Picklicious

As I type, I have eight 1/2 pint jars boiling away in a pot on the stove. They are packed with chow-chow, a Southern pickle relish that is a mixture of coarsely chopped green tomato, red and green bell pepper, onion, cabbage, and in this batch, cauliflower (celery is another potential ingredient). I got the idea to make chow-chow about five years ago, but as with many of my projects, I never got aorund to doing it. Not completing the project and forgetting about it are two totally different things, however.

So, as I faced a pile of tomato plants slowly dying from white fly (and other?) infestations and cooling evenings, I decided to cut my losses (ha ha) and harvest my green tomatoes. What does one do with green tomatoes? Chow-chow, of course. (Especially if said green tomatoes are small, stunted tomatoes and not of an appropriate size for slicing and frying.)

So, today I dusted off my canning supplies, got a new jar of apple cider vinegar and a box of jars, and got a-chopping. Some Web sites will tell you that a food processor is your friend for chow-chow, but none of my true Southern-food cookbooks agree. They say you get the best results and best taste from hand chopping. The processor releases too much liquid.

I chopped. I piled in a pot. I added vinegar and sugar and some salt. I boiled and stirred. I poured some pickling spice (sans clove -- I dislike clove) into a cloth bag and dumped it in the pot, too. Then, I started up my spaghetti pot with a rack in the bottom of it with jars and water for sterlization. The pot is about an inch too short, but I can just get it to a boil without boiling water over the entire stove. In a smaller pot I boiled the lids and tongs and funnel and magnetic thingy.

And then I waited for it all to come to a boil. *yawn* I used to have a HUGE pot to do this in, but it took two hours to get all that water to a boil, so I jettisoned it awhile ago.

Finally, everything appeared ready. I drained, funneled, and capped. Back in the water to process. As the pickles were processing, I realized that I've never made pickles before. I've made jam, but not pickles. Hmm. Maybe I should have shown more trepidation about this whole process. Oh well. It's too late now! The pickles are now out of the water and cooling on a rack. It sounds like the tops are getting sucked down. I'll know in a bit if I can put them on the shelf or if they need to live in the refrigerator. Regardless, I also have some shell beans from the farmer's market that I think will be delightful with the chow-chow.

Mmm. Chow.

This is Me

I decided I had to up my planned vichyssoise to potato-leek-asparagus soup since I had, well, purchased aspargus as well as potatoes and leeks (and tomatoes, and cilantro, and peaches, and lettuce, and favas). I was looking through my books, and I remembered that one of the contributors to Along in the Kitchen with an Egglplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone wrote about eating nothing but Asparagus. While purusing her essay, I came across this quote: "At the farmer's market, I shop for a whole family. I live and cook alone."

The soup was excellent, as was the tomato soup from earlier in the week, and the corn fritters I made yesterday, and today's BLT. I have pictures of a lot of that, but my printer is making me mad and not reading my new flash card. Updates when I can actually upload my photos.

Just a Cheeseburger

I really wanted a cheeseburger after my run. A cheeseburger with a coke. A sweet, fizzy, cold Coke. And some french fries. At a table. I imagined grading some papers while sipping on my Coke.

But alas, it was not to be. Three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon is not the time to go looking for cheeseburgers in this flour tortilla town. Not that I *really* know where to look, but I do know not to go back to First Awakenings. (That, and they close at 2:00.) I had to go to the grocery store, so while wandering among the fresh veggies, I decided I would just *make* my own burger. I picked up some potato chips, a bottle of Coke, and some organic, grass-fed ground beef. What can I say? I am not running to lose weight. I am running to obsess about something other than school. And to eat.

So I made myself a burger. I put cheese on top. I toasted some white bread and smothered it with Helman's mayo (there not many things better than a sandwich that begins with toasted white bread and Helman's mayo). I added some lettuce and some onion (the tomatoes were too sad looking to even try). And then I ate it. Can you tell how good it was?

Happy New Year Everybody!

No New Year would be complete without collards and black-eyed peas. Eating these dishes on New Year's Day will bring you good luck in the upcoming year. And although I generally take some liberties with when, exactly, I eat this dish, eat it, I do. It is an old Southern tradition, born of slaves who were given this day off (I believe). Certainly, black-eyed peas, or field peas, or crowder peas, or whatever variety grows in your field, were considered slave food; collards are one crop that actually taste better when grown in the cold (something about the cold and the sugar in the rather bitter leaves). So, these two dishes came to signify money: the collards are green like bills and the peas are coin. And in America, lots of money = good luck.

I first heard about this tradition back in my North Carolina days. Wayne was not only a good cook, but he lived in a house with many people and they often had House Dinners. New Year's Dinner was a big one. It often involved people outside the house (like girlfriends, former roommates, coworkers) and it was my first real experience with collards and black-eyed peas.

Wayne was vegetarian, so I also learned how to cook things without bacon or ham -- quite a feat when you're talking about collards and dried peas. I really didn't like collards the first 5 or so times I had them; but I always had at least a bite or two for good luck's sake. I loved the peas, though. As a former Crook's Corner cook, Wayne always made Hoppin' John.

But this past year, I saw a Good Eats where Altan makes collards. Now, I'll do just about anything Altan tells me to; the man makes excellent food and even better television (two of my favoritest things in the world). Altan doesn't use ham -- he uses a smoked turkey leg. So while at the store yesterday, I took a walk down the meat aisle and although I didn't find legs, I did find wings. Here then, I would see if the smoked turkey could compare to a ham hock (it would certainly beat out the veggie version).

Let me just say, yes. By all means, used smoked turkey in your collards. Make a broth first -- boil the wing for 10-15 before adding the collards. (According to Altan, most people over-cook collards and release the stinky cabbage smell, 45 minutes should be enough to cook them.) Altan adds a teaspoon of sugar (which I tried), but no onion or red pepper. I skipped the onion (the onion for the peas already made me cry), but I did add a couple shakes of red pepper flakes. In went the collards and cook. Presto: awesome collards. I admit, I was lazy and skipped the tomato and green onion on the Hoppin' John. I did add cheese, though. It was a very good dinner.

I also made cornbread, although because my oven and refrigerator are stupid, the cornbread wasn't quite ready in time, and I was too hungry to wait. It was crazy cornbread, too. I forgot about the cornbread, so I only had enough cornmeal for half a batch. But I also didn't have sour cream, plain yogurt, or buttermilk and I have discovered the both biscuits and cornbread MUST have some acid or they won't rise properly. Milk is not enough. So I added some mayo. Why not? Also, black pepper and some shredded cheese, because, I currently have too much of it. And, the piece de resistance -- greased the pan with bacon grease. Yes. Good cornbread.

Now, I just hope that all the luck I rack up will cancel out the luck I'm bound to sweep away. I have stacks of paper and mail to go through, but the Chinese say you shouldn't clean anything in the New Year -- you'll sweep out the good luck with the bad. oops.

Sunday Dinner

I'm gonna back-date this to Sunday, since that's when I made the food. And oh, was it oh-so-good.

For those of you who don't know, Hoppin' John is a Southern dish that in its most basic form is black-eyed peas with rice. I made the Crook's Corner version, myself. Having dated a former Crook's cook, he filled me in on the secret of this tasty dish. Black-eyed peas and rice (of course) but topped with shredded cheddar cheese and a "salsa" of tomatos and green onions. The green onions are key. Not red or yellow or white, but green. I put a little red pepper and cider vinegar in with the tomatoes and green onions, for an extra Southern kick. (I don't know if Bill Neal -- the founder of Crook's and a Southern food expert for those of you who aren't up on your Chapel Hill school of cooking -- would insist on going that far, but I do.)

I know that Hoppin' John is a New Year's tradition, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it whenever possible. This time, it was a farmer's market inspired meal. I found (joy!) black-eyed peas at the market last week. I also found a bunch of other stuff, so it took me a week to cook them. They were so good, they're already gone. (Although I'm posting this as if it were Sunday, it's really Tuesday.)

Anyway. Yummy. Yummy. Yummy. I sauteed some onions in happy bacon grease, then added the peas and some chicken stock and water. And because I also make a mean veggie version (and this only had fat, not a ham shank or hock), I tossed in a piece of kombu (which adds many of the same flavonoids you get from ham). Just remember to take out the kombu after about 20 minutes, or it starts disintegrating and then it's really annoying. I was out of bay leaf, so I had to skip that. Then, a big tablespoon of miso (another veggie trick to add the flavonoids). So good.

Here's a picture. It makes me drool.

BLTs

Today, in celebration of summer, farm workers, and the land of milk and honey, I will eat nothing but BLTs.

The BLT is my favorite sandwich of all times. As a child, I mastered the art of the BLT. My family, loving as they are, took advantage of my youth and got me to make them thousands of BLTs. "Carrie," they'd say sweetly, "You make the BEST BLTs." And I, obliging youngster flattered by their praise, would promptly march to the fridge and begin the long process of constructing a towering, tasty treat. My Dad and my second oldest sister used that line the most -- and it worked for a long, long time -- until Beth ruined it for everyone by telling me one day that "I made the best glasses of water." The jig was up. I stopped falling for flattery and made my BLTs only for myself.

Years later my father confided that they did indeed flatter me into making them sandwiches, but that did not change the truth: I made the best BLTs.

Here are my tips for making "the best BLTs":

1. Use only red, vine-ripened, flavorful tomatoes. The tomato is the key to the entire flavor of the sandwich. This means you can only eat BLTs in mid-to-late summer, when your garden or farmer's market is overflowing with tomatoes. Anything less will result in a sub-par sandwich.
2. Use a lot of tomatoes. Slice those bad boys at least 3/8 of an inch thick and make sure you cover the entire bread. Cut the slices in half to fill in the corners if you need to. Every bite should be full of juicy, sweet tomato.
3. Avoid iceberg lettuce. You should avoid iceberg anyway, but especially in a BLT. I prefer romaine for its crunch and ability to stand up to the other flavors. Red or green leaf is fine, but it makes for a girlier sandwich.
4. This might go without saying, but don't scrimp on the bacon and make sure it's got some crisp. It doesn't need to be falling apart burned, but you don't want limp, flaccid bacon. Three to four strips should be plenty, depending on their thickness and how much fat they lose. I prefer Nieman Ranch bacon. They raise happy pigs. And happy pigs make for happy bacon.
5. I am a sucker for white bread. A good, heavy white sandwich bread is my favorite, however, in this era of whole grains and heart disease and what not, I usually use wheat. It breaks my heart a little, but the sandwich is still good.
6. Toast the bread. 'Nuff said.
7. Hellman's (Best Foods) mayo ONLY. All other mayonnaise is sub-par and will ruin your sandwich. Ruin. Forever. Don't do it.

Is it any wonder my family tried so hard to get me to make them sandwiches?

So, for breakfast today, I had an open-faced BLET. That's a bacon, lettuce, egg, and tomato sandwich. I got the tomatoes and lettuce yesterday from the farmer's market. Oh, heaven in a piece of food. Nieman ranch bacon. And a light wheat, thick sliced bread from TJ's. It was the best BLET.



Lunch was sublime. Truly.



BLTs don't have to be sandwiches, you know. The homemade ranch-like dressing was my nod to mayo. I skipped the bread though. Crutons would have been a welcome addition, but I didn't plan well enough ahead. And it's Labor Day, so nothing is open. And if something is open, it shouldn't be. It's freakin' Labor Day!