space-aged insulated bag. Within seconds, I was notified that, at 5:00 p.m., my “Delivery Expert,” Robert, left the store with the pizza. At 5:13 Robert the Delivery Expert rang my doorbell. At 5:19 the website posted the comment, “We hope you enjoyed your meal.” I did.

 

Ordering food over the Internet and having it delivered has been going on for a couple of years, but yesterday was the first time I have taken advantage of the process. When I first heard of Internet pizza ordering, my initial reaction was one of amusement, then disdain, then indifference. Yesterday, on a fluke, I gave it a shot, thinking— if they screw it up, at least I’ll be able to rip on them, throw in some jokes about the mindless, robotic process, and get a column out of it.

 

It’s true, I got a column out of it. But the exercise of ordering a pizza online was a pleasant one. There were no glitches in the process, it was easy, and I never left the comfort of my chair (except to meet the Delivery Expert, when he rang the doorbell).

 

Best of all, I was never placed on hold, I didn’t have to listen to an endless loop of annoying advertising promotions, I never had to restate my order, and all human-error was eliminated from the process. Hospitality has taken a nose-dive in recent years. Service is non-existent in many industries. That’s not a good thing, especially for those of us in the hospitality and service industry. This process was quick, efficient, pleasant, and error-free.

 

I’ve heard all of the arguments about taking the human factor out of our everyday lives, and the dangerous path we tread in doing so. But I’ll bet the ones who are prophesying about the doom and gloom of an automated society have never used the drive-through window at a fast-food place or dealt with an unconcerned teenage order-taker behind the counter at a burger joint.

 

Sean Connery might have been the coolest of the James Bonds, but all of his gadgets are old school these days. Today we have instant information at our fingertips and are in constant contact with our friends, family, and pizza joints.

 

When I opened my first restaurant, I was working 90-hour weeks with no spare time. I ate most of my meals in the restaurant, though when I got off late at night, my 28-inch waist and I ordered pizza. The people at the pizza place knew my name. They would say, “Do you want the usual, Robert?” It was embarrassing.

 

Today, my 38-inch waist and I don’t order pizza very often— mainly because pizza was a large factor in my expansion from a 28 to a 38-inch waist. Though if I did, the only person who would have known what a no-social-life-having loser I was would be the Delivery Expert (and I’m a great tipper, and I don’t think he’d care one bit if I ordered pizza five nights a week).

 

           

Crawfish Pizza

1 tablespoon olive oil

1/2 cup green bell peppers, chopped fine

1/2 cup yellow onion, chopped fine

1/2 cup green onion, chopped fine

1 tablespoon garlic, minced

2 teaspoons Creole Seasoning

3/4 pound crawfish tail meat, cooked and in whole pieces

6 Pizza Crusts (recipe follows)

1 1/2 cup Basil Tapenade (recipe follows)

1 1/2 cup mozzarella cheese, shredded

1 cup pepper jack cheese, shredded

1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, freshly grated

 

In a large skillet, heat olive oil over medium heat. Sauté peppers, onion, and garlic until slightly tender. Add Creole Seasoning and crawfish. Remove from heat and let cool slightly (may be prepared a day in advance). Preheat oven to 450. Arrange pizza crusts on a baking sheet. Spread the basil tapenade evenly on top of each pizza shell. Distribute the crawfish mixture over the tapenade and top with the mozzarella cheese. Top with pepper jack cheese and Parmesan. Bake for 12–14 minutes, until crust is golden brown and all cheese has melted. Remove from the oven and let rest for 3–4 minutes before cutting.

Yield: 6 pizzas

 

 

 

Basil Tapenade

1 cup black olives

1 1/2 ounces anchovies, drained and patted dry

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

2 tablespoons capers

2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice

2 tablespoons brandy

3 tablespoons olive oil

1/2 teaspoon black pepper

1 cup Pesto

1/2 of 10-ounce can Rotel tomatoes, drained

Process the first 6 ingredients in a food processor until the mixture begins to get smooth. Slowly add olive oil and garlic. Add pesto and tomatoes, and pulse until all ingredients are incorporated into a smooth, spreadable sauce. May be made and stored in refrigerator for up to 1 week.

Yield: 3 cups

 

 

Pizza Crusts

2 packages active dry yeast

1 teaspoon sugar

2 teaspoons honey

1 1/2 cups warm water

5 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon salt

1/4 cup olive oil + olive oil for brushing the pizza dough

 

Dissolve yeast, sugar, and honey in warm water.

            Using a mixer with a dough hook attachment, place flour and salt in bowl and mix thoroughly. On low speed, slowly drizzle in oil and continue to mix until evenly distributed. Next, add dissolved yeast. Add remaining cup of water. Once the dough begins to come together, continue kneading it on low speed for 5 minutes. Transfer the dough onto a floured surface and work it by hand for 3–4 more minutes. The dough should now be smooth and slightly firm and dry. Place the dough in a large bowl, cover it with a damp towel, and place it in a warm place to rise for 1/2 hour.

            Divide the dough into 6 6-ounce sections. On a dry surface, work each individual ball by rotating it in a circular motion, continually tucking the sides down and under. Form dough into a smooth ball with no air pockets. Place the balls on slightly oiled baking sheet and cover for 30 minutes. This may be done 1–2 days in advance. Dough balls can be covered tightly with plastic and kept in refrigerator.

            Preheat oven to 525_ and insert pizza stone. If you do not have a pizza stone, a heavy duty baking sheet will do. To stretch the dough, sprinkle a smooth surface with flour or cornmeal and flatten the dough to about 2 inches thick. Then begin gently pulling the sides and rotating the dough in a circular motion, slowly stretching it. You should be able to stretch the dough to a 7-inch diameter. Lightly brush with oil and place dough on pizza stone. Bake for 8–9 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove and cool. The crusts are now ready to use for any recipe. Cooked pizza crust may be frozen. Pizza dough can also be cooked on a well-oiled grill.

Yield: 6 7-inch crusts

Salads


The weather is warming and salad sales in the restaurant are booming.

I like salads, but I am not an entrée-salad eater. I like a salad as a small course or as a component or accompaniment to a main course.

When I am entertaining friends at home, I rarely serve a salad. Sometimes at lunch, I might throw together something quick and uncomplicated, but mostly I opt for soup in lieu of salad.

My grandmother always served a salad when she hosted a formal meal, though her salads were not of the tossed variety. She never served a bean salad or a pasta salad. She occasionally served a fruit salad. Mostly what she served were little-old-lady-congealed salads.

I loved my grandmother more than I have column inches to describe, but I hate congealed salads.

Congealed salads are evil. They are the greatest trick ever played on children. They looked like Jell-O, they shook like Jell-O, but they tasted like V-8 juice. She would even put a dollop of mayonnaise on top, which, of course, looked like some type of sweet whipped cream, shook like some type of whipped cream, but tasted like Miracle Whip.

My grandmother, may she rest in peace, was the Queen of the congealed salad. She had hundreds of small metal molds in dozens of shapes and designs— sea shells for congealed salads made with clam juice and V-8 juice, tiny wreath molds for a green jiggly concoction with vegetables in it, and small, scalloped dome-shaped molds for congealed fruit salads that didn’t taste like fruit but still had a dollop of mayonnaise on the top.

I love shrimp salad. My grandmother made the world’s best chicken salad. We serve a salad named Sensation Salad at the restaurants that I could eat to accompany most meals. What do those salads have in common? None of them use Jell-O. None of them try to deceive little kids into thinking that they are dessert when they are actually cloudy, bitter, and vegetable-laden tomato juice.

When one eats a shrimp salad, one knows he is eating a shrimp before he even takes the first bite. The same goes for chicken salad and tuna salad. That is what I require from my salads— honesty.

While we’re on the topic of salads that I hate, add that nasty carrot-and-raisin salad to the list, and also that salad that is made with English peas, sour cream, and green onions. Ambrosia? No sir.

I like fruit salad as long as there’s no grapefruit in the general vicinity. There is a comedian— I have forgotten his name— who does a hilarious 10-minute bit on why grapefruit is bad and why it destroys a fruit salad. I am in full agreement.

The best salad I have ever eaten was at the Gotham Bar and Grill in New York. I order it (or its current incarnation) every time I go to the city. It is a simple creation of frisee lettuce, bacon lardons, roasted shiitake mushrooms, goat cheese, tossed in a light dressing made from extra-virgin olive oil, red wine vinegar, Dijon mustard, and shallots. Beautiful.

It’s amazing how something so simple can taste so complex when left in the hands of one of that city’s best chefs— Alfred Portale. Then again, it’s startling how something so fun looking— the congealed salad— can taste so awful, even in the hands of a sweet, well-meaning and gracious Southern lady.




Frisée Salad with Smoked Bacon, Shiitakes, and Aged Goat Cheese

16 large shiitake mushrooms, stems removed
2/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
Coarse salt
Freshly ground black pepper
6 ounces slab bacon, cut into lardons (1/4-inch strips)
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons red-wine vinegar
6 cups frisée lettuce, curly endive, or Belgian endive leaves
4 ounces aged goat cheese
2 tablespoons finely minced shallots

Preheat the oven to 425°F.

Arrange the shiitakes on a roasting pan. Drizzle with 2 to 3 tablespoons of the oil, and season with salt and pepper. Roast in the oven for 8 to 10 minutes, until the mushrooms are soft, fragrant, and lightly browned. When they are cool enough to handle, cut them into large pieces. Transfer them to a bowl and set aside.

Warm 1 teaspoon of the oil in a sauté pan set over medium heat. Add the bacon and sauté, stirring occasionally, until crisp, about 8 minutes. Remove it with a slotted spoon and set it on a paper-towel-lined plate to drain. Reserve 2 tablespoons of bacon fat and keep it warm.

In a bowl, mix together the mustard and vinegar, and season with salt and pepper. Whisk in the remaining olive oil and reserved bacon fat. Taste and adjust the seasoning, adding a little more vinegar if the dressing seems oily.

Dress the mushrooms with about 1 tablespoon of the dressing and set aside. Put the lettuce in a salad bowl, add the mushrooms and shallots, and dress them lightly with the remaining vinaigrette. Grate half of the aged cheese (or crumble if using fresh) into the bowl, toss to combine, and season with salt and pepper. Scatter the bacon over the salad, grate (or crumble) the remaining cheese over the top, and serve family-style from a bowl or divide among 4 salad plates.

You can go a more traditional route and use blue cheese, ideally Roquefort, instead of goat. Try sherry vinegar in place of the red-wine vinegar. Serves 4

FLAVOR BUILDING— A teaspoon of freshly chopped tarragon stirred into the dressing will complement all of the flavors here. Or, whisk in a tablespoon of honey into the dressing along with the mustard to subtly sweeten it.

From Simple Pleasures: Home Cooking From the Gotham Bar and Grill’s Acclaimed Chef by Alfred Portale (William Morrow 2004)

Dinner Party Conversation


WATERCOLOR, FL— The older I become the more I appreciate substantive dinner party conversation.

I am on the second leg of a Spring Break sandwich that started in the rapidly melting Spring snow of Colorado and has ended on the sugar white sands of the Florida Panhandle.

I am here with my family on a dual mission: First, to take the obligatory family break from school and schedule, and second, to support my friend and artist, Bill, whose work is now hanging in the Ogden Museum’s new satellite gallery in Watercolor, Fla (a great space, by the way, and a must visit for anyone in the area).

After Bill’s Ogden opening, our friend Julia invited a small group to her house. My kids weren’t able to attend, so I represented the home team at the dinner.

The conversation during and after the meal was rapid-fire with several people talking at once. All manner of great ideas and opinions were thrown out, discussed, disproved, and argued. We laughed too loud and stayed too long. I soaked it all in and enjoyed one of the more memorable dinners I have attended in a long while.

The food was as enjoyable as the conversation. Julia, an excellent cook and veteran hostess, served several great items, but the most notable and memorable, was a shrimp and pea salad. Digging back into her Mississippi Delta roots, she didn’t opt for chick peas or a more exotic legume, but instead used newly shelled, fresh-from-the-market, Pinkeye Purple-Hull peas. It was fantastic.

She tossed large, boiled shrimp and the peas with some sherry vinegar, extra-virgin olive oil, salt, pepper, basil, and arugula. Though she said that she would have used collard greens had she had any in her refrigerator.

The next night we hosted a group at our rental house. Many of the faces were the same, but the conversation was once again thought provoking and stimulating. Not too long ago I wouldn’t have been able to imagine that sitting around a table, doing nothing more than discussing ideas with friends, would be so enjoyable. I used to need an event or occasion— an external stimulus— to “have a good time.” Maybe I’m finally growing up. Maybe it’s that I’ve lost my ability to endure blather and gossip.

My children were in attendance this evening and helped my friend David make a pasta dish he had been promising to prepare for the last four years.

David, a retired architect, but full-time gourmet and bon vivant, used angel hair pasta and tossed it in a simple sauce made from extra virgin olive oil, freshly chopped garlic, crushed red pepper and anchovies. Simple, beautiful, delicious. The garlic is infused into the olive oil and the anchovies dissolve once they hit the sauté pan. My children, who might shun the diminutive fish on a pizza, cleaned their plates.

The pasta-plate cleaning could have been due to their roles as Sous chefs, but more than likely was due to the fact that the pasta tasted so good. The four-year wait for David’s angle hair pasta was worth it and served at the right moment.

Someone once said that a good dinner party needed a slight element of danger. I’m not sure how much “danger” was involved in either of these back-to-back dinners, but the older I become, the more I treasure my friendships and meaningful the exchange of ideas that occurs when we get together.



Angel Hair Pasta Trigiani

1/3 cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil
3 Tbl Fresh Garlic, finely minced
1 1/2 tsp Crushed Red Pepper Flakes
3 oz. Flat Anchovy filets, drained but not rinsed
1 lb Angel Hair Pasta


Start with a cold 12-inch sautee pan. Add oil, garlic, and crushed red pepper and cook over low heat 4-5 minutes, to allow the garlic and pepper to infuse the oil. Do not brown or burn the garlic (if you do, start over). Add the anchovy filets and gently stir until completely dissolved (appx 2-3 min). Sauce is finished at this point and can be prepared one hour ahead of time, to be completed just before the meal is served.

Cook pasta in briskly boiling, salted water to al dente. Drain and add to simmering sauce allowing a little of the starchy pasta water (appx ¼ cup) to be added to the sauce. Gently toss until pasta is completely coated and serve in heated bowls. Drizzle with a little extra virgin olive oil.

Variations: Shrimp or oysters can be added to the sauce, or a small amount of freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano can be added at the end (but take it easy on the cheese as the finished product can become too salty).

Quiche Muffins


ASPEN— The question of the day is: How far will a man travel for a Quiche Muffin from Paradise Bakery?

The answer: 1,362 miles. Well, actually, I was out her on Spring Break with my family, but we’re staying in Snowmass, 12 miles away.

I had a craving for a Quiche Muffin from the Paradise Bakery at 6:15 a.m. and so I hopped on a city bus and took a 25 minute ride into Aspen. Some might call that compulsive. I like to think of it this way— I am passionate about food.

The Quiche Muffin holds a special place in my heart. The first time I ate one was on my honeymoon in 1993. After a Methodist church wedding, I flew my new bride out to Las Vegas to get married by an Elvis Impersonator at the Graceland Wedding Chapel on the Strip (his name was Norm). We spent one night in a tacky hotel in Vegas, and then flew to Aspen for the honeymoon.

On our first morning in Aspen, we stumbled across the Paradise Bakery. We each ate a Quiche Muffin, and both love affairs have been going strong ever since.

The Quiche Muffin is an anomaly. It is shaped like a standard muffin, but it has more of the custard-like qualities of quiche. It’s not too bread-like, though. Beautiful, compact, flavorful, original, everything a breakfast in a resort should be.

As I write, I am sitting in the same honeymoon hotel lobby at 7 a.m. —albeit illegally, while stealing their free wireless internet access to write this column— eating a Ham and Cheese Quiche muffin, and a Spinach Quiche Muffin. They are fantastic.

I once tinkered around with a recipe to combine traditional quiche ingredients and incorporate flour so the finished product would be substantial enough to be hand-held while eating, but gave up after several failed attempts. Based on this covert, yet tasty, breakfast, I think I will now figure out the recipe to the ever eluding Quiche Muffin and include it in my next cookbook.

The Paradise Bakery was formed in Long Beach, California, there are 72 units today. But the Aspen unit was the second store, and it doesn’t feel like a chain, at all. The food certainly doesn’t, as the Quiche Muffins are usually the first breakfast items to go. Get there early.

I am told that other Paradise Bakery units take the Quiche Muffins, stuff more vegetables on top and then wrap them in phyllo pastry— sounds good. They can’t do that in Aspen because of the altitude.

So here I am, in a hotel lobby in Aspen, CO at 7 a.m., writing a food column for Southern newspapers, looking over my shoulder hoping I don’t get busted by the front desk clerk for stealing their wireless internet, and eating Quiche Muffins. This food-column writing is dangerous business.

My wife and kids are back in Snowmass, sound asleep after a full day of skiing. We’ve got one full day in the snow after today, then it’s off to the beach for a Spring Break sandwich topped with snow and sand. I’ll have two more opportunities to eat Quiche Muffins at the Paradise Bakery, and I think I’ll make good use of both of them.


Mushroom, Leek and Ham Quiche
1 recipe Savory Pie Crust, recipe follows
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
3 cups thinly sliced leeks, white parts only
6 ounces diced ham
8 ounces thinly sliced button mushrooms
2 teaspoons fresh thyme
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1 teaspoons salt, plus 1/4 teaspoon
1/2 teaspoon fresh ground white pepper
1/2 cup heavy cream
6 large eggs
1 1/2 ounces grated smoked cheddar, plus 1 1/2 ounces
Directions
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Roll out the pie crust on a lightly floured surface to fit a deep 9 or 10-inch pie pan. Place the pastry in the pie pan and crimp edges decoratively. Refrigerate at least 30 minutes, then line with aluminum foil. Fill with pie weights and bake for 12 to 15 minutes, or until lightly golden around the edges. Remove foil and pie weights, and return to the oven for 3 to 5 minutes. Remove from the oven and place crust on a wire rack to cool.
Set a 12-inch saute pan over medium heat, and add the butter and olive oil and once the butter is melted, add the leeks to the pan and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions and leeks are wilted, and lightly caramelized, about 8 minutes. Add the ham, mushrooms, thyme, and garlic to the pan and season with 1 teaspoon of the salt and the pepper. Cook the leeks, ham and mushrooms, stirring occasionally, until most of the moisture has cooked out of the mushrooms and they are caramelized, 8 to 10 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and allow the onions, ham and mushrooms to cool for 10 minutes before placing in the pie crust.
In a medium bowl, combine the heavy cream, eggs, and the remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt and whisk until just combined. Stir 1 1/2 ounces of the grated cheese, then pour the cream mixture over the onion mixture, and sprinkle the remaining cheese over top. Place the pie tin on a sheet pan and place in the oven. Bake until golden brown, and the custard has set, 35 to 40 minutes. Be sure to rotate the sheet pan after 15 to 20 minutes to ensure even browning.
Yield:1 (9 or 10-inch) pie
For the Savory Pie Crust:
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons creole seasoning
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 ounces (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces
3 to 4 tablespoons ice water, as needed
In the bowl of a food processor combine flour, Creole seasoning, salt, and butter and process until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. While the motor is running, add water in increments until dough just comes together to form a ball. Transfer dough to a lightly floured surface and shape into a flat disk. Refrigerate overnight or at least 1 hour.
Remove from refrigerator and roll out on a lightly floured surface to desired shape and thickness.
Yield: 8 servings
.

St. Patrick’s Day


St. Patrick’s Day is a paradox. It’s an annual feast day set in the middle of a season in which people are supposed to be fasting.

During my childhood in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, St. Patrick’s Day was nothing more than a small mention in my elementary school classroom and the opportunity to pinch someone if they weren’t wearing green. No parades, no green beverages, no cabbage and corned beef— it was just another early spring day.

In 1982 I was living in Jackson and witnessed Jackson’s first St. Patrick’s Day parade. Restaurateur/concert promoter/arts promoter Malcolm White gathered a few friends, loaded them into the beds of pickup trucks, and made an impromptu trek around downtown Jackson.

I don’t know how many people were at that inaugural event, but it didn’t seem like many. It looked like a rag-tag group of fun-seekers who had— at the spur of the moment— loaded into pick-up trucks and driven around Jackson. I didn’t give it a second thought.

If I had to guess, I’d say that there might have been a couple of hundred people at the first parade, at best. One person who was definitely there was Jill Conner Browne. On a lark, she dressed as a Sweet Potato Queen. Today, almost three-million copies of seven books— two of which were number one New York Times bestsellers— multiple television appearances and book signings, 5,768 SPQ Wannabe chapter groups in 22 countries, and over $300,000.00 raised for the Blair E. Batson Children’s Hospital later, Jill Conner Browne is the undisputed Queen of Mississippi.

To put things in perspective, 70,000 visitors will visit Elvis Presley’s birthplace in Tupelo during the 12 months of 2009. On March 21st— in one single day— over 100,000 people will attend Mal’s St. Paddy’s Day Parade in downtown Jackson. The Sweet Potato Queen has surpassed the King of Rock and Roll. Browne is a one-woman tourism commission.

Sweet Potato Queen wannabes will travel from all over the world to attend this year’s parade. Chapter representatives will be in attendance from Germany, France, and Italy. In the Who’s-Traveled-Farthest category— a group of 11 Sweet Potato Queen Wannabes are flying in from Indonesia with the sole purpose of attending the parade (and, of course, having a blast).

In one of the parade’s most notable happenings this year, a couple from Sarasota, FL will get married on the Sweet Potato Queen’s float, during the parade, in front of the judges’ stand. I am told they are shooting for the largest group of bridesmaids in the Guinness Book of World Records. They will most certainly grab the record for the most diverse and outlandishly dressed group of attendants in the history of matrimony

Malcolm gave the parade its start, Jill Conner Browne gave it its heart, and people from all over the world have a positive opinion of Mississippi thanks to them. Most importantly, over $300,000.00 has been raised to help the Blair E. Batson Children’s Hospital which is home to the state’s only children’s cancer clinic, it’s only cystic fibrosis program, and it’s only epilepsy center.

St. Patrick’s Day, a paradox? Maybe. A whole lot of fun? Absolutely. And a great Mississippi tradition, thanks to Malcolm White and Jill Conner Browne.



My Jill’s Sweet Potatoes

4 cups Sweet potatoes, cooked, peeled and mashed
3 cups Sugar
4 Eggs, beaten
1 cup Heavy cream
3 sticks Butter, divided, softened
1 tsp Cinnamon
1 tsp Nutmeg
1 cup Rice Krispies
1 cup Pecans, chopped fine
1 cup Walnuts, chopped fine
1 cup Brown sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Grease a 13 x 9 casserole dish. Combine hot sweet potatoes, sugar, eggs, cream, 1 1/2 sticks of the butter, cinnamon, and nutmeg in a bowl; mix thoroughly. Add sweet potato mixture to greased casserole dish.

Combine Rice Krispies, pecans, walnuts and remaining 1 1/2 sticks of softened butter and brown sugar into a bowl. Mix until crumbly. Sprinkle over sweet potato mixture.

Bake 40-45 minutes or until center is hot. Yield:10-12 servings

Lent


The Lenten Season has begun.

In most Christian denominations, Lent is the 40-day period of fasting and prayer before Easter.

Growing up, I attended church, religiously. If the doors were unlocked at Main Street United Methodist Church in my hometown of Hattiesburg, I was usually there— Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings, Wednesday evenings, Thursday night youth group, and skating in the Fellowship Hall on Saturdays.

My favorite time to attend church was Wednesday nights during the summer for covered-dish suppers. My church was filled with great cooks. Ladies would line the Fellowship Hall with casseroles, fired chicken, and homemade cakes, and pies. In addition to my grandmother’s house, my love of Southern food was formed in church.

At my church we loved to eat. That might be why I don’t remember anyone fasting during Lent. Actually, I was in my 40s before I learned that fasting during Lent wasn’t an practice exclusive to Catholics.

As a kid I always heard the term “Lent” but it was never followed by the word “fast,” other than, “It’s the 12 th day of Lent. How ‘fast’ can we get to the Fellowship Hall to eat some green bean casserole.”

Maybe I wasn’t paying attention, though I don’t remember anyone in my family ever fasting, either. None of my relatives fasted and none of my neighbors fasted. As far as I was concerned, fasts and fish-on-Fridays were for the Catholics.

I never knew any Baptists who fasted. I knew a few Episcopalians who gave up drinking for Lent, but I don’t know any who made it all the way until Easter.

It might have been a communication problem. Maybe the word just didn’t circulate in my church. I have Baptist friends who tell me about how fast news travels in their church. They call it “gossip.” In the Methodist church, we don’t gossip, we just put your name on the prayer list. “Betty, did you hear what Erma’s husband did? We better add his name to the prayer list.”

I am so ignorant when it comes to fasting that the first conversation I ever had with anyone about the subject was last year. My friend, Kevin (a Methodist, by the way), fasted for 28 days drinking water only, he went another seven days with no solid food, and then spent 14 days eating just vegetables. Being a Methodist, odds are high that a green-bean casserole that was the first vegetable dish he consumed after 35 days without food.

“Verily I say unto you, Pyrex is the dish that pulls us through”— Book of Robert, Chapter 2, verse 34.

Maybe it’s not ignorance. Maybe it’s selective listening. My wife says I have a chronic case of that particular malady. Maybe people were talking about fasting all of the time while I was growing up. Maybe I was too busy eating to pay attention to what they were saying. It could have been that they were taking with their mouths full and I couldn’t understand all of the important details that pertained to fasting. All I remember is that we always ate before church, at church, and after church.

Nevertheless, I am not fasting this year. Actually, the only thing that I am giving up during this the Lenten season is fasting. Though that’s actually nothing different that I do during the rest of the year, so it probably doesn’t count.

I don’t mean to be disrespectful to people who fast. I have nothing against it. I am probably as devout as the next guy. It’s just that eating is in my church DNA. I am Methodist, therefore I eat (casseroles). For the rest of you— hurry Easter!



Robert’s Mainly Methodist Green Bean Casserole

1 qt Chicken Broth
4 cans Green Beans, drained (14.5 oz cans)

1/4 cup Bacon, very small dice
1/2 cup Yellow Onion, small dice
1/4 cup Red Bell Pepper, small dice
1/4 cup Green Bell Pepper, small dice
2 tsp Garlic, minced
2 tsp Caraway seeds
1 tsp Creole Seasoning
1 tsp Black Pepper

4oz can Sliced Water Chestnuts, drained
1cup Sour Cream
1/2 cup Sharp Cheddar, shredded

1 cup Panko bread crumbs
1/3 cup Parmesan Cheese, grated
1/4 cup Parsley, freshly chopped
2 TBL Melted Butter




Preheat oven to 350.

In a large saucepot, bring chicken broth to a boil. Place green beans in the broth and gently simmer 10 minutes. Drain the green beans.

Heat a medium sized sauté pan over medium-high heat. Place the bacon in the pan and cook it until it become brown and crispy. Stir often to prevent burning. Add the onion and peppers and sauté for three minutes. Add garlic, caraway seeds, Creole seasoning, black pepper and cook for an additional three minutes.

Combine green beans, sautéed bacon-vegetable mixture, water chesnuts, sour cream, and cheddar in a large stainless steel bowl. Place in a 2 quart baking dish. Cover the dish with foil and bake for 20 minutes.

Combine the bread crumbs, parmesan cheese, parsley and melted butter. Remove the foil and top with the bread crumb mixture. Bake for 10-15 more minutes, until the topping is light brown in color. Let casserole sit for 10 minutes before serving.

Yield:
8 servings

Cocktail Sauce


Yesterday, I was watching my 11-year old daughter eat Chargrilled Oysters at Drago’s in New Orleans while my seven year-old son ate fried shrimp.

Oysters and shrimp are the foods from my youth which still lease a substantial plot of real estate in my heart.

While we were sitting at the counter in Drago’s, my son said, “Daddy will you please mix up some cocktail sauce for me?” As I was placing all of the ingredients in his small ramekin, my mind traveled back to a long-gone restaurant on the Mississippi Gulf Coast.

Baricev’s restaurant in Biloxi was my family’s special occasion restaurant when we were on the coast. I ate my first raw oyster there while sitting at a table with my grandfather. He made a simple cocktail sauce for me with the ingredients on the oyster tray and the condiments on the table. It was my first exposure to horseradish. I loved it.

The next time we were there, I made my own cocktail sauce: Ketchup, lots of horseradish, freshly squeezed lemon juice, a dash of Worcestershire, and some pepper. Simple, pure, flavorful. It’s the recipe I still use today when making cocktail sauce. It’s the recipe we’ve used in the Crescent City Grill for 21 years.

Actually, at 10-year’s old— and after a lifetime of recipes— Cocktail Sauce is probably the first recipe I ever created. I had an Easy Bake Oven when I was six, but all of the recipes prepared in it were done from pre-portioned mixes. I would imagine that Cocktail Sauce is the first, working-without-a-net recipe I ever created.

Cocktail Sauce is a mainstay in Southern seafood restaurants. Mine was certainly not an original recipe, but how many are? Most recipes today are just variations on the same theme.

The exact make-up of Cocktail Sauce is debatable down South. Most people would scoff at my recipe because it doesn’t contain hot sauce. I have nothing against hot sauce, I actually bottle and sell it. I just like to get my cocktail sauce “heat” from horseradish, and a lot of it.

New Orleans horseradish is stronger than most. I am not sure what type or variety they use down there, but half the normal amount of New Orleans horseradish will be enough to open up the sinuses of even the toughest palate.

Fried shrimp was a special occasion meal for me when I was a kid. It was usually someone’s birthday or we were out of town if I was eating fried shrimp. In the meatloaf-laden, stuffed pepper and TV Dinner days of the late 1960s and early 1970s, my family hardly ever “went out” to eat.

The world has changed. People dine out all of the time. It’s a good thing for restaurateurs like me, but it might be a bad thing for families. The special occasion aspect of dining out is taken away when one eats out five nights a week.

I am chief among the sinners. My family travels and dines with me all of the time. Sitting at Drago’s I began to wonder which early childhood food memories they will consider one day. A dad’s first cocktail sauce? Maybe so.


Robert’s Cocktail Sauce

1 1 /2 cups Ketchup
3 Tbl Fresh lemon juice
2 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1 /4 cup Prepared Horseradish (more if you’re brave, less if it’s New Orleans horseradish)
1 /2 tsp Black pepper, freshly ground

Combine all ingredients and mix well. Refrigerate two hours before serving. Yield: two cups Yield: 8-10 servings

Four Diamonds



I am currently in my 10th year of writing this weekly column.

For the last decade I have written approximately 750 words every week, 52 weeks a year, without ever missing a column.

Over the course of those 520 columns, 352 recipes, and roughly 390,000 words, I have written about strange foodstuffs, quirky food news, my kids and their relationship to food, my childhood and how the foods of my youth molded my career, my friends, my home state, my South, and have I have kept an extensive dining diary of the hundreds of restaurants I have visited across the country.

What I haven’t done is write a lot about my restaurants. Actually, I have gone to great lengths NOT to write about my restaurants, even when there are notable and noteworthy events in my own backyard. Occasionally I will write about a humorous event that happened in the early days or make an obscure reference to a dish we serve in comparison to a dish in a restaurant that I am visiting, but I have done my best to focus more on other restaurants whether they are in my town or not. Frankly, I have always worried that someone might think that I was using these column inches as a bully pulpit to promote my businesses.

Well, pardon me while I step up into the pulpit, and allow me— just this once— to crow about one of my restaurants.

Our flagship restaurant, The Purple Parrot Café, located in my hometown of Hattiesburg, was just awarded a Four-Diamond rating from the AAA Travel Guide. It is a very big day around here.

Out of the nation’s 945,000 restaurants, only 768 received four diamonds. There are only two independent restaurants in Mississippi that have reached that level: KC’s in Cleveland, and The Purple Parrot Café. New Orleans— one of America’s top-three restaurant cities— only has six four-diamond restaurants. Memphis has one.

We held an announcement/plaque unveiling party for our staff and management last night. I told them how proud I was of them and of the job they had done, but most importantly, I gave credit where credit was due— with them. They earned it. No question. I told them that out of all of the people gathered in the room, I had done the least to help us reach four diamonds, though the unfortunate reality of the situation is that I receive the most credit. I am the one who is the most visible.

I assured my staff last night that whenever I am giving a speech or signing books, or doing whatever it is that I do outside of the restaurant, I always give credit where credit is due— with them. A restaurant can’t win a four-diamond rating because a guy sells a lot of books. It takes hard work, dedication, and commitment. Traveling and giving speeches has nothing to do with it.

So I will use this space to, once again, give credit where credit is due— with the managers, chefs, sommeliers, cooks, servers, busboys, bartenders, hosts, and all of the support staff. Well done, ladies and gentlemen.

Our current staff and management team is the best in our 21-year history. But there were many servers, cooks, chefs, and managers through the years that helped us get to this point. Thank you, too. This is beginning to read like an award ceremony acceptance speech, I know, but allow me one last acknowledgement.

Most of all, I want to thank the customers who have supported us through the years. We have been fortunate to have a small group of dedicated regulars who have stood by us for over two decades. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The AAA Travel award winners can be found on their website, as well as the criteria used for achieving the Four-Diamond rating.



Purple Parrot Café Lobster Risotto

3 Lobsters, 1 1/2 pounds, cooked and cleaned
(reserve lobster meat for risotto and use shells and bodies for stock)
3 Tbl Clarified Butter
1/2 lb. Aborio rice
1/2 cup Shallots, chopped fine
1 qt Lobster stock, hot
1 Bay leaf
1 bunch Asparagus, cut into 2-inch pieces
3/4 cup Whipping cream
1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, grated
2 teaspoons Salt
1 tsp Black pepper, freshly ground
1/4 cup Fresh parsley, chopped
1 Tbl Fresh thyme, chopped

In a large skillet, heat butter over low medium heat. Add shallots and cook until they become soft. Add rice and stir continually until rice gets hot. Do not brown. Reduce heat to low and add one cup of stock. Turn heat down so that the stock is just barely simmering. Continue to stir constantly. As the stock is absorbed, add more stock in small amounts. Continue this process until the grains have become slightly tender.
Just before adding last ladle of stock, add asparagus pieces and lobster meat. Add remaining stock. Add cream, Parmesan, salt, pepper, and herbs and cook until thickened, about 4–5 minutes. Serve immediately

The First Presbyterian Church in my hometown asked me to serve as a judge in their first annual chili cook-off this weekend. After some persistence, I agreed.

I have tried to wean myself off of judging cooking contests. Several years ago I was asked to judge an out-of-state cooking contest where the contestants were asked to create home-cooking style dishes in several categories. The judging table was on a stage in an auditorium filled mostly with ladies who had submitted dishes.

The ladies stood at the edge of the stage and glared intently as I tasted each entry. They seemed to be searching for subtle nuances and expressions which would give them some type of clue as to what I thought of their particular dish. The pressure was intense.

Some of the dishes were OK, but most of them were pretty bad. Unfortunately, I am not very good at acting, so when I tasted tuna casserole number six— a lovely and inventive creation that was more akin to a fish-flavored chipped beef on toast with something gelatinous on top— I had to force a smile.

It should be noted at this point that I was born with a very weak stomach. My friends who know me well will attest to this. I get nauseated at the mention of some things and often have to leave the room at the mention of others. This came in handy when it was time to change diapers at home, but it is a burden while judging a cooking contest.

A new acquaintance is usually surprised when I talk of my weak stomach. They say, “No way. You’re that food guy who eats everything.”

At that point I correct them and say, “Wrong. I am that food guy who eats a lot.” There is a difference between quantity and quality. I am not a food snob, far from it. But there is a huge difference in eating 36 courses at The French Laundry and 27 versions of Tamale Surprise at a sate fair.

I once filmed a segment with Andrew Zimmern on his Travel Channel show Bizarre Foods. In the segment, he ate baked coon and opossum. I passed. Actually, if one watches the episode closely, you can see me coming pretty close to hurling. Good TV, I know.

Back to the angry ladies. The home-cooking contest was one of the early food judging events I had attended. I didn’t know to tell the event organizers to make sure I was seated in a back room while I tasted the entries. I had never entered a cooking competition, so I didn’t know to tell them to make sure it’s a blind tasting. They watched as I tasted each dish. Most dishes were pretty bad.

I tried to mask my imminent nausea on a few occasions, but I was probably not very successful in pulling that off. I will say this— the tuna casserole did not win the day.

Once the event was over, a lady whose dish hadn’t won came up to me and said, “What was wrong with my dish?” I stuttered and stammered and tried to think of a way to let her down easy.

Eventually I said something like, “It was a hard choice, they were all very interesting entries, but maybe you could tweak your recipe a little bit.”

To which she replied, “Well I got it out of one of your cookbooks.” Touché.

So how does a guy who doesn’t eat a lot of chili end up as a judge in a local chili contest? I have no idea. Maybe everyone else said “No.”

As it turns out, it ended up as most cooking competitions I have judged, one entry stood out among the others as a great entry. In the end, it was for an excellent cause, and a good time was had by all.


My Favorite Chili

1 Tbl Olive oil
1 Tbl Bacon Fat
2 pounds Beef sirloin, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
2 1/2 tsp Kosher Salt
1 1/2 tsp Fresh ground black pepper
3 cups Yellow onion, medium dice
1 cup Carrot, finely shredded
1/4 cup Garlic, freshly minced
1 Tbl Ground Cumin
2 tsp Ground Coriander
1 tsp Oregano
1 1/2 Tbl Chili powder
1 6-oz can Tomato paste
2 28-oz cans Diced tomatoes
1 quart V-8 juice
1 quart Hot chicken broth
2 Bay leaves
2 14-oz cans Kidney beans, drained and rinsed
2 Tbl Corn flour
1/2 cup Water
1 Tbl Lime juice, freshly squeezed
1/4 cup Fresh cilantro, chopped

Heat the oil and bacon fat in an 8- quart, heavy duty sauce pot over high heat. Sprinkle the meat with salt and black pepper. Place half of the meat in the very hot oil. DO NOT MOVE THE MEAT FOR 3-4 MINUTES, you want to achieve a nice golden brown sear. Turn the meat over and brown the other side the best you can. Remove the meat with a slotted spoon and place it on a paper towel to drain. Repeat this process with the remaining meat.

Turn the heat to medium and add the onion, carrot and garlic to the pot. Cook for 3-4 minutes. Using a wooden spoon, stir in the cumin, coriander, chili powder and tomato paste. Cook for 10 minutes, stirring constantly to prevent burning. This step is very important, caramelizing the sugars in the tomato paste and vegetables will make a huge difference in the outcome of the chili.

Return the meat to the pot. Add the canned tomatoes, V-8 juice, chicken broth, and bay leaves. Simmer VERY slowly for 2-3 hours. Stir often to prevent sticking. Add the beans and simmer for 15 more minutes.

Turn up the heat up so that the chili reaches a slow boil. Combine the corn flour with the water to make a paste. Stir the corn flour mixture into the chili. Allow the chili to cook for 2-3 more minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the lime juice and cilantro.

Yield: 1 gallon

© Robert St.John, from his cookbook, Southern Seasons

What’s In A Name?


Whenever I give a speech or speak to a classroom full of students, I always solicit questions. It’s my favorite part of the process. I am much more interested in responding to issues people are interested in than trying to decipher what they want to hear.

One of the most common questions I receive is, “How did you come up with the name Purple Parrot Café?”

I wish there was a better story behind the naming of my first restaurant, but unfortunately our moniker came from nothing more than the desire to take a few hours off.

In the summer of 1987, as my original business partner and I were preparing to open “the restaurant” as it was then called. We took a break from the stressful grind of pre-opening construction and traveled to Biloxi to a Jimmy Buffett concert. Later that night, on the way home, we started trying to come up with a name for our soon-to-be-opened restaurant. As a joke— and with Buffett’s Parrothead music still ringing in my ears— I said, “What if we call it The Purple Parrot?”

We both laughed and agreed on calling it Purple Parrot until we came up with a better name. We continued with the construction, hiring, and training process, all the while trying to come up with a better name for our business.

He suggested “Café St.John,” since I had been a lifelong 26-year resident of the community. I quickly shot that title down. I can’t remember any of the other potential candidates but we eventually ran out of time, and for lack of a better name, it stuck.

Other than a menu heavily based on fresh seafood, there is nothing tropical about the Purple Parrot Café. We are as inland as an inland restaurant can be.

“It must great to own a restaurant and be able to ‘eat out’ whenever you want.” I get that question all of the time. Actually, I don’t eat as a customer in my restaurants very often.

I am a terrible dining companion when I’m my own customer. I can’t help but be in manager-mode as I look around the dining room scouring every nook and cranny in search of a picture that needs straightening, or a glass of tea that needs more ice in it. I worry about the customer who might be trying to flag down their server or that small piece of bread that accidentally dropped off of a server’s tray.

My business partner Clint Taylor and I call it “Restaurant eyes”, my wife Jill calls it the “The curse of a restaurateur’s wife”. “As fate would have it,” she says “We own the two best restaurants in town, and you won’t eat in either one of them with your own family!”

In fact, I eat there all of the time. But most of my dining occurs without my family in the back office, or while standing up tasting new dishes with the other chefs in the kitchen. There are also many meals eaten out of Styrofoam To-Go boxes in the office or at home and the occasional quick lunch with a friend at the bar.

After 21 years I have become a better customer in my restaurants. I am certainly better at answering questions, and I am grateful that— even though it has no bearing on the concept— we kept the name Purple Parrot Café.


PS—Allow me to brag a little. The Purple Parrot Café was just awarded a Four-Diamond rating in the 2009 AAA Travel Guide. There are only two independent restaurants in Mississippi with that high honor (KC’s in Cleveland is the other). As a matter of fact, New Orleans— one of the nation’s top five restaurant cities— only had six Four-Diamond award honorees out of the city’s 980 restaurants. Thanks to our managers, staff, and customers over the last 21years for making this honor possible.



Purple Parrot Cafe Corn and Crab Bisque

1/2 teaspoon Clarified Butter or canola oil
1/3 cup yellow onion, medium dice
1/4 cup green bell peppers, medium dice
1/4 cup celery, medium dice
1 teaspoon garlic, minced
1 1/2 teaspoons basil, dried
1 teaspoon white pepper
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon thyme
1 1/2 quarts Chicken Stock (or low sodium chicken broth)
1/4 cup white wine
1 Tablespoon brandy
2 teaspoons Worcestershire
2 teaspoons Hot Sauce
3 cups fresh corn kernels, scraped with pulp (or 2 cans whole kernal corn, drained)
1/2 cup canola oil
1/2 cup flour
3 cups heavy cream
1 cup Half-n-Half
1 Tablespoon Creole Seasoning
2 pounds jumbo lump crabmeat, picked of all shell

In an 8-quart saucepan, sweat onion, bell pepper, and celery in oil over medium heat until soft. Add garlic, basil, pepper, cayenne, and thyme. Stir well, making sure that spices are incorporated. Add stock, wine, brandy, Worcestershire, and Hot Sauce. Cook on high heat 7–10 minutes, then reduce heat to medium. While stock is boiling, make a light peanut butter–colored roux with the oil and flour. Add the roux to the hot stock and stir thoroughly. Add heavy cream, Half-n-Half, Creole Seasoning, and crabmeat. Serve hot and garnish with freshly chopped parsley.Yield: 1 gallon

The 11 Worst Foods of 2008


I have been told that more gym memberships are sold in January than during the other months of the year, combined.

Being in the restaurant business for 28 years, I can attest that more diets are started during the first month of the year. I can personally confirm that most diets don’t make it to February.

Now that we’re nearing the end of the month— as calorie counters and carb critics begin to crave “real food”— I thought I would share an email I received from the people at dailyspark.com.

Each year the Daily Spark publishes a list of the worst food of the previous year (http://www.dailyspark.com/blog.asp?post=the_11_worst_foods_of_2008 ). I should mention that “worst” does not necessarily mean “bad tasting.” The Daily Spark is only interested in physical condition and nutrition. When the Spark people say “worst,” they are speaking in terms of health and wellbeing.

The 11 Worst Foods of 2008 list starts out with a harmless cup of caramel-flavored hot chocolate from a very popular national coffee chain that weighs in at a surprising 550 calories with 24 grams of fat. One fast food restaurant’s Gourmet Mushroom Swiss Burger contains 600 calories and 36 grams of fat, another fast food burger chain’s Mushroom Swiss Steakhouse Burger has 850 calories and 48 grams of fat— no fries, no cola, just the burger.

Some of the findings were surprising. At a mid-scale casual national Italian chain, the Seared Scallops Salad—a healthy menu alternative, one would think— carried 1,270 calories and 94 grams of fat. I am always baffled by people who are trying to eat healthfully while dumping tons of cream and oil based dressings on their cheese-filled greens.

Other findings were scary. One could wake up to a stack of Butterscotch Rocks pancakes at a national pancake chain and kick off the day with 1,310 calories and 52 grams of fat. Guess what’s for lunch? Rice Cakes. Guess what’s for dinner? Water.

A national chicken chain sells a Fully Loaded Box Meal that packs 1,320 calories and a fast-food taco chain sells an item that they call Fully Loaded Nachos that lives up to its name and is loaded with 1,390 calories and 83 grams of fat. It’s probably a good idea to stay away from things that are fully “loaded” until we reach our ideal body weight.

One of the biggest surprises came in at number two on the worst-foods list and is sold in a national sandwich chain. The item is a Prime Rib Cheesesteak sandwich on toasted bread which packs 1,490 calories and 88 grams of fat. A sandwich.

I’m a big guy. My daily caloric intake needs hover somewhere around 3,000 calories per day. That means as long as I take in roughly 3,000 total calories a day, and as long as those calories are a good mix of lean protein, complex, high-fiber carbohydrates, and healthy fats (olive oil, nuts, not cream and cheese), I can maintain a hale and hearty lifestyle.

I would guess that the average woman needs roughly 2,000 calories a day to maintain her ideal body weight. It just so happens that the average woman can blow her entire daily caloric intake on one menu item sold at a national casual chain restaurant. The number one item on Spark’s 2008 list was an order of Texas Cheese Fries with Jalapeño Ranch Dressing which tips the scales at 2,070 calories and 160 grams of fat. The dish also contains almost two days worth of sodium.

I am certainly not disparaging any of the restaurants on the list. Actually, I am chief among the sinners. My restaurants sell all sorts of good-tasting, yet fattening foods. Julia Child once told me that the key to eating well is “moderation.” It certainly worked for her.

So here’s to all of the New Year’s resolution dieters who are starting to waver and are craving cheese, fried food, and pancakes. Hang in there. Be strong. I’m with you. I’m 20 down with 20 to go. We’ll make it together, and when we do, the cheese fries are on me!



Fish Tacos with Fresh Fruit Pico di Gallo or Sweet Corn and Black Bean Salsa

2# mahi mahi filets

2 tsp cumin
1 tsp coriander
1 tsp chili powder
1 tsp granulated garlic
2 tsp kosher salt
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper

Combine seasoning, sprinkle fish with seasoning, cover and refrigerate for one hour.
Cook the fish, prepare your outdoor grill to cook over a medium heat. Lightly oil the fish and grill for 4-5 minutes on each side.
Allow the fish to cool slightly then cut into thin strips.

To serve:
Allow guests to make their own taco creations. Set out the cooked fish and prepared salsas along with:

1 1/2 cups shredded green cabbage
1 1/2 cup shredded red cabbage
24 corn tortillas

Place 2-3 thin fish strips in each tortilla and add a small amount of the shredded cabbage and Fresh Fruit Pico di Gallo or Sweet Corn and Black Bean Salsa.
Yield : Tacos for 6-8 people


Fresh Fruit Pico di Gallo

1 cup fresh tomatoes, small diced
1/4 cu red onions, small diced
2 Tbl. cilantro, chopped
2 tsp fresh jalapenos, seeds removed and minced
1/2 cup pineapple, small diced
1 kiwi, peeled and small dice
1/2 cup orange segments
1/2 cup lime segments
1/2 tsp Salt

Combine all ingredients together and refrigerate until ready to serve.


Sweet Corn and Black Bean Salsa

1 Tbl olive oil
1/4 cup yellow onion, minced
2 tsp garlic, minced
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cumin
1/4 tsp coriander
1/8 tsp dry oregano
1 1/2 cups fresh tomato concassee (or 1 can rotel tomatoes- 10 ounces)
1 cup canned black beans, drained and rinsed
1 cup fresh sweet corn cut from the cob
1/4 cup green onions, thinly sliced
2 tsp fresh lime juice

Place the olive oil in a small stainless steel sauce pot over medium heat. Add the onions, garlic, salt, cumin, coriander and oregano to the warm oil and cook for 5 minutes, stirring often to prevent burning. Add in the rotel tomatoes and allow the mixture to simmer for 2-3 minutes. Add in the black beans and corn and cook for 5 more minutes. Stir in the thinly sliced green onions and lime juice and remove from the heat.

Culinary Infidelity


I have been cheating on my wife.

It's true. I've been sneaking around behind her back, and lately my rendezvous' have been getting more frequent. I feel guilty and believe it’s time to air out my dirty laundry. This might seem like an odd forum to address marital infidelity, but I am not Catholic so this medium will have to serve as my confession.

Maybe I should clarify that another woman has nothing to do with my unfaithfulness. No. I have cheated on my wife with food.

Raw oysters are my mistress. My wife believes strongly that no one should eat raw oysters. She's read alarmist-authored articles and half-cocked studies that speak to the dangers of consuming raw oysters. I, on the other hand, grew up eating raw oysters. I love them.

One of the biggest disputes in our 20-year relationship was over raw oysters. After that I figured that it would be easier to stop eating them than to deal with the conflict— a man has to pick his battles.

Enter the paramour.

My Hattiesburg bar concept, The Mahogany Bar, began serving oysters on the half shell last year. Originally we were purchasing our oysters from P&J Oysters out of New Orleans. They are the gold standard for oysters. All of the great restaurants and oyster bars throughout New Orleans use P&J. They're great, but I was able to resist them and keep my marriage pure.

Then we changed our oyster supplier.

When we brought in the new company, I had to taste-test the new oysters. After all, I am the executive chef . I never thought we’d be able to best our original supplier. My marriage would be safe. I was wrong. The oysters were amazing. They were— by far— the best I had ever eaten. Plump, clean, salty, cold, and just the right size. I succumbed to the moment, gave in to temptation, and ate two dozen on the spot.

Remorse set in. I felt guilty, but I held on to the hope that this might have been a fluke, and that my time away from oysters had made my taste buds grow fonder. A few weeks later, walking through the bar, I noticed a bartender shucking a dozen. They looked so pretty. As I walked past they seemed to be giving me a siren call. I gave in to temptation again and ate another two dozen oysters to make sure that the first time wasn’t a fluke and that these oysters were, in fact, the most unbelievably tasty oysters on the planet. They were.

I put my staff on full alert. Be on the lookout for my wife. Give me the signal if she comes anywhere close to the building. I did whatever it took not to get caught with an oyster fork in my hand. I made sure not to come home with horseradish on my breath or the smell of cocktail sauce on my collar.

Before long my culinary infidelity intensified and I began having weekly oyster trysts in the afternoon. Then the trysts became more frequent. Now I am riddled with guilt and I have made half of my staff accomplices to my gastronomic adultery.

Recently, it’s gotten worse. I have been two-timing my wife AND my mollusky mistress. The courtesan: Mashed potatoes.

Over a month ago, my wife and I started a diet together. Potatoes and bread are not on the "allowed" food list. Unfortunately the beginning of the diet coincided with one of my restaurants— The Crescent City Grill— offering a great new side-dish: home-style mashed potatoes.

I love mashed potatoes. My grandmother made the best. They were light, and buttery with little lumps in them, hearty, wholesome, filling, real, comfort food. Our new home-style like-your-grandmother-used-to-make mashed potatoes replaced a roasted-garlic potato offering that I never liked. They are delicious. Whenever I eat our mashed potatoes, I post two servers at each door. “Tell me if you see her coming”

Lately, I’ve been thinking about keeping a secret apartment across town— a place to eat oysters on the half shell and mashed potatoes and sweet rolls and maybe even oyster-flavored sweet rolls on a bed of mashed potatoes. Is there a 12-step program for this? “Hi, my name is Robert, and I am a food philanderer.”


Fried Oyster Salad

4 Cups Iceberg Lettuce, cut into 2” squares
2 Cups Green Leaf Lettuce, cut into 2” squares
1/3 cup Roasted Red Bell Pepper, small dice
1 cup Shaved Red Cabbage
1/2 cup Bacon, cooked and chopped
1 cup Parmesan Cheese, grated into large shreds, divided
3/4 cup Red Onion, thinly shaved
4 Hard Boiled Eggs, chopped

Fried Oysters

32 Oysters, freshly shucked
2 cups Corn meal
1/4 cup Corn flour
2 tsp Salt
2 Tbl + 1 tsp Creole Seasoning (recipe page xx)
Peanut Oil for frying

Heat oil in cast iron skillet to 350 degrees.

Combine cornmeal, corn flour, salt and Creole seasoning. Drop oysters into cornmeal mixture and drop one at a time into hot oil. Fry until golden and crispy (approximately five minutes). Remove from oil and drain on paper towels. Hold in a 200 degree oven for 3-5 minutes while completing the assembly of the Salad


Comeback Sauce

1 cup mayonnaise
1/ 2 cup ketchup
1/ 2 cup chili sauce
1/ 2 cup cottonseed oil
1/ 2 cup yellow onion, grated
3 Tbl lemon juice
2 Tbl garlic, minced
1 Tbl paprika
1 Tbl water
1 Tbl Worcestershire
1 tsp pepper
1/ 2 tsp dry mustard
1 tsp salt

Combine all ingredients in a food processor and mix well.

Yield: 3 1/2 cups

To assemble the salad:

Place both lettuces, shredded cabbage, red bell peppers, chopped bacon and half of the parmesan cheese in a large mixing bowl. Toss the lettuce mixture with 1 1/2 cups of the comeback dressing. The lettuce should be lightly coated with the dressing (if you feel that the salad needs more dressing, add another 1/2 cup).

Divide the salad onto 8 serving plates/ Top each salad with a small amount of the remaining parmesan cheese, shaved red onion and chopped egg. Place four fried oysters on each salad and serve immediately.

Serve the remaining Comeback sauce in a side dish to be used as a dipping sauce for the oysters.

Yield 8 servings

Move Over, Ralph Lauren, The Burger King’s In Town


When I was a young boy, a neighbor asked if Santa was going to bring me everything on my Christmas wish list. I told her, “Yes.”

My mother jumped in and said, “Don’t be so sure, Robert. You know Santa keeps a naughty and nice list.”

To which I replied, “Well, I acted worse than this last year and still got everything I wanted.”

In 2008 I received everything I wanted for Christmas except a bottle of Burger King's meat-scented cologne, Flame.

I was hoping there would be a bottle of Flame in my stocking Christmas morning, but I must have been on the naughty list. That’s right, Burger King, the fast-food giant, has gotten into the fragrance business.

Flame, Burger King’s cologne for men, was released this fall and carries the tagline: "The scent of seduction with the hint of flame-broiled meat." It’s the truth, it’s actual, Burger King makes cologne. I am not joking. We have now reached a point in this Fast Food Nation where we are purchasing toiletries with a side of fries and an apple pie.

Who was the food-service executive that thought this would be a good idea? I haven’t visited a Burger King restaurant in a long time, but I wonder if they have gone the department store route and started posting a nicely dressed young woman at the end of the order counter with a tester bottle, “Double Whopper, hold the pickles, hold the lettuce, and would you like to try our new meat-scented cologne?”

“No thank you. I think I’ll just order some meat-scented meat, and eat it between two pieces of bread with mustard.”

I am not a cologne wearer. I mostly smell like soap. I have reached a point in my life where I don’t even need to purchase shampoo. Soap and a washcloth work just fine on both my hair and body. But if I did wear cologne, I wouldn’t wear one that smelled like meat, or fish, or any food product. I’d say, “Give me some of whatever Brad Pitt is wearing. That seems to work pretty well for him.”

What kind of woman is attracted to the smell of charred meat? I like beef. I eat a lot of it. A medium-rare prime, New York Strip is one of the greatest culinary joys in my life. Though I’m afraid that if I sprayed some of Burger King's cologne on me, I'd have Rottweilers chasing me down the street thinking I was an over-sized T-bone.

What's next? Underarm deodorant that smells like a fish sandwich? Mountain Dew-flavored mouthwash? Maybe other fast-food restaurants will get in on the act. Will we see Big Mac special-sauce shampoo?

Actually, if this marketing gimmick works, maybe I can pick a few items off of my menu for sale as personal grooming products. How about a Corn and Crab Bisque-scented cologne, or speckled trout after shave?

Will Burger King now get into the clothing business? Will cardboard crowns, polyester pants, and plastic name tags be the new black, or the new pink, or the new whatever is new?

For the purposes of this column, I went to the pharmacy next door to my office to see if I could purchase a bottle of Flame cologne. I wanted to give it a field test. I would spray some on, walk around my restaurant, and see if the ladies treated me differently. Unfortunately, my pharmacy only carries English Leather and Old Spice, so I’ll never know if the women of the world would have viewed me as the standard bearer of seduction with a hint of flame-broiled meat, or just another item on the lunch menu— hold the onions.



Mushroom-Swiss Burgers with Dijon-Horseradish Sauce

3 pounds Lean Ground Beef
1 Tbl Steak Seasoning
2 Tbl Unsalted butter
3 cups Sliced mushrooms
1 tsp Salt
1 tsp Fresh ground black pepper
6 1-oz Slices Swiss Cheese
6 Hamburger Buns
1/4 cup Unsalted Butter, melted
1 1/2 cup Fresh Spinach Leaves
6 Red Onion Slices
1 Recipe Dijon Horseradish Sauce

Divide the ground beef into six equal parts and form burger patties, approximately 1-1/2” thick.

Prepare the grill: Sprinkle the surface of the burgers with the steak seasoning. Cook over direct high heat for 8-10 minutes.

While the burgers are cooking:
Heat the butter in a medium sauté pan over high heat. Place mushrooms, salt, and pepper in the hot butter and sauté mushrooms for 6-7 minutes, stirring occasionally. Drain excess liquid.

While they are still on the grill, top each burger with one slice of each cheese. Divide the mushrooms evenly and place them atop the cheese. Close the lid on the grill and cook just until the cheese melts.

Brush the hamburger buns with the melted butted and toast on the grill over medium direct heat for 2-3 minutes.

Spread the Dijon mustard sauce on both sides of the bun. Place a burger on each bun and top with the fresh spinach leaves and red onions.

Yield: 6 Hamburgers


Dijon Horseradish Sauce

2 TBL Yellow mustard
1 /4 cup Prepared horseradish
3/4 cup Dijon mustard
1/4 cup Honey
2 Tbl Bourbon
1 Tbl Ketchup
1 Tbl Red wine vinegar
1 Tbl Parsley, chopped
1 tsp Fresh thyme, chopped
1 tsp Black pepper, freshly ground

Mix together all ingredients. For the best flavor, prepare and refrigerate the sauce a day in advance. Allow the sauce to reach room temperature before serving.

Yield: 1 1 /2 cups

Robert’s Top Ten 2008


Each year, my final column is a list of the top ten dining experiences I enjoyed over the previous twelve months. The list is never based on price or atmosphere. I believe that good food can be served in a fine-dining environment or in a run-down diner. The only considerations are good food and good friends, which always lead to a good time.

10.) Drago’s, New Orleans— Drago’s invented the charbroiled oyster and they do it better than anyone. The oysters are placed on the grill, doused with pepper and garlic-spiked butter, then topped with a mixture of parmesan and romano cheese, and doused with the butter again. The flames rise up and surround the oysters every time the butter is applied. The shells get charred and the oysters, smoky. Simple. Flavorful. Excellent.

9.) Table Fifty-Two, Chicago. Art Smith opened his signature restaurant in Chicago earlier this year. He serves updated Southern classics in the Windy City. The highlight of the meal came as a chef’s treat, amuse bouche— Art’s Drop Biscuits with Goat Cheese and Parmesan. Of all the meals I have eaten, in all of the cities, and all of the fine dining restaurants over the years, this meal will go down as the first time I have ever requested seconds on an amuse bouche.

8.) The Modern, New York— Danny Meyer is the most talented restaurateur in the country. The Modern is located on the first floor of the Museum of Modern Art and the food’s presentation is as artful as the works hanging in the galleries above. The Chilled Maine Lobster Salad with Soy Sprouts and Button Mushrooms in a Lobster Vinaigrette was a highlight, as was the Chorizo-Crusted Chatham Cod with White Coco Bean Puree and Harissa Oil. Long live Mr. Meyer.

7.) Frontera Grill, Chicago— For those who love Mexican food, Frontera Grill is the American Mecca. Bayless knows more about Mexican food, Mexican ingredients, and Mexican culinary customs than 99% of the chefs in Mexico. He is truly a student of the cuisine. I ate the best guacamole I’ve ever eaten and a ceviche that was out-of-this world.

6.) Balthazar, New York— I usually eat at Balthazar in SoHo for late-night, post-theatre meals. A lot of the city’s chefs hang out there after work. Breakfast at Balthazar is great. The bustle feels more like “New York” than any other place I visit. The Scrambled Eggs in Puff Pastry with Wild Mushrooms and Asparagus are almost worth the three-hour flight, alone.

5.) Blackberry Farm, Walland, TN— Every meal eaten over a four-day visit. Blackberry Farm is the most civilized 4,200 acres on the planet. The Beall family has fostered an environment in which the organization’s sole purpose is to cater to guest’s every whim. Nothing goes unnoticed at Blackberry Farm. My wife and I dropped our kids off at summer camp in Arkansas and headed east to Blackberry Farm— summer camp for adults.

4.) Nobu 57 New York— Nobu Matsuhisa is the ninja master of sushi. The original New York restaurant, Nobu, is a tough ticket, but Nobu 57 is an easily made reservation, and the food is just as good. The Yellowtail Sashimi with Jalapeño is a signature dish and not to be missed. The miso-glazed fish craze started here. The surprise hit of the dinner— though slightly out of place on a Japanese menu— were the crab and ceviche miniature tacos.

3.) Bouchon, Las Vegas— I have eaten at Thomas Keller’s homage to the French bistro several times. This trip I was in town for one reason only— to take my two children to see Cirque du Soleil’s Beatles Love. The dinner was great. The show was great. The company was beyond great.

2.) Restaurant August, New Orleans— I hosted a dinner for 14 of my friends in Chef John Besh’s former office, upstairs at August. The highlight of the meal for me was the fellowship, but the Slow-Roasted Kobe Beef Short Rib with Salsify, Potato Gnocchi, and Black Truffle came in a very close second.

1.) Gwyn’s High Alpine Lodge, Snowmass, CO— My six-year old son and I took a father-son ski trip together. It was the first time the two guys had taken a trip without the two girls. After a few days of lessons he and I spent all day— just the two of us— skiing down the mountain. We stopped for lunch and I had a bowl of vegetable soup. It was the best soup meal I have ever eaten. Actually, the soup itself was average; the company and the setting were wonderful. That day was filled with several of my all-time greatest memories.



Art Smith's Drop Biscuits with Goat Cheese and Parmesan Recipe

2 cups self-rising flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

4 tablespoons cold butter

4 tablespoons goat cheese

1 cup buttermilk, plus extra butter, to grease pan and top biscuits

1/4 cup freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese

1. Preheat oven to 425°F Place one 10-inch cast-iron pan into the oven while it is preheating. Place flour, salt, baking soda and baking powder into a medium-sized bowl. Cut in the butter and goat cheese. Make a well in the middle of the ingredients and pour in the buttermilk. Stir until the mixture is moistened, adding an extra tablespoon of buttermilk if needed.

2. Remove the hot skillet from the oven and place a tablespoon of butter into it. When the butter has melted, drop 1/4 cupfuls of batter into the pan, (use a muffin scoop to drop the batter if you have one). Brush the tops of the biscuits with melted butter. Bake from 14–16 minutes until browned on the top and bottom. Remove from the oven and sprinkle with the grated cheese. Enjoy warm!

Eggnog


I am not a fan of eggnog.

I quit drinking alcohol over two decades ago, but that has nothing to do with my dislike of eggnog. I could drink the non-alcoholic variety if I wanted to; I just never developed a taste for it.

Earlier today, while watching a football game, my 11-year old daughter came to me and said, "Daddy I don't like eggnog."

"I don't either, sweetie," I said. I thought her statement seemed somewhat random, but I assumed her mother had bought a carton of non-alcoholic eggnog at the store earlier in the day and she drank some.

"Your mother loves eggnog," I said.

"It's pretty bad. How does she drink it?"

"I don't know. She's just always liked it," I said. Then I began to worry that one of our friends might have delivered a Christmas bottle full of spiked eggnog as a Christmas happy for my wife, and my daughter drank some of it while her mother was taking a nap. “What kind of eggnog did you drink, sweetie?"

"The carton said Egg Beaters," she said.

"What?"

"Egg Beaters. It's awful."

I quickly told her that she had not, in fact, drank eggnog, but a carton of an egg substitute product that I sometimes use on my current diet.

"How do you drink that stuff?" she asked.

"Well, sweetie, I don't drink it, I cook it." She looked relieved.

Believe it or not, she's a very intelligent girl. Though I am not sure why she thought Egg Beaters were eggnog. The words “beaters” and “nog” have nothing in common. The Egg Beaters carton doesn’t have a poinsettia on it. I don’t even know what a “nog” is.

As long as she keeps making good grades in school I’ll let this one slide and write it off to holiday enthusiasm.

Eggnog is made with milk, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, some type of alcohol— bourbon, whiskey, brandy, or rum— and eggs. It’s the egg part that gets me. There is something about drinking raw eggs and milk that doesn't appeal to me. I can eat a soft-boiled egg, but I do so with toast or biscuits, not milk. Like Egg Beaters, the combination of eggs, sugar, and milk should always be cooked. Custard = good. Eggnog = Bad.

For those who want whiskey, it seems much easier to just pour some in a glass over ice and dispense with the milk and egg.

In the first Rocky movie, the title character woke up every morning and drank a few raw eggs before he went out on his morning jog through the streets of Philadelphia. Maybe my daughter has seen the movie. Maybe she was inspired by the drive and determination of Rocky Balboa. Maybe it was the Bill Conti score, who knows? Maybe she’s opting for a 21st Century sixth-grade version of Rocky and drinking a healthier alternative—Egg Beaters— before she jogs through the streets of Hattiesburg.

One thing’s for certain, in the future, I’ll bet she starts paying closer attention to product labels.



Lava Lamps

1 3-ounce package instant gelatin mix (red or blue)
1 cup boiling water
1 cup vodka
1 (750 milliliter) bottle champagne, chilled
In a medium bowl, stir together the gelatin mix and boiling water until completely dissolved, about 2 minutes. Stir in vodka. Pour the liquid into small paper cups or portion cups. Chill until set, at least 2 hours.

Pour champagne into champagne flutes. Break up the gelatin in the paper cups with a fork, and drop pieces into the champagne.

We Wish You A Figgy Christmas


A group of Christmas carolers stopped by my house last night.

I like the whole caroling thing, but I often worry about the family of unsuspecting foreigners who might have just moved into the neighborhood from a faraway land with divergent customs. I wonder what they must think when they open their front door and two dozen happy people, dressed in wool sweaters in 72-degree weather, begin belting out random songs with no preliminary forewarning.

Last night’s carolers ended their five-song set with the obligatory Christmas carol encore of “Free Bird.” Actually it was “We Wish You A Merry Christmas.” And as I sit here trying to write this column, I find it hard to focus on my topic. I can’t get the words “figgy pudding” out of my head.

I looked up the lyrics this morning:

Oh bring us a figgy pudding;
Oh bring us a figgy pudding;
Oh bring us a figgy pudding and a cup of good cheer.

Last night I thought they were singing, “Oh bring us a figgy pudding and bring it right here.” I was a little offended. It’s not every day that a group of strangers show up at your house during Sunday Night Football demanding fruit dessert.

Though, after looking up the lyrics, I am more troubled. I found out what they were really looking for was “a cup of good cheer,” which led me to believe that this group of carolers were most likely Episcopalian. I didn’t have enough booze in my liquor cabinet for 24 thirsty Episcopalians so— in the end— it’s good that I misheard the lyric. Had my mom been there she would have given them a dollar and told them to make sure and spend it on food.

Nevertheless, a melodious demand for fruit pudding and booze while someone’s watching football is overtly rude.

The problem is that I don’t know anything about figgy pudding. I eat for a living. I’m good at it. Eating is going to put my kids through college, but I don’t believe that I have ever eaten anything that was figgy.

The name itself is silly. “Figgy” is not really a word, is it? “Fig-like” seems better, maybe even “fig-style,” but figgy sounds like a cruel nickname given to an introverted fat kid by the fourth-grade bully.

No one has ever given me a figgy pudding, and I’m not sure I would eat it if they did. My friend Gene Saucier makes the best fig preserves I have ever tasted. He brought me some last week. He didn’t sing a song, or ask for a cup of hootch, he just said, “Here’s some fig preserves,” and I said, “Thank you.”

Correction, it is a word. I just looked it up: figgy [fig-ee]— adjective, containing figs: a figgy cake (origin 1540-1550).

Actually, I think “Figgy” comes from the Latin word “Figgusius,” meaning, “I want some damn pudding, and I want it now, bring it at this instant— with some whiskey— or I will continue to sing on your front porch.”

The most awkward moment in the Christmas carol/home-owner routine is always at the end. Last night— once they finished singing— they just looked at me. I looked back at them and thanked them, they said “Merry Christmas,” I returned the sentiment, they looked back at me, and I said “Merry Christmas” again. They kept looking and I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t sure if they wanted to come in, or if they wanted me to join them at their next stop. I just said, “thank you,” once again and closed the door.

Sitting here, it occurs to me that they might have been serious. Maybe their demand for figgy pudding was genuine and resolute. Maybe they did, in fact, want a 16th Century fig-like dessert.

Note: To those carolers who stopped by my house during the Cowboys-Giants game, please come back. I don’t have any figgy pudding, but I will certainly share a few of my son’s Fig Newtons with all of you (as long as there’s no football game on).



Foie Gras with Toasted Brioche, Fig Relish and reduced Port Wine Glaze

1 lb. Foie Gras cut into 2 ounce slices
1 1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/4 tsp fresh ground black pepper
8 Slice Fresh Brioche, crusts removed and cut in half on a diagonal
1 recipe Fig Relish
1 Recipe Port Wine Glaze

Preheat oven to 450

Arrange the brioche on a baking sheet.

Season the foie gras with the salt and black pepper. Heat a large, non-stick skillet over high heat and arrange the foie gras in the skillet so they do not touch. Cook 45 seconds. Carefully turn each piece over and cook for 1-2 minutes. Turn off the heat.
Place the brioche in the oven to toast.

To serve, place one piece of the brioche toast on each serving plate, top with one piece of the cooked foie gras. Top each piece of foie gras with 2 tsp of the fig relish. Drizzle the plate with the port wine glaze and serve immediately. Yield: 8 servings.


Fig Relish

1 Tbl butter
2 Tbl minced shallots
1 1/2 cups Figs from fig preserves, small dice
2 Tbl brown sugar
2 Tbl sherry vinegar
2 Tbl minced celery
2 Tbl small diced red peppers
1/2 tsp fresh thyme leave, chopped
salt and pepper to taste

Melt the butter over low heat in a small sauce pot. Cook the shallots for 3 minutes. Add in the diced figs and brown sugar. Cook 5-6 minutes, stirring often to prevent sticking and burning. Add in the sherry vinegar, celery and red bell peppers and lower the heat. Cook for 10 minutes, stirring often. Add thyme, salt and black pepper and remove from heat. Best if made a day or two in advance. When ready to use, warm it slowly in a small sauté pan over a low heat. Yield: 1 1/2 cups

Port Wine Glaze

1 cup chicken stock
1 Tbl brown sugar
1 cup port wine
2 tsp balsamic vinegar

Place all ingredients in a small sauce pot. Simmer and reduce until mixture forms a thick syrup. Yield: One quarter cup

Give Me Some Skin Big Ganny


During the first 20 years of my life I never encountered a boneless, skinless chicken breast.

When I was a child, all chicken came under cellophane with bone and skin attached. The drumstick, the breast, the thigh, and even the wing, all had skin and bones. That’s the way God intended chicken to be sold and fried. Read it, it’s in the Bible somewhere. I think in one of those obscure Old Testament chapters like Amos or Obadiah.

True story: The first time I ever saw a boneless skinless chicken offering, I was at a restaurant on a date. The girl I was with asked, "How do they walk around without any bones, and don't they get cold without any skin?" For the record, she wasn't blonde, but she was very, very pretty.

I was having dinner with a group last week when a friend posed the question: "Where do you suppose they are hiding all of that chicken skin?"

It was a good question. There's so much boneless, skinless chicken being sold, they've got to be storing all of that skin somewhere. The skin is the best-tasting part. It truly is— crunchy, crispy, salt-and-pepper laden, tasty chicken skin. It’s the greatest component of fried chicken.

In the poultry section at my local grocery store, I conducted an extremely scientific survey which proved that 47.62% of chicken available for sale is sold without bones and skin. Which means almost half of the world’s chicken skin is just hanging around the butcher department in limbo, lonely, and without a mission.

Restaurants whose primary offering is fried boneless, skinless chicken breast strips are popping up all over the place. They’re the “in” thing with teenagers and twentysomethings. I don’t want to eat a chicken’s fingers and I certainly don’t want to eat his nuggets. I demand skin on my chicken and I want dark meat, too. Where has all of the dark meat gone? I want dark meat. I want it to have skin and bones, and I want it now.

Save me the but-all-of-the-fat-is-in-the-skin argument. Most people who are eating fast food don't give a rooster's beak about fat. How does one explain 15 years of chicken strip-only restaurants and 60 years of Baskin Robbins? The Baskin Robbins Heath Bar Shake has 2,300 calories and 108 grams of fat! Trust me, fat is not an issue in that segment of the restaurant biz.

I want to open a restaurant that serves only fried chicken skin. Of course there will have to be some type of sauce to dip the fried chicken skin into— comeback sauce (the ultimate condiment)— and two side orders. No fries or cole slaw like the traditional chicken strip places. How about tater tots and applesauce? Granted, applesauce isn’t very popular and doesn't fit in with the concept, but I like applesauce, and, after all, it's my fried chicken-skin restaurant, isn’t it.

I once knew a lady whose grandchildren called her "Big Ganny," no "r" just Ganny. She made excellent fried chicken, yet the only part of the chicken her grandchildren would eat was the skin. Smart kids. "Give me some skin Big Ganny," they would say. I think I'll call my fried chicken-skin concept Big Ganny's Chicken Skin Palace.

And after I open Big Ganny’s Chicken Skin Palace, I’m going after Hooters. I will open a chain of restaurants which serve only spicy Buffalo chicken thighs with the skin on. I’ll call the place Buffalo Thighs. Or maybe I’ll purchase land across the street from Hooters and hire a lot of diminutively chested waitresses and call it Peepers. Equal time for all, I say.

Either way, I’ll be serving my bird with the skin on. It’s the best-tasting part. The rest just tastes like chicken.


Chicken Jambalaya

2 pounds andouille sausage, or any mild smoked pork sausage, sliced about 1/4 inch thick
3 pounds chicken thigh meat, cut into 1 1/2 inch pieces
1 TBL Creole seasoning
2 cups yellow onion, medium dice
1 1/2 cups celery, medium dice
1 1/2 cup green bell pepper, medium dice

2 TBL fresh garlic, minced
1 tsp dry thyme
3 bay leaves
1 pound long grain rice
1 – 14 ounce can diced tomatoes
1 TBL Worcestershire sauce
1 TBL hot sauce
1 quart + 1 cup chicken broth, heated
1 Tbl kosher salt


Heat a large heavy duty cast iron skillet or Dutch oven (2-gallon capacity) on high heat.
Place the sausage in the hot skillet and brown it evenly. Stir often to prevent burning. When the sausage is browned, carefully remove the excess fat. Season the chicken with the Creole seasoning and add it to the skillet, cooking it in the remaining sausage fat (you might need to add a little Canola oil). Brown the chicken evenly and cook it for 20 minutes. Add in the onion, celery and bell pepper and lower the heat to medium. Cook for 10 minutes, stirring often. Add in the garlic, thyme and bay leaves and cook for 5 more minutes. Stir in the rice and cook until the rice grains are hot. Add in the canned tomatoes, Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce and chicken broth. Stir the mixture well to prevent the rice from clumping together. Lower the heat until the Jambalaya is just barely simmering and cover. Cook for 30 minutes.

Yield: 12-14 servings

Newk’s Evil Chocolate Cake



I am on a diet.

A diet is a serious problem for someone in the restaurant business. It also poses a predicament with my second day job— being a food writer— which requires, at a minimum, eating a lot of food and then writing about it.

There are several food items I miss. Most of them have to do with bread in one way or another. I love cake. I miss cake. I especially love chocolate cake, and I especially miss chocolate cake.

My favorite chocolate cake is served at Newk’s Express Cafe. It’s better than my grandmother’s, which for me, is a solemn statement. I’ve never said that about anything.

Newk’s chocolate cake is evil. I suggest you never eat it. Don’t do it. You’ll be hooked. It’s addictive.

I don’t know what they call it at Newk’s, probably just “chocolate cake.” I call it “evil.” I really do. When I order it I say, “Give me some of that evil chocolate cake.” And they do. And I eat it. I have had that exchange over and over for the last several years, which is why I am currently eating chicken breasts and broccoli and dreaming of cake.

My son loves it, too. When we have dinner at another restaurant in town, we often stop at Newk’s for dessert and take their evil chocolate cake home. That is, unless we ate dinner at Newk’s, this makes it much easier to just eat the cake there.

Don’t eat Newk’s chocolate cake. Just say no. Be strong. If you fail to heed this warning, don’t email or call me from the Newk’s Chocolate Cake Rehab Center, because I’ll just say, “I told you so.” And when you wind up on a non-cake eating diet because you ate way, way, way, way too much chocolate cake don’t say that I didn’t warn you.

The Newcomb family hires a woman in New Albany, MS to make all of their cakes. She currently makes over 1,200 cakes every month, though that number might have changed by a few hundred since I have gone on this diet.

I have never met this woman, but I often picture her as an angelic, Godiva-like figure in flowing chocolate-brown robes who floats around her production kitchen, a halo glowing around her head, sprinkling magic-tasting cocoa-flavored fairy dust all over her chocolate cakes. If I were a single man, I would marry her tomorrow, sight unseen.

Newk’s also serves strawberry, pineapple, caramel, banana nut, and carrot cake on a rotating basis. They’re all good. But when you eat a slice of the others, you just feel like you’re eating a slice of cake— nice, moist, make-you-happy cake. When you’re eating Newk’s chocolate cake you feel like your sinning. In an instant, you become a sinful, sinning, sinner with a leftover dab of sin-filled chocolate on your nose and an empty glass of milk in your hand. Amen.

Trust me, don’t ever order a slice of Newk’s chocolate cake. Look at it, analyze it, admire it, maybe take a sniff or two. Whatever you do, don’t order it. If you surrender to temptation, or accidentally order it and it ends up on your table by chance, be a nice guy and give it to a friend. They’ll love you forever. Just don’t take that first bite. Don’t do it.

I love cake. I miss cake. I love moist cake and rich chocolaty icing. I love the chocolaty, chocolate-filled, chocoliffic, chocolateness (my words).

I am eating asparagus and gulping down low-carb protein shakes but I’m dreaming of chocolate cake and an ice cold glass of whole milk.

As of today, I’m 20 pounds down and have 20 more to go. I plan to act sensibly when choosing foods and quantities once I give up this diet and start eating regularly.

The first food item I plan to eat—you guessed it— Newk’s chocolate cake. That moist, chocolaty, three-layer slice of evil on a plate that helped put me in this position in the first place. I can’t wait



Robert’s Chocolate Cake

Cake: 1 3/4 cake flour 3/4 cup cocoa (preferable Dutch processed) 2 teaspoons baking soda 1 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt 2 eggs 2 cups sugar 3/4 cup melted butter 1 cup buttermilk 1 cup brewed coffee, at room temperature 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
.
To make the Cake: Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly butter 2 (9-inch) cake pans and line with parchment. Butter the parchment and flour pans, shaking out the excess.
Sift together flour, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Reserve.

In a mixer with a whip attachment, beat eggs and sugar until thick and lemon-colored. Beat in the melted butter. Alternately add dry ingredients with buttermilk, scraping the bowl once or twice. Add the coffee and vanilla to form a thin batter. Divide between prepared cake pans.

Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cake comes out clean, about 40 to 45 minutes. Cool in pan for 15 minutes. Invert onto cooling racks, peel off paper and cool completely.

When cool, split each cake in half with a serrated slicing knife. Freeze the layers for 1 hour before assembling the finished cake. Make the filling and icing while the layers are freezing.

Place the first layer on a cake serving dish and spread a thin layer of the filling evenly over the cake. Repeat this process until you have the layers assembled, spread the icing over the top layer and around the sides.

Filling:
1 1/2 cups semisweet chocolate pieces
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
3/4 cup powdered sugar

Place the chocolate in a double boiler and heat until completely melted. While the chocolate melts, use an electric mixer with a wire whip attachment to beat together the cream cheese and powdered sugar. Beat until it is light and fluffy. Allow the melted chocolate to cool slightly, then drizzle it into the cream cheese mixture and continue beating until the filling is cool. This spreads best if used immediately.

Icing:
6 ounces unsweetened chocolate
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
4 cups powdered sugar
1 cup sour cream
1 Tbl vanilla extract

Melt the chocolate over a double boiler. Use an electric mixer with a wire whip attachment to cream together the butter and powdered sugar. Add the melted chocolate and vanilla extract and beat until light and fluffy. As with the filling, this spreads best if used immediately.

Three Mississippi Girls (and one man)


The holiday shopping free-for-all has begun. The retail craziness used to start the day after Thanksgiving, these days shopkeepers begin gearing up the week before Halloween.

No one knows what effect the economy will have on this Christmas season, but one thing is for sure: Whatever happens in 2009, we’ll still be eating.

Consider this column an addendum to your holiday season shopping list. Cookbooks are the perfect gift for men and women alike. My publisher says that most people who purchase cookbooks don’t cook out of cookbooks. Most people read cookbooks as one would a novel— cover to cover— and dream about what they would like to cook (or rather what they’d like to eat). With that in mind, here is a list of must-have cookbooks for this holiday season.

At Home Café by Helen Puckett DeFrance with Carol Puckett (Rodale $32.50)— Veteran cooking teacher, DeFrance focuses on what matters most to me: Food, friends, and family. This book is an essential must-have volume for the modern home cook. For those on the go and for those with time on their hands At Home Café will be your go-to guide.

The book lists menus which cover all aspects of our lives, from tea parties to potluck game nights and everything in between. DeFrance’s book is worth the cover price for the Old Fashioned Lasagna recipe, alone. At Home Cafe is loaded with helpful hints and good ideas to make cooking for friends and family easy and more enjoyable.

We have grown too accustomed to pulling up to the drive-through window, grabbing a paper sack, taking it home and eating it on the TV tray in front of the TV. That's not supper. DeFrance knows supper and her new book is the bible.

Screen Doors and Sweet Tea by Martha Foose (Potter $32.50)— I buy, and recieve, hundreds of cookbooks each year. This might be the best cookbook I purchased this year. My publisher says that if someone cooks six recipes out of a cookbook, it is a major success. The first time I thumbed through Foose's book, there were several dozen recipes I wanted to prepare.

Foose got her start at the La Brea Bakery in Los Angeles, and moved on to several bakeries in Mississippi. However, where Foose shines in this, her first publishing effort, is on the savory courses that take place well before dessert— Inside Out Sweet Potatoes, Lady Pea Salad, and Chicken Thighs and Dumplings to list just a few.

From the banana pudding she cooked for Oprah (in individual Mason jars) to Catfish in a Paper Sack, the book is filled with recipes new, true, and Southern

Crazy Sista Cooking by Lucy Anne Buffett (Wimmer 29.95)— Born in Mississippi, Jimmy Buffett's sister, and owner of Lu Lu's in Gulf Shores, AL, released this cookbook in 2007, but I only discovered it a few weeks ago. Lucy Anne Buffett gives recipes from her restaurant and several menus from her family and friends. The foreword is written by her famous brother, Jimmy, the recipes are easy and uncomplicated, and the stories are out of the ordinary and entertaining.

New South Grilling by Me (Hyperion $29.95)— I almost didn't include my book because it would seem like a blatant attempt at self-promotion, maybe it is. Nevertheless, my seventh book in six years is a solid compilation and it might just transform the way you cook on the grill (it also might help pay my kids' college tuition).

After all, grilling in Mississippi is not just a summer thing. The average Christmas Day temperature in my hometown of Hattiesburg is 61-degrees— Bring on the brisket!

We are living in tight financial times and I would encourage everyone to support the local independent booksellers in their hometown. One of the greatest joys I have experienced in this second career which seems to have blossomed out of nowhere over the last several years is getting to know and befriend local independent booksellers in towns and cities all across the south. They are on the front lines every day, fighting the good fight and leading in the battle of the bookshelves.

Happy holidays and happy shopping!

Jill’s Holiday Cranberry Sauce

12 oz. bag Fresh Cranberries
1 cup Port Wine
1 /2 cup White sugar
1 /2 cup Brown Sugar
1 /2 cup Orange Juice
2 tsp Cornstarch
2 Tbl Cold Water

Combine cranberries, port, sugars and orange juice in a sauté pan and simmer over medium heat for 20-30 minutes or until the cranberries become soft. Separately, mix the cornstarch with the cold water then add it to the cranberry mixture. Turn up heat to a heavy simmer and continue to cook, stirring well, for another 5-10 minutes. Serve warm.

Free My Fine-Feathered Friends!
Tuducken… the campaign begins


Thanksgiving is almost here and anyone within 100 miles of the Louisiana border will soon be hearing long-winded and glowing tributes to one of the world’s strangest culinary oddities— the turducken.

A turducken is deboned turkey, which has a deboned duck stuffed inside it, and just in case that wasn’t enough poultry for one sitting, the duck has a deboned chicken stuffed inside of it. More simply, if you take the time to stuff a duck with a chicken, and then stuff both of those inside a turkey and bake it, you have a turducken. Often there is a cornbread dressing layered between the triple threat of stuffed birds.

Louisianans love a turducken. They sell them in grocery stores, they offer them in back-bayou butcher shops, they take them to the homes of grieving families, and they certainly serve them at Thanksgiving.

There are two schools of thought as to the origin of the turducken. Some say that Chef Paul Prudhomme is the inventor of the turducken. I am a great admirer of Prudhomme. He is one of my culinary heroes. If he did, in fact, invent the turducken, I am willing to give him a pass based solely on the quality of his jambalaya, which is the best to be found anywhere, no question.

Others believe that Herbert’s Specialty Meats in Maurice, LA was the original fowl offender. I like to believe this version, not because I have malice towards Herbert, but I want to believe that Chef Paul would never make such a huge culinary misstep and invent a dish that is so vile.

I am not a fan of the turducken. Even the name is unappetizing. I prefer to call it, Death by Poultry. Ultimately, it’s not a sound culinary concept. The outer-layer of the turkey dries out when one tries to cook the inner-layer chicken all the way through, and the mushiness of the dressing doesn’t bode well for the texture profile of the dish.

Most of Louisiana’s heritage dishes— gumbo, etouffee, jambalaya, and Shrimp Creole— are well over 100 years old. The best I can figure, whether it was Paul or Herbert, the turducken has only been in existence for 25 years. It’s not too late to turn back, people. The campaign starts today— No Turduckens in ’09.

The turducken’s inspiration probably came from a French dish, Rôti Sans Pareil, or "Roast without equal." This particular affront to ornithology was cooked and served at a French royal feast in the early 1800s and consists of 17 layers of birds stuffed inside other birds. It starts with a bustard (a large and ugly European bird), stuffed with a turkey, stuffed with a goose, stuffed with a pheasant, followed by (in order): chicken, duck, guinea fowl, teal, woodcock, partridge, plover, lapwing, quail, thrush, lark, Ortolan Bunting, Garden Warbler, and finally an olive. “No thanks, Pierre. I’ve had all of the lapwing and Garden Warbler I can stand, could you please pass the olive?”

The Roast Without Equal sounds like something my friends and I would have tried to create in the small kitchen of my college apartment at two in the morning. It’s a dish that— after a lot of alcohol and such— sounds like a good idea, but ends up being way too much work and ill-conceived in the closing stages. When inspiration strikes that late in the day, it’s usually better to just go to sleep.

Happy silver anniversary turducken, and good riddance.



Whole Roasted Citrus Chicken

Brine:
1 quart water
1 cup sugar
1/3 cup kosher salt
1 Tbl black pepper, freshly ground
2 oranges
2 lemons
2 limes

1 whole chicken, 3 1/2-4 pounds

1 orange, cut into quarters
1 lemon, cut into quarters
1 lime, cut into quarters
1/2 cup yellow onion, small dice
1 tsp fresh garlic minced
1 Tbl fresh thyme, chopped
2-3 Tbl olive oil
2 tsp poultry seasoning (page xxx)
1 Tbl fresh ground black pepper

Place the water, sugar, salt and black pepper in a saucepot and bring to a simmer to dissolve sugar and salt. Remove from heat. Using a vegetable peeler, remove only the outer skin from the first 2 oranges, lemons and limes, be careful not to get any of the pith (white part of the peel). Add the peelings to the brine. Squeeze all of the juice from the peeled citrus and add the juice to the brine. Place the brine in the refrigerator and allow to cool completely.

Remove giblets and neck from the chicken and submerge the chicken in the brine. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

Remove chicken from the brine and, using a paper towel, dry all surfaces of the chicken, including the cavity area.

Combine the orange, lemon and lime with the diced onions, minced garlic and fresh thyme. Stuff the citrus-onion mixture into the cavity of the chicken.

Brush the skin of the chicken with olive oil and sprinkle the skin with poultry seasoning and black pepper. Tie the legs together, and bend the wings back to secure them.

Prepare the grill. Cook with the breast side up over indirect medium heat until the juices run clear, or until an internal temperature of 170 degrees at the thickest part of the thigh is reached, approximately 1 1/4- 1 1/2 hours.

Place the chicken on a cutting board and allow it to rest for 10-12 minutes before carving.
Serve hot.

Yield: 4 servings

Haggis

I have often written that if I ever visited Scotland, I would eat haggis.

I have never been to Scotland, but I can now say that I have eaten haggis.

Yesterday, my family and I attended the 23rd Scottish Highland Games and Celtic Music Festival on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. A friend was competing in the Highland Games portion of the event, so we traveled to Gulfport looking forward to watching the competition.

The festival was filled with activities and food. There were pale men in plaid skirts throwing rocks. There were pale men in plaid skirts playing bagpipes. There were pale men in plaid skirts herding sheep, and there were pale men in plaid skirts selling plaid skirts to other pale men.

There was also a story-telling stage with an open mic. I thought about getting up on the stage and telling the story of my most recent challenge as the parent of a second-grade boy.

Story: Two days ago my seven-year old son was playing on the swing set during recess and fell out of the swing. The problem: His pants stayed in the swing. Typically that wouldn't be too big of a crisis, unless the son in question doesn't like to wear underwear. He apparently spent a few seconds buck-naked on the playground, but the event wasn't a big enough deal to him when recounting the day's activities to his mother. "I made an A on my quiz, I had chicken for lunch, I played wallball at recess, and that's about it."

If I fell to the ground, naked, in front of my peers, it would take me years to get over. I have nightmares about it, today and it’s never even happened. He barely even remembered it when the teacher relayed the story. Maybe we need to send him to school in a kilt.

I had never attended a Scottish-themed event. Scottish festivals might be a great place to watch time-honored sporting events, to learn about one’s family crest, or hear Celtic music, but it's the last place one should visit when hoping to eat good food.

If you want food, go to the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival or the Austin City Limits Music Festival. Never, I repeat never, go to an event which draws its culinary inspiration from any corner of the British Isles.

There were fried Mars bars, a culinary creation born in Scotland, Angus burgers (not so bad), and the ever-present funnel cake (an American creation, but more than likely a Scottish-American creation). My children ate Scotch Eggs for the first time.

A Scotch Egg is a hard-boiled egg covered with a layer of sausage, then battered and fried. They liked it. Go figure.


I visited Hamish's Kitchen, a booth that served haggis. I eat for a living so thought I'd give it a shot. Haggis is sheep's lungs, heart, and liver mixed with oatmeal, onion, and beef fat. It looks like a blackish gray porridge-from-hell and smells like dirty gym socks. Actually, that description would be doing dirty gym socks a disservice. Haggis smells like… well, just think of the worst thing you have ever smelled and then triple it. That, my friends, is haggis.

I have eaten many peculiar food items in my 28-year restaurant and writing career, and up until now, chitlins have been the main offender. Folks, chitlins taste like a sweet, moist slice of chocolate cake when compared to haggis.

I took one bite (actually one-half of one bite) and thought I was going to lose it on the spot. The couple working the booth— the evil people who sold me the haggis in the first place— were laughing. How cruel, I thought, for them to make this evil gruel, ask honest people to pay money for it, and then laugh while I gnarled my face in pain and distaste while eating their concoction.

I love the Scots. I know I’ll love visiting Scotland one day. Paul McCartney has land there. Braveheart is one of my favorite movies. Celtic Festivals are a blast, but haggis should forever stay on the other side of the pond.


Robert’s Deviled Eggs

1 dozen Eggs, hard boiled, peeled and cut in half, lengthwise
2 tsp. White balsamic vinegar
1 /3 cup Mayonnaise
1 /4 cup Sour cream
1 TBL pickle relish
1 1 /2 tsp Salt
1 Tbl Creole Mustard
2 tsp yellow mustard
1 /8 tsp white pepper
1 /8 tsp Garlic, granulated
Paprika and fresh parsley to garnish (optional)

Remove the yolks from the hard cooked eggs and place in a mixing bowl. Add all ingredients and beat with an electric mixer until smooth. Use a pastry bag to fill the egg whites. Sprinkle with paprika fresh parsley.
Yield: 24

Hibachi


My family eats at the neighborhood hibachi restaurant, often.

Actually, what we Americans have come to know as "hibachi" is actually teppanyaki-style cooking. A hibachi is a small, portable grill like the ones I used on my apartment balcony during a very lengthy and tenuous college career.

Teppanyaki-style cooking is done on a flattop griddle in front of guests who are seated around the cooking surface. Usually salad and soup (or broth) are served first. Vegetables and rice are cooked on the flattop. The customary protein choices are chicken, steak, and shrimp. They are cooked quickly with minimal accoutrements and maximum flair. Many restaurants offer scallops, lobster, and several different cuts of steak.

You know the drill— lots of fire, fancy knife work, the onion volcano, the flying egg in the chef hat, and the novelty soy sauce squeeze bottle which the chef uses to squirt a brown string at unsuspecting guests (I fall for that one every time).

Teppanyaki-style eating is somewhat healthy as long as you don't have a problem with rice. There is a small amount of fat used when cooking the protein and a substantial amount of soy sauce used when preparing the rice, but for the most part, when compared with other styles of restaurant cooking, it's healthy and flavorful.

For the remainder of this column I will refer to teppanyaki-style cooking as "hibachi" because that has become the American moniker.

For me, the "show" in a hibachi restaurant comes in a distant second to the food. Once you've seen the routine for the third or fourth time it becomes stale. I like dining at our neighborhood hibachi restaurant because we can walk in, sit down immediately, and begin eating. My kids love it, it's fast, it's healthy, and it's good. If I want less soy sauce or rice, I tell them.

Several years ago we visited a hibachi restaurant with a PG-13 rated hibachi chef. He had a very thick accent and the children couldn't understand him, but he discussed some pretty inappropriate stuff— I think. I could catch every sixth or seventh word and it was like a bad Saturday Night Live skit filled with sexual innuendos and heavily accented dirty jokes.

He had no filter or concept of “child appropriate.” He laughed long and loudly at his jokes which made everyone else laugh, which made him think everyone was laughing at the jokes and not his laughing, and the vicious cycle continued around and around.

An inappropriate hibachi chef is much better than what I— this very second— witnessed. While writing the previous paragraph, my seven-year old son walked through the room singing television’s “Viva Viagra” jingle to the tune of Elvis' "Viva Las Vegas." Thankfully he has no clue, and I’m not about to enlighten him. Unfortunately there is no way to watch a football game with your children nowadays without hearing the words, "erectile dysfunction" several times before the end of the first quarter.

The PG-13 rated hibachi restaurant eventually closed and the chef moved to Las Vegas where he is probably doing stand-up comedy or E.D. commercials.

There is a communal aspect to hibachi eating. Sharing a meal with family, friends, and strangers is a great treat and a fun alternative.

I could care less for the fancy knife work and all of the bells and whistles. As long as the chef takes it easy on the oil, and you moderate your rice intake, it's a quite healthy meal. It's quick. It's fun. It's family oriented and one can order exactly what he or she wants prepared exactly as he or she likes— sans the sexual innuendos and dirty jokes.



Dirty Rice Cakes with Crawfish Mardi Gras Mix

The rice cakes can be made two days in advance (the topping one day in advance). After the dirty rice cakes have been browned, they can be held in the refrigerator for up to two days.

3 cups dirty rice, cooled
1 /4 cup green onion, chopped
2 Tbl parsley, chopped
2 eggs, beaten
1 /4 cup coarse bread crumbs
1 cup Italian bread crumbs
1 /4 cup unsalted butter

Preheat oven to 350.

In a food processor, pulse 1 1 /2 cups of the dirty rice (Do not make a paste, the rice should just begin to resemble coarse bread crumbs).

Place pureed rice in a mixing bowl with the remaining rice, green onions, parsley, eggs and plain bread crumbs crumbs. Mix well.

Form into 1 1 /2-inch round patties approximately 3 /4-inch thick. Gently bread the cakes using the Italian bread crumbs.

In a large sauté pan, melt butter over medium heat and brown cakes on both sides. Place browned cakes on a baking sheet.

Bake the cakes for 8-10 minutes.

Top warm rice cakes with crawfish mixture and heat for 5 more minutes.

Place on serving dish and top with a small dollop of red-pepper aioli.

Yield: 20 cakes


Crawfish Mardi Gras Mix

1 Tbl olive oil
1 /2 cup red onion, minced
1 /4 cup red pepper, diced
1 /4 cup green pepper, diced
1 tsp garlic, minced
1 tsp salt
1 tsp creole seasoning
1 /4 pound cleaned crawfish tails, drained (not squeezed) chopped fine
2 Tbl sour cream
1 Tbl parmesan cheese


Heat olive oil in a medium-sized skillet over medium-high heat> Add onion, peppers, garlic, salt, and creole seasoning and cook 4-5 minutes. Let cool. Combine cooled vegetables, crawfish, sour cream and parmesan cheese.


Dirty Rice

1 Tbl bacon fat
2 oz ground beef
2 oz ground pork
1 bay leaves
1 Tbl poultry seasoning
1 tsp dry mustard
1 /2 cup diced onion
1 /4 cup diced celery
1 /4 cup diced bell pepper
2 tsp minced garlic
2 Tbl butter
1 cup rice
2 cups pork stock, hot

Brown the ground pork in the bacon fat.

Add veggies and seasoning and cook 10 minutes.

Stir in rice and hot stock, lower heat , cover and simmer 18 minutes.

Yield: 3 cups

LAS VEGAS— What is a family man who doesn't drink, doesn't gamble, and has trouble staying up to watch David Letterman doing in Las Vegas with his wife and kids? Two words: The Beatles.

I have pulled my second grader and sixth grader out of school to travel to Las Vegas to see Cirque du Soleil's production "The Beatles Love." I am a huge Beatles fan and have seen "Love" twice. My kids are huge Beatles fans, too. They have never seen "Love," though they have heard me go on and on and on and on about it for the last two years.

My kids also love food (the apple doesn't fall far from the chef coat). Over the last decade, Las Vegas has become one of the country’s top ten restaurant cities. Some of the country's top chefs have opened branches of their most popular restaurants, here. The restaurants are, for the most part, manned by seasoned professionals who have been in that particular chef’s system for many years. The best thing about the upscale restaurant business in Vegas is that, unlike other big cities, all of the restaurants are within a few miles of each other— hundreds of them.

One of my favorite Las Vegas restaurants is Thomas Keller's Bouchon in The Venetian hotel. Keller is the country's preeminent chef. He mans the stoves at The French Laundry in Yountville, CA and Per Se in New York, and serves food that is humbling to even the most accomplished chefs.

My daughter ordered Steak Frites, a classic dish found in French bistros and brasseries. It's basically steak with a side order of French fries. In a good establishment, the fries can often match the steak in terms of satisfaction and satiety. Left in the hands of Thomas Keller, the basic French fry can become remarkable.

I love comfort foods. I love potatoes in all forms. There is a beautiful and ideal simplicity in a side order of perfectly prepared mashed potatoes or French fries. The best mashed potatoes I have ever eaten outside of my grandmother's dining room were served at Watershed restaurant in Decatur, GA on chicken night. I was there for the legendary fried chicken, it was good. What I remember though, were the mashed potatoes.

One of the most memorable orders of fries I have eaten were enjoyed in Aspen several years ago in at the Ajax Tavern. The fries were fresh-cut, cooked perfectly in a small amount of duck fat, and topped with a sprinkling of kosher salt, freshly ground black pepper, a drizzle of fragrant truffle oil, and finished with shaved Parmigianino Reggiano. Beautiful. And a perfect example of taking a simple offering, adding four straightforward, yet ideal, accompaniments, and creating a masterpiece. The beauty is not only in the simplicity, but the combination of flavors. When duck fat is thrown into the mix the satiety level rises tenfold.

Bouchon's fries were— as one would expect from Keller— excellent. My daughter had enough to share with her brother— who was busy putting away an order of gnocchi— and a few left over for her father.

Bouchon fries aside, possibly the best order of fries I have eaten in the last several years were at restaurant Char in Jackson, MS. I know that proclaiming a "best fry" seems a little silly and trivial, but that's my job. It's what I do. Besides, I love fries.

Char's French fries were every bit as good as Bouchon's, probably better. A few weeks ago, my family and I were in Jackson for an event and visited Char before we hit the road home to Hattiesburg. My daughter ordered a steak with a side order of Char's "House-Cut Fries." They were great. At the time I was on a diet and hadn't eaten anything fried in four weeks. One might think that my lengthy absence from the beloved fry might have clouded my judgment, not so. Char's fries are that good.

So what have we learned today? One will leave Vegas with more money in his bank account if he or she stays out of the casino and spends time in the restaurants. The Beatles are a perfectly good excuse to miss a few days of school, and fries aren’t just fast food, anymore, though if we’re paying homage to the Beatles, we should probably call them chips.


Robert’s Mashed Potatoes

3 lbs Idaho potatoes, peeled and cut into quarters
2 Tbl. Salt
1 gallon Water

1 /2 cup Butter, cold, cut into small pats (1 stick)
6 ounces Cream cheese, softened
1 cup Half and half
2 oz Sour Cream
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

In a large saucepot add potatoes to salted water. Cook at a low simmer (do not boil) to avoid potatoes breaking apart. When the potatoes are tender, carefully drain. Return potatoes to the dry pot and place over low heat for one to two minutes to remove all excess moisture.

Place potatoes a mixing bowl. Using a hand-held potato masher, mash the potatoes. Add cold butter— one piece at a time— as you begin to mash. Mix cream cheese and half and half in a microwave safe container and heat in the microwave until hot. Remove from microwave, blend together, and slowly add to hot potatoes. Gently fold in sour cream. Add salt and pepper. Mix well. Potatoes may be covered tightly and held in warm place for one hour before serving. Yield: 10 servings

Working for the Mouse



ORLANDO— I am in Walt Disney World as a visiting chef of the EPCOT International Food and Wine Festival.

Through the years I have been a frequent guest of The Mouse. I have enjoyed the parks with-and-without kids and had a great time doing the stuff one does down here since 1973. Until now I have never had such an inside view of the ins and outs of this amazingly complicated yet efficient collection of theme parks, hotels, and restaurants.

Throughout my 28-year restaurant career I have participated in numerous culinary events and festivals behind the scenes, in front of cameras, and as a guest chef or lecturer. Walt Disney World blows them all away with their efficiency, professionalism, service, and offerings. It should come as no surprise that a company dedicated to hospitality and good times 365-days a year is able to pull it off so well— from the festival’s attendees down to the guest chefs.

Just to tour the foodservice facilities and work alongside Disney chefs was a treat. This is a company that employs over 350 top-notch chefs and thousands of line cooks to work at over 300 foodservice facilities offering over 6,000 food items. It is baffling when seen as in a behind-the-scenes manner.

To pull off the daily prep and production of this place is mind boggling. On past visits I have often thought of what must go into preparing and serving this much food, scheduling the personnel, and purchasing and receiving that much food. To see it done is humbling.

In years past when one thought of foodservice at Walt Disney World, they were thinking burgers, fries, and Cokes. Those days are long gone. Granted this company knows burgers, fries and Cokes— as they serve over nine million hamburgers, nine million pounds of fries, and 46 million Coca Cola drinks— but now the park has several world-class restaurants which employ dozens of world-class chefs.

The EPCOT International Food and Wine Festival has been around for 13 years and, year-in year-out, is one of the most well-attended events in the park. I met dozens of chefs from all over the country, but more importantly, I met so many chefs who work inside the Disney system. To a person, they were all consummate professionals. Their kitchens are meticulously maintained, and their quality standards are second to none.

Of course anyone can serve hot dogs out of a cafeteria line (though there aren’t too many who can successfully serve as many millions as Disney), but to coordinate world-class restaurants such as Victoria and Albert’s, California Grill, Citricos, Jiko, and The Flying Fish Café while feeding over 200,000 guests every day is a awe-inspiring feat.

It’s been a great week. My four events were filled with people from all over the country (and Canada) who were interested in Mississippi and the food we serve in our restaurants, the food we eat in our homes, and the way we live. I met a lot of chefs from all over the country and had a great time in my off hours with my wife and kids. But I leave with a sense of awe at the magnitude of what is accomplished on an hourly basis behind the scenes at one of the country’s largest foodservice providers.

The chefs, hosts, coordinators, and employees of the EPCOT International Food and Wine Festival are the embodiment of competence, organization, hospitality, and professionalism. Well done, and thank you.



BROWN DERBY COBB SALAD

1/2 head iceberg lettuce1/2 bunch watercress 1 small bunch chicory 1/2 head romaine lettuce2 medium tomatoes, blanched and peeled1 1/2 cups cooked turkey breast, diced1 avocado3 eggs, hard-cooked1/2 cup blue cheese, crumbled6 strips crisp bacon, crumbled2 tbsp. chopped chives

Chop all greens very fine (reserve some watercress for presentation) and arrange in salad bowl. Cut tomatoes in half, remove seeds and dice une. Also dice the turkey, avocado and eggs. Arrange the above ingredients, as well as the blue cheese and bacon crumbles, in straight lines across the greens. Arrange the chives diagonally across the above lines. Present the salad at the table, then toss with the dressing (below) and place on chilled plates with a watercress garnish. Serves six.

BROWN DERBY OLD-FASHIONED FRENCH DRESSING1/2 cup water1/2 tsp. sugar1 1/4 tbsp. salt1 1/2 tsp. Worcestershire sauce1 clove garlic, chopped1/2 cup red-wine vinegarJuice of 1/2 lemon1/2 tbsp. ground black pepper1/2 tsp. English mustard1/2 cup olive oil1 1/2 cups salad oil
Blend together all ingredients, except oils, then add olive and salad oils and mix well. Blend well again before mixing with salad.

© 2008 Walt Disney World
Reprinted with permission

Catfish



In Sunday’s New York Times Magazine there was an extensive article on catfish. In the article I learned that the Catfish Institute, located in Jackson, Miss., has chosen a new name for the catfish— Delecata.

As new made-up names for fish go, I guess “Delacata” is as good as any, though I would like to see the list of names that were eliminated. The story claimed that the Catfish Institute had “market-tested” the new name. Market test or not, I will still call it catfish.

The most troubling part of the story was a sentence about local catfish farmers which read, “About a third of the region’s [catfish] growers have quit, and those remaining increasingly see their ponds as liabilities. If attrition continues apace, very little catfish will be farmed in the United States before long.”

This is a major loss for farmers throughout the South. I have toured several catfish farms and processing plants and have been amazed by the scientific approach and world-class efficiency with which these Mississippi farmers and processors operate their businesses. And I continue to be impressed with the high-quality fish that they produce.

The problem stems from imported freshwater fish which a few unscrupulous suppliers and restaurant owners dishonestly market as catfish. There is a Vietnamese variety called Basa which is harvested in the Mekong Delta that is still marketed and sold in some establishments as “catfish.” In addition to having a terrible name, Basa is an inferior-tasting fish and can’t— even on it’s best day— compare to Mississippi farm-raised catfish.

That same day I read a story in The Sun about a “mutant catfish” that was killing people in India. The Goonch fish has been feeding on corpses that have been thrown in the river for so long that it has now developed a taste for human flesh. Folks, this is not the plot for an upcoming Halloween movie, it’s real.

A man once caught a 161-lb Goonch. That’s a big mutant catfish. The Sun also reported, “the first live victim of a Goonch was thought to have been a 17-year-old Nepalese boy in April 1988.” and “an 18-year-old Nepali [boy] disappeared in the river, dragged down by something described as an ‘elongated pig’.”

A “flesh-eating river monster” that looks like a pig? Muddy-tasting Vietnamese Basa putting Mississippi farmers out of work? I prefer to eat my catfish, not the other way around. Make mine Mississippi-raised catfish, everytime.

There is a sport practiced in rivers and lakes throughout the South called, “grappling,” in which a person reaches into logs and stumps and pulls out giant catfish (or Delacata) by sticking their hands in the fish’s mouth. I have seen pictures of this and the catfish they bring out of the water are huge.

To my knowledge, grappling is exclusively an American sport. One thing is for certain: If anyone is grappling for fish in India, they aren’t around later that night to hang out at the campfire and tell the fish tale.

Had I sat on the Catfish Institute’s what’s-our-new-name-gonna-be committee, I might have gone along with the name change, but I certainly would have suggested a new tagline: “Delacata: It might not be a great name, but at least it doesn’t eat you.”

If you are like me and enjoy one of Mississippi’s best crops— catfish— ask the owner of your favorite fish house if he or she is using American (preferably Mississippi-raised) catfish. And if they aren’t, take your business elsewhere, and if they say, “Actually, we’re serving ‘Delacata’,” let ‘em slide, and take solace in the fact that they’re not serving Basa or Goonch.



Mississippi-Fried Catfish

2 cups Cornmeal
3 Tbl Lawry’s Seasoning Salt
3 Tbl Lemon Pepper Seasoning
16-20 Catfish, cut into two ounce strips
Peanut Oil for frying

Heat oil in cast iron skillet to 350 degrees. Combine cornmeal, Lawry’s and lemon pepper. Dredge catfish strips in cornmeal mixture and shake off excess. Drop one at a time into hot oil. Fry until golden (about six minutes), remove, drain and serve.


NOTE;

When frying, it is crucial to maintain the oil temperature. Overloading the oil will cause a severe drop in temperature causing whatever you are frying, and the product will absorb more oil, resulting in a greasy, soggy final product. Keep a thermometer in the oil at all times so that you can monitor the temperature. Also, only bread as much as you can fry at one time. Pre-breading can cause clumps, which will fall off during the frying process. A good method for frying in batches is to preheat your oven to “warm” (200 degrees). Place paper towels or a cooling rack on a baking sheet and place in the oven. Place the already fried objects in the oven, leaving the oven door cracked slightly to prevent steaming.

Doggie Bags


After 28 years in the restaurant business, one of the most consistent customer behaviors I have observed is with doggie bags. A majority of restaurant patrons are embarrassed to ask their server for a doggie bag.

I have never been able to figure out the tentativeness on the customer’s part, but it’s real. Many would rather throw away the remainder of a perfectly good pasta dish they ordered than to walk out of the restaurant holding a to-go box.

Doggie bags are rarely used for dogs. They are people bags, and I never hesitate to ask for one, even in the finest restaurants I have visited. It’s the ultimate compliment to the chef.

At the Crescent City Grill we serve large portions. We welcome customer’s requests for doggy bags. My mother can eat a Grilled and Chilled Chicken Salad for lunch and take the remainder home for dinner, and she does. It makes no sense to send it back to the kitchen where the bus boy is going to scrape it into the trash can.

Some foods are better than others the next day, and some foods can’t hold up even a few hours later. Hearty soups, stews, and gumbos (especially chili) benefit from a day in the refrigerator allowing the flavors to meld and intensify.

Fried seafood is only appetizing for a few minutes after it’s been cooked. Grilled chicken can be kept in the refrigerator for days and, whereas fried chicken from a fast-food chain is good— in the picnic sense— when eaten cold the following day, boneless chicken tender-type entrees don’t hold up as well.

The pinnacle of leftover food is steak. I always take steak home and my dog never gets any— well, maybe the bone.

When I grill steaks at home I always throw a couple of extras on the grill for steak and biscuits the next morning.

Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day and one of my favorite breakfasts is leftover steak served in a biscuit, not the fast-food, deep-fried-steak-and-gravy version of steak and biscuits, but real steak— no gravy— and a little butter on a biscuit.

The reason my children get excited about a steak dinner has nothing to do with the supper they are about to eat, but what will be served for breakfast the next morning.

The St.John version of steak and biscuits is always made with leftover steak. I slice it into thin strips and place it in aluminum foil, sprinkle a little steak seasoning over the meat, top it with a small pat of butter, close the foil, and place it in the oven while the biscuits are baking. A microwave should never be used when reheating leftover steak as it causes the meat to dry out considerably.

I am a staunch proponent of homemade biscuits and believe that they should be used almost all of the time, but for some strange reason— maybe it’s because that’s the way I grew up eating this dish— refrigerated-whop-on-the-counter-straight-out-of-the-tin biscuits work best for this dish. I don’t know why, but that’s the way it is. Save your emails, I’ve been eating steak and biscuits prepared this way for 47 years.

Once the biscuits have baked and the steak is warm, slice open the biscuits and spread a tiny bit of butter on the inside of each biscuit half, top with steak, close, eat, repeat.

These are especially good when served alongside scrambled eggs and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Once you’ve make steak and biscuits using last night’s restaurant steaks, you’ll never again be anxious about walking through a restaurant with a doggie bag.



Steak Seasoning

1 /2 cup Lawry’s Seasoned Salt
1 /3 cup Black pepper
1 /4 cup Lemon Pepper
2 Tbl Garlic Salt
2 Tbl Granulated Garlic
1 Tbl Onion Powder

Combine all and mix well. Store in an airtight container.

The Mac Attack


The holy grail of kid cuisine is macaroni and cheese.

When I wrote my second cookbook, Deep South Staples or How to Survive In A Southern Kitchen Without A Can of Cream of Mushroom Soup, I needed to include a macaroni and cheese recipe to complete the theme for updated home cooking. I had never eaten mac and cheese so I turned over the recipe development of that dish to my chief recipe tester and Purple Parrot Café chef, Linda Nance.

Linda created a great mac and cheese recipe for the book. I named it Linda’s Macaroni and Cheese. When testing the recipe, I ate mac and cheese for the first time. It was good, and I imagine much better than the boxed varieties on local grocery store shelves. Unfortunately, there was a problem.

Deep South Staples, before it was purchased by Hyperion, was a self-published book. All of the work on the book, the recipe testing, the photographic research, the layout and design, the recipe data entry, and proofreading was done in house. That’s where today’s story begins.

There was a slight miscue between the person who helped me do the recipe data entry and the four people (one of which was me) who proofread the manuscript, slight in scope, but monumental in the life of the finished book. In Linda’s Macaroni and Cheese recipe there was a typographical error.

The recipe calls for one 12-ounce can of evaporated milk. The data entry person accidentally entered “1 12-ounce can Condensed Milk.” Yes, that milk. The canned milk normally known as sweetened condensed milk.

Folks, I don’t need to tell you the difference between evaporated milk and sweetened condensed milk, but trust me when I tell you that if you ever prepare macaroni and cheese using sweetened condensed milk instead of evaporated milk, you will end up with one of the worst tasting dishes you have ever eaten.

Trust me, too, when I tell you that if someone spends a lot of time measuring, preparing, and cooking mac and cheese with sweetened milk they will not be happy. Actually they will be mad enough to call the cookbook’s author on the telephone and write him nasty emails calling him all sorts of names and wishing harm on the author, his forbearers, and all of his heirs.

This would not have been a problem had I published the recipe in the newspaper and was able to print a correction in a subsequent column. Unfortunately, there were 10,000 copies of the book printed, and within a matter of weeks, all of them were in people’s homes, or more specifically, in their kitchens. Nothing feels as “permanent” as having one’s words in a published book.

A correction was made in subsequent editions, and the problem soon went away, or so I thought.

Last spring, my wife and I hosted a dinner for one of our church groups. The adults were bringing their young children to our home, and while the grown ups were meeting over dinner in one room, the children would be having dinner and playing in another room.

Don’t get ahead of me, here.

I asked the chefs in my restaurant to prepare a few recipes for both groups. Unfortunately, the mac and cheese from Deep South Staples was one of them. Even more unfortunate, the copy of the book being used in the restaurant was an uncorrected first edition.

To compound matters, the adults had spent a lot of time giving their kids the hard-sell and getting them excited about “eating at a real chef’s house,” expectations were high, the outcome was terrifying.

In the course of my 28-year restaurant career, I have never had food thrown at me, especially one of my recipes, but if it ever were to happen that would have been the night. Halfway through dinner I walked through the breakfast room to check on the kids, they were in full culinary revolt. They looked at me with hate, disdain, and disappointment all at once.

Do you remember the food fight scene in the movie Animal House? We were that close. Only after bribing them with extra ice cream did they settle down.

Lessons learned: Never trust a typist, always load up on ice cream when children are coming over, and never— I repeat never— mess with a kid’s favorite food.



Linda’s Macaroni and Cheese

1 tsp Bacon grease (or canola oil)
1 cup Onion, minced
2 cups Half and half
1-12 oz can Evaporated milk
1 /3 cup Butter
1 /2 cup Flour
2 tsp Salt
1 tsp White pepper
12 oz Velveeta cut into large chunks
8 oz Sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
1 1 /2 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1 pound Elbow macaroni

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Heat the bacon grease in a two-quart saucepot over low heat. Cook onion five to six minutes then add half and half and evaporated milk into saucepot. Bring to a simmer. In a separate skillet, melt butter and stir in flour to make a roux. Cook until the roux becomes light blond and add to milk mixture. Cook for six to seven minutes on low, stirring constantly. Remove from heat and fold in Velveeta, cheddar cheese, pepper and salt. Stir until cheeses are melted.

While you are preparing the sauce bring six quarts of water to a boil. Add one tablespoon salt and cook macaroni to just tender. Drain and fold macaroni into cheese mixture. Place in a two-quart baking dish and bake for 25 minutes. Yield: 5-8 portions

Stable Staples


Every home has a stable staple.

A stable staple is an item that is almost, if not always, in an individual’s home kitchen. It varies from home to home and is usually located in an heirloom cookie jar, or a favored Pyrex dish, tucked away on a special shelf in the pantry, or highlighted front and center in the refrigerator.

It is the singular food item that is ever-present in that home. It’s usually kept in the same place and it is the one item that is served when someone visits the home and the item that will be there when you visit some else’s home.

Your best friends always know where the stable staple is kept and they feel free to help themselves when they visit.

Sometimes the stable staple is a snack, every now and then a cake or pie, it can be store-bought or homemade. In a few families the item changes with the holidays, in others the stable staple is ever-changing regardless of the season or occasion.

As a kid I committed to memory all of my friends stable staples. When playing outside in the Mississippi summer heat it was important to know which friends house to visit to eat a certain snack.

One friend always had chips and picante sauce; another had off-brand generic cookies that he would personally dole out— one to each friend— while his mouth was crammed full with a dozen of the cookies. In between those two lived a friend whose parents owned several grocery stores. They didn’t have a lone stable staple, but a treasure trove of snacks, drinks, and frozen treats that we raided on a daily basis. Their pantry was kid-snack heaven.

My mom always had oatmeal cookies and Hawaiian Punch in her house. They were her stable staples.

Today, my wife’s stable staple is a pan of warm, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. My kids love them and their friends annihilate them as soon as they are removed from the oven.

My paternal grandmother almost always had a pound cake under a glass dome. Occasionally she would have an Angel Food Cake, but most times it was a pound cake. Kids don’t get too excited about pound cake. I like it. It’s good. It’s better than tea cakes or scones. But it’s not an iced cake, pie, or cobbler. It’s more of a little-old-lady tea-party stable staple than a snack or treat.

My paternal grandmother excelled when it came to entertaining and serving a large formal lunch or dinner, but when it came to goodies in the pantry, we were left with pound cake topped with strawberries and Cool Whip.

My maternal grandmother always had a Tupperware container of Fudge Cake squares. She was known for two recipes: Pancakes and Fudge Cake. I have written at great length about her pancakes and have actually formed a food products company in which her pancake recipe is sold in mix form all across the country. Her stable staple, though, was Fudge Cake.

My grandmother’s Fudge Cake was neither fudge nor cake, though it was more closely related to cake than fudge. The recipe was one that probably came from her childhood home of Nashville and followed her to Danville, Ky., Macon and Atlanta, Ga., the Upper East Side of Manhattan, and finally, my hometown of Hattiesburg, Miss.

Fudge Cake squares are more like brownies than cake, but fudgier than a normal brownie. I loved the recipe as a kid and I love eating fudge cake squares, today. Homemade fudge cake might be the coup de grace of stable staples.

Nowadays my stable staple is oatmeal. Not oatmeal cookies— oatmeal— the breakfast gruel that is eaten with a spoon. It’s the item that is always in my pantry, not fudge cake, or pound cake, or even Angel Food Cake— oatmeal. Sometimes middle age and responsibility stinks.



Muz’s Fudge Cake

4 Squares Bakers Chocolate
2 sticks Butter
4 Eggs
2 cups Sugar
1 cup Flour
1 tsp Pure Vanilla Extract
1 cup Nuts, chopped
Pinch of salt

Preheat oven to 350-degrees.

Melt chocolate and butter together in a double boiler. Once incorporated let cool slightly. Cooled chocolate should still be in liquid form.

Mix together the four eggs and gradually and the two cups of sugar until completely incorporated. SLOWLY pour the slightly warm chocolate mixture into the egg/sugar mixture.

Slowly incorporate the flour into the chocolate/egg mixture. Add vanilla, nuts, salt, and mix.

Line a pan with waxed paper or parchment. Pour in the chocolate mix. Bake at 350 approximately 30 minutes or until an inserted toothpick comes out clean.

Remove from oven. Let cool five minutes. Carefully flip the fudge cake and finish cooling. Once cooled completely, remove wax paper and cut into squares.

Tailgating During Fall in Mississippi


It’s mid September in Mississippi. Is it fall yet?

Yesterday I was watching the Weather Channel and the announcer talked about “fall” weather in the Northeast. Fall in September? You’ve got to be kidding. Not down here.

We know the word “fall,” but we never experience the actual season until mid to late October, and then only in short spurts of crisp weather. Our brief hints of Fall are akin to evening weather in Southern California on a year-round basis.

In the Northeast and Midwest football fans are tailgating on Saturday afternoons with highs in the mid to upper 60s. In Mississippi we’re tailgating in the 90s. The temperature dictates the food.

Tailgating in the South is much different than tailgating in the Northeast. In the Northeast and Midwest the weather forecasts often include the word “crisp.” Down here we trade “crisp” for “muggy.” We do, however, get small hints of “crisp” beginning in October.

The first hint of cool in the Southern autumn is always deceptive. I fall (pun intended) for it every time. On that first cool morning I’ll walk outside, the air is cool— not crisp— cool. The pine straw is starting to turn brown, the Indian Summer images from the national magazines are floating around in the back of my head, and I say to myself, “Ahhhh, fall has arrived to Mississippi.” Inevitably, the next day will be 82 degrees and humid.

The covers of next month’s national food magazines will have images of fall-themed cornucopias highlighted with gold, brown, and orange leaves, freaky looking squash, cranberries, and 10 varieties pumpkin. All while we’re still picking summer vegetables in our gardens.

Down here the heat affects our menu choices. We’re still eating hot weather food. During Southern tailgates, we look for “cool” and easy foods to match the temperatures that we endure this time of the year.

My favorite tailgating recipe is for Silverqueen Corn and Shrimp Dip. I created the recipe for my book, Southern Seasons. It’s the perfect tailgating food. It’s served cold and tastes great in the Mississippi fall, it can be taken to the ball game in a small ice chest, it’s just spicy enough to make one reach for an additional beverage, and— most importantly— it tastes great.

Fall in the South means tailgating and football. We’d like it if it was a little cooler, but we’d rather take the heat than be forced to eat bland, Northern pumpkin and mutant squash.



Silver Queen Corn and Shrimp Dip

2 quarts water
1 Tbl crab boil
2 Tbl kosher salt
3/4 pound small shrimp, peeled

1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup red onion, minced
1/2 cup green onion, minced
1 Tbl fresh jalepeno, minced
1 Tbl hot sauce
1 Tbl fresh lime juice
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp ground cumin
1/3 cup fresh cilantro, chopped
1 1/2 Roasted Silverqueen corn, cut from the cob* (3 ears), or canned corn, drained
1 tsp salt

Bring the water, crab boil and salt to a boil over high heat. Add the shrimp to the boiling water and reduce the heat slightly/ Simmer the shrimp for 6-8 minutes. Remove from the heat and drain the shrimp. Place the cooked shrimp in the refrigerator and cool completely. Roughly chop the cooled shrimp. Combine shrimp and the remaining ingredients in a large mixing bowl and mix well. Refrigerate for 1-2 hours before serving. Serve with your favorite chips for dipping.

Yield:
6-8 servings

*To roast the corn: Preheat oven to 375. Wrap each ear individually in aluminum foil and place them on a baking sheet. Cook for 15 minutes, turn each piece of corn over and bake for 15 more minutes. Remove from the oven and cool for 30 minutes. Remove the foil, husks and silk and using a sharp knife, cut the kernels from the corn, being careful not to cut down too deeply into the cob. Allow corn to cool completely before preparing the dip.

Tailgating During Fall in Mississippi


It’s mid September in Mississippi. Is it fall yet?

Yesterday I was watching the Weather Channel and the announcer talked about “fall” weather in the Northeast. Fall in September? You’ve got to be kidding. Not down here.

We know the word “fall,” but we never experience the actual season until mid to late October, and then only in short spurts of crisp weather. Our brief hints of Fall are akin to evening weather in Southern California on a year-round basis.

In the Northeast and Midwest football fans are tailgating on Saturday afternoons with highs in the mid to upper 60s. In Mississippi we’re tailgating in the 90s. The temperature dictates the food.

Tailgating in the South is much different than tailgating in the Northeast. In the Northeast and Midwest the weather forecasts often include the word “crisp.” Down here we trade “crisp” for “muggy.” We do, however, get small hints of “crisp” beginning in October.

The first hint of cool in the Southern autumn is always deceptive. I fall (pun intended) for it every time. On that first cool morning I’ll walk outside, the air is cool— not crisp— cool. The pine straw is starting to turn brown, the Indian Summer images from the national magazines are floating around in the back of my head, and I say to myself, “Ahhhh, fall has arrived to Mississippi.” Inevitably, the next day will be 82 degrees and humid.

The covers of next month’s national food magazines will have images of fall-themed cornucopias highlighted with gold, brown, and orange leaves, freaky looking squash, cranberries, and 10 varieties pumpkin. All while we’re still picking summer vegetables in our gardens.

Down here the heat affects our menu choices. We’re still eating hot weather food. During Southern tailgates, we look for “cool” and easy foods to match the temperatures that we endure this time of the year.

My favorite tailgating recipe is for Silverqueen Corn and Shrimp Dip. I created the recipe for my book, Southern Seasons. It’s the perfect tailgating food. It’s served cold and tastes great in the Mississippi fall, it can be taken to the ball game in a small ice chest, it’s just spicy enough to make one reach for an additional beverage, and— most importantly— it tastes great.

Fall in the South means tailgating and football. We’d like it if it was a little cooler, but we’d rather take the heat than be forced to eat bland, Northern pumpkin and mutant squash.



Silver Queen Corn and Shrimp Dip

2 quarts water
1 Tbl crab boil
2 Tbl kosher salt
3/4 pound small shrimp, peeled

1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup red onion, minced
1/2 cup green onion, minced
1 Tbl fresh jalepeno, minced
1 Tbl hot sauce
1 Tbl fresh lime juice
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp ground cumin
1/3 cup fresh cilantro, chopped
1 1/2 Roasted Silverqueen corn, cut from the cob* (3 ears), or canned corn, drained
1 tsp salt

Bring the water, crab boil and salt to a boil over high heat. Add the shrimp to the boiling water and reduce the heat slightly/ Simmer the shrimp for 6-8 minutes. Remove from the heat and drain the shrimp. Place the cooked shrimp in the refrigerator and cool completely. Roughly chop the cooled shrimp. Combine shrimp and the remaining ingredients in a large mixing bowl and mix well. Refrigerate for 1-2 hours before serving. Serve with your favorite chips for dipping.

Yield:
6-8 servings

*To roast the corn: Preheat oven to 375. Wrap each ear individually in aluminum foil and place them on a baking sheet. Cook for 15 minutes, turn each piece of corn over and bake for 15 more minutes. Remove from the oven and cool for 30 minutes. Remove the foil, husks and silk and using a sharp knife, cut the kernels from the corn, being careful not to cut down too deeply into the cob. Allow corn to cool completely before preparing the dip.

The Denomination of Punch

I am a Methodist because my grandfather owned a pair of shoes.

My great-grandmother was a Baptist. My great-grandfather was a Methodist. My grandfather was the oldest of seven boys. His family was poor and could only afford Sunday shoes for the two oldest boys. The five younger boys stayed barefoot in the warmer months.

In Brooksville, Miss., in the early 1900s, the Methodist church was located a mile from their home. The two oldest boys walked to church with their father. The five youngest boys attended the Baptist church— which was located a few houses away and an easy walk on the grass— with their mother.

A tattered pair of Sunday shoes has provided me with a lifetime of covered-dish suppers.

It’s sometimes hard to pick a Methodist out of the crowd. A Muslim might have a prayer rug, a Jewish man might wear a Star of David, and the Catholics have the rosary. We Methodists can’t walk around with a casserole dish hanging from our necks.

My friend, Bill explains the denominations this way: The Baptists pick you up out of the gutter, the Methodists clothe and feed you, the Presbyterians educate you, and the Episcopalians introduce you to all of the right people, which sends you back into the gutter so the Baptists can pick you up again.

I know a better way to define the protestant denominations— through their punch. Not a boxing punch, mind you, but their ladle-it-out-of-your-grandmother’s-cut-glass-bowl, fruit-juice-and-ginger-ale-with-a-floating-ice-ring-in-the-middle church punch.

Three cookbooks ago, I released Deep South Parties. In the chapter that included various celebratory beverages, I published several actual punch recipes from local small town church cookbooks. The procedural instructions for the various church punches were basically the same among the denominations. The yields were similar as each recipe made enough punch for about 30 thirsty church goers. Where the rubber meets the road, or better still, where the ring mold meets the fruit juice, is in the ingredients.

The ingredients of the church-punch recipes I found are a telling factor. When I was a boy, a lady named Mrs. Lampkin was the hostess at my church. Here is the recipe for her punch: one 48-oz can pineapple juice, one three-ounce package instant lime gelatin, two cups sugar, one cup lemon juice, one small bottle of almond extract. Simple, easy, green.

Methodist punch follows the liturgical calendar. During Advent, the liturgical color is purple, so we substitute grape Jell-O. During Christmastide, when the liturgical color is gold, we use pineapple.

Here is the recipe for a punch recipe found in a Baptist cookbook in my hometown: two cups cranberry juice, two cups apple cider, one cup pineapple juice, one cup orange juice, 1/2 cup lemon juice, two cups ginger ale. We know it well, and have drunk it often at Baptist weddings. Some might have even snuck into the back room at Baptist weddings and added something a little stronger.

Speaking of stronger, the Catholic punch recipe I found is made using 1/2 gallon burgundy wine, one pint gin, two quarts of ginger ale, 1/2 cup sugar, and 1/4 cup lemon juice. With my Catholic friends, it’s all about the wine.

My uncle is an Episcopal priest in the Northern Neck of Virginia. This is an actual recipe for church punch that I pulled from of one of his church’s cookbooks: one fifth bourbon (100 proof), one fifth brandy, one fifth sherry, one fifth sparkling red wine, juice of 12 lemons, two cups sugar, one fifth soda water, which is proof that one will always need a designated driver when attending a Whiskeypalian wedding.

My grandfather owned a pair of Sunday shoes, and that’s why I’m forever destined to drink green punch.


Purple Parrot Chocolate Martini

1 /2 oz. Absolut
1 /2 oz. Kahlua
1 /4 oz. Godiva Dark Chocolate Liqueur
1 /4 oz. Godiva White Chocolate Liqueur
1 Tbl Half and Half

In a cocktail shaker, add ice. Add liquor and liqueurs in order. Shake with ice and fine strain into a chilled martini glass.

Yield: 1 martini

Hurricane Food


As I sit and write this column, I am watching the television coverage of Hurricane Gustav as it makes landfall a few hundred miles west of my breakfast room.

My family hunkered down several days in advance this time, which beats the last minute scramble we endured before Hurricane Katrina.

This morning I am ice rich. I am surrounded by ice chests, bottled water, and hurricane food.

Ice is the key.

Before Katrina, I encouraged my managers and friends to load up on ice from one of the three, large ice machines located at our restaurant. They seemed skeptical, but filled their ice chests nonetheless. I was remembering the days after Hurricane Camille when, as an eight-year old, I waited in line with my mother at the local ice house every afternoon for two weeks until electricity was restored.

Once my friends and managers loaded up on pre-Katrina ice, I filled a large ice chest with the cubes left at the bottom of the restaurant’s bin. After securing my business, I lifted the ice chest into the back of my truck and headed home to ride out the storm with my family.

Three blocks from the restaurant, as I was pulling through an intersection, I heard a loud crash. I looked into my rear-view mirror and watched, as the last available ice in Hattiesburg, Mississippi spilled all over the hot August asphalt. I had forgotten to close the tailgate on my truck and the ice chest flew out the back as I drove through the intersection.

This morning I am ice rich. I am surrounded by ice chests, bottled water, and hurricane food.

My first memory of Hurricane food was as an eight-year old in the aftermath of Camille. My mother, brother and I cooked over Sterno leftover from my brother's Boy Scout days. Our neighborhood also banded together and gathered at the house of a man who had a natural-gas grill.

In 1969, at the exact time concert goers were listening to Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and The Who make rock-and-roll history at the Woodstock concert in upstate New York, we were eating beanie weenies in the sweltering heat of my back yard. From what I've seen in the Woodstock movie, the conditions were similar.

Kids don't mind adverse conditions. I never remember complaining about the heat in the days after Camille. To me, it was like camping out in the backyard.

As a forty-something I was about as hot as I've ever been in the still, quiet days following Katrina. Several months after Katrina blew through town, my son asked my wife, "Momma, when do we get to sleep in the den and eat ham sandwiches again?

No power, no water, no ice, no trees, and my son remembers ham sandwiches. I remember Sterno. Most attendees at Woodstock probably don’t remember anything.

This morning I am ice rich. I am surrounded by ice chests, bottled water, and hurricane food. It appears that we dodged Mother Nature's 120-mph bullet. Let's all pray that it will be many years before we again have to worry about Sterno, ice, and hurricane food.



Ham, Cheese, and Poppy Seed Freezer Sandwiches

1 stick Butter, melted
3 Tbl Prepared Horseradish
3 Tbl Dijon Mustard
2 Tbl Poppy Seeds
1 lb Ham, thinly sliced
8 slices Swiss cheese
8 Hamburger Buns

Combine butter, horseradish, mustard and poppy seeds. Mix thoroughly. Open hamburger buns and brush both sides of the inside with the poppy seed dressing. Place two ounces of ham and one slice of cheese on bottom part of bun. Repeat with the remainder of the buns. Close the tops of the buns and brush more of the poppy seed dressing on the outside tops and bottoms of buns. Tightly wrap each sandwich in aluminum foil and freeze.

To cook, preheat oven to 400-degrees. Place sandwich, still tightly wrapped in foil, directly on the center rack for approximately 30-45 minutes until center is hot and cheese is melted. Yield: eight sandwiches.

Subway 911

A man in Jacksonville, Fla. was arrested last week for making fraudulent 911 calls.

He wasn’t calling the police station to ask if their “refrigerator is running?” and he wasn’t asking the dispatcher if she had “Prince Albert in a can?” The Associated Press reported that Reginald Peterson was hauled off to the pokey because he called 911 to complain that the Subway restaurant had left the sauce off of his sandwich.

Peterson, 42, actually called 911 twice. The first call was to complain about his sandwich. The second call was to complain that the police weren’t arriving fast enough. By that time Peterson had become belligerent about the lack of sauce on his sandwich and they locked him out of the store. My guess is that his third call was made from the jail to his lawyer.

The AP reported that when “officers arrived, they tried to calm Peterson and explain the proper use of 911. Those efforts failed, and he was arrested on a charge of making false 911 calls.”

It baffles me that anyone would get so upset about a sandwich that they would call 911. But it baffles me even more that it happened at a Subway. It’s one of my son’s favorite restaurants. There’s one two blocks from my house and we eat there often. They make your sandwich right in front of you. If you want more sauce, or no sauce, all one has to do is say so. There’s no need to get the police involved.

Google and YouTube are filled with 911 calls of all types. Many of them have to do with food. One man called 911 because “Someone broke into my house and took a bite out of my ham and cheese sandwich.” A lady called from inside a fast-food restaurant and complained to authorities, “They won’t fix my taco… I ain’t havin’ no rice in it… he’s holdin’ my dollar and ten cents!” Another called asking, “Can you connect me to Domino’s Pizza?”

We are passionate about food. It’s one of the only things in life of which everyone has an opinion. Eating is universal. It’s what we do, three times a day (more if you’re me), 365 days a year.

YouTube has a lengthy 911 call from a woman who is sitting in the drive-through line at a Burger King waiting for her Western Bacon Cheeseburger.

The 911 archives are also filled with such non-vital emergencies as, “I’m watching a movie and there’s a guy beating another guy with a bat.” and “What day of the week is this?” But the best ones are food related.

It all falls back to the legendary Joe Pesci scene in one of the Lethal Weapon movies where he reels off a curse-laden diatribe as to why one should never use the drive-through window, but always walk up to the counter. That incident, by the way, was over a tuna sandwich at Subway.


Grilled Redfish Sandwiches with Seafood Remoulade Sauce

6 6-7 ounce Redfish Filets
1 1/2 tsp Creole Seasoning

6 Hamburger Buns
1/4 cup olive oil

1 Recipe Seafood Remoulade
1 1/2 cup Green Leaf Lettuce, shredded
10-12 slices Fresh tomato

Sprinkle the filets with the Creole Seasoning and grill over direct high heat until the center of the fish is slightly pink, about 6-8 minutes. Turn the filets once during cooking. Do not overcook.

Brush the inside surfaces of the hamburger buns with the olive oil. Grill over medium direct heat for 2-3 minutes.

To assemble the sandwiches, spread a small amount of the Seafood Remoulade the toasted surfaces of the hamburger bun. Top with the fish, tomato, lettuce and the top half of the bun.
Serve immediately.

Yield:
6 sandwiches


Seafood Remoulade

1 stalk Celery
1/ 3 cup Onion, chopped
1 cup Ketchup
3 Tbl Lemon juice, freshly squeezed
1 tsp creole mustard
1/4 cup Prepared horseradish
1 cup Mayonnaise
2 tsp Creole Seasoning
1 tsp Lawry’s Seasoned Salt
1 tsp Garlic, minced

Blend onion and celery in the food processor until small but not completely puréed. Place onion and celery in a mixing bowl.

Add remaining ingredients and mix well.

Best if made at least 1 day in advance. Sauce holds up to 1 week in the refrigerator.

Yield:
2 cups

911

911 funny - The most amazing home videos are here

Eating Ones Way Through the 100-Meter Freestyle

My wife is nuts about the Summer Olympics. Every television in our home is tuned to the games in China and she calls me hourly with details of how well the United States is doing against the Lithuanian handball team.

I’m more of a Winter Olympics-type guy. I’ll take an out-of-control bobsled shooting down an icy mountain at 100-miles per hour over a lame ping-pong match every time. I have, however, enjoyed watching USA swimmer Michael Phelps break the record for all-time gold medals.

Phelps represents his country well. His feat of surpassing Mark Spitz’s accomplishments is amazing. His record-breaking swimming is remarkable, and his laid-back attitude and competitive demeanor are admirable. But what truly impresses me about Michael Phelps is the news story I read the other day with the headline: “Swimmer Michael Phelps Consumes 12,000 Calories a Day.”

Now that’s impressive. Mr. Phelps, you now have my attention, along with my complete and total admiration.

You can keep the gold medals, magazine covers, fan adulation, and the forthcoming million-dollar endorsement deals. I would gladly trade them all for the ability to eat 12,000 calories a day and get away with it. That would be a blast.

Every day Phelps consumes six times more food than the average male and his body-fat percentage is under four percent. I consume twice as many groceries as the average male though my body-fat percentage hovers somewhere around the legal drinking age.

Researching this piece, I found a story in the New York Post which gave a detailed description of a day in the life of Phelps’ intestinal tract. “Phelps lends a new spin to the phrase ‘Breakfast of Champions’ by starting off his day by eating three fried-egg sandwiches loaded with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, fried onions and mayonnaise. He follows that up with two cups of coffee, a five-egg omelet, a bowl of grits, three slices of French toast topped with powdered sugar and three chocolate-chip pancakes.”

Someone needs to give his chef a medal.

The Post continued, “At lunch, Phelps gobbles up a pound of enriched pasta and two large ham and cheese sandwiches slathered with mayo on white bread - capping off the meal by chugging about 1,000 calories worth of energy drinks. For dinner, Phelps really loads up on the carbs - what he needs to give him plenty of energy for his five-hours-a-day, six-days-a-week regimen - with a pound of pasta and an entire pizza. He washes all that down with another 1,000 calories worth of energy drinks.”

I admire Mr. Phelps and his accomplishments, but if I was able to consume 12,000 calories a day and get away with it, I wouldn’t be eating ham and cheese with mayo on white bread. At the least, throw some whole-grain mustard or horseradish in the mix. Can you say whole-smoked tenderloin on wheat?

At breakfast, throw some bacon and sausage on the menu, Michael. The way your metabolism is humming you’ll burn off the excess fat with the energy you use to pick up a forkful of those chocolate-chip pancakes.

In my twenties, during the 32-inch waist period of my life, I used to eat a large pepperoni pizza every night when I got off of work at the restaurant. The people at the pizza-delivery place knew my name. “Oh, hi Robert. The usual? Extra cheese? We’ll be over in 30 minutes. Say, how’s your grandmother?”

In those days I was working 90-hours per week in the kitchen of my first restaurant. Maybe I should have been doing the breast stroke.

I have eaten a lot of food over the course of my life. The closest I have ever come to eating 12,000 calories in one day was several years ago when I ate a 36-course meal at The French Laundry in Yountville, CA. It was the only meal I have ever eaten that needed a halftime break. After the meal, on the ride home, my friend Bill estimated that we had consumed approximately 10,000 calories over the course of the four and a half hour bacchanalia. Had I jumped into an Olympic pool that night, I would have sunken immediately to the drain. No one would have given me a gold medal, though I would have died a happy man.



Miniature Smoked Tenderloin Sandwiches with Three Spreads

2 Tbl Bacon Grease, melted
1 Tbl Steak Seasoning
1/2 tsp Black Pepper, freshly ground
2 pound Beef Tenderloin, trimmed and cleaned
24 dinner rolls, varied styles and flavors, cut in half crosswise

5-6 cups wood chips

Soak the wood chips for 2-3 hours and drain well. Prepare grill or smoker to cook at 275 degrees.

Rub the tenderloin with the melted bacon grease and sprinkle with steak seasoning.
Cook the tenderloin for 45-50 minutes, to an internal temperature of 130 degrees. Add more chips as needed to keep the smoke flowing.

Remove from heat and let tenderloin cool completely.


Horseradish Spread

1/4 cup Sour Cream
1/2 cup Mayonnaise
1/4 tsp Black Pepper, freshly ground
3 Tbl Prepared Horseradish
2 Tbl Red Onion, minced
1/4 tsp Garlic, minced
1 Tbl Chives, chopped
1 Tbl Parsley, chopped
1/2 tsp Salt

Combine all ingredients in a mixing bowl and store covered and refrigerated until ready to serve.


Chutney Mayo

1 Tbl Olive Oil
2 Tbl Yellow Onion, minced
1/4 tsp Salt
2 tsp Garlic, minced
1/2 tsp Curry Powder
2 Tbl Sherry
3/4 cup Mango Chutney
3/4 cup Mayonnaise



In a small sauté pan, heat olive oil over low heat. Place onion, garlic, salt and curry powder in the hot oil and cook one minute. Add the sherry and reduce. Remove from heat and cool completely. Once the cooked mixture is cooled, combine it with the remaining ingredients. Store covered and refrigerated until ready to serve.


Honey-Spiked Creole Mustard

1/2 cup Creole Mustard
1 Tbl Yellow Mustard
2 Tbl Sour Cream
1 Tbl Mayonnaise
1/4 cup Honey
1 tsp Prepared Horseradish
2 tsp Parsely, chopped
1 tsp Fresh Thyme Leaves, chopped
1/8 tsp Cayenne Pepper
1/2 tsp Lemon Juice
1/4 tsp Salt

Using a wire whisk, combine all ingredients. Store covered and refrigerated until ready to serve.


Slice 1/8-inch thin slices of the beef tenderloin and arrange on a serving tray. Serve the cut rolls and three sauces on the side and allow guests to build their own sandwich.
All of the sauces may be made three to four days in advance, and stored in the refrigerator until needed.

Peaches


One of the unexpected benefits of writing a weekly food column which is centered mostly around food is that people always give me food. I love my job.

At a book signing earlier this year a man walked up with a flat of blackberries and blueberries. “Here, check these out,” he said. An entire flat! That’s 12 pints. Did I mention that I love my job?

Over a breakfast earlier in the summer my friend Chris brought me a bag of peaches. I love my friends, too.

Peaches are a great gift. I used to go to a local peach orchard near my hometown and buy several bushels of peaches at the height of the summer and deliver them to my friends.

A few weeks ago a reader from Clarksdale sent me a case of South Carolina peaches. They were great. South Carolina peaches usually show up later in the year.

I write often of the difference between Alabama and Georgia peaches. When I write one of these columns I end up with several emails touting the qualities of South Carolina peaches over Georgia peaches. There is a constant battle between Georgia and South Carolina as to which state has the best peaches.

Trust me, there is no love lost between Georgia and South Carolina when it comes to peach production.

Each state is trying to top the other. Years ago Georgia named itself “The Peach State.” After hearing this, South Carolina adopted the moniker, “The Tastier Peach State.”

These inter-state battles of one-upsmanship can turn nasty if left unchecked. Be on the lookout for Georgia to rework their “The Peach State” motto and name themselves, “The Really, Really, Really Good Peach State.”

Then watch for South Carolina’s counter punch when they adopt the motto, “The Tastier Peach State with Slightly More Coastline than Georgia on the Atlantic Ocean.”

Realizing this, the Georgia Peach Board will go to their state legislature and petition for their slogan to be changed to, “The Really, Really, Really Good Peach State with a Professional Baseball AND Football Franchise.”

South Carolina will then counterpunch with, “The Tastier Peach State with Slightly More Coastline than Georgia on the Atlantic Ocean that doesn’t want a Perennial Losing Professional Football Franchise (and besides the Carolina Panthers are half ours).”

Georgia will then elongate its name to “The Really, Really, Really Good Peach State with a Professional Baseball AND Football Franchise that Doesn’t Have a Compass Point in Our State Name.”

After petitioning for a larger state seal to hold the entire new motto, South Carolina will propose to change their moniker to “The Tastier Peach State with Slightly More Coastline on the Atlantic Ocean that doesn’t Want a Perennial Losing Professional Football Franchise (and besides the Carolina Panthers are half ours) which doesn’t have bad traffic like Atlanta.”

It will finally take a steel-cage wrestling match between Ted Turner and Steve Spurrier to resolve the issue. Turner’s mean as hell, but my money’s on the visor-wearing Spurrier in the third round.

Georgia and South Carolina aside, I am a fan of Chilton, County, Ala peaches. They seem to be the red-headed stepchild of the Southern peach world.

Peaches taste like summer no matter where they’re grown or what’s stated in their home state’s motto.



Peach Ice Cream

2 cups Peaches, fresh, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch pieces

3 /4 cups Sugar, divided

1 Tbl Lemon Juice, freshly squeezed

2 Tbl Peach Schnapps

1 cup Heavy Cream

1 /2 cup Milk

1 /2 Vanilla Bean

2 Egg Yolks

In a bowl, combine peaches, 1 /4 cup sugar, lemon juice, and peach schnapps. Cover and refrigerate 2- 3 hours, stirring occasionally.

Remove peach mixture from refrigerator, drain, and reserve the juice. Return peaches to refrigerator.

Split the vanilla bean lengthwise, and— in a medium-sized saucepan— combine remaining sugar, heavy cream, and milk. Heat just until just boiling.

In a separate bowl, vigorously whisk egg yolks. While whisking, slowly add 1 /3 of the boiled cream mixture. Stir well. Add remaining egg mixture to cream mixture. Return to low-medium heat and continue stirring for 5-7 minutes. Just as it begins to simmer, remove from heat and strain into a bowl set over ice. Add the reserved peach juice. Stir well until completely chilled.

Transfer the mixture to an ice cream maker and freeze according to manufacturer's instructions. After the ice cream begins to stiffen, add the peaches and continue to freeze until done. Remove the ice cream from the ice cream maker and store in an airtight container in the freezer until ready to serve.

Yield:
8 servings