Is That A Piece of Cornbread In Your Pocket…

 

My grandmother made the world’s best biscuits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Summer Succotash

 

3 Tbl                         Bacon grease (or canola oil)

2 cups                         Squash, medium dice

1 /4 cup             Onion, small chopped

1                         Red bell pepper, medium dice

1 cup                         Fresh butter beans, cooked

1cup                         Silverqueen Corn kernels, freshly scraped

1 /2 cup             Chicken broth

2 tsp                         Creole Seasoning

1 tsp                         Thyme

1 /2 tsp                        Rosemary

1 Tbl                        Butter

Salt and pepper to taste

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

James Beard Foundation Awards

 

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

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

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

 represented well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amaretto-Brulee Breakfast Bread

1 /3 cup             Butter, melted

3 /4 cup             Brown sugar

2 Tbl                  Honey

2 Tbl                Pecans, chopped (optional)

2 Tbl                Almonds, slivered and blanched (optional)

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

4                       Eggs

2 /3 cup           Milk

1 /4 cup            Heavy cream

1 /8 tsp              Cinnamon

1 /8 tsp               Nutmeg

1 Tbl                  Vanilla

1 Tbl                   Amaretto

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

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

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

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

 

I Am Not On Al Gore’s Christmas Card List

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pass the potatoes, please.

Crescent City Grill Creole Cheese Fritters

3/4 cup             Parmesan cheese, grated

3                         Eggs                       

1/4 cup             Parsley, chopped fine

1/4 cup             Green onions, medium dice

1/4 cup             Horseradish

1/4 cup             Sour cream

1 1/2 Tbl           Garlic, minced

1 Tbl                   Creole Seasoning

1/4 tsp                Red pepper, crushed

1 cup                    Flour

1/2 Tbl             Hot Sauce

10 oz                         pepper jack cheese, grated

6 oz                         mozzarella cheese, grated

6 oz                         cheddar cheese, grated

 

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

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

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

 

Crescent City Grill Comeback Sauce

 

1 cup                         mayonnaise

1/ 2 cup             ketchup

1/ 2 cup             chili sauce

1/ 2 cup             cottonseed oil

1/ 2 cup             yellow onion, grated

3 Tbl                         lemon juice

2 Tbl                         garlic, minced

1 Tbl                        paprika

1 Tbl                         water

1 Tbl                         Worcestershire

1 tsp                         pepper

1/ 2 tsp                        dry mustard

1 tsp                         salt

 

Combine all ingredients in a food processor and mix well.

Yield: 3 1/2 cups

 

 

Pizza

 

 

Yesterday I ordered a pizza online.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

           

Crawfish Pizza

1 tablespoon olive oil

1/2 cup green bell peppers, chopped fine

1/2 cup yellow onion, chopped fine

1/2 cup green onion, chopped fine

1 tablespoon garlic, minced

2 teaspoons Creole Seasoning

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

6 Pizza Crusts (recipe follows)

1 1/2 cup Basil Tapenade (recipe follows)

1 1/2 cup mozzarella cheese, shredded

1 cup pepper jack cheese, shredded

1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, freshly grated

 

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

Yield: 6 pizzas

 

 

 

Basil Tapenade

1 cup black olives

1 1/2 ounces anchovies, drained and patted dry

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

2 tablespoons capers

2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice

2 tablespoons brandy

3 tablespoons olive oil

1/2 teaspoon black pepper

1 cup Pesto

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

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

Yield: 3 cups

 

 

Pizza Crusts

2 packages active dry yeast

1 teaspoon sugar

2 teaspoons honey

1 1/2 cups warm water

5 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon salt

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

 

Dissolve yeast, sugar, and honey in warm water.

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

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

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

Yield: 6 7-inch crusts

Salads


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

Preheat the oven to 425°F.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dinner Party Conversation


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Angel Hair Pasta Trigiani

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


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

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

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

Quiche Muffins


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

St. Patrick’s Day


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



My Jill’s Sweet Potatoes

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

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

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

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

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

Lent


The Lenten Season has begun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Robert’s Mainly Methodist Green Bean Casserole

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

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

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

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




Preheat oven to 350.

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

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

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

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

Yield:
8 servings

Cocktail Sauce


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Robert’s Cocktail Sauce

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

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

Four Diamonds



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Purple Parrot Café Lobster Risotto

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

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