Beefamato
A physician once ordered my 90-year old grandmother to drink Beefamato.
Beefamato is tomato juice with beef broth in it. Well, not “real” beef broth, the label states “dried beef broth.”
I am not sure why she was ordered to drink Beefamato. Maybe it contained an obscure vitamin she wasn’t receiving in her regular diet, or an additional protein needed to preserve her 90-year old muscles. One thing’s for certain— the doctor didn’t make her drink Beefamato because it would be another tasty beverage alternative to her already-flavorsome line-up of liquid-refreshment selections. Move over, Ensure, pass the Beefamato.
Beefamato is like North Dakota, you only go there if you have to. Tomato juice and beef do not belong side-by-side in a glass— on top of a mound of spaghetti, certainly, spread onto a pizza crust, maybe, but not in a glass with crushed ice and a cocktail napkin.
Mott’s manufactures Beefamato. They also make a product called Clamato. Yes. Clamato— tomato juice and dried clam broth. I would give half a week’s pay to have been a fly on the wall in that boardroom:
Suit #1: “You know guys, this Beefamato stuff isn’t selling too well.”
Suit #2: “Well, boss, its beef juice and tomato juice combined in a liquid. I tried to warn you.”
Suit #3: “I know what we can do. Let’s find an even-worse ingredient to add to tomato juice. The buying public will be so repulsed by the new beverage, that Beefamato will seem like sweet, cool, nectar in comparison.”
Suit #1: “Number three, that’s brilliant. I’m putting you in for a raise. Now, what foul, vile liquid can we add to our tomato juice? ”
Suit #2: “How about the gooey liquid that comes inside the potted meat can.”
Suit #1: “Not vile enough.”
Suit #3: “I’ve got it! How about clams! No. Wait. How about dried clam broth!”
Suit #1: “Perfect! Son, you’ll be running this company one day.”
According to my research, Clamato is a big deal in the Northeastern states. Coincidentally, that’s also where cranberries are grown.
Ocean Spray blends cranberries into several successful combinations. They bottle Cran-Grape juice, Cran-Apple juice, and even Cran-Tangerine, and Cran-Mango. Maybe the folks at Mott’s were jealous of the creative innovation occurring in the Ocean Spray test labs.
Suit #1: “I’m sick of those guys over at Ocean Spray. They get to have all of the fun. They’re going wild with cranberries over there. I want some new beverage combinations, and I want them asap!”
Suit #3: “I’ve got it, sir. How about Cran-Beef, and Cran-Clam?”
Suit #1: “Number three, you’re a genius!”
We’re not talking about adding cherry juice or vanilla syrup to Coca Cola, those combinations make sense. It’s clam juice.
It’s as if Mott’s— makers of a fine applesauce, by the way— thought of the most disparate flavor combinations available. What’s next? grape juice and dill pickle liquid: Grapickle, clam juice and orange juice: Clamorange, turkey gravy and clam juice: Clamurkey?
I found a news article on the internet that suggested that the new Clamato energy drink could also be used as an aphrodisiac. A sign of marketing desperation? Maybe.
Suit #2: “Boss, the Cran-Clam isn’t selling, either.”
Suit #1: “#$%@*&! I just knew that was our ticket into the beverage-blend big time!”
Suit #3: “What if we tell them that Cran-Clam is the next Viagra?”
Suit #1: “Brilliant, number three! Number two, why don’t you ever come up with ideas like that?”
I don’t drink tomato juice, but if I did, I would want my tomato juice to taste like tomatoes. Not pot roast, or mollusks, or cherries, just tomatoes.
Question: What is the one thought everyone has after taking a sip of Clamato?
Answer: Wow, I could’ve had a V8!
Monday, February 04, 2008
Breakfast
Recently I realized that I can look back over the course of my life and track my age by what I was eating for breakfast.
Some people associate songs with certain periods of their lives (I do that, too), but these days I tend to lean more towards food, especially breakfast food.
When I was a small child I ate kid’s cereal for breakfast. Anything with a ton of sugar and a toy in the box was good enough for me. I lived at home and watched Captain Kangaroo and the Three Stooges every morning.
When we were out of kid’s cereal, I ate my mom’s Corn Flakes. At first glance, they would seem to be the healthier alternative, except that I dumped loads of sugar on them. Left to my preparation, Corn Flakes were ten times as sugar-laden as Fruit Loops.
At the end of a substitute Corn Flakes breakfast, all that was left in the bottom of the bowl was a one-inch layer of white sludge. I, of course, was bouncing off of the walls on a sugar high that wouldn’t wear off until noon. I have a feeling that my elementary school teachers did everything within their means to make sure that the St.John household never ran out of Fruit Loops or Count Chocula.
In junior high school I was into sweet rolls and Pop Tarts, still sugary but quick. By the time I reached high school and had purchased my first automobile, I got into the habit of stopping by the doughnut shop on my way to school.
In my college years I rarely ate breakfast, either because I was not feeling up-to-snuff in the morning, or had yet to roll out of the bed before noon. Due to the fact that I couldn’t wake up before midday, my first attempt at a college career ended abruptly when the university I was attending informed me that they no longer needed my services.
I went through a phase in my 20s where I ate lunch food for breakfast. A local fast food joint prepared hamburgers as early as 7a.m. I lived rent-free in a garage apartment behind my grandmother’s house and rarely cooked anything, especially early in the morning.
At 26-years old I opened my first restaurant. I was working 90-hours per week and pulling early morning shifts in the restaurant. I had a 32-inch waist and more energy than a rabid hummingbird. I lived on cinnamon rolls and drive-thru fast-food in the mornings.
Over the next several years my breakfast eating grew worse and my waist grew exponentially. As I look back to the early days of my breakfast career, it seems that I made one bad choice after another. I spent 40 years eating junk in the morning. It’s strange because breakfast is my favorite meal.
These days I eat oatmeal with protein powder and Splenda if I am home. When I eat breakfast out, I usually eat a bagel, scrambled eggs, or a croissant.
Breakfast is said to be the most important meal of the day. Yet people claim to be too busy to eat breakfast. We keep inventing gadgets to make life easier— cell phones, computerized vacuum cleaners, and heated toilet seats— yet we allege that we are busier than ever.
Maybe we are spending too much time trying to figure out how to operate all of the time-saving gadgets in our lives and not taking time to sit down and share a meal together.
My great-grandmother ate one scrambled egg, two pieces of bacon, and a slice of toast every morning. She lived to be 100-years old. I had a grandmother who ate toast and fresh fruit every morning. She lived to be 96-years old.
Less Stress + More Breakfast = Long Life. Neither of those ladies gave a hoot about time-saving technology. My grandmother once asked me, while pointing to a multi-colored Wurlitzer juke box in the corner of a nursing home public space, “Robert, is that one of those new computers I keep hearing about?”
Maybe it’s time we slowed down and enjoyed breakfast. Put the cell phone in a drawer, unplug the toilet seat, and pass the orange juice.
I spent four decades eating sugar-laden junk in the morning. Maybe it’s time I grew up. Then again, maybe I’ve got just a few more cinnamon roll-mornings left in me.
Breakfast Casserole
1 lb Spicy breakfast sausage
3 /4 cup Onion, diced
1 /4 cup Green bell pepper, sliced
1 /4 cup Red bell pepper, sliced
1 tsp Garlic
1 tsp Creole Seasoning
1 tsp Cayenne pepper
10 Eggs, beaten
1 cup Half and Half
1 tsp Dry mustard
6 pieces White bread, crusts removed
6 pieces Wheat bread, crusts removed
1 /4 cup Soft butter
1 cup Sharp cheddar, shredded
1 cup Monterey jack cheese, shredded
1 tsp. Hot Sauce
Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
Brown sausage in a large skillet and drain most of the fat. Add vegetables, garlic and seasoning and cook five minutes. Set aside.
Mix together eggs, half and half, and dry mustard in a mixing bowl. Using the softened butter, butter both sides of each slice of bread. Cut the bread into small cubes. Fold the bread, cheeses and sausage mixture into the eggs. Mix well and place in a buttered two-quart baking dish.
Bake for 40-50 minutes. Allow to rest for 15 minutes before serving. Yield: eight servings
Recently I realized that I can look back over the course of my life and track my age by what I was eating for breakfast.
Some people associate songs with certain periods of their lives (I do that, too), but these days I tend to lean more towards food, especially breakfast food.
When I was a small child I ate kid’s cereal for breakfast. Anything with a ton of sugar and a toy in the box was good enough for me. I lived at home and watched Captain Kangaroo and the Three Stooges every morning.
When we were out of kid’s cereal, I ate my mom’s Corn Flakes. At first glance, they would seem to be the healthier alternative, except that I dumped loads of sugar on them. Left to my preparation, Corn Flakes were ten times as sugar-laden as Fruit Loops.
At the end of a substitute Corn Flakes breakfast, all that was left in the bottom of the bowl was a one-inch layer of white sludge. I, of course, was bouncing off of the walls on a sugar high that wouldn’t wear off until noon. I have a feeling that my elementary school teachers did everything within their means to make sure that the St.John household never ran out of Fruit Loops or Count Chocula.
In junior high school I was into sweet rolls and Pop Tarts, still sugary but quick. By the time I reached high school and had purchased my first automobile, I got into the habit of stopping by the doughnut shop on my way to school.
In my college years I rarely ate breakfast, either because I was not feeling up-to-snuff in the morning, or had yet to roll out of the bed before noon. Due to the fact that I couldn’t wake up before midday, my first attempt at a college career ended abruptly when the university I was attending informed me that they no longer needed my services.
I went through a phase in my 20s where I ate lunch food for breakfast. A local fast food joint prepared hamburgers as early as 7a.m. I lived rent-free in a garage apartment behind my grandmother’s house and rarely cooked anything, especially early in the morning.
At 26-years old I opened my first restaurant. I was working 90-hours per week and pulling early morning shifts in the restaurant. I had a 32-inch waist and more energy than a rabid hummingbird. I lived on cinnamon rolls and drive-thru fast-food in the mornings.
Over the next several years my breakfast eating grew worse and my waist grew exponentially. As I look back to the early days of my breakfast career, it seems that I made one bad choice after another. I spent 40 years eating junk in the morning. It’s strange because breakfast is my favorite meal.
These days I eat oatmeal with protein powder and Splenda if I am home. When I eat breakfast out, I usually eat a bagel, scrambled eggs, or a croissant.
Breakfast is said to be the most important meal of the day. Yet people claim to be too busy to eat breakfast. We keep inventing gadgets to make life easier— cell phones, computerized vacuum cleaners, and heated toilet seats— yet we allege that we are busier than ever.
Maybe we are spending too much time trying to figure out how to operate all of the time-saving gadgets in our lives and not taking time to sit down and share a meal together.
My great-grandmother ate one scrambled egg, two pieces of bacon, and a slice of toast every morning. She lived to be 100-years old. I had a grandmother who ate toast and fresh fruit every morning. She lived to be 96-years old.
Less Stress + More Breakfast = Long Life. Neither of those ladies gave a hoot about time-saving technology. My grandmother once asked me, while pointing to a multi-colored Wurlitzer juke box in the corner of a nursing home public space, “Robert, is that one of those new computers I keep hearing about?”
Maybe it’s time we slowed down and enjoyed breakfast. Put the cell phone in a drawer, unplug the toilet seat, and pass the orange juice.
I spent four decades eating sugar-laden junk in the morning. Maybe it’s time I grew up. Then again, maybe I’ve got just a few more cinnamon roll-mornings left in me.
Breakfast Casserole
1 lb Spicy breakfast sausage
3 /4 cup Onion, diced
1 /4 cup Green bell pepper, sliced
1 /4 cup Red bell pepper, sliced
1 tsp Garlic
1 tsp Creole Seasoning
1 tsp Cayenne pepper
10 Eggs, beaten
1 cup Half and Half
1 tsp Dry mustard
6 pieces White bread, crusts removed
6 pieces Wheat bread, crusts removed
1 /4 cup Soft butter
1 cup Sharp cheddar, shredded
1 cup Monterey jack cheese, shredded
1 tsp. Hot Sauce
Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
Brown sausage in a large skillet and drain most of the fat. Add vegetables, garlic and seasoning and cook five minutes. Set aside.
Mix together eggs, half and half, and dry mustard in a mixing bowl. Using the softened butter, butter both sides of each slice of bread. Cut the bread into small cubes. Fold the bread, cheeses and sausage mixture into the eggs. Mix well and place in a buttered two-quart baking dish.
Bake for 40-50 minutes. Allow to rest for 15 minutes before serving. Yield: eight servings
All You Can Eat
“Buffet Bans Fat People” was the headline I came across while surfing the Internet. O.K., I’ll bite.
According to a story on Breitbart.com a man in Houma, La was charged double for making too many trips to the buffet line. Ricky Labit, a 265-pound offshore worker, said he had been frequenting the Manchuria Restaurant in Houma for several months when, on his most recent visit, a waitress charged him double for taking too many trips to the buffet. The waitress told him, “Y’all fat, and y’all eat too much!”
The story is filled with all manner of juicy quotes such as Labit responding, “I ain’t that fat, I only weigh 277.”
Labit might have one of those wavy carnival midway mirrors in his bathroom because the waitress said he looked as if he had a “baby in the belly.”
Have you looked around an all-you-can-eat buffet, lately? They’re everywhere. You can’t throw a rock without hitting one in South Mississippi. If they start banning fat people, they’ll lose 75% of their business, including me.
“All-you-can-eat” was invented for fat people. I am chief among the sinners. Skinny people aren’t interested in eating all of the food that they can cram into their gut. That’s why they’re skinny. They want healthy food, and small amounts of it. There are a few skinny people at the all-you-can-eat buffet, but they’re usually sitting with a group of people wearing XXL shirts who talked them out of eating a salad at another restaurant.
Again, I am chief among the sinners. I weigh 247. I wear XXL shirts, and I feel like Ricky Labit— I ain’t that fat (at least not too fat to go back for seconds, or thirds).
The name itself, “all-you-can-eat” is a challenge. “I’ll show them just how much I can eat,” I think to myself. It’s a psychological thing. I want to win. I want to beat the system. I always think that I can eat more than the amount I paid. It’s the buffet-owners hook. Keep bringing it out, I’ll show you how many hushpuppies I can swallow in one sitting.
There is a mood that permeates through approximately 20% of all-you-can-eat buffet customers. One can see it in their eyes. It’s in my eyes when I eat at an all-you-can-eat buffet. It’s a look of panic. It’s the frenzied fear that the kitchen might run out of food so I need to pile my plate so high that I can’t easily walk back to the table without spilling half of the food that I was worried was going to be gone in the first place.
Last Spring my publisher sent a photographer from New York to photograph food for my new grilling cookbook. He was interested in the dining customs of our neck of the woods so I took him to a few of my favorite local "joints."
While looking at the menu in a fried catfish restaurant I noticed him staring at the menu and speaking softly— to no one in particular— “All you can eat, all you can eat." The diminutive New Yorker looked up and asked, "You mean they'll keep bringing me food as long as I sit here?"
"Yep," I said. "But they're not too worried about you." He ate mostly cole slaw that night, further proving my point that skinny people eat too much green stuff. That goes double for skinny New Yorkers.
When I was in high school I worked for a man who weighed over 500 pounds. At the time, my hometown of Hattiesburg, Miss. had one restaurant which served all-you-can-eat catfish.
The second Thursday of every month, my boss would take us to the all-you-can-eat catfish restaurant. After the first few months, I started to notice the look of dread on the faces of the servers as we walked through the doors of the restaurant. My boss was a bottomless pit and could keep eating until he got bored. As long as the servers brought more catfish, he could keep eating it. He didn’t look as if he had a baby in the belly; he was carrying an entire litter.
That look of dread was probably the same one that was displayed by the waitress in Houma. Bottom line: If you’re going to offer all-you-can-eat, you have to deliver on that promise (or challenge). Otherwise, skinny 247-pound people like me are going to be offended.
A sign in the Houma restaurant reads: “Food is for eating, not toys for your child.” A handwritten addition is added to the bottom of the sign “Or 20% added.” It looks as though the fat tax they’ve been warning us about for years is finally here. Quick, pass the hushpuppies.
Hushpuppies
1 1 /2 cups Cornmeal
3/4 cup Flour
2 tsp Baking powder
1 /2 tsp Baking soda
1 Tbl Sugar
1 tsp Lawry’s seasoned salt
1 tsp Creole Seasoning (recipe page XX)
1 /4 cup Yellow onion, minced
1 /4 cup Green onion, minced
1 cup Buttermilk
2 Tbl Bacon grease, melted (or canola oil)
1 tsp Hot Sauce
2 Eggs, beaten well
Peanut oil for frying
In one bowl, combine cornmeal, flour, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, Lawry’s and Creole seasoning. In another, combine remaining ingredients. Gently fold the wet ingredients into the dry and mix until everything is combined. Do not over work batter.
Heat oil to 325 degrees in cast iron skillet. Shape batter into small round balls, and drop into oil. Fry until brown, seven to eight minutes. Remove, drain and serve. Yield: approximately 30
“Buffet Bans Fat People” was the headline I came across while surfing the Internet. O.K., I’ll bite.
According to a story on Breitbart.com a man in Houma, La was charged double for making too many trips to the buffet line. Ricky Labit, a 265-pound offshore worker, said he had been frequenting the Manchuria Restaurant in Houma for several months when, on his most recent visit, a waitress charged him double for taking too many trips to the buffet. The waitress told him, “Y’all fat, and y’all eat too much!”
The story is filled with all manner of juicy quotes such as Labit responding, “I ain’t that fat, I only weigh 277.”
Labit might have one of those wavy carnival midway mirrors in his bathroom because the waitress said he looked as if he had a “baby in the belly.”
Have you looked around an all-you-can-eat buffet, lately? They’re everywhere. You can’t throw a rock without hitting one in South Mississippi. If they start banning fat people, they’ll lose 75% of their business, including me.
“All-you-can-eat” was invented for fat people. I am chief among the sinners. Skinny people aren’t interested in eating all of the food that they can cram into their gut. That’s why they’re skinny. They want healthy food, and small amounts of it. There are a few skinny people at the all-you-can-eat buffet, but they’re usually sitting with a group of people wearing XXL shirts who talked them out of eating a salad at another restaurant.
Again, I am chief among the sinners. I weigh 247. I wear XXL shirts, and I feel like Ricky Labit— I ain’t that fat (at least not too fat to go back for seconds, or thirds).
The name itself, “all-you-can-eat” is a challenge. “I’ll show them just how much I can eat,” I think to myself. It’s a psychological thing. I want to win. I want to beat the system. I always think that I can eat more than the amount I paid. It’s the buffet-owners hook. Keep bringing it out, I’ll show you how many hushpuppies I can swallow in one sitting.
There is a mood that permeates through approximately 20% of all-you-can-eat buffet customers. One can see it in their eyes. It’s in my eyes when I eat at an all-you-can-eat buffet. It’s a look of panic. It’s the frenzied fear that the kitchen might run out of food so I need to pile my plate so high that I can’t easily walk back to the table without spilling half of the food that I was worried was going to be gone in the first place.
Last Spring my publisher sent a photographer from New York to photograph food for my new grilling cookbook. He was interested in the dining customs of our neck of the woods so I took him to a few of my favorite local "joints."
While looking at the menu in a fried catfish restaurant I noticed him staring at the menu and speaking softly— to no one in particular— “All you can eat, all you can eat." The diminutive New Yorker looked up and asked, "You mean they'll keep bringing me food as long as I sit here?"
"Yep," I said. "But they're not too worried about you." He ate mostly cole slaw that night, further proving my point that skinny people eat too much green stuff. That goes double for skinny New Yorkers.
When I was in high school I worked for a man who weighed over 500 pounds. At the time, my hometown of Hattiesburg, Miss. had one restaurant which served all-you-can-eat catfish.
The second Thursday of every month, my boss would take us to the all-you-can-eat catfish restaurant. After the first few months, I started to notice the look of dread on the faces of the servers as we walked through the doors of the restaurant. My boss was a bottomless pit and could keep eating until he got bored. As long as the servers brought more catfish, he could keep eating it. He didn’t look as if he had a baby in the belly; he was carrying an entire litter.
That look of dread was probably the same one that was displayed by the waitress in Houma. Bottom line: If you’re going to offer all-you-can-eat, you have to deliver on that promise (or challenge). Otherwise, skinny 247-pound people like me are going to be offended.
A sign in the Houma restaurant reads: “Food is for eating, not toys for your child.” A handwritten addition is added to the bottom of the sign “Or 20% added.” It looks as though the fat tax they’ve been warning us about for years is finally here. Quick, pass the hushpuppies.
Hushpuppies
1 1 /2 cups Cornmeal
3/4 cup Flour
2 tsp Baking powder
1 /2 tsp Baking soda
1 Tbl Sugar
1 tsp Lawry’s seasoned salt
1 tsp Creole Seasoning (recipe page XX)
1 /4 cup Yellow onion, minced
1 /4 cup Green onion, minced
1 cup Buttermilk
2 Tbl Bacon grease, melted (or canola oil)
1 tsp Hot Sauce
2 Eggs, beaten well
Peanut oil for frying
In one bowl, combine cornmeal, flour, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, Lawry’s and Creole seasoning. In another, combine remaining ingredients. Gently fold the wet ingredients into the dry and mix until everything is combined. Do not over work batter.
Heat oil to 325 degrees in cast iron skillet. Shape batter into small round balls, and drop into oil. Fry until brown, seven to eight minutes. Remove, drain and serve. Yield: approximately 30
New Years Hopes and Wishes 2008
In keeping with my annual tradition of not committing to anything that might make me change my eating habits, once again, I will not make New Year’s resolutions. Instead, I submit my annual list of culinary hopes and wishes for 2008. Some old, some new, all heartfelt:
1. I hope to finally be able to recreate my grandmother’s leg of lamb.
2. I hope to eat a minimum of one around-the-dinner-table, home-cooked, family meal each day with my wife and two children.
3. I wish more restaurants would serve fresh, hand-cut French fries.
4. I hope that sometime during the year, someone will deliver a homemade chicken pot pie to my house (this actually worked two years ago… I’m keeping my fingers crossed this time).
5. I hope that someone finds a health benefit in eating freshly baked croissants and bagels every morning.
6. I wish that I could still eat donuts and not feel badly afterwards.
7. No head cheese.
8. I hope that every father will take his daughter out to eat in a fine-dining restaurant at least once in the coming year.
9. I wish more restaurants would focus on preparing unusual and flavorful salads.
10. And when they do, I hope that they don’t drown the salads in too much dressing.
11. I wish more barbeque restaurants would smoke their meats in real wood-burning pits instead of using propane.
12. I hope everyone gets to attend at least one covered-dish supper in 2008.
13. I wish positive cash flows on all restaurateurs.
14. I wish multiple bushels of sweet corn for everyone.
15. Two words… Black Grouper.
16. One word: Ceviche.
17. Four words: Second helpings of each.
18. I wish restaurants would place more focus on service and less on atmosphere.
19. I hope Mississippi has a record-breaking shrimp season in 2008.
20. No pates or terrines, ever again.
21. To my friends, gallons of corn and crab bisque, to my enemies— fruitcake, mincemeat pies, and potted meat.
22. I still wish multiple messes of greens for everyone, be they turnip, mustard, or collard.
23. May your chocolate cake be moist and your banana pudding be close at hand.
24. No aspic or congealed salads.
25. I hope to eat home-cooked fried chicken at least once-a-week in 2008.
26. I hope that when I am eating my once-a-week fried chicken, it is accompanied by English peas in a nest of homemade mashed potatoes.
27. Don’t forget the biscuits.
28. It is my New Year’s wish that all “gourmets” and “foodies” drop the pretention and begin to see the beauty and perfection in an expertly made chicken pot pie (friends and family please see wish # 4).
29. I still wish someone would bring back the Marathon candy bar.
30. May you eat boatloads of jumbo lump crabmeat and never once find a shell.
31. I hope that the drought in Georgia doesn’t affect this year’s peach crop.
32. If it does, I hope Chilton County, Alabama has a record-breaking peach year.
33. I still hope that short-order food counters and drugstore soda fountains make a comeback.
34. I wish a minimum of 12 fried oyster po-boys for everyone in 2008 (and plenty of hot sauce on all of them).
35. I hope customers will solidly support the independent restaurants and culinary entrepreneurs in their communities.
36. I hope that every local soup kitchen sees their contribution levels increase by a minimum of 25% in 2008.
37. I wish more non-restaurant businesses would be as focused on customer service as those in the restaurant industry.
38. I hope that everyone eats well, whether at home or in a restaurant, and goes back for seconds, thirds even. Remember— doggie bags are for quitters.
39. Warning: Shameless Plug Alert— I hope that everyone who purchased my Southern Seasons cookbook will purchase my new cookbook New South Grilling, in stores this April.
40. I hope everyone gets plenty of the Five F’s in 2008: faith, family, friends, food and fun.
41. I hope we all do everything we can to see that no one in this country ever goes hungry.
Chicken Pot Pie
1 /2cup Butter
1 /2 cup Flour
1 /2 cup Carrots, diced
1 /2 cup Onion, diced
1 /2 cup Celery, diced
1 /2 cup Butter beans, cooked
1 /4 tsp Thyme, ground
2 tsp. Salt
1 1 /2 tsp Black pepper
2 1 /2 cups Chicken broth, hot
1 1 /2 cup Chicken, cooked, diced
2 Pie crusts
Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
Heat butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add flour to make a blonde roux. Cook four to five minutes. Reduce heat to low. Add vegetables and continue to cook five to seven minutes. Add thyme, salt and pepper. Slowly stir in hot chicken broth. Simmer 10 minutes stirring often to prevent sticking.
Add diced chicken and remove from the heat. Allow filling to cool in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.
Roll out the piecrusts. Place one on the bottom of a 9-inch pie pan. Fill with the chicken mixture. Top with the remaining piecrust and crimp edges to seal. Using a paring knife cut six slits into the crust so the pie can vent. Brush with egg wash.
Bake one hour. Allow to rest 15 minutes before cutting and serving. Yield: 8 servings
In keeping with my annual tradition of not committing to anything that might make me change my eating habits, once again, I will not make New Year’s resolutions. Instead, I submit my annual list of culinary hopes and wishes for 2008. Some old, some new, all heartfelt:
1. I hope to finally be able to recreate my grandmother’s leg of lamb.
2. I hope to eat a minimum of one around-the-dinner-table, home-cooked, family meal each day with my wife and two children.
3. I wish more restaurants would serve fresh, hand-cut French fries.
4. I hope that sometime during the year, someone will deliver a homemade chicken pot pie to my house (this actually worked two years ago… I’m keeping my fingers crossed this time).
5. I hope that someone finds a health benefit in eating freshly baked croissants and bagels every morning.
6. I wish that I could still eat donuts and not feel badly afterwards.
7. No head cheese.
8. I hope that every father will take his daughter out to eat in a fine-dining restaurant at least once in the coming year.
9. I wish more restaurants would focus on preparing unusual and flavorful salads.
10. And when they do, I hope that they don’t drown the salads in too much dressing.
11. I wish more barbeque restaurants would smoke their meats in real wood-burning pits instead of using propane.
12. I hope everyone gets to attend at least one covered-dish supper in 2008.
13. I wish positive cash flows on all restaurateurs.
14. I wish multiple bushels of sweet corn for everyone.
15. Two words… Black Grouper.
16. One word: Ceviche.
17. Four words: Second helpings of each.
18. I wish restaurants would place more focus on service and less on atmosphere.
19. I hope Mississippi has a record-breaking shrimp season in 2008.
20. No pates or terrines, ever again.
21. To my friends, gallons of corn and crab bisque, to my enemies— fruitcake, mincemeat pies, and potted meat.
22. I still wish multiple messes of greens for everyone, be they turnip, mustard, or collard.
23. May your chocolate cake be moist and your banana pudding be close at hand.
24. No aspic or congealed salads.
25. I hope to eat home-cooked fried chicken at least once-a-week in 2008.
26. I hope that when I am eating my once-a-week fried chicken, it is accompanied by English peas in a nest of homemade mashed potatoes.
27. Don’t forget the biscuits.
28. It is my New Year’s wish that all “gourmets” and “foodies” drop the pretention and begin to see the beauty and perfection in an expertly made chicken pot pie (friends and family please see wish # 4).
29. I still wish someone would bring back the Marathon candy bar.
30. May you eat boatloads of jumbo lump crabmeat and never once find a shell.
31. I hope that the drought in Georgia doesn’t affect this year’s peach crop.
32. If it does, I hope Chilton County, Alabama has a record-breaking peach year.
33. I still hope that short-order food counters and drugstore soda fountains make a comeback.
34. I wish a minimum of 12 fried oyster po-boys for everyone in 2008 (and plenty of hot sauce on all of them).
35. I hope customers will solidly support the independent restaurants and culinary entrepreneurs in their communities.
36. I hope that every local soup kitchen sees their contribution levels increase by a minimum of 25% in 2008.
37. I wish more non-restaurant businesses would be as focused on customer service as those in the restaurant industry.
38. I hope that everyone eats well, whether at home or in a restaurant, and goes back for seconds, thirds even. Remember— doggie bags are for quitters.
39. Warning: Shameless Plug Alert— I hope that everyone who purchased my Southern Seasons cookbook will purchase my new cookbook New South Grilling, in stores this April.
40. I hope everyone gets plenty of the Five F’s in 2008: faith, family, friends, food and fun.
41. I hope we all do everything we can to see that no one in this country ever goes hungry.
Chicken Pot Pie
1 /2cup Butter
1 /2 cup Flour
1 /2 cup Carrots, diced
1 /2 cup Onion, diced
1 /2 cup Celery, diced
1 /2 cup Butter beans, cooked
1 /4 tsp Thyme, ground
2 tsp. Salt
1 1 /2 tsp Black pepper
2 1 /2 cups Chicken broth, hot
1 1 /2 cup Chicken, cooked, diced
2 Pie crusts
Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
Heat butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add flour to make a blonde roux. Cook four to five minutes. Reduce heat to low. Add vegetables and continue to cook five to seven minutes. Add thyme, salt and pepper. Slowly stir in hot chicken broth. Simmer 10 minutes stirring often to prevent sticking.
Add diced chicken and remove from the heat. Allow filling to cool in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.
Roll out the piecrusts. Place one on the bottom of a 9-inch pie pan. Fill with the chicken mixture. Top with the remaining piecrust and crimp edges to seal. Using a paring knife cut six slits into the crust so the pie can vent. Brush with egg wash.
Bake one hour. Allow to rest 15 minutes before cutting and serving. Yield: 8 servings
Monday, December 17, 2007
Christmas Morning Excitement
Christmas morning excitement is an emotion unmatched by any other.
Adult excitement pales in comparison to the holiday-exhilaration recipe of two-parts anticipation, mixed with one part delight, a dab of enchantment, and a pinch of joy that is experienced every Christmas Eve until our pre-teen years sweep the thrills away.
The excitement reaches its fever pitch just before sleep. Lying in bed— blankets and sheets pulled to the chin— listening to every bump and creak in the attic and on the roof. Occasionally daring to get out of the bed to run across the room and peek through the curtains to see if reindeer might have landed in the front yard.
I miss that thrill. Granted, it is a materialistic feeling at its core, and pales in comparison to the adult excitement of babies being born and offspring accomplishments, but it is a memory that is too strong to be denied. It is a singular emotion that is unlike any other we experience for the rest of our lives.
The anticipation begins at dusk on Christmas Eve. Children realize that the greatest kid-day of the year has almost arrived. It’s the day they have been waiting for since December 26th of the previous year. It’s the one day that is unlike any other— the day when children all over the world wake up and open gifts that have magically appeared from nowhere. It happens on only one morning and it is the crux of kiddom.
As Christmas Eve night progresses, kids realize that they are only hours away from waking up to the frenzy of flying wrapping paper, shiny toys, and colorful presents. Excitement mixes with exhaustion and anticipation— it’s almost time.
What a great concept. Waking up to stuff. New stuff. Stuff you have been dreaming about for months. Everyone is happy. What a great feeling.
Remember that Christmas morning feeling this holiday season. Remember the excitement and the elation. Let’s do what we can to revive that feeling in ourselves and in our neighbors throughout the year. Most of all let’s pass it on.
Some children won’t wake up to flying paper and shiny toys. For them, it’s not about colorful presents and new stuff. It’s about survival and getting by on a daily basis.
This holiday season make sure that the joy you experienced happens for everyone.
The man who learns how to put Christmas morning excitement into pill form will be a rich man, indeed. Meanwhile, many of us have the power to make it happen for the under-resourced children in our communities. This Christmas Eve, let’s pull the sheets to our chin knowing that we did everything we could to create Christmas-morning memories and excitement for everyone.
Cookies for Santa
1 stick Butter
1/ 3 cup Light brown sugar
1 tsp. Vanilla
1/ 8 tsp. Salt
1 1 /4 cups Flour
1 /2 cup Pecans, finely chopped
Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
Using an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar on slowest speed until light and fluffy. Add the vanilla and salt. Add flour making sure not to over mix. Fold in pecans by hand. Form dough into 1 1 /2 inch diameter balls and place on baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Using the palm of your hand, flatten the dough until it is about 1 /4 inch thick. Bake 15-18 minutes, just until cookies begin to brown. Yield: 16-20 cookies
Christmas morning excitement is an emotion unmatched by any other.
Adult excitement pales in comparison to the holiday-exhilaration recipe of two-parts anticipation, mixed with one part delight, a dab of enchantment, and a pinch of joy that is experienced every Christmas Eve until our pre-teen years sweep the thrills away.
The excitement reaches its fever pitch just before sleep. Lying in bed— blankets and sheets pulled to the chin— listening to every bump and creak in the attic and on the roof. Occasionally daring to get out of the bed to run across the room and peek through the curtains to see if reindeer might have landed in the front yard.
I miss that thrill. Granted, it is a materialistic feeling at its core, and pales in comparison to the adult excitement of babies being born and offspring accomplishments, but it is a memory that is too strong to be denied. It is a singular emotion that is unlike any other we experience for the rest of our lives.
The anticipation begins at dusk on Christmas Eve. Children realize that the greatest kid-day of the year has almost arrived. It’s the day they have been waiting for since December 26th of the previous year. It’s the one day that is unlike any other— the day when children all over the world wake up and open gifts that have magically appeared from nowhere. It happens on only one morning and it is the crux of kiddom.
As Christmas Eve night progresses, kids realize that they are only hours away from waking up to the frenzy of flying wrapping paper, shiny toys, and colorful presents. Excitement mixes with exhaustion and anticipation— it’s almost time.
What a great concept. Waking up to stuff. New stuff. Stuff you have been dreaming about for months. Everyone is happy. What a great feeling.
Remember that Christmas morning feeling this holiday season. Remember the excitement and the elation. Let’s do what we can to revive that feeling in ourselves and in our neighbors throughout the year. Most of all let’s pass it on.
Some children won’t wake up to flying paper and shiny toys. For them, it’s not about colorful presents and new stuff. It’s about survival and getting by on a daily basis.
This holiday season make sure that the joy you experienced happens for everyone.
The man who learns how to put Christmas morning excitement into pill form will be a rich man, indeed. Meanwhile, many of us have the power to make it happen for the under-resourced children in our communities. This Christmas Eve, let’s pull the sheets to our chin knowing that we did everything we could to create Christmas-morning memories and excitement for everyone.
Cookies for Santa
1 stick Butter
1/ 3 cup Light brown sugar
1 tsp. Vanilla
1/ 8 tsp. Salt
1 1 /4 cups Flour
1 /2 cup Pecans, finely chopped
Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
Using an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar on slowest speed until light and fluffy. Add the vanilla and salt. Add flour making sure not to over mix. Fold in pecans by hand. Form dough into 1 1 /2 inch diameter balls and place on baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Using the palm of your hand, flatten the dough until it is about 1 /4 inch thick. Bake 15-18 minutes, just until cookies begin to brown. Yield: 16-20 cookies
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
A Fruitful Day Off
For 46 years I have been blessed with excess energy.
I seem to have been born with enough vitality and drive for two people. Though lately, I have been feeling my age.
Sunday I experienced my first “true” day off in six weeks. I planned to stay in bed most of the afternoon and treat myself to a full day of football for the first time since September.
My wife had to take my son to a birthday party and my daughter needed to stay home to work on a school project. Around 1:30 p.m. my daughter came into my bedroom wanting to know what we were having for lunch. I asked her what she would like, and she couldn’t decide.
As an offhand remark, I said, “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and make us a sandwich,” and turned my attention back to the football game.
When on tour or giving a speech, the most frequent question I am asked is, “Who does the cooking in your home?”
The answer is always the same, “My wife cooks for the family, and I cook for company.” It’s not written in stone. The roles reverse on occasion. If my wife decides to sleep late, I am happy to make a “Daddy Breakfast” for the children, or if she’s putting on makeup before the movie, I don’t mind throwing together a chicken casserole and salad. She, too, makes great lasagna, spaghetti, and pasta shells for company.
For the most part, we stick to our roles. Mom cooks for the family. Dad cooks for company and away from home. The children just eat.
Before long my 10-year old daughter came walking into the bedroom holding a tray. She was beaming. I know all of her expressions. This was one that I hadn’t seen before. It was an ear-to-ear smile filled with satisfaction and achievement.
On the tray was a triple-decker peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Fritos, and a glass of milk.
I have eaten thousands of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in my life. In my first six years on the planet, they were almost all I ate, exclusively. I have eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches prepared by my mother, by both of my grandmothers, by my babysitters, by my wife, by friends, and by my own hands. I have taken them to school in lunchboxes. I have eaten them at church and on picnics, I have eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in my formal dining room and I have eaten them in sparsely decorated bachelor apartments. I can truly say that I have never eaten one that I have enjoyed as much as the one prepared and served by my daughter at 1:47 p.m. on December 9, 2007.
An hour later, she came back in the room with a plate of freshly baked oatmeal cookies and another glass of milk.
“Thank you, precious.”
“You’re welcome, daddy.”
The cynical reader might say, “What’s the big deal? It was a sandwich and a plate of Fritos.” That is correct, but it was so much more.
It was a small act of independence born in original thought. The look on her face signaled a sort of self-sufficient culinary rite of passage. She has now reached an age where she can go into the kitchen and prepare food, and she is happy about it.
In the last 20 years, I have eaten at some of this country’s finest restaurants. I don’t know if any of those meals can match the sheer joy I experienced having a Sunday afternoon lunch in bed, prepared by my daughter.
The smile on my daughter’s face was one that I will never forget. It was a look of delight, independence, and accomplishment all at once, and one that could only be surpassed— at that moment— by the look of pride on the face of her father.
Now when I am asked, “Who does the cooking in your home?” I will have to change my answer. My wife cooks for the family. I cook for company, and my daughter cooks for special occasions.
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.
For 46 years I have been blessed with excess energy.
I seem to have been born with enough vitality and drive for two people. Though lately, I have been feeling my age.
Sunday I experienced my first “true” day off in six weeks. I planned to stay in bed most of the afternoon and treat myself to a full day of football for the first time since September.
My wife had to take my son to a birthday party and my daughter needed to stay home to work on a school project. Around 1:30 p.m. my daughter came into my bedroom wanting to know what we were having for lunch. I asked her what she would like, and she couldn’t decide.
As an offhand remark, I said, “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and make us a sandwich,” and turned my attention back to the football game.
When on tour or giving a speech, the most frequent question I am asked is, “Who does the cooking in your home?”
The answer is always the same, “My wife cooks for the family, and I cook for company.” It’s not written in stone. The roles reverse on occasion. If my wife decides to sleep late, I am happy to make a “Daddy Breakfast” for the children, or if she’s putting on makeup before the movie, I don’t mind throwing together a chicken casserole and salad. She, too, makes great lasagna, spaghetti, and pasta shells for company.
For the most part, we stick to our roles. Mom cooks for the family. Dad cooks for company and away from home. The children just eat.
Before long my 10-year old daughter came walking into the bedroom holding a tray. She was beaming. I know all of her expressions. This was one that I hadn’t seen before. It was an ear-to-ear smile filled with satisfaction and achievement.
On the tray was a triple-decker peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Fritos, and a glass of milk.
I have eaten thousands of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in my life. In my first six years on the planet, they were almost all I ate, exclusively. I have eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches prepared by my mother, by both of my grandmothers, by my babysitters, by my wife, by friends, and by my own hands. I have taken them to school in lunchboxes. I have eaten them at church and on picnics, I have eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in my formal dining room and I have eaten them in sparsely decorated bachelor apartments. I can truly say that I have never eaten one that I have enjoyed as much as the one prepared and served by my daughter at 1:47 p.m. on December 9, 2007.
An hour later, she came back in the room with a plate of freshly baked oatmeal cookies and another glass of milk.
“Thank you, precious.”
“You’re welcome, daddy.”
The cynical reader might say, “What’s the big deal? It was a sandwich and a plate of Fritos.” That is correct, but it was so much more.
It was a small act of independence born in original thought. The look on her face signaled a sort of self-sufficient culinary rite of passage. She has now reached an age where she can go into the kitchen and prepare food, and she is happy about it.
In the last 20 years, I have eaten at some of this country’s finest restaurants. I don’t know if any of those meals can match the sheer joy I experienced having a Sunday afternoon lunch in bed, prepared by my daughter.
The smile on my daughter’s face was one that I will never forget. It was a look of delight, independence, and accomplishment all at once, and one that could only be surpassed— at that moment— by the look of pride on the face of her father.
Now when I am asked, “Who does the cooking in your home?” I will have to change my answer. My wife cooks for the family. I cook for company, and my daughter cooks for special occasions.
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.
Monday, December 03, 2007
The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow
At a book signing on the Mississippi Gulf Coast last week, I was hit with a blinding jolt of reality.
I have been a victim of out-of-sight out-of-mind Katrina apathy. My hometown of Hattiesburg was hit hard. Yet we bounced back quickly.
At Pass Christian Books— a small, independent bookstore which used to overlook the Gulf of Mexico— business is not the same. As with most beachfront structures in Pass Christian— and all along the Gulf front in the post-Katrina world— only a slab of concrete remains.
Pass Christian Books has moved five miles north of the beach to Delisle, Miss. until the city’s infrastructure is restored.
I am a huge fan of the old-line seafood restaurants of the Mississippi Gulf Coast. I have fond memories of eating at Baricev’s, The Friendship House, McElroy’s, and the like. I have always encouraged support of the independent restaurants of the Coast.
One restaurant that I must have passed a thousand times, but never once visited was Annie’s at Henderson Point. As with most of the independent restaurants within a few blocks of the Gulf, Annie’s was a casualty of Katrina. They, too, moved to Delisle after the storm.
As Wyatt Waters and I signed books we ordered a cup of gumbo from the newly relocated Annie’s (now Café Annie located next door to the bookstore). The gumbo was rich, the roux was dark, and it had the distinct taste of a well-made crab stock in the foreground.
As I finished my gumbo, I felt an overwhelming pang of guilt for not visiting Annie’s in its original location.
Annie’s restaurant opened on Henderson Point in 1928. The family-run operation withstood three hurricanes, two fires, and everything that Mother Nature could throw at it until Katrina blew through the Coast in 2005.
Annie Lutz— who recently celebrated her 89th birthday—has been working in the restaurant since she was a little girl and still mans the cash register out front. Her niece, Jackie Jex, says that Annie’s been there “Since she was able to reach the counter.”
Annie lived her entire life in an apartment attached to the restaurant. It’s gone, too.
In addition to excellent seafood gumbo, Café Annie serves a full array of old-line Coast favorites such as Trout Amandine, broiled fish, and Italian-inspired seafood dishes which have been the mainstay of independent Gulf Coast restaurants for over a century. As Jex gave me an oral history of the restaurant while pointing to photographs on the walls, I lamented the fact that I would never again know the restaurant in its original state.
The day before the Coast book signing, I was at a book event in New Orleans. During a conversation with a New Orleans customer, Hurricane Katrina came up. As the conversation moved to national attention and national media coverage of the event in the months following the storm, the New Orleans woman apologized to me for all of the coverage that they received and offered an, “I’m sorry” saying Mississippians hadn’t received enough of the attention.
I told her that everything is O.K. We never wanted a lot of attention. We took care of ourselves, we took care of our neighbors, and our governor took care of the rest.
To a person, everyone who bought books at the Pass Christian book signing had lost all of their cookbooks— and their homes along with them— to the storm. No one complained. No one seemed resentful. They had gotten on with their daily lives and to the business of rebuilding the Coast. “It’s only stuff,” one woman commented.
It’s people like Scott Naugle at Pass Christian Books, Annie Lutz at Café Annie, and the customers of those, and many other, businesses who have rolled up their sleeves and are back fighting the good fight— the daily fight, the hard fight— and doing business in what remains of a storm-ravaged community.
At Café Annie, 80 years of Gulf Coast restaurant history have been reduced to a small wall of black and white 8 x 10 photographs. There are hundreds of businesses with similar stories all along the Gulf. Let’s throw apathy to the wind and keep them in sight, and in mind, during the holiday shopping season, and throughout the coming years.
Shrimp and Okra Gumbo
1 /2 cup Canola oil
3 /4 cup Flour
2 Tbl File powder
1 cup Onion, diced
1 /2 cup Celery, diced
1 /2 cup Bell pepper, diced
1 1 /2 cups Fresh okra, sliced
2 Tbl Garlic, minced
1 1 /2 lbs Shrimp, small
2 tsp Salt
1 1 /2 tsp Black pepper
2 tsp Creole Seasoning
1 tsp Thyme, dry
1 cup Tomatoes, diced, canned or fresh
2 quarts Shrimp stock
1 Tbl Hot Sauce
1 /4 tsp Cayenne pepper
2 cups cooked white rice
In a large skillet, combine oil, flour and file powder to form a roux. Cook over medium heat, stirring often until roux is very dark (be careful not to burn). Add
vegetables, garlic, spices and shrimp and continue to cook for five to seven minutes, stirring constantly to prevent burning. Meanwhile, bring shrimp stock and tomatoes to a boil. Slowly add roux mixture to boiling stock and mix well. Lower heat to a slow simmer, and cook 10 more minutes. Add hot sauce and cayenne pepper.
To serve, place 2-3 tablespoons of rice in a bowl then pour the hot gumbo over the rice.
Yield: 1 gallon
At a book signing on the Mississippi Gulf Coast last week, I was hit with a blinding jolt of reality.
I have been a victim of out-of-sight out-of-mind Katrina apathy. My hometown of Hattiesburg was hit hard. Yet we bounced back quickly.
At Pass Christian Books— a small, independent bookstore which used to overlook the Gulf of Mexico— business is not the same. As with most beachfront structures in Pass Christian— and all along the Gulf front in the post-Katrina world— only a slab of concrete remains.
Pass Christian Books has moved five miles north of the beach to Delisle, Miss. until the city’s infrastructure is restored.
I am a huge fan of the old-line seafood restaurants of the Mississippi Gulf Coast. I have fond memories of eating at Baricev’s, The Friendship House, McElroy’s, and the like. I have always encouraged support of the independent restaurants of the Coast.
One restaurant that I must have passed a thousand times, but never once visited was Annie’s at Henderson Point. As with most of the independent restaurants within a few blocks of the Gulf, Annie’s was a casualty of Katrina. They, too, moved to Delisle after the storm.
As Wyatt Waters and I signed books we ordered a cup of gumbo from the newly relocated Annie’s (now Café Annie located next door to the bookstore). The gumbo was rich, the roux was dark, and it had the distinct taste of a well-made crab stock in the foreground.
As I finished my gumbo, I felt an overwhelming pang of guilt for not visiting Annie’s in its original location.
Annie’s restaurant opened on Henderson Point in 1928. The family-run operation withstood three hurricanes, two fires, and everything that Mother Nature could throw at it until Katrina blew through the Coast in 2005.
Annie Lutz— who recently celebrated her 89th birthday—has been working in the restaurant since she was a little girl and still mans the cash register out front. Her niece, Jackie Jex, says that Annie’s been there “Since she was able to reach the counter.”
Annie lived her entire life in an apartment attached to the restaurant. It’s gone, too.
In addition to excellent seafood gumbo, Café Annie serves a full array of old-line Coast favorites such as Trout Amandine, broiled fish, and Italian-inspired seafood dishes which have been the mainstay of independent Gulf Coast restaurants for over a century. As Jex gave me an oral history of the restaurant while pointing to photographs on the walls, I lamented the fact that I would never again know the restaurant in its original state.
The day before the Coast book signing, I was at a book event in New Orleans. During a conversation with a New Orleans customer, Hurricane Katrina came up. As the conversation moved to national attention and national media coverage of the event in the months following the storm, the New Orleans woman apologized to me for all of the coverage that they received and offered an, “I’m sorry” saying Mississippians hadn’t received enough of the attention.
I told her that everything is O.K. We never wanted a lot of attention. We took care of ourselves, we took care of our neighbors, and our governor took care of the rest.
To a person, everyone who bought books at the Pass Christian book signing had lost all of their cookbooks— and their homes along with them— to the storm. No one complained. No one seemed resentful. They had gotten on with their daily lives and to the business of rebuilding the Coast. “It’s only stuff,” one woman commented.
It’s people like Scott Naugle at Pass Christian Books, Annie Lutz at Café Annie, and the customers of those, and many other, businesses who have rolled up their sleeves and are back fighting the good fight— the daily fight, the hard fight— and doing business in what remains of a storm-ravaged community.
At Café Annie, 80 years of Gulf Coast restaurant history have been reduced to a small wall of black and white 8 x 10 photographs. There are hundreds of businesses with similar stories all along the Gulf. Let’s throw apathy to the wind and keep them in sight, and in mind, during the holiday shopping season, and throughout the coming years.
Shrimp and Okra Gumbo
1 /2 cup Canola oil
3 /4 cup Flour
2 Tbl File powder
1 cup Onion, diced
1 /2 cup Celery, diced
1 /2 cup Bell pepper, diced
1 1 /2 cups Fresh okra, sliced
2 Tbl Garlic, minced
1 1 /2 lbs Shrimp, small
2 tsp Salt
1 1 /2 tsp Black pepper
2 tsp Creole Seasoning
1 tsp Thyme, dry
1 cup Tomatoes, diced, canned or fresh
2 quarts Shrimp stock
1 Tbl Hot Sauce
1 /4 tsp Cayenne pepper
2 cups cooked white rice
In a large skillet, combine oil, flour and file powder to form a roux. Cook over medium heat, stirring often until roux is very dark (be careful not to burn). Add
vegetables, garlic, spices and shrimp and continue to cook for five to seven minutes, stirring constantly to prevent burning. Meanwhile, bring shrimp stock and tomatoes to a boil. Slowly add roux mixture to boiling stock and mix well. Lower heat to a slow simmer, and cook 10 more minutes. Add hot sauce and cayenne pepper.
To serve, place 2-3 tablespoons of rice in a bowl then pour the hot gumbo over the rice.
Yield: 1 gallon
Bizarre Foods
Exactly one year ago today I was contacted by a producer of the Travel Channel television program “Bizarre Foods.” He said that they were going to be in the area and asked if I knew of anywhere in, or around, my hometown that served bizarre food.
I told him that my restaurants were out. The most bizarre thing they might find there is if someone orders the wrong wine to go with the Black Grouper with truffle and risotto.
I told them I knew of a place that served chitlins once a week, but the producer said that they already had “chitlins” covered.
I was suspicious at first, and after several phone calls I told the producer that I had spent a large portion of my writing career trying to bust all of the old-line Southern culinary stereotypes. I told him that we just don’t eat like they did on “The Beverly Hillbillies,” and I don’t want to be a part of any program that would perpetuate those stereotypes.
“No one around here eats raccoon or possum,” I said. “I can take you to Louisiana where they eat the swamp rat, nutria. Those people down there will eat anything.”
“No thanks, we’ve already got nutria covered.”
“But there’s no food around here that’s bizarre. I promise. We just don’t eat like that. However I do know a barbeque place in town called Leatha’s that is a true ‘rib joint’ all the way down to the beach towels for curtains on the windows. They don’t cook anything strange there, the ribs are world-class, but the atmosphere should make for great television.”
After several more phone calls from the producer. We decided that Leatha’s was the spot where my segment would be filmed. Bonnie and Carolyn, two of Leatha’s daughters, would open the restaurant on Sunday afternoon (a day that they were normally closed) and serve ribs and pulled pork.
At the time, the show wasn’t on the air yet. I made the producers send both of the pilot episodes to make sure that the show was going to be reverential to my friends at the barbeque joint and also paint Mississippi in the most positive light.
After viewing both episodes, I concluded that host, Andrew Zimmern— in addition to being able to put the most seemingly inedible food items in his mouth and eat them— was a very talented chef and was extremely deferential to the eating habits and culture of peoples all over the world.
“I’ll do it,” I said on a follow-up phone call with the producer. “But on the pilot episodes, Andrew was eating grubs, and worms, and smelly plants. You’re not going to find anything bizarre down here. Again, we just don’t eat like that.”
“Actually,” the producer said, “Bonnie is going to cook coon and possum for us. I thought you said that people don’t eat that stuff down there.”
“We don’t,” I stammered.
“The girls at Leatha’s beg to differ.”
“Listen,” I said. “Those ladies are friends of mine. I am not going to be a part of any program that would make fun of anyone in this area who eats coon or possum. Y’all better not ‘Borat’ us.” The producer assured me that the episode would treat the Southern backwoods culinary oddities with the respect that they had shown in other foreign cultures, and I assured them that I would be on camera, but in no way could I eat coon or possum.
I wasn’t taking a stand on principle, or making a statement that I wouldn’t perpetuate regional culinary stereotypes. I have a weak stomach. I didn’t want to get sick during the filming.
In the end, the producers and the host were polite and respectful. The show was one of their highest rated to date. Bonnie and Carolyn get comments all of the time about being on the Travel Channel. The only question I get is “Why did you look so green and nauseous?”
In light of last week’s Associated Press story about a woman being arrested for eating monkey meat in New York, I think the South’s culinary reputation is still in tact.
Exactly one year ago today I was contacted by a producer of the Travel Channel television program “Bizarre Foods.” He said that they were going to be in the area and asked if I knew of anywhere in, or around, my hometown that served bizarre food.
I told him that my restaurants were out. The most bizarre thing they might find there is if someone orders the wrong wine to go with the Black Grouper with truffle and risotto.
I told them I knew of a place that served chitlins once a week, but the producer said that they already had “chitlins” covered.
I was suspicious at first, and after several phone calls I told the producer that I had spent a large portion of my writing career trying to bust all of the old-line Southern culinary stereotypes. I told him that we just don’t eat like they did on “The Beverly Hillbillies,” and I don’t want to be a part of any program that would perpetuate those stereotypes.
“No one around here eats raccoon or possum,” I said. “I can take you to Louisiana where they eat the swamp rat, nutria. Those people down there will eat anything.”
“No thanks, we’ve already got nutria covered.”
“But there’s no food around here that’s bizarre. I promise. We just don’t eat like that. However I do know a barbeque place in town called Leatha’s that is a true ‘rib joint’ all the way down to the beach towels for curtains on the windows. They don’t cook anything strange there, the ribs are world-class, but the atmosphere should make for great television.”
After several more phone calls from the producer. We decided that Leatha’s was the spot where my segment would be filmed. Bonnie and Carolyn, two of Leatha’s daughters, would open the restaurant on Sunday afternoon (a day that they were normally closed) and serve ribs and pulled pork.
At the time, the show wasn’t on the air yet. I made the producers send both of the pilot episodes to make sure that the show was going to be reverential to my friends at the barbeque joint and also paint Mississippi in the most positive light.
After viewing both episodes, I concluded that host, Andrew Zimmern— in addition to being able to put the most seemingly inedible food items in his mouth and eat them— was a very talented chef and was extremely deferential to the eating habits and culture of peoples all over the world.
“I’ll do it,” I said on a follow-up phone call with the producer. “But on the pilot episodes, Andrew was eating grubs, and worms, and smelly plants. You’re not going to find anything bizarre down here. Again, we just don’t eat like that.”
“Actually,” the producer said, “Bonnie is going to cook coon and possum for us. I thought you said that people don’t eat that stuff down there.”
“We don’t,” I stammered.
“The girls at Leatha’s beg to differ.”
“Listen,” I said. “Those ladies are friends of mine. I am not going to be a part of any program that would make fun of anyone in this area who eats coon or possum. Y’all better not ‘Borat’ us.” The producer assured me that the episode would treat the Southern backwoods culinary oddities with the respect that they had shown in other foreign cultures, and I assured them that I would be on camera, but in no way could I eat coon or possum.
I wasn’t taking a stand on principle, or making a statement that I wouldn’t perpetuate regional culinary stereotypes. I have a weak stomach. I didn’t want to get sick during the filming.
In the end, the producers and the host were polite and respectful. The show was one of their highest rated to date. Bonnie and Carolyn get comments all of the time about being on the Travel Channel. The only question I get is “Why did you look so green and nauseous?”
In light of last week’s Associated Press story about a woman being arrested for eating monkey meat in New York, I think the South’s culinary reputation is still in tact.
Monday, November 12, 2007
The Morning Beverage Minority
I do not drink coffee.
I wish that I drank coffee. I would love to be referred to as a coffee drinker. “There goes Robert,” they would say. “He’s a coffee drinker.”
I think it would be cool to sit in a coffee shop and sip some type of mocha concoction and read the New York Times. On occasion I would order an exotic frappe-something-or-other. At Christmas I would order the Holiday Blend, at Valentine’s the White-Chocolate Blend, and on Millard Fillmore’s birthday, I would order the Millard Blend— a Fillmorchino.
Maybe I would order a “tall coffee” even though “tall” is the smallest size. In my mind’s eye, I see myself saying, “I would like a TALL mocha-frappe something.” And I look cool saying it.
“Grande” is a medium-sized coffee. Saying “grande” is not as hip as saying “tall.” It seems that a word such as “grande” should refer to the largest size available. Not so. “Venti” is the largest sized coffee available.
Venti sounds like a foreign car, not a beverage size. If I was a coffee drinker, and I drank a lot of coffee, I would not order a venti or a grande. I would order a tall and go back for refills, often.
On second thought, if I was a coffee drinker, I don’t think I would want my coffee to be mocha’ed or frappe’d or Millard’ed. I wouldn’t want any flavoring in my coffee. No caramel or vanilla or pumpkin— just coffee-flavored coffee.
If I were not in a coffee shop, I would order black coffee. There is something manly about ordering a “black coffee.” No sugar, no cream, no foamy stuff, just a cup of three-hours-old, sitting-on-the-hot-plate, hot-as-a-McDonald’s-lawsuit, sitting-next-to-the-microwave-at-the-convenience-store, pours-like-maple-syrup black coffee.
I want to be that guy— the black-coffee-drinking guy— the one who holds a small (or tall) non-eco friendly, un-biodegradable Styrofoam cup of bitter, burn-your-tongue-while-it-warms-your-buns black coffee.
I am not that guy. I drink Coke Zero. Coke Zero is not as manly as a cup of black coffee, though the can is black. I like that. I used to drink a lot of Diet Coke. The Diet Coke can is silver. Silver is not as manly as black.
I drink from a black can. I drink it cold. No cream, no sugar, just Coke Zero, black, straight out of the can. I am not hip or cool.
In our society, non-coffee drinkers are discriminated against. I am a member of the morning-beverage minority. It’s true. It’s brutal, and it’s not fair. The next time you attend a breakfast meeting, check out the beverage offerings— black coffee, decaffeinated coffee (both stored in very cool space-age designed air pots), and a pitcher of ice water. No soft drinks. Ever.
Try asking for a soft drink at the average morning business meeting and then watch the all-out scramble to find a beverage. After 20 frantic minutes, they’ll return to the table with a leftover Tab that has been sitting in the back of the break room fridge from the days when cigarettes were still being advertised on television.
Most coffee shops don’t even sell soft drinks. They offer crazy mango-papaya concoctions, and over-priced water, but no soft drinks. The baristas look down their noses at any poor slob who would not drink coffee.
Coffee servers even get cool names: Baristas. Who serves the members of the morning-beverage minority? Soda jerks.
I want to be a coffee drinker when I grow up. I want to sit in the coffee shop and drink a steaming tall cup of un-mocha’ed, non-frappe’d, black coffee. Until then, I’ll be a card-carrying member of the morning-beverage minority.
Purple Parrot Pumpkin Cheesecake
2 pounds cream cheese, room temperature
1 cup Brown sugar
Pinch salt
5 eggs
4 egg yolks
3 /4 cup Pumpkin Puree
2 tsp vanilla extract
2 tsp Pumpkin Spice
Preheat the oven to 275 degrees
Place softened cream cheese in large mixing bowl and beat using paddle attachment on medium speed until VERY smooth. Scrape sides and beat again to ensure there are no lumps.
Add brown sugar and mix well. Add in eggs and yolks a few at a time, allowing them to incorporate well before adding more.
Place the mixer on slow speed and add pumpkin puree, vanilla extract, and pumpkin spice. As soon as the pumpkin is incorporated, stop mixing
Pour the batter into a cheesecake crust (recipe listed below) and bake for 1-1 1 /2 hours. The cheesecake should jiggle slightly when tapped. Remove and let cool on a wire rack. Refrigerate overnight before serving.
To cut cheesecake, run a thin knife under hot water before cutting each slice.
Cheesecake Crust
1 1 /2 cups graham cracker crumbs
3 /4 cup melted butter
1 /2 cup sugar
Combine crumbs and sugar and mix by hand Add butter in stages, mixing well before each addition.
Evenly distribute the crust in a nine-inch spring form pan, pressing it firmly on the bottom of the pan, and building crust up two inches on the sides of the pan.
Pour in the cheesecake batter and bake for 1-1 1 /2 hours. The cheesecakes should jiggle slightly when tapped.
Remove and cool refrigerate overnight before serving.
To cut, run a thin knife under hot water before cutting each slice.
I do not drink coffee.
I wish that I drank coffee. I would love to be referred to as a coffee drinker. “There goes Robert,” they would say. “He’s a coffee drinker.”
I think it would be cool to sit in a coffee shop and sip some type of mocha concoction and read the New York Times. On occasion I would order an exotic frappe-something-or-other. At Christmas I would order the Holiday Blend, at Valentine’s the White-Chocolate Blend, and on Millard Fillmore’s birthday, I would order the Millard Blend— a Fillmorchino.Maybe I would order a “tall coffee” even though “tall” is the smallest size. In my mind’s eye, I see myself saying, “I would like a TALL mocha-frappe something.” And I look cool saying it.
“Grande” is a medium-sized coffee. Saying “grande” is not as hip as saying “tall.” It seems that a word such as “grande” should refer to the largest size available. Not so. “Venti” is the largest sized coffee available.
Venti sounds like a foreign car, not a beverage size. If I was a coffee drinker, and I drank a lot of coffee, I would not order a venti or a grande. I would order a tall and go back for refills, often.
On second thought, if I was a coffee drinker, I don’t think I would want my coffee to be mocha’ed or frappe’d or Millard’ed. I wouldn’t want any flavoring in my coffee. No caramel or vanilla or pumpkin— just coffee-flavored coffee.
If I were not in a coffee shop, I would order black coffee. There is something manly about ordering a “black coffee.” No sugar, no cream, no foamy stuff, just a cup of three-hours-old, sitting-on-the-hot-plate, hot-as-a-McDonald’s-lawsuit, sitting-next-to-the-microwave-at-the-convenience-store, pours-like-maple-syrup black coffee.
I want to be that guy— the black-coffee-drinking guy— the one who holds a small (or tall) non-eco friendly, un-biodegradable Styrofoam cup of bitter, burn-your-tongue-while-it-warms-your-buns black coffee.
I am not that guy. I drink Coke Zero. Coke Zero is not as manly as a cup of black coffee, though the can is black. I like that. I used to drink a lot of Diet Coke. The Diet Coke can is silver. Silver is not as manly as black.I drink from a black can. I drink it cold. No cream, no sugar, just Coke Zero, black, straight out of the can. I am not hip or cool.
In our society, non-coffee drinkers are discriminated against. I am a member of the morning-beverage minority. It’s true. It’s brutal, and it’s not fair. The next time you attend a breakfast meeting, check out the beverage offerings— black coffee, decaffeinated coffee (both stored in very cool space-age designed air pots), and a pitcher of ice water. No soft drinks. Ever.
Try asking for a soft drink at the average morning business meeting and then watch the all-out scramble to find a beverage. After 20 frantic minutes, they’ll return to the table with a leftover Tab that has been sitting in the back of the break room fridge from the days when cigarettes were still being advertised on television.Most coffee shops don’t even sell soft drinks. They offer crazy mango-papaya concoctions, and over-priced water, but no soft drinks. The baristas look down their noses at any poor slob who would not drink coffee.
Coffee servers even get cool names: Baristas. Who serves the members of the morning-beverage minority? Soda jerks.
I want to be a coffee drinker when I grow up. I want to sit in the coffee shop and drink a steaming tall cup of un-mocha’ed, non-frappe’d, black coffee. Until then, I’ll be a card-carrying member of the morning-beverage minority.
Purple Parrot Pumpkin Cheesecake
2 pounds cream cheese, room temperature
1 cup Brown sugar
Pinch salt
5 eggs
4 egg yolks
3 /4 cup Pumpkin Puree
2 tsp vanilla extract
2 tsp Pumpkin Spice
Preheat the oven to 275 degrees
Place softened cream cheese in large mixing bowl and beat using paddle attachment on medium speed until VERY smooth. Scrape sides and beat again to ensure there are no lumps.
Add brown sugar and mix well. Add in eggs and yolks a few at a time, allowing them to incorporate well before adding more.
Place the mixer on slow speed and add pumpkin puree, vanilla extract, and pumpkin spice. As soon as the pumpkin is incorporated, stop mixing
Pour the batter into a cheesecake crust (recipe listed below) and bake for 1-1 1 /2 hours. The cheesecake should jiggle slightly when tapped. Remove and let cool on a wire rack. Refrigerate overnight before serving.
To cut cheesecake, run a thin knife under hot water before cutting each slice.
Cheesecake Crust
1 1 /2 cups graham cracker crumbs
3 /4 cup melted butter
1 /2 cup sugar
Combine crumbs and sugar and mix by hand Add butter in stages, mixing well before each addition.
Evenly distribute the crust in a nine-inch spring form pan, pressing it firmly on the bottom of the pan, and building crust up two inches on the sides of the pan.
Pour in the cheesecake batter and bake for 1-1 1 /2 hours. The cheesecakes should jiggle slightly when tapped.
Remove and cool refrigerate overnight before serving.
To cut, run a thin knife under hot water before cutting each slice.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Food Fight!
There is a cafe near an outlet mall in Alabama where the employees of the restaurant throw yeast rolls at the customers. They don’t do this in a fit of anger, or in an inspired moment of college hi-jinks, but they throw hot bread at paying customers on purpose.
A town in Spain hosts a food fight every year in which hundreds of citizens throw tomatoes at each other. They throw tomatoes at an annual festival in Columbia, South America, too. Italy is home to a festival where people throw oranges at one another.
My father-in-law— a man with the maturity level of your average eighth grader— once threw a roll at me in a backwoods catfish house. He missed and hit a large pulpwooder at a neighboring table. We both escaped to tell the tale, but barely.
In the cafeteria scene of the 1978 movie Animal House, John Belushi pops up from behind a table and yells, “Food fight!” Chaos ensues. That was my first exposure to the phenomenon of thrown food.
There is a cafe near an outlet mall in Alabama where the employees of the restaurant throw yeast rolls at the customers. They don’t do this in a fit of anger, or in an inspired moment of college hi-jinks, but they throw hot bread at paying customers on purpose. 
A town in Spain hosts a food fight every year in which hundreds of citizens throw tomatoes at each other. They throw tomatoes at an annual festival in Columbia, South America, too. Italy is home to a festival where people throw oranges at one another.My father-in-law— a man with the maturity level of your average eighth grader— once threw a roll at me in a backwoods catfish house. He missed and hit a large pulpwooder at a neighboring table. We both escaped to tell the tale, but barely.
My wife cooked a clean-the-cooler dinner last night. A clean-the-cooler dinner is a meal where one gets all of the old, passed-over, and mish-mashed food items out of the refrigerator and freezer, and cooks them in one meal. It should be done approximately four times each year. Unfortunately, it only happens once a decade in my house.
My wife is a packrat when it comes to food and spices. Shelf lives and expiration dates mean nothing to her. I constantly throw away all manner of out-dated food in our cabinets.
Last night, there were two tins of leftover dinner rolls in the freezer. I am not exactly sure how old the rolls were, but they had probably been hiding behind the chopped spinach since Bill Clinton’s first term.
She served two tins of the Clinton-era rolls for dinner. “These rolls taste funny,” my son said.
“What’s up with the rolls, Mom?” said my daughter.
I made a joke and my daughter acted like she was going to throw her roll at me. I, in turn, actually threw one at her. My son howled. My daughter threw a roll at him. He threw one back at her. My son ran into the kitchen and grabbed the entire cookie sheet of rolls.
A full-scale food fight ensued. It was The Three Stooges on steroids. The breakfast room looked like an out-of-control episode of Jerry Springer.
It was a blast. The look on my kid’s faces was sheer joy. It was one that said— I can’t believe they are letting me do this. It soon changed to— I can’t believe daddy’s actually doing this with us.
My wife is a packrat when it comes to food and spices. Shelf lives and expiration dates mean nothing to her. I constantly throw away all manner of out-dated food in our cabinets.
Last night, there were two tins of leftover dinner rolls in the freezer. I am not exactly sure how old the rolls were, but they had probably been hiding behind the chopped spinach since Bill Clinton’s first term.
She served two tins of the Clinton-era rolls for dinner. “These rolls taste funny,” my son said.
“What’s up with the rolls, Mom?” said my daughter.
I made a joke and my daughter acted like she was going to throw her roll at me. I, in turn, actually threw one at her. My son howled. My daughter threw a roll at him. He threw one back at her. My son ran into the kitchen and grabbed the entire cookie sheet of rolls.
A full-scale food fight ensued. It was The Three Stooges on steroids. The breakfast room looked like an out-of-control episode of Jerry Springer.It was a blast. The look on my kid’s faces was sheer joy. It was one that said— I can’t believe they are letting me do this. It soon changed to— I can’t believe daddy’s actually doing this with us.
My wife sat unaffected and watched as the six-year old, the 10-year old, and the 46-year old acting like a six-year old pelted each other with rolls. There was bread everywhere. There were crumbs everywhere. There was laughter everywhere.
Typically, I advocate the use of proper manners in this column. I was taught good manners at an early age. My mother and grandmother kept Emily Post’s Etiquette book next to the family bible. When I was growing up, nothing was done without consulting Mrs. Post. Though every once in a while it is liberating and exhilarating to throw decorum to the wind, especially while throwing rolls at your dining companion.
I am not endorsing the act of throwing food. As a restaurant owner, I am grateful that food never flies in any of our dining rooms. If you decide to throw caution to the wind and heave a roll at your dining companion, it should be done in the confines of your family home (or in one of my competitor’s restaurants).
I am, however, letting you know that some of the deepest belly laughs I’ve enjoyed recently came from a stale-roll war between my children and me. Maybe it’s healthy to act like a child every once in a while, no matter what Emily Post says.
Sunday Dinner Rolls
Butter, melted
1 package Active, dry yeast
2 Tbl Water, warm (105-115 degrees)
5 cups Flour, self-rising
1 /4 cup Sugar
1 /2 tsp Baking soda
1 cup Shortening
2 cups Buttermilk
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
Grease baking pan with melted butter. Dissolve yeast in warm water. Set aside. In mixing bowl, combine flour, sugar and baking soda. With pastry cutter or fork, cut in shortening until mixture resembles course meal. Combine buttermilk and yeast water.
Gradually add liquids to flour mixture, stirring with fork until flour is moistened. Turn dough onto lightly floured surface and roll out 1 /2 inch thick. Cut with 2-inch biscuit cutter, dipping cutter into flour between cuts. Press cutter straight down without twisting for straight-sided, evenly shaped rolls. Place close together in prepared pan. Cover with damp cloth and let rise one hour (dough will not double in size).
Bake for 15-20 minutes or until brown. Brush tops with melted butter while hot. Yield: 30-40 rolls
I am, however, letting you know that some of the deepest belly laughs I’ve enjoyed recently came from a stale-roll war between my children and me. Maybe it’s healthy to act like a child every once in a while, no matter what Emily Post says.
Sunday Dinner Rolls
Butter, melted
1 package Active, dry yeast
2 Tbl Water, warm (105-115 degrees)
5 cups Flour, self-rising
1 /4 cup Sugar
1 /2 tsp Baking soda
1 cup Shortening
2 cups Buttermilk
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
Grease baking pan with melted butter. Dissolve yeast in warm water. Set aside. In mixing bowl, combine flour, sugar and baking soda. With pastry cutter or fork, cut in shortening until mixture resembles course meal. Combine buttermilk and yeast water.
Gradually add liquids to flour mixture, stirring with fork until flour is moistened. Turn dough onto lightly floured surface and roll out 1 /2 inch thick. Cut with 2-inch biscuit cutter, dipping cutter into flour between cuts. Press cutter straight down without twisting for straight-sided, evenly shaped rolls. Place close together in prepared pan. Cover with damp cloth and let rise one hour (dough will not double in size).
Bake for 15-20 minutes or until brown. Brush tops with melted butter while hot. Yield: 30-40 rolls
Monday, October 29, 2007
Under the Wire and Off of the Press
Today is the fifth anniversary of the release of a cookbook that almost wasn’t.
Watercolor artist, Wyatt Waters, and I combined forces five years ago and published a coffee-table cookbook entitled A Southern Palate.
The cookbook’s printer was located in Portland, Oregon, but the book was to be printed and bound in Asia and then shipped back to the United States. Once in port, the books would be loaded onto an 18-wheeler and trucked across the country to Mississippi.
The book-signing tour had been scheduled, the dates were set and confirmed, and hundreds of bookstores, museums, gift shops, and restaurants were waiting for books to arrive. Then I received a phone call.
Everything had been running smoothly and on schedule until the West Coast dock strike of 2002. A victim of bad timing, the books were sitting on a pier somewhere in San Diego, prisoners in the never ending battle of labor vs. management.
The timing of the book’s release had been down-to-the-wire from the outset. Now with the strike, every day— actually every minute— counted. The stress level increased as news of the strike changed with each update from the printer in Portland.
Book sellers were counting on having the book for the upcoming Christmas season and the deadline was approaching rapidly. I had depleted my paltry savings and investment accounts to pay for the book. The pressure mounted.
I received reports updating the progress of the strike negotiation several times each day. No one had any idea as to when the dispute would be resolved. For three weeks the news changed hourly. One minute it looked as if the strike would end and the books would be loaded onto a truck that day. The next report had the books arriving sometime in January.
Time was running out. Most days it appeared that we had already run out of time. It was one of the most stressful, yet exciting, periods of my life.
In the end, the strike was resolved two days before the first scheduled book signing. A truck driver drove day and night to reach my hometown of Hattiesburg. The truckload of 10,000 books arrived at my restaurant office at 10 a.m. on October 30, 2002. The first book signing was scheduled for 5 p.m. that afternoon.
The frenzy began immediately. Wyatt and I traveled the region from top to bottom in a beat-up SUV with bald tires. Everyone wanted books. We delivered them ourselves. After three hectic weeks, the book had sold out.
We rushed to have the second printing completed before Christmas and were told the books wouldn’t arrive until January. Working from the hip, we designed a gift package that included a certificate for the book and a limited edition print by Wyatt. The second printing sold out in two weeks. The craziness had grown from people trying to purchase a book, to people purchasing the promise of a book.
Flash forward to 2007. San Diego is again in the news, this time for rampant wildfires. Wyatt and I have published a new coffee-table book, Southern Seasons. Five years in the making, this book is 100 pages longer with twice the artwork and all-new recipes. Though, instead of having the books printed overseas, we opted to stay on this continent and used a company out of Kentucky whose printing plant is located in Canada.
The book was scheduled to be released on October 30th. As I sit down to write this column I realize this is the same date the first book arrived.
Trying to avoid another mad frenzy like the one we endured in 2002, I put a lot of thought and planning into how the new books would arrive and where they would be stored, and then shipped out again. I set up a room to sign 9,000 of the pre-sold books. All was in order. Then I received a phone call.
“We have had some slow downs in production on the binding line. With this being a very large project, any slow downs get amplified.” After six books one would think I had the process mastered.
It’s déjà vu all over again— so much for all of the pre-planning. Throw foresight out the window, the craziness is about to begin. Buckle your seatbelt, lock your tray tables, make sure your seat is a full and upright position, hold on tight, and keep your fingers crossed. It’s cookbook time.
Pork Tenderloin with Muscadine Glaze
2 Tbl Olive Oil
1 Tbl Unsalted Butter
3 Pork Tenderloins (about 1 1/2 pounds)
2 tsp Kosher Salt
1 tsp Black Pepper, freshly ground
2 Tbl Shallot, minced
1/2 tsp Garlic, minced
1/4 tsp Salt
1/4 cup Brown Sugar
1/2 cup Riesling Wine, or Muscadine wine if you can find it
1/4 cup Balsamic Vinegar
1 cup Chicken Broth
1 Bay Leaf
3/4 cup Muscadine Jelly
1/4 tsp Black Pepper, freshly ground
1/4 cup Red Bell Pepper, minced
2 Tbl Parsley, chopped
Season the pork with the salt and pepper.
In an ovenproof skillet, heat the olive oil over high heat. Once the oil is hot, add in the butter and the pork tenderloins. Sear each tenderloin on all sides and place the skillet and tenderloins in the oven.
Cook 8-10 minutes. Remove the skillet from the oven and place the tenderloins on a plate and hold them in a warm place. Drain the excess oil from the skillet.
Place the skillet over low heat. Cook the shallots, garlic and salt for 2-3 minutes. Add the brown sugar, cook until the sugar is melted. Turn the heat to medium and add the wine and balsamic vinegar. Cook until the mixture has reduced by half. Add in the chicken broth and bay leaf, simmer until the mixture has reduced by 70 percent. Stir in the jelly, black pepper and red pepper and simmer for 5-6 minutes. Stir often to prevent sticking and burning. Remove from the heat and stir in the fresh parsley
Slicing on a diagonal, cut each tenderloin into 6-8 pieces. Arrange the slices on a serving platter and pour the glaze over the pork, serve immediately.
Yield: 6-8 servings
© Robert St.John from the book Southern Seasons
Today is the fifth anniversary of the release of a cookbook that almost wasn’t.
Watercolor artist, Wyatt Waters, and I combined forces five years ago and published a coffee-table cookbook entitled A Southern Palate.
The cookbook’s printer was located in Portland, Oregon, but the book was to be printed and bound in Asia and then shipped back to the United States. Once in port, the books would be loaded onto an 18-wheeler and trucked across the country to Mississippi.
The book-signing tour had been scheduled, the dates were set and confirmed, and hundreds of bookstores, museums, gift shops, and restaurants were waiting for books to arrive. Then I received a phone call.Everything had been running smoothly and on schedule until the West Coast dock strike of 2002. A victim of bad timing, the books were sitting on a pier somewhere in San Diego, prisoners in the never ending battle of labor vs. management.
The timing of the book’s release had been down-to-the-wire from the outset. Now with the strike, every day— actually every minute— counted. The stress level increased as news of the strike changed with each update from the printer in Portland.
Book sellers were counting on having the book for the upcoming Christmas season and the deadline was approaching rapidly. I had depleted my paltry savings and investment accounts to pay for the book. The pressure mounted.
I received reports updating the progress of the strike negotiation several times each day. No one had any idea as to when the dispute would be resolved. For three weeks the news changed hourly. One minute it looked as if the strike would end and the books would be loaded onto a truck that day. The next report had the books arriving sometime in January.
Time was running out. Most days it appeared that we had already run out of time. It was one of the most stressful, yet exciting, periods of my life.
In the end, the strike was resolved two days before the first scheduled book signing. A truck driver drove day and night to reach my hometown of Hattiesburg. The truckload of 10,000 books arrived at my restaurant office at 10 a.m. on October 30, 2002. The first book signing was scheduled for 5 p.m. that afternoon.
The frenzy began immediately. Wyatt and I traveled the region from top to bottom in a beat-up SUV with bald tires. Everyone wanted books. We delivered them ourselves. After three hectic weeks, the book had sold out.
We rushed to have the second printing completed before Christmas and were told the books wouldn’t arrive until January. Working from the hip, we designed a gift package that included a certificate for the book and a limited edition print by Wyatt. The second printing sold out in two weeks. The craziness had grown from people trying to purchase a book, to people purchasing the promise of a book.
Flash forward to 2007. San Diego is again in the news, this time for rampant wildfires. Wyatt and I have published a new coffee-table book, Southern Seasons. Five years in the making, this book is 100 pages longer with twice the artwork and all-new recipes. Though, instead of having the books printed overseas, we opted to stay on this continent and used a company out of Kentucky whose printing plant is located in Canada.
The book was scheduled to be released on October 30th. As I sit down to write this column I realize this is the same date the first book arrived.
Trying to avoid another mad frenzy like the one we endured in 2002, I put a lot of thought and planning into how the new books would arrive and where they would be stored, and then shipped out again. I set up a room to sign 9,000 of the pre-sold books. All was in order. Then I received a phone call.“We have had some slow downs in production on the binding line. With this being a very large project, any slow downs get amplified.” After six books one would think I had the process mastered.
It’s déjà vu all over again— so much for all of the pre-planning. Throw foresight out the window, the craziness is about to begin. Buckle your seatbelt, lock your tray tables, make sure your seat is a full and upright position, hold on tight, and keep your fingers crossed. It’s cookbook time.
Pork Tenderloin with Muscadine Glaze
2 Tbl Olive Oil
1 Tbl Unsalted Butter
3 Pork Tenderloins (about 1 1/2 pounds)
2 tsp Kosher Salt
1 tsp Black Pepper, freshly ground
2 Tbl Shallot, minced
1/2 tsp Garlic, minced
1/4 tsp Salt
1/4 cup Brown Sugar
1/2 cup Riesling Wine, or Muscadine wine if you can find it
1/4 cup Balsamic Vinegar
1 cup Chicken Broth
1 Bay Leaf
3/4 cup Muscadine Jelly
1/4 tsp Black Pepper, freshly ground
1/4 cup Red Bell Pepper, minced
2 Tbl Parsley, chopped
Season the pork with the salt and pepper.
In an ovenproof skillet, heat the olive oil over high heat. Once the oil is hot, add in the butter and the pork tenderloins. Sear each tenderloin on all sides and place the skillet and tenderloins in the oven.
Cook 8-10 minutes. Remove the skillet from the oven and place the tenderloins on a plate and hold them in a warm place. Drain the excess oil from the skillet.
Place the skillet over low heat. Cook the shallots, garlic and salt for 2-3 minutes. Add the brown sugar, cook until the sugar is melted. Turn the heat to medium and add the wine and balsamic vinegar. Cook until the mixture has reduced by half. Add in the chicken broth and bay leaf, simmer until the mixture has reduced by 70 percent. Stir in the jelly, black pepper and red pepper and simmer for 5-6 minutes. Stir often to prevent sticking and burning. Remove from the heat and stir in the fresh parsley
Slicing on a diagonal, cut each tenderloin into 6-8 pieces. Arrange the slices on a serving platter and pour the glaze over the pork, serve immediately.
Yield: 6-8 servings
© Robert St.John from the book Southern Seasons
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Food Quirks
Everyone has food quirks. We all prefer certain foods over others. There are plenty of foods that I eat that some folks would never touch, and vice versa.
My daughter has a very versatile palate. She’ll try anything once. My son— though not a soldier in the adolescent chicken-tender army— would live on yogurt and bananas, alone. Both children eat more grown-up cereals than their father. My wife prefers a steady diet of coffee and cheese.
In an essay I wrote five years ago entitled “My South,” there is a line that reads: “In My South people put peanuts in bottles of Coca Cola and hot sauce on almost everything.”
When I speak to a group or association, I usually end the speech by reading the My South piece. The peanuts/Coca Cola line always generates chuckles and sighs. People seem to always remember dropping nuts into a soft drink, or they remember someone who did.
I never have put peanuts in Coke, but I had school friends with whom I sat in the lunchroom who did it every day.
Peanuts and Coke seem like a strange pairing. If I had to name the strangest food quirk that I possess, it would be my affinity for using applesauce as a dip for potato chips. The combination of the salty and sweet holds great appeal to me.
I know people who dump Milk Duds into their popcorn at the theatre. Some food quirks are easy to understand: mustard on French fries, cornbread into buttermilk, and French dressing on pizza. Others are strange but seem palatable: Potato chips on sandwiches. And some are just downright strange: Pickles and peanut butter.
My children dip their fries into blue cheese dressing. I am not a fan of blue cheese dressing, but I can understand the pairing.
Some people’s food quirks go to the extreme, and to the point where they eat hardly anything. I have one friend, I will call him The Web Guru, who eats almost nothing, and when I say almost nothing, I’m not talking about quantity, I’m talking about variety.
The first 10 years I knew him, he ate mostly fried chicken tenders. As he grew older, he stepped away from fried food and limited his diet even more.
On a business trip to San Francisco earlier in the year, I took the Web Guy to The French Laundry in Yountville, California. The French Laundry is widely considered the best restaurant in the country. The things Thomas Keller does with food are fanciful to the point of mind-boggling. Lawrence Nadeau the maitre‘d was expediting a 12-course meal filled with foie gras terrines, caviar, and the like. The Web Guru passed on every course.
This was good and bad. Bad, in that I was responsible for bringing him there and putting him in a situation where he had to decline Keller’s world-class food. Good, in that I got to eat the courses he was unable to eat (which amounted to every course except the bread course).
In the end, I paid $240.00 plus tax and tip so that my friend could eat a basket of bread. However, it is notable that once the bread basket arrived, The Web Guru covered the basket with both arms and pulled it in tight to his chest, hoarding the basket of freshly baked treats for himself.
The Web Guru and I were eating lunch last week. He ordered a sandwich with turkey and bread and a bag of potato chips. The sandwich was dry— no mayonnaise, mustard, lettuce, pickle. Nothing. As we sat visiting I watched him place the potato chips— one by one— onto his turkey sandwich. There is hope, yet.
I am compiling a list of food quirks and strange combinations. If you, or anyone you know, eats strange food combinations send me an e-mail detailing the quirk. I will publish the strangest combinations and quirks in a November column.
Baked Cheese Treats
1 large loaf French bread
1 /2 pound sharp cheddar cheese
1 /2 pound white cheddar
3 /4 cup mayonnaise
1 /4 cup sour cream
3 Tbl whipping cream
1 tsp Creole seasoning
2 Tbl minced green onions
1 tsp lemon juice
1 Tbl minced red onion
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1 /2 tsp black pepper
1 /4 cup shredded parmesan cheese
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
Remove crust from French bread. Cut bread into 1 1 /2-inch thick circles, then cut the circles in half creating half moon shaped slices of bread.
In a mixing bowl, combine remaining ingredients (except parmesan cheese) and mix well. Top the pieces of bread evenly with cheese mixture and place on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
Refrigerate for 30 minutes, or until ready to serve, or freeze until ready to use.
Sprinkle the bread with the shredded parmesan and bake five minutes.
Can be held warm for 20-30 minutes.
Yield: 30-36 treats
Everyone has food quirks. We all prefer certain foods over others. There are plenty of foods that I eat that some folks would never touch, and vice versa.
My daughter has a very versatile palate. She’ll try anything once. My son— though not a soldier in the adolescent chicken-tender army— would live on yogurt and bananas, alone. Both children eat more grown-up cereals than their father. My wife prefers a steady diet of coffee and cheese.
In an essay I wrote five years ago entitled “My South,” there is a line that reads: “In My South people put peanuts in bottles of Coca Cola and hot sauce on almost everything.”
When I speak to a group or association, I usually end the speech by reading the My South piece. The peanuts/Coca Cola line always generates chuckles and sighs. People seem to always remember dropping nuts into a soft drink, or they remember someone who did.
I never have put peanuts in Coke, but I had school friends with whom I sat in the lunchroom who did it every day.
Peanuts and Coke seem like a strange pairing. If I had to name the strangest food quirk that I possess, it would be my affinity for using applesauce as a dip for potato chips. The combination of the salty and sweet holds great appeal to me.
I know people who dump Milk Duds into their popcorn at the theatre. Some food quirks are easy to understand: mustard on French fries, cornbread into buttermilk, and French dressing on pizza. Others are strange but seem palatable: Potato chips on sandwiches. And some are just downright strange: Pickles and peanut butter.
My children dip their fries into blue cheese dressing. I am not a fan of blue cheese dressing, but I can understand the pairing.
Some people’s food quirks go to the extreme, and to the point where they eat hardly anything. I have one friend, I will call him The Web Guru, who eats almost nothing, and when I say almost nothing, I’m not talking about quantity, I’m talking about variety.
The first 10 years I knew him, he ate mostly fried chicken tenders. As he grew older, he stepped away from fried food and limited his diet even more.
On a business trip to San Francisco earlier in the year, I took the Web Guy to The French Laundry in Yountville, California. The French Laundry is widely considered the best restaurant in the country. The things Thomas Keller does with food are fanciful to the point of mind-boggling. Lawrence Nadeau the maitre‘d was expediting a 12-course meal filled with foie gras terrines, caviar, and the like. The Web Guru passed on every course.
This was good and bad. Bad, in that I was responsible for bringing him there and putting him in a situation where he had to decline Keller’s world-class food. Good, in that I got to eat the courses he was unable to eat (which amounted to every course except the bread course).
In the end, I paid $240.00 plus tax and tip so that my friend could eat a basket of bread. However, it is notable that once the bread basket arrived, The Web Guru covered the basket with both arms and pulled it in tight to his chest, hoarding the basket of freshly baked treats for himself.
The Web Guru and I were eating lunch last week. He ordered a sandwich with turkey and bread and a bag of potato chips. The sandwich was dry— no mayonnaise, mustard, lettuce, pickle. Nothing. As we sat visiting I watched him place the potato chips— one by one— onto his turkey sandwich. There is hope, yet.
I am compiling a list of food quirks and strange combinations. If you, or anyone you know, eats strange food combinations send me an e-mail detailing the quirk. I will publish the strangest combinations and quirks in a November column.
Baked Cheese Treats
1 large loaf French bread
1 /2 pound sharp cheddar cheese
1 /2 pound white cheddar
3 /4 cup mayonnaise
1 /4 cup sour cream
3 Tbl whipping cream
1 tsp Creole seasoning
2 Tbl minced green onions
1 tsp lemon juice
1 Tbl minced red onion
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1 /2 tsp black pepper
1 /4 cup shredded parmesan cheese
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
Remove crust from French bread. Cut bread into 1 1 /2-inch thick circles, then cut the circles in half creating half moon shaped slices of bread.
In a mixing bowl, combine remaining ingredients (except parmesan cheese) and mix well. Top the pieces of bread evenly with cheese mixture and place on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
Refrigerate for 30 minutes, or until ready to serve, or freeze until ready to use.
Sprinkle the bread with the shredded parmesan and bake five minutes.
Can be held warm for 20-30 minutes.
Yield: 30-36 treats
A Fall Break Diary
WATERCOLOR, Fla.— It’s fall break at my children’s school. I don’t remember having a Fall Break when I was in school. We were set free the day before Thanksgiving and a week or so at Christmas and that was it. No fall break, no spring break, no teacher’s meeting break, I don’t even think that we got a break between classes.
We did, however, have the entire months of June, July, and August off as a summer vacation. Today, my children have to return to school in the middle of August, so I guess a few days off throughout the year make sense.
We’re in the Florida Panhandle chilling out before the next book tour begins.
The Donut Hole restaurant is like an old friend. While living down here as a bachelor, I visited the Donut Hole at all hours of the morning. It was the perfect late night stop for a single man with a 32-inch waist.
Before my wife and I were married, and I could actually stay out later than sunset, we frequented the Donut Hole after a night on the town. My 34-36-inch waist was no worse for the wear.
As a dad, I take my kids to the Donut Hole whenever were in the area. I waddle up to the counter with my 38-inch waist and order a few custard filled donuts and wash them down with a pint of liquid rationalization (skim milk). It’s as good as it has always been. My physique, that’s another story.
There is a red tide in the area. According to one local I spoke to, a red tide is “A sudden concentration of algae in the water. Somehow it becomes airborne and makes everyone cough.” That sounded scientific enough for me. No one was in the water and everyone was coughing, so there must be some truth in his explanation.
Note to the reader: Never eat at a surfside restaurant during a red tide. We had lunch on the upper deck at Bud & Alley’s in Seaside and the wind was blowing from the South. The entire restaurant was coughing simultaneously. It was like one collective cough, and one of the most surreal things I have witnessed.
I am not exaggerating for effect when I say that everyone was coughing. Everyone in the restaurant except for the staff, who must have grown immune to red tides and airborne algae.
Red tide or not, the Smoked Tuna Dip and Spicy Crab Dip are as good in the off-season as they are during summer.
While standing in line at the Publix grocery store, I read a headline on one of the checkout counter magazines. The headline read “Angelina Jolie Gains 10 pounds.” My first thought was: Is this news? My second thought was: Who buys these magazines? My third thought was: Ten pounds? That’s nothing.
I have gained five pounds in one sitting. I could gain 10 pounds over the course of a weekend, or an extended fall break. Two visits to the Donut Hole and I’m halfway there.
Ten pounds. That’s easy, I thought. So I set out to prove my hypothesis. Unfortunately, I did.
WATERCOLOR, Fla.— It’s fall break at my children’s school. I don’t remember having a Fall Break when I was in school. We were set free the day before Thanksgiving and a week or so at Christmas and that was it. No fall break, no spring break, no teacher’s meeting break, I don’t even think that we got a break between classes.
We did, however, have the entire months of June, July, and August off as a summer vacation. Today, my children have to return to school in the middle of August, so I guess a few days off throughout the year make sense.
We’re in the Florida Panhandle chilling out before the next book tour begins.
The Donut Hole restaurant is like an old friend. While living down here as a bachelor, I visited the Donut Hole at all hours of the morning. It was the perfect late night stop for a single man with a 32-inch waist.
Before my wife and I were married, and I could actually stay out later than sunset, we frequented the Donut Hole after a night on the town. My 34-36-inch waist was no worse for the wear.
As a dad, I take my kids to the Donut Hole whenever were in the area. I waddle up to the counter with my 38-inch waist and order a few custard filled donuts and wash them down with a pint of liquid rationalization (skim milk). It’s as good as it has always been. My physique, that’s another story.
There is a red tide in the area. According to one local I spoke to, a red tide is “A sudden concentration of algae in the water. Somehow it becomes airborne and makes everyone cough.” That sounded scientific enough for me. No one was in the water and everyone was coughing, so there must be some truth in his explanation.
Note to the reader: Never eat at a surfside restaurant during a red tide. We had lunch on the upper deck at Bud & Alley’s in Seaside and the wind was blowing from the South. The entire restaurant was coughing simultaneously. It was like one collective cough, and one of the most surreal things I have witnessed.
I am not exaggerating for effect when I say that everyone was coughing. Everyone in the restaurant except for the staff, who must have grown immune to red tides and airborne algae.
Red tide or not, the Smoked Tuna Dip and Spicy Crab Dip are as good in the off-season as they are during summer.
While standing in line at the Publix grocery store, I read a headline on one of the checkout counter magazines. The headline read “Angelina Jolie Gains 10 pounds.” My first thought was: Is this news? My second thought was: Who buys these magazines? My third thought was: Ten pounds? That’s nothing.
I have gained five pounds in one sitting. I could gain 10 pounds over the course of a weekend, or an extended fall break. Two visits to the Donut Hole and I’m halfway there.
Ten pounds. That’s easy, I thought. So I set out to prove my hypothesis. Unfortunately, I did.
Monday, October 08, 2007
I Am the Egg Man, Goo Goo Ga Joob
I am in an egg phase.
As I look back over my 46-year eating career, it’s easy to chart my personal dining tendencies. I’ll get on a barbeque kick for a few weeks, or go for months eating a certain dish from the same restaurant over and over.
I am a compulsive person and prone to obsessive behavior when it comes to food and eating. As with music and authors, when I find something I like, I typically go back to the well until I get burned out and move on to the next ingredient, component, or preparation method.
Eggs are the ingredient of the moment. I have been frequenting a small bagel shop in the historic downtown section of my hometown for whole wheat bagels and scrambled eggs, sometimes opting for a huevos rancheros omelet. I have also been eating egg sandwiches off of the late night menu at my bar. Mostly I’ve been eating cup eggs.
“Cup eggs” is my childhood name for soft-boiled eggs. As a child, the most frequently prepared egg dish in our house was a cup filled with soft-boiled eggs. My mother would boil a few eggs for three minutes, crack them into a coffee cup, scrape the whites from the shell, tear biscuits into bite-sized pieces, and mix it all together.
Soft boiled eggs are a straightforward morning comfort food. I like breakfast casseroles and stratas, but they can be labor intensive and time consuming. Preparing a soft-boiled egg only takes a matter of minutes.
It’s like eating eggs over easy on toast without having to mix the two together. Those who don’t eat runny yolks, will never enjoy cup eggs.
One doesn’t find soft-boiled eggs on restaurant menus anymore. The food police are scared of runny yolks. Some restaurants have stopped preparing eggs that are not fully cooked. The government makes food-service businesses add warning labels to their menus advising customers of the dangers of raw eggs.
I’ve got a lot of things to worry about. Consuming soft-boiled eggs doesn’t even come close to making the list. I always make sure to eat in reputable restaurants that utilize proper food handling and refrigeration and, so far, I have survived.
My mother used “whop biscuits” when preparing cup eggs. Whop biscuits are biscuits that are sold in cardboard tins in the refrigerator section of grocery stores. The tin must be “whopped” on the kitchen counter to be opened. For some strange reason— and I know that I’m going to get a lot of e-mails on this— grocery store whop biscuits taste better than homemade biscuits when making cup eggs. In every other situation I prefer homemade biscuits to the over-the-counter variety, but when making soft-boiled eggs, whop biscuits work best.
Other than cakes in my Easy Bake Oven, cup eggs were the first dish I learned to prepare. I was probably 10-years old when I made my first batch and I made them often during my school years.
Cup eggs are easy to make. All one needs is eggs, boiling water and biscuits. It is a simple dish to teach children to cook and can be a perfect introduction to the kitchen as long as you warn of the dangers of boiling water.
The foods of our youth, no matter how simple or unsophisticated, carry with them countless memories and associations. Every time I make cup eggs, a small part of me is transported to my mother’s kitchen.
Among the harvest gold appliances and avocado-green cookware, stands a 10-year old boy with a passion for food and a culinary curiosity that will never wane. Ahead of him are innumerable gourmet meals prepared using a myriad of exotic ingredients. He leans against the counter holding a coffee cup filled with egg-soaked biscuits. He is unaware of the treats the world has in store for him. He eats slowly, savoring every bite, ignorant to the fact that one of life’s sweetest gastronomic treats— and one that will satisfy him for many years to come— is being held in his hands at that very moment.
Robert’s Cup Eggs
Bring a small pot of water to a boil. Using a safety pin, poke a small hole in the top of three eggs. Add the eggs to the boiling water and set a kitchen timer for three minutes.
When three minutes is up, transfer the pot to the sink. Pour out the hot water leaving the eggs in the pot. Fill the pot halfway with cold tap water. Let eggs sit for 15-30 seconds (this allows the eggs to cool slightly, though the water and eggs will still be warm due to heat from the pan). One at a time, crack open the eggs in the normal fashion. Drop the yolk into a small bowl. Using a small spoon, carefully scrape the whites from the sides of the shell and let them drop into the bowl with the yolks. Be careful that no small pieces of egg shell fall into the bowl. Repeat with each egg.
To the egg bowl, add 2-3 biscuits that have been torn into bite-sized pieces until almost all of the yolk has been absorbed into the biscuits (the dish should be slightly moist. Too many biscuits will result in a dry batch of cup eggs). Add salt and pepper.
Lately, I have tweaked the way I prepare and eat Cup Eggs. I will cook two slices of bacon until crispy, chop the bacon into small pieces, and add the bacon to the egg mixture before adding the biscuits. There is no need to add salt if bacon is being used.
I am in an egg phase.
As I look back over my 46-year eating career, it’s easy to chart my personal dining tendencies. I’ll get on a barbeque kick for a few weeks, or go for months eating a certain dish from the same restaurant over and over.
I am a compulsive person and prone to obsessive behavior when it comes to food and eating. As with music and authors, when I find something I like, I typically go back to the well until I get burned out and move on to the next ingredient, component, or preparation method.
Eggs are the ingredient of the moment. I have been frequenting a small bagel shop in the historic downtown section of my hometown for whole wheat bagels and scrambled eggs, sometimes opting for a huevos rancheros omelet. I have also been eating egg sandwiches off of the late night menu at my bar. Mostly I’ve been eating cup eggs.“Cup eggs” is my childhood name for soft-boiled eggs. As a child, the most frequently prepared egg dish in our house was a cup filled with soft-boiled eggs. My mother would boil a few eggs for three minutes, crack them into a coffee cup, scrape the whites from the shell, tear biscuits into bite-sized pieces, and mix it all together.
Soft boiled eggs are a straightforward morning comfort food. I like breakfast casseroles and stratas, but they can be labor intensive and time consuming. Preparing a soft-boiled egg only takes a matter of minutes.
It’s like eating eggs over easy on toast without having to mix the two together. Those who don’t eat runny yolks, will never enjoy cup eggs.
One doesn’t find soft-boiled eggs on restaurant menus anymore. The food police are scared of runny yolks. Some restaurants have stopped preparing eggs that are not fully cooked. The government makes food-service businesses add warning labels to their menus advising customers of the dangers of raw eggs.
I’ve got a lot of things to worry about. Consuming soft-boiled eggs doesn’t even come close to making the list. I always make sure to eat in reputable restaurants that utilize proper food handling and refrigeration and, so far, I have survived.
My mother used “whop biscuits” when preparing cup eggs. Whop biscuits are biscuits that are sold in cardboard tins in the refrigerator section of grocery stores. The tin must be “whopped” on the kitchen counter to be opened. For some strange reason— and I know that I’m going to get a lot of e-mails on this— grocery store whop biscuits taste better than homemade biscuits when making cup eggs. In every other situation I prefer homemade biscuits to the over-the-counter variety, but when making soft-boiled eggs, whop biscuits work best.
Other than cakes in my Easy Bake Oven, cup eggs were the first dish I learned to prepare. I was probably 10-years old when I made my first batch and I made them often during my school years.
Cup eggs are easy to make. All one needs is eggs, boiling water and biscuits. It is a simple dish to teach children to cook and can be a perfect introduction to the kitchen as long as you warn of the dangers of boiling water.
The foods of our youth, no matter how simple or unsophisticated, carry with them countless memories and associations. Every time I make cup eggs, a small part of me is transported to my mother’s kitchen.
Among the harvest gold appliances and avocado-green cookware, stands a 10-year old boy with a passion for food and a culinary curiosity that will never wane. Ahead of him are innumerable gourmet meals prepared using a myriad of exotic ingredients. He leans against the counter holding a coffee cup filled with egg-soaked biscuits. He is unaware of the treats the world has in store for him. He eats slowly, savoring every bite, ignorant to the fact that one of life’s sweetest gastronomic treats— and one that will satisfy him for many years to come— is being held in his hands at that very moment.
Robert’s Cup Eggs
Bring a small pot of water to a boil. Using a safety pin, poke a small hole in the top of three eggs. Add the eggs to the boiling water and set a kitchen timer for three minutes.
When three minutes is up, transfer the pot to the sink. Pour out the hot water leaving the eggs in the pot. Fill the pot halfway with cold tap water. Let eggs sit for 15-30 seconds (this allows the eggs to cool slightly, though the water and eggs will still be warm due to heat from the pan). One at a time, crack open the eggs in the normal fashion. Drop the yolk into a small bowl. Using a small spoon, carefully scrape the whites from the sides of the shell and let them drop into the bowl with the yolks. Be careful that no small pieces of egg shell fall into the bowl. Repeat with each egg.
To the egg bowl, add 2-3 biscuits that have been torn into bite-sized pieces until almost all of the yolk has been absorbed into the biscuits (the dish should be slightly moist. Too many biscuits will result in a dry batch of cup eggs). Add salt and pepper.
Lately, I have tweaked the way I prepare and eat Cup Eggs. I will cook two slices of bacon until crispy, chop the bacon into small pieces, and add the bacon to the egg mixture before adding the biscuits. There is no need to add salt if bacon is being used.
Monday, October 01, 2007
The Sleepy Shank
“Drugged lamb shanks missing from clinic.” I can’t imagine how anyone could read a newspaper headline such as that and not take the time to dive into the rest of the story.
I certainly bit.
The story came from the Sydney Morning Herald. I’m not in the habit of reading Australian newspapers, but when I am surfing the Internet, and come across a food-related story, I usually read at least a paragraph or two to make sure I’m staying in touch with the culinary world. This story begged to be read.
It appears that Australian health workers were using lamb shanks to practice syringe techniques at a clinic in Broome, Australia.
Two points: I am glad that health workers are practicing with needles. Over the years I have encountered several medical technicians who could use a little practice when it comes to their shot-giving skills and etiquette. A few select cuts of meat— not a human’s behind— seems like the perfect testing ground. Though, why lamb? I love lamb. What did lamb shanks ever do to deserve such a lowly fate?
Why not pick a less tasty food to abuse? Why not squab, or beef tongue, or even head cheese? I can state unequivocally that I am all in favor of nurses practicing with syringes on pieces of head cheese.
The health workers were injecting the lamb shanks with some type of anesthetic. Up until now the Thanksgiving turkey— with its sleep-inducing loads of tryptophan— was the only food that made one drowsy. Now Australian lamb shanks laced with knock-out drops have joined the fold.
It would seem to me that they could have practiced with water in the syringe and all of this mess would have been avoided. Better still, they could have whipped up a spicy marinade, practiced injecting that into the lamb, and then slow-braised the shanks for a nice Cajun-style lamb meal.
After the lamb shanks were injected, the newspaper article stated that, “they were stitched up and stored in an outside refrigerator.” I have no idea why they didn’t just throw them away, but I am glad they didn’t. Had they disposed of the drug-injected meat immediately, I would have no column this week.
In my mind’s eye I can see the disappointment followed by excitement experienced by the thief. He was probably searching the clinic’s outdoor refrigerator for illicit narcotics and found supper instead. The Australian slang for someone who is stupid is “lamb-brained.” It did not originate with the clinic thieves who stole the drugged lamb shanks, but it certainly applies.
I would guess that the typical food thief probably finds stores of week-old hamburger meat, thin-cut pork chops, or freezers full of deer sausage that have been sitting alone and freezer burned for years. If he lucks up he might come across a pound of bacon or a slice of ham. The Australian food thief probably encounters a few shrimp on the Barbie, kangaroo fillets, or kidney pie.
Imagine the glee when the thief came across lamb shanks. “Fire up the barbie, sport. Down Under osso buco tonight!” And the post meal conversation “Krikie mate, that tucker we knocked off and stuffed in our cakeholes was not fair dinkum. It knocked me out! Wake up you nong. Wake up!”
Note: The preceding paragraph exhausted all of the Australian language, culture, and slang that I possess, most of which came from the Outback Steakhouse menu or reruns of Crocodile Dundee (the first one, not the sequel). The reader will be glad to know that there will be no further cheesy Australian references for the remainder of this column.
The reader might also be glad to know that this is, in fact, is the end of the column.
G’day mate.
Grilled Leg of Lamb with Raspberry Mint Sauce
1/2 cup Roasted Garlic Puree
1/4 cup Olive Oil
1 Tbl Fresh Rosemary, chopped
1/4 cup Fresh Mint, chopped
2 Tbl Sherry Vinegar
1 Boneless Leg of Lamb, 3- 31/2 pounds, butterflied
1 Tbl Black Pepper, freshly ground
2 Tbl Kosher Salt
Place the garlic, oil, rosemary, mint and vinegar in a mixing bowl. Blend together using a wire whisk.
Trim any excess fat and sinew from the lamb. Lay the lamb on a flat surface, and spread half of the garlic mixture over one the surface. Roll the lamb tightly into a cylinder. Tie the lamb with butcher’s twine so that it maintains the cylinder shape. Rub the outside of the lamb with the remaining garlic mixture, and sprinkle the surface with the salt and pepper. Allow the lamb to sit at room temperature 30-40 minutes before grilling.
Prepare the grill. Sear the lamb for 15-20 minutes over medium direct heat, turning every 3-4 minutes. Once the lamb has browned on all sides, continue cooking over medium indirect heat until the lamb has reached desired doneness, approximately one hour and fifteen minutes for medium rare. Remove the lamb from the grill and let rest 15 minutes before carving. Cut away the twine. Using a carving knife, cut lamb against the grain into 1/4-inch thick slices.
Serve with Raspberry Mint Sauce.
Raspberry Mint Sauce
3 Tbl Olive oil
2 Tbl Shallot, minced
1 cup Raspberries
1/ 2 cup Sugar
1 cup Red wine
1 1/ 2 cups Veal demi glace
3 Tbl Cold Unsalted Butter, cut into small cubes
1/2 tsp Kosher Salt
1 Tbl fresh Mint, chopped
In a saucepan over medium heat, combine raspberries, sugar, and red wine and simmer until most of the liquid is gone. Purée mixture and pass through a fine mesh strainer.
Return the strained mixture to a small sauce pot and add the demi glace. Bring the mixture to a simmer. Add the butter cubes while whisking briskly. Stir until all of the butter is incorporated. Remove the sauce from the heat and add salt and mint. Store in a warm place until needed.
“Drugged lamb shanks missing from clinic.” I can’t imagine how anyone could read a newspaper headline such as that and not take the time to dive into the rest of the story.
I certainly bit.
The story came from the Sydney Morning Herald. I’m not in the habit of reading Australian newspapers, but when I am surfing the Internet, and come across a food-related story, I usually read at least a paragraph or two to make sure I’m staying in touch with the culinary world. This story begged to be read.
It appears that Australian health workers were using lamb shanks to practice syringe techniques at a clinic in Broome, Australia.Two points: I am glad that health workers are practicing with needles. Over the years I have encountered several medical technicians who could use a little practice when it comes to their shot-giving skills and etiquette. A few select cuts of meat— not a human’s behind— seems like the perfect testing ground. Though, why lamb? I love lamb. What did lamb shanks ever do to deserve such a lowly fate?
Why not pick a less tasty food to abuse? Why not squab, or beef tongue, or even head cheese? I can state unequivocally that I am all in favor of nurses practicing with syringes on pieces of head cheese.
The health workers were injecting the lamb shanks with some type of anesthetic. Up until now the Thanksgiving turkey— with its sleep-inducing loads of tryptophan— was the only food that made one drowsy. Now Australian lamb shanks laced with knock-out drops have joined the fold.
It would seem to me that they could have practiced with water in the syringe and all of this mess would have been avoided. Better still, they could have whipped up a spicy marinade, practiced injecting that into the lamb, and then slow-braised the shanks for a nice Cajun-style lamb meal.After the lamb shanks were injected, the newspaper article stated that, “they were stitched up and stored in an outside refrigerator.” I have no idea why they didn’t just throw them away, but I am glad they didn’t. Had they disposed of the drug-injected meat immediately, I would have no column this week.
In my mind’s eye I can see the disappointment followed by excitement experienced by the thief. He was probably searching the clinic’s outdoor refrigerator for illicit narcotics and found supper instead. The Australian slang for someone who is stupid is “lamb-brained.” It did not originate with the clinic thieves who stole the drugged lamb shanks, but it certainly applies.
I would guess that the typical food thief probably finds stores of week-old hamburger meat, thin-cut pork chops, or freezers full of deer sausage that have been sitting alone and freezer burned for years. If he lucks up he might come across a pound of bacon or a slice of ham. The Australian food thief probably encounters a few shrimp on the Barbie, kangaroo fillets, or kidney pie.
Imagine the glee when the thief came across lamb shanks. “Fire up the barbie, sport. Down Under osso buco tonight!” And the post meal conversation “Krikie mate, that tucker we knocked off and stuffed in our cakeholes was not fair dinkum. It knocked me out! Wake up you nong. Wake up!”
Note: The preceding paragraph exhausted all of the Australian language, culture, and slang that I possess, most of which came from the Outback Steakhouse menu or reruns of Crocodile Dundee (the first one, not the sequel). The reader will be glad to know that there will be no further cheesy Australian references for the remainder of this column.
The reader might also be glad to know that this is, in fact, is the end of the column.
G’day mate.
Grilled Leg of Lamb with Raspberry Mint Sauce
1/2 cup Roasted Garlic Puree
1/4 cup Olive Oil
1 Tbl Fresh Rosemary, chopped
1/4 cup Fresh Mint, chopped
2 Tbl Sherry Vinegar
1 Boneless Leg of Lamb, 3- 31/2 pounds, butterflied
1 Tbl Black Pepper, freshly ground
2 Tbl Kosher Salt
Place the garlic, oil, rosemary, mint and vinegar in a mixing bowl. Blend together using a wire whisk.
Trim any excess fat and sinew from the lamb. Lay the lamb on a flat surface, and spread half of the garlic mixture over one the surface. Roll the lamb tightly into a cylinder. Tie the lamb with butcher’s twine so that it maintains the cylinder shape. Rub the outside of the lamb with the remaining garlic mixture, and sprinkle the surface with the salt and pepper. Allow the lamb to sit at room temperature 30-40 minutes before grilling.
Prepare the grill. Sear the lamb for 15-20 minutes over medium direct heat, turning every 3-4 minutes. Once the lamb has browned on all sides, continue cooking over medium indirect heat until the lamb has reached desired doneness, approximately one hour and fifteen minutes for medium rare. Remove the lamb from the grill and let rest 15 minutes before carving. Cut away the twine. Using a carving knife, cut lamb against the grain into 1/4-inch thick slices.
Serve with Raspberry Mint Sauce.
Raspberry Mint Sauce
3 Tbl Olive oil
2 Tbl Shallot, minced
1 cup Raspberries
1/ 2 cup Sugar
1 cup Red wine
1 1/ 2 cups Veal demi glace
3 Tbl Cold Unsalted Butter, cut into small cubes
1/2 tsp Kosher Salt
1 Tbl fresh Mint, chopped
In a saucepan over medium heat, combine raspberries, sugar, and red wine and simmer until most of the liquid is gone. Purée mixture and pass through a fine mesh strainer.
Return the strained mixture to a small sauce pot and add the demi glace. Bring the mixture to a simmer. Add the butter cubes while whisking briskly. Stir until all of the butter is incorporated. Remove the sauce from the heat and add salt and mint. Store in a warm place until needed.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Viking Classic
Growing up in Hattiesburg, Miss. in the late 1960s and early 1970s I always looked forward to the Magnolia Classic.
The Magnolia Classic was a Professional Golf Association sanctioned event that was held in Hattiesburg every April opposite The Masters tournament in Augusta. Tom Watson and Nick Faldo played here but never won. Payne Stewart and Craig Stadler each won the tournament. Dwight Nevil won it twice.
Wednesday’s Magnolia Classic Pro-Am was an official school holiday in Hattiesburg. My friends and I worked as caddies to earn extra money. In its early days, the tournament attracted many celebrities. I watched Clint Eastwood try to hit a ball standing ankle deep in water on number 10. Robert Stack and Phil Harris played here. My friend Stan drove Jimmy Dean around with the task of keeping track of all of his jewelry.
Eastwood was only able to play a few holes. Female fans kept stealing his ball and eventually he called it quits.
I followed Glen Campbell around for a few holes and can remember being taken aback when he ducked into a Porta-Potty. At 10 years old I was amazed that celebrities actually used the restroom.
I remember in 1986— the last year I attended the Magnolia Classic— as the afternoon wound down and the day’s last groups were approaching the 18th green, someone busted out of the 19th Hole lounge yelling, “Jack Nicklaus just won the Masters! Jack Nicklaus just won the Masters!”
Eventually, the Magnolia Classic stopped booking high profile Pro-Am celebrities and the tournament moved to Jackson. It was sponsored by a bank and an insurance company. For me, it never held the appeal that those early days provided. These days I’m a cook, not a golfer.
In my absence the tournament has grown into a full-fledged, big-purse PGA event and is truly a feather in Mississippi’s cap. And to top it off, this year the Viking Range Corporation has stepped up to the plate as the title sponsor. And who said that food and golf were like chalk and cheese?
Mississippi Delta wunderkind Fred Carl, founder and CEO of the Viking Range Corporation has done it again. Viking is one of Mississippi’s premier industries and the one that I always brag about when dealing with people in New York and California. The marriage of these two great examples of what Mississippi has to offer makes perfect sense.
The tournament will feature plenty of golfing star power. John Daly, Steve Elkington, Jim Gallagher, Jr., and Davis Love III will be there. But leave it to Viking to bring out the culinary stars.
Viking has pitched a culinary tent on the Annandale grounds where chefs from all over the country will be performing demos for those who want to take a break from the action on the course (or for those who came to the event with a golf fanatic, but would rather eat).
Paula Deen’s sons, the Deen Brothers, will be performing a cooking demo, as will Mississippi’s own, Cat Cora, Food Network Iron Chef, and the Executive Chef at Bon Appetit’ magazine. A full list of the week’s chef demos can be found at http://www.vikingclassic.com/ .
Watercolor artist, Wyatt Waters and I will be hosting a dual demonstration at 1 p.m. on Sunday, the final day of the tournament. I’ll be preparing recipes from our soon-to-be-released cookbook, Southern Seasons, while Wyatt simultaneously paints a watercolor still life. I am not sure if we’ll have to whisper instructions to those in attendance, but I can’t wait to find out.
Caramel Brownies
Caramel
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup water
1 1/4 cup heavy whipping cream, heated
In a small, heavy duty saucepan, combine the sugar and water. Bring the mixture to a slow boil, stirring very often. Continue to cook until the mixture reaches a deep caramel color, about 10 minutes. As soon as this deep color is achieved, use a wire whisk and quickly stir in the warm cream. Return the caramel to a medium heat, and cook for 2-3 more minutes.
Remove keep warm while preparing the brownie batter.
Brownie Mix
6 ounces Unsweetened Chocolate
1 cup Unsalted Butter, cut into small cubes
1 cup All-Purpose Flour
1/4 cup Cocoa
1 tsp Double Acting Baking Powder
1/8 tsp Salt
4 large Eggs
2 1/2 cups Sugar
2 tsp Vanilla
1 1/2 cup Pecans, chopped (optional)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Butter a 9x12 inch baking dish
In a small heavy saucepot, melt chocolate and butter over low heat. Stir constantly until the mixture is smooth. Remove from the heat and allow the mixture to cool completely.
Sift together flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt into a large bowl.
Using the whip attachment of an electric mixer beat the eggs on medium speed. While still beating, add the sugar, a little at a time, and continue to beat for 2-3 minutes until the mixture becomes thick and pale. Add in the chocolate mixture and vanilla and mix well. Add the flour mixture and blend well using a rubber spatula or wooden spoon. Stir in the chopped pecans.
Pour the batter into the prepared baking pan and smooth the top. Drizzle the caramel in rows lengthwise on top of the batter. Drag a pairing knife back and forth through the caramel lines. Bake the brownies for 25-30 minutes, or until the brownie pulls away slightly from the sides of the pan. Let brownies cool completely before cutting.
Yield:
16 brownies
Growing up in Hattiesburg, Miss. in the late 1960s and early 1970s I always looked forward to the Magnolia Classic.
The Magnolia Classic was a Professional Golf Association sanctioned event that was held in Hattiesburg every April opposite The Masters tournament in Augusta. Tom Watson and Nick Faldo played here but never won. Payne Stewart and Craig Stadler each won the tournament. Dwight Nevil won it twice.
Wednesday’s Magnolia Classic Pro-Am was an official school holiday in Hattiesburg. My friends and I worked as caddies to earn extra money. In its early days, the tournament attracted many celebrities. I watched Clint Eastwood try to hit a ball standing ankle deep in water on number 10. Robert Stack and Phil Harris played here. My friend Stan drove Jimmy Dean around with the task of keeping track of all of his jewelry.Eastwood was only able to play a few holes. Female fans kept stealing his ball and eventually he called it quits.
I followed Glen Campbell around for a few holes and can remember being taken aback when he ducked into a Porta-Potty. At 10 years old I was amazed that celebrities actually used the restroom.
I remember in 1986— the last year I attended the Magnolia Classic— as the afternoon wound down and the day’s last groups were approaching the 18th green, someone busted out of the 19th Hole lounge yelling, “Jack Nicklaus just won the Masters! Jack Nicklaus just won the Masters!”
Eventually, the Magnolia Classic stopped booking high profile Pro-Am celebrities and the tournament moved to Jackson. It was sponsored by a bank and an insurance company. For me, it never held the appeal that those early days provided. These days I’m a cook, not a golfer.
In my absence the tournament has grown into a full-fledged, big-purse PGA event and is truly a feather in Mississippi’s cap. And to top it off, this year the Viking Range Corporation has stepped up to the plate as the title sponsor. And who said that food and golf were like chalk and cheese?Mississippi Delta wunderkind Fred Carl, founder and CEO of the Viking Range Corporation has done it again. Viking is one of Mississippi’s premier industries and the one that I always brag about when dealing with people in New York and California. The marriage of these two great examples of what Mississippi has to offer makes perfect sense.
The tournament will feature plenty of golfing star power. John Daly, Steve Elkington, Jim Gallagher, Jr., and Davis Love III will be there. But leave it to Viking to bring out the culinary stars.
Viking has pitched a culinary tent on the Annandale grounds where chefs from all over the country will be performing demos for those who want to take a break from the action on the course (or for those who came to the event with a golf fanatic, but would rather eat).
Paula Deen’s sons, the Deen Brothers, will be performing a cooking demo, as will Mississippi’s own, Cat Cora, Food Network Iron Chef, and the Executive Chef at Bon Appetit’ magazine. A full list of the week’s chef demos can be found at http://www.vikingclassic.com/ .
Watercolor artist, Wyatt Waters and I will be hosting a dual demonstration at 1 p.m. on Sunday, the final day of the tournament. I’ll be preparing recipes from our soon-to-be-released cookbook, Southern Seasons, while Wyatt simultaneously paints a watercolor still life. I am not sure if we’ll have to whisper instructions to those in attendance, but I can’t wait to find out.
Caramel Brownies
Caramel
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup water
1 1/4 cup heavy whipping cream, heated
In a small, heavy duty saucepan, combine the sugar and water. Bring the mixture to a slow boil, stirring very often. Continue to cook until the mixture reaches a deep caramel color, about 10 minutes. As soon as this deep color is achieved, use a wire whisk and quickly stir in the warm cream. Return the caramel to a medium heat, and cook for 2-3 more minutes.
Remove keep warm while preparing the brownie batter.
Brownie Mix6 ounces Unsweetened Chocolate
1 cup Unsalted Butter, cut into small cubes
1 cup All-Purpose Flour
1/4 cup Cocoa
1 tsp Double Acting Baking Powder
1/8 tsp Salt
4 large Eggs
2 1/2 cups Sugar
2 tsp Vanilla
1 1/2 cup Pecans, chopped (optional)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Butter a 9x12 inch baking dish
In a small heavy saucepot, melt chocolate and butter over low heat. Stir constantly until the mixture is smooth. Remove from the heat and allow the mixture to cool completely.
Sift together flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt into a large bowl.
Using the whip attachment of an electric mixer beat the eggs on medium speed. While still beating, add the sugar, a little at a time, and continue to beat for 2-3 minutes until the mixture becomes thick and pale. Add in the chocolate mixture and vanilla and mix well. Add the flour mixture and blend well using a rubber spatula or wooden spoon. Stir in the chopped pecans.
Pour the batter into the prepared baking pan and smooth the top. Drizzle the caramel in rows lengthwise on top of the batter. Drag a pairing knife back and forth through the caramel lines. Bake the brownies for 25-30 minutes, or until the brownie pulls away slightly from the sides of the pan. Let brownies cool completely before cutting.
Yield:
16 brownies
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