An Epicurean Heiress

Zucchini Bikini

2011-08-01T08:58:00.000-07:00

What reminds me of summer (almost as much as a hot pink bikini) are fresh market stalls bulging with home grown vegetables: screen doors slamming, the whir of an attic fan, friends and family hauling armfuls of fresh, sweet zucchini, squash and tomatoes from their own or neighboring gardens.

Cheeks and foreheads are pink from the sun and sweat glistens on the brows of those jubilant enough to have produced such crops. I envision my mother bicycling to the farm where she has cultivated a little plot of her own, rich with plump heirloom tomatoes, petit, egg-shaped globe carrots and other such niceties. She tends this garden as she would small children, pedaling to and from the little plot each morning and evening, often with my father in tow. She worries over the size of her zucchini, whether they have grown too large to be perfectly sweet and tender; she fusses at the opossums and offending deer. She cradles fresh plucked watermelon and cantaloupe in her arms, with the promise of making little chins and fingers sticky with juice once at home again.

My mother’s tenderness for all things grown continues to imprint itself onto her children. As a child, I idolized brussel and alfalfa sprouts. Eating an artichoke was both fascinating and delicious. I loved snapping peas and shucking corn. My most favorite thing in the world was split-pea soup. But, as I have learned with age, this adoration for my beloved legumes is rare.

An art I have been subject to learn, as a teacher of young children, is that of vegetable disguise. I incorporate artichoke, broccoli and carrot in quiche, blueberries in brownies and avocado in grilled cheese. However, as far as summer is concerned, I hone in on the zucchini. I dice, slice, peel and grate this silky green and marvelously versatile veggie, its creamy flesh lending perfectly to corn, lemon and thyme.

Two dishes that are just as grown-up in flavor as they are kid-friendly are zucchini-ricotta fritters served with lemon slices (or ketchup should your child prefer) and a moist zucchini cornbread prepared in a loaf pan. Both burst with flavor and if they don’t remind you of summer from here on out, I’ll send you a hot pink bikini!

http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/zucchini-ricotta-fritters

http://www.bonappetit.com/recipes/2011/07/zucchini-cornbread

Part II: An Irish Ramble

2011-07-31T22:46:00.000-07:00

St. Patrick’s Day in Ireland was all that I had hoped it would be without all that I’d anticipated it being. I had envisioned Mardi Gras, pushing my way through sweaty, drunken crowds, the smell of stale beer flooding my nostrils.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that Dublin’s St. Patrick’s Day parade was family-oriented, beginning around noon and lasting only a few hours. The streets were patrolled by policemen, people walked politely in single-file queues down the sidewalks. Children sat on their parents’ shoulders and people sipped coffees or walked around as we did, nibbling on sandwiches from corner delis. Our sandwiches, the least expensive of all our meals while traveling, sufficed to be one the best: turkey paninis with a spicy mustard, tomatoes and a sweet pepper relish that resembled fruit chutney.

As soon as the parade ended, the crowds cleared. The streets were tended, though little cleaning needed to be done. I could not help but observe that Dublin was the cleanest city I had ever seen; the main street, O’Connell, being cleaned each morning, and with soap, none-the-less!

We warmed up, post parade, back in the hotel bar with hot whiskeys: whiskey, hot water, cloves, a bit of sugar and a slice of lemon. From there, we rebundled in coats and scarves and ventured towards Temple Bar to meet friends.

Temple Bar is an area of Dublin comprised of pubs and eateries, and attracts a younger, rowdier crowd. One of my dearest friends, Helen (who is obtaining her graduate degree at Trinity College), invited us to a classmate’s flat located on the second floor, directly above a popular pub. The streets were filled, young students, tourists, and some more adventurous families, in large green hats or other green paraphernalia. People sat on their balconies or in windows sipping beers and joining in with the crowds below.

We made merry with Helen’s Irish friends before settling in at a crowded basement bar and listening to a true Irish band complete with bagpipes and red ponytails.
One of our biggest adventures however, was our renting a small beetle of a car with Helen and her boyfriend, Spencer, and taking a spin in the Irish countryside. Popping in a purchased compact disc titled, “Irish Whiskey Tunes”, we ventured out along the narrow winding roads (but not before getting quite turned around in the autobahn-esque roundabouts located on the outskirts of the city). We escaped a near death, stalling out in the middle of a dip in one winding road, only to stumble across (thanks to Spencer’s suggestion) one right turn that led us to the base of Sugarloaf Mountain. What a right turn that turned out to be! It was a quintessential place to frolic. I expected to clasp hands with Julie Andrews and twirl in circles, my lungs full of those sweet lyrics, “the hills are alive.”

There was a small parking lot at the base and a man selling snacks from his van. Sheep roamed on adjacent patches of land and a stone farm house loomed in the distance. We began our ascent.

The wind was strong on the mountain. We stretched out our arms, the sun warm on our faces, and let the wind ripple across our jackets. Our feet padded across soft grass that turned into small rock collections that grew larger until we were practically rock climbing to the top of the mountain. Dogs raced ahead, their small feet taking boulders in bounds. We took our jackets off and tied them around our waists. Our cheeks turned pink.

The sea stretched before us from our perch on the utmost boulder. Behind us was the sprawling countryside of Wicklow County, its earth a patchwork of green. We shouted to hear one another and looked on at those around us, unpacking sacks full of water and peanut butter sandwiches; locals who knew that such a view deserved more than a mere ten minutes to marvel.

The moment our feet hit soft earth again, I could contain myself no longer. I threw my arms out and raced down the mountain, the wind taking my breath away. It was one of the most liberating, uninhibited moments of my small life. I felt like running forever, up and across each green hill, past the grazing sheep and towards the dipping sun. I passed a family, a mother and daughter and two couples, my face bright and smile stuck across my cheeks.

Almost as wonderful was looking behind me to see the mother and daughter I passed, running back down the hill, their arms outstretched and hair flying behind them. Joy is contagious.

We drove to our hotel in Portmarnock later that night, the sky dark and full of thick, wet clouds. We could smell the sea, hear the lapping of waves, but could only see black. At the front desk, I looked to a postcard boasting long, wide stretches of beach. A feeling of such strong yearning to see what I could hear, smell and possibly feel filled my stomach.

We lugged our suitcases to the bedroom and headed back to the hotel restaurant. It was a restaurant to be rivaled, fulfilling all expectations for a last night in Ireland. The walls were made of a dark, glossy wood. Fires cackled beneath ornate mantels tucked away in nooks surrounded by plump chairs. Small, round tables nestled in darkened corners with small tea candles to light conversation. Older couples ate in satisfied silence, groups of men sipped whiskey and watched rugby matches on television. As the night wore on, the remains of an earlier wedding party filled the bar area.

My husband sipped a Guinness, and I a Smythwick. I concluded the trip with fish n’ chips and my husband, an order of surprisingly good fajitas and guacamole. To end, we split an Irish coffee and hot whiskey.

We slipped into our bed and slept soundly for four hours, before waking at four in the morning for a seven a.m. flight. We left the hotel in the dark just as we’d come, with my window open, listening for the waves and breathing in the salty air of an Irish coastline.

Slip into the end of any evening with a hot whiskey. My friend, Helen, true to her Irish roots, swears by a similar soothing hot toddy. So, do as the Irish and slip into some soft sheets after one of these.

Hot Whiskey

2 ½ oz. Irish Whiskey
1 slice, fresh lemon
2-4 cloves
1 tsp. sugar
Hot water

Pour whiskey into glass. Stick cloves in lemon slice and add to glass. Fill with hot water and add sugar. Stir to dissolve. Serve immediately.

Part 1: An Irish Ramble

2011-07-19T19:49:00.000-07:00

I began my morning with a Madagascar vanilla macaroon from La Dureé in the Charles de Gaulle Aéroport. My husband watched me, his eyes laughing, as I savored the sweet crunch of macaroon between my teeth, and reveled in the “Frenchness” of the morning. Never mind the layover in Atlanta, and the six hour delay in travel plans, I was in France, if only in the airport. It made no difference to me. My ears were full of the French language, and I entered practically every store front and approached every available airline attendant to ask mindless questions in the language I’d studied for ten years and never had the chance to use. I looked, I assume, as a puppy learning to bark and run on wobbly legs must look, bobbing from one direction to the next, tail wagging and in love with each new movement.
If it weren’t for the fact that I was growing quite delirious with exhaustion, having slept an hour on the plane the night before, nerves on high alert and eyelids daring to close, I would not have willed our last flight of the day to fruition. However, the promise of a warm bed, blackout shades and a tall pint of Guinness appealed to my more immediate needs.

Having arrived, sans luggage, in the Dublin airport, we tumbled onto a Dart bus and meandered through narrow streets into the city and towards our hotel. We were let out two blocks from the hotel and left to find our way. No trouble there, however, as the Irish are the most friendly and desirable a group of people to encounter when in need of direction.

The hotel was situated on a quiet street off Parnell Square. And, instead of dropping onto the newly made bed and sleeping away the morning, we had a mission. As our luggage was not due to arrive until the following morning, at which time we would be touring the west coast of County Clare, we could not anticipate fresh clothing for the next forty-eight hours. We needed undergarments. Loading up on digestives (which I insisted on buying to feel oh-so-European) and water at the corner market, we hit the road.

Along the way, I was nearly accosted by an obnoxious, teenaged-boy with crazed eyes who laughed menacingly after pretending to run towards and corner me. Little did he know that my husband, always a few steps ahead, but with eyes in the back of his head (and who believes he was built to play rugby) spun around at my squeak of distress and would have pummeled him had I not restrained him with soothing kisses. Lucky for the boy, he continued on just as quickly as he’d come, towards his next victim.

Having escaped a brawl, we continued on, my mind racing with images of crazy Irishmen and my husband half-mumbling, half-snorting something about little leprechauns under his breath.

In perfect time, we stumbled across the Brazen Head, whose sign claimed it to be the oldest pub in Dublin. We sat down at the bar, already crowded at noon, and ordered two pints of Guinness. I could have melted into my seat upon first sip. The bar was small, intimate, accommodating thirty, forty people maximum, and though worn in feeling, exactly what we wanted, everything awash in dark mahogany, with vintage newspaper clippings and posters framed along the walls.

We continued our bar hop, now believing barley to be the fuel needed to get through the day and adjust to the time change, and made our way to an area known as Temple bar. After splitting fish n’chips and chatting up a few local bartenders, we met friends at the Jameson Distillery, where much to my dismay; I slept through much of the tour.

Finally, back at the hotel, we arranged for a six a.m. wake-up call in order to make our Moher Cliffs tour the next day. Unfortunately for us, sleep was not in our destiny this trip. I awoke to my husband’s voice, still husky with sleep, saying that the alarm had indeed gone off and it was time to get up. My eyes scanned the room for a clock. No such luck. I peeled the sheets away from me and walked into the bathroom, showered, dried my hair and put my makeup on. By the time I was done, my husband had returned from his coffee run. Settled once again in bed, he informed me that it was two in the morning and that he had dreamt the alarm. I didn’t bother undressing. I simply flopped back into bed.

The tour to the Cliffs of Moher was magical. Old, wizened Irishmen chatting against wooden gates flashed toothless, boyish grins and tipped hats to passing tourists (who scoured the narrow roads in giant green buses). Sheep roamed on sunny pastures that dipped into the sea. And, despite the fact that I was heading into my fifty-third hour in the same clothes, I felt refreshed, the cold, clean Irish wind licking my face and hair.

We wandered through old castles and monasteries, grabbed a pint at a local pub near the ocean and listened to our tour guide serenade us with traditional Irish songs and the repeated warning of, “Ireland: where the men are men and the sheep are scared.”

Sometime after lunch we arrived at the cliffs. A harpist played near their edge, her music mingling with the whipping wind and crashing of waves against the cliffs below. Hundreds of feet above water, we looked out and around, surrounded by green earth on two sides and the depths of sun-speckled sea on the other two. Following the lead of two other tourists, we scaled a small stone wall (feigning to see the “do not cross wall” sign not far from us) in order to take a photo against the cliffs. The landscape provided a perfect Christmas-card photo opportunity and happy with the effect we proceeded to scale back over the wall. My husband jumped; very handsomely (and skillfully) back over to safety. I had no such luck. The wedge of my boot tipped me backwards on the wall, propelling me into a full roll towards the edge of the cliff. Catching myself (by the grace of God) after only one backwards somersault, I peered back at the remaining four feet between myself and the cliff’s edge and clapped a hand to my chest. So much for the graceful ballerina I’d prided myself on being.

Having survived, what I may add as, an awfully romantic death, my new and nearly widowed husband, headed back to the bus where we dozed on and off from the day’s excitement, all the way home.

Almost as romantic as falling off the cliffs of Moher, was a seaside dinner for two at Ivan’s oyster bar and restaurant in the port town of Howth, Ireland. We settled in at a table by the window and dined on a steaming pot of mussels, with a warm buttery broth that we sopped up with sweet, brown bread. Fresh caught prawns followed, along with grilled Hake filet and a fisherman’s cioppino. After dinner, we walked along the sea wall, watching the sun dip into the dark sea, its’ last rays painting the clouds lavender.

Clark followed a small dog, similar to a spaniel, but clearly a mix, that looked as European as his owner, with old world golden curls. A seal in the water below followed us with large, dopey eyes. Sea gulls perched upon ships’ masts called to one another and no one in particular. Ireland’s “Eye” loomed ahead, a lone island, green with the soft grass, indigenous to Ireland, and a large basalt formation on its’ eastern side jutting up towards the sky. The air was full of both sweet and salt, the breeze cool against our woolen Blarney sweaters. I wanted to lie down, spread my arms and legs across the cool stones of the sea wall and watch the wisps of cloud that were gathering with the dusk. I wanted to feel that delicious smallness that you feel when encountered with the sea or a wide open prairie. I wanted to remember the sweetness of Irish mussels and fresh brown bread.

I love Ina Garten so will recommend any of her recipes. Here is one for mussels in white wine. Try with crumbly, nutty Irish brown bread and fall in love...

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/mussels-in-white-wine-recipe/index.html

Found a recipe for brown bread from the usually dependable Gourmet archive, but will be tracking down Ivan's Oyster Bar's recipe, so stay tuned!

http://www.gourmet.com/recipes/2000s/2001/05/irish-brown-bread-with-smoked-salmon

Summer on the Barbie

2010-07-19T07:06:00.000-07:00

Your cold drink sweats against your palm. The cicadas hum sweetly from the cool shade of the magnolias. An August sun shines through the trees, warming your skin in patches.

It's still summer. And, for those of us standing around with cold drinks sweating in our hands and dripping down our arms, the warm, chalky smell of charcoal beneath our noses is yet another welcome indication of the season.

A thick cut of halibut, juicy bone-in pork chops, a singing sirloin slapped beside tender, skewered shrimp; to choose from such a selection becomes the most important decision of the day.

But, for me this summer, my mouth waters and my stomach growls, for sizzling, crispy-skinned chicken, woodsy herb-laced chicken, buttermilk-tendered chicken; in other words, all things fowl.

Two recipes, I've determined to provide permanent residency for in my home. One, a grilled buttermilk chicken, marinates in a pool of tenderizing buttermilk, garlic, sea salt and rosemary for at least four hours. The result melts in your mouth with such a depth of flavor, you'll be shocked that only 5 ingredients were used.

Another, piri-piri chicken, marinates in a marriage of African and Portuguese flavors: cilantro, garlic, ginger, lemon and the African hot pepper, piri-piri (also known as peri-peri). This chicken is grilled whole, backbone removed, skin-side up. Crispy, juicy and tangy, you'll want to devour the entire chicken and drink the remaining marinade.

Guests will be saddened to leave after meals like these, but hopeful that another invitation will soon follow. And, while I hope you stay on the barbie throughout the year, do not neglect yourself or friends the privilege of enjoying the process, smell or cool drinks on warm evenings on the barbie.

http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/grilled-buttermilk-chicken

http://www.bonappetit.com/recipes/2010/07/piri_piri_chicken

Beavers and Brussel Sprouts

2010-05-09T16:01:00.000-07:00

When my husband and I found ourselves quite the only couple in town not attending a wedding, drifting the New Braunfels river or participating in the New Orleans Jazz Fest festivities, we agreed to extend date night into date weekend. And, being the foodies we are, we decided to knock out a few restaurant on our to-eat-list.

Friday night, we drifted into Beaver's, a bar and restaurant tucked away on the less traversed end of Washington Street headed towards downtown Houston. A review in the Houston chronicle had landed the restaurant on our to-eat-list simply by its photo of a large cornmeal-crusted oyster po-boy overflowing with crispy onions on a buttery potato bun.

As we drove into the small, graveled front parking lot, we were greeted by short wooden stumps leading to the restaurant entrance. But, inside was hip; with a few rounded booths and multiple two-seater tables. Beaver's seemed perfect for couples seeking a romantic but relaxed evening out despite the waitress' shirts reading "Beavers, just south of Hooters". The menu was exciting for the two of us, often nostalgic for our Southeastern fare, offering cheesy grits, braised collards and sweet potato mash. Their entrees included the oyster po-boy that had initially lured us from the pages of the Houston Chronicle, a shredded chicken sandwich with tangy slaw, barbecue sauce, crispy onions and a fried egg, brisket tacos braised with orange, sesame and golden raisins and country rabbit en mole verde over black bean tamales. They also had a selection of brisket, ribs and sausage from the smoker, fried pickles and even a tofu BBQ burger for the meat-averse. Needless to say, we stumbled out of the restaurant, our bellies full of their locally brewed beer on draught and Southern-Texas cuisine. And, I've since thought to go back for a tee-shirt.

Saturday evening we felt as if we'd traveled across the Atlantic and into the Mediterranean, perched on the outside patio of Dolce Vita, an Italian cafe and enoteca, or wine shop. The patio is surrounded by a tall wrought iron fence hidden in creeping foliage that shields us from the road just ten feet beyond; and, we are shielded from both sun and rain by a white canopy overhead. The menu is light, delicious and from what I can tell, authentic. They offer small plates of shaved brussel sprouts with pecorino, fingerling potatoes "arrabbiata", calamari, pancetta or a cheese selection served with honey. Their thin crust pizzas are divine. We ordered the Siciliana with tomatoes, capers and olives and the Melanzane with eggplant, tomatoes and parmigiano. I had heard that their wine list is excellent but, as I am unfamiliar with Italian wines (usually preferring South American blends) I let the waiter choose for us. I recommend, encourage or simply assure you that this decision, at least here at Dolce Vita, is a wise one.

We left Dolce Vita happy, satiated and not too full. What a wonderfully interesting feeling for the both of us on a night out; tummies content though not protruding. No waddling to the car, despite splitting an appetizer, two pizzas and two desserts. European portion size is truly a marvel for the American to behold.

However, if dessert is what you crave, I would suggest going all out, skipping dessert at Dolce Vita and heading over to Little Bigs sliders and shakes for a home-spun milkshake. After all, the moment you drift out from under the white canopied patio of Dolce Vita, you are back on American soil, Texas soil at that; and, we all know that everything is bigger in Texas, including our appetites!

Top o' the Crumb to You!

2010-04-11T18:45:00.000-07:00

I don't know what it is about spring, but somewhere between the cool morning air and being woken by cheerful, chirping birds, my stomach rumbles for something special. I suppose it's being woken in such delicious terms that rouses me in much the same way my birthday or Valentine's morning would, my belly anticipating the sweets to come.

On my birthday, it would be sour cream pound cake with cream cheese icing. And, the best part about this is, I can eat it for breakfast! I don't believe anyone else willingly springs from their bed, before the sun, some thirty-odd minutes past six just to eat their birthday breakfast.

But, on these spring mornings (that are six months shy of my birthday) I wake up craving something substantial, something that surpasses oatmeal, eggs and toast. I crave scones, crumb cakes and streusel-topped muffins. I crave homemade granola bars dotted with dried apricots and walnuts, french toast with blueberries and coconut milk.

Below are recipes for spring mornings worth celebrating!

**Remiss, alas, is a recipe for the ultimate muffin, for which I would gladly travel five hundred miles back for, to a bed and breakfast in Sonoma Valley, California owned by the Girl & the Fig restaurant. The size of a large grapefruit, streusel-topped and dotted with plump blueberries, I believe I could eat this muffin each morning of my life and never cease to celebrate. For this recipe or one similar, I am on a quest. But, until then......

This New York-style crumb cake will just have to do.
(Moist and crumbly, this cake is supposed to serve 12, but between my husband, myself and two of my favorite co-workers, the cake was gone in 2 mornings!)

topping:
1 c. packed dark brown sugar
1/2 c. sugar
1 1/2 T ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
1 c. unsalted butter, melted
2 1/2 c. all purpose flour

Mix top 4 ingredients. Add melted butter and stir to blend. Add flour and toss with fork until moist clumps form.

cake:
2 1/2 c. flour
1 tsp. baking soda
3/4 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
3/4 c. unsalted butter, room temperature
1 1/2 c. sugar
2 large eggs
1 1/3 c. sour cream
1 tsp. vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter 13x9x2-inch glass baking dish. Sift top 4 ingredients in medium bowl. Using electric mixer, beat butter in large bowl until smooth. Add sugar and beat until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating until well blended. Add sour cream and vanilla and beat until just blended. Add flour mixture in 3 additions. Transfer cake batter to baking dish; spread evenly. Squeeze small handfuls of topping together to form clumps and drop evenly over batter, covering completely.
Bake about 1 hr until topping is golden brown and slightly crispy and inserted tester comes out clean. Cool at least 30 mins. and enjoy!!

Apricot-Walnut Scones
(serves 6) These are my husband's favorite. They are lighter than some, literally melting in your mouth, but have that perfect crumble that I adore in a scone.

2 c. flour
1/3 c. sugar
1 T baking powder
1/2 c. chopped walnuts
1/2 c. chopped dried apricots
1 1/3 c. heavy whipping cream

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Whisk first 3 ingredients in large bowl. Stir in walnuts & apricots. Add cream; stir with fork to blend. Transfer dough to floured surface, knead until smooth and form into 1-inch-thick round. Cut into 6 wedges. Transfer to baking sheet. Bake until golden brown, about 18 mins. Serve warm or room temperature.
Try and eat just one! It's hard!

Panettone French Toast
with coconut milk and blueberries

1/2 vanilla bean
2/3 c. coconut milk
2 eggs, lightly beaten
2 T sugar
1/4 tsp. ground cardamon
4 T butter
8 slices panettone or other sweet bread
powdered sugar
blueberries
mango

Split vanilla bean in half, lengthwise and scrape out seeds. Put coconut milk, eggs, sugar, vanilla seeds, and cardamon in bowl and beat well.Pour mixture into shallow dish.
Heat half the butter in large skillet. Dip two pieces bread into egg mixture and saute until golden on both sides. Repeat with remaining bread and serve with powdered sugar, blueberries, cream and sliced mango.
Envision the chirping birds are exotic toucans, pop in some island music and enjoy!

In Gourmet Fashion

2010-02-15T19:02:00.000-08:00

For many of us, the month of March will mark a sorrowful four-month anniversary. We will pass through grocery lines gazing wistfully, remembering times of old and that former flutter in our hearts upon seeing a new glossy cover of Gourmet magazine. Plump, purple berries, juicy, sweet and all a drizzle over a cloud of white ice cream against a crisp, pale blue background. Crispy- skinned plump turkeys, greasy steak-frites glistening with sea salt.

Loyal fans, behold! Land Ho!

Conde Nast has made back issues available for purchase as well as framed covers dating back to the 1930's available in different sizes with matted options. They also offer tri-fold cookie note cards complete with recipes and photographs gathered from Gourmet photo shoots. Just visit www.condenaststore.com. And, hopefully over the next few months, your trips through the grocery lines will feel increasingly less empty as your walls evolve into wonderfully cluttered collages of scrumptious Gourmet memories!

Sweet Potato Roots Pt. 2

2010-02-15T06:46:00.000-08:00

These recipes come from the southern most roots of all, and even more specially, from a collaboration between my colonial and Native American ancestors.

Spoon bread, a pudding-like corn bread tastes of my childhood, whipped up so often by my grandmother and served beside pork chops, lima beans, and a tangy tomato aspic. My husband describes the bread as a cross breed between corn muffins and corn casserole. But, for those most closely connected to the recipe know that it most resembles its original inspiration, Suppawn, an Indian porridge.

Spoon Bread (Courtesy of Hotel Roanoke, Roanoke, Virginia)
makes ~10 servings

1 1/2 c. corn meal
1 tsp. sugar
1 1/3 tsp. salt
1 1/2 c. boiling water
1/4 c. butter
5 eggs
2 c. milk
1 T baking powder

Preheat oven to 350. Mix corn meal, salt and sugar in large bowl. Scald with boiling water. Add melted butter. Beat eggs; add milk in med. bowl. Combine egg mixture to corn meal mix. Add baking powder. Pour into oiled 9x13 baking pan and bake 30-40 min.

Sally Lunn bread, another childhood comfort from my grandmother's kitchen, is golden, crumbly and crispy on top with a fluffy, soft, textured interior. It slices easily and is heavenly when smeared with a pat of butter alongside Brunswick stew, seafood chowder or anything else! The recipe traveled across the Atlantic, nestled in pockets of America's earliest British settlers. And, thank goodness it did!

Sally Lunn Bread (Courtesy of the Junior League of Hampton Roads, Virginia)

1 pkg. dry yeast
1/4 c. warm water
2 T soft butter
1/2 c. sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. salt
3 1/2 c. flour
1 c. warm milk

Soften yeast in warm water. In a mixing bowl, cream butter and sugar. Beat in eggs and salt, stir in 1 1/2 c. of flour and beat vigorously. Stir in milk and softened yeast; mix well. Add remaining flour and beat vigorously. Cover, let rise in warm place until doubled (1 hr.). Stir down batter and spoon evenly into Turk's head mold. Cover and let rise again until doubled (30-45 min.). Bake in preheated 325 oven for 10 mins., increase temperature to 375 and continue baking for 20 mins. more. Remove from pan. Serve and enjoy!

Sweet Potato Roots

2010-02-08T19:10:00.000-08:00

When one leaves the Southeast, one's fixin' to know it at first bite. Pork ain't the same, barbecue ain't the same, hell, even sauce ain't the same. And, don't get your panties in a wad when people regard you with blank stares upon request for a sweet tea.

So, whenever I come across a fusion restaurant far from home and discover they're incorporating a bit o' southern flair into they vittles (actin' like collards are some kind of exotic green), my heart cain't help but swell with pride.

A recent trip to Dallas restaurant, Sevy's, sent my tastebuds straight into the thick of a magnolia scented dining room.
The culprit: barbecue-glazed salmon over buttermilk-chive whipped potatoes with tabasco butter and crispy leeks.

And, if that wasn't enough, famed seafood restaurant, Reef, in Houston, Texas (where my husband and I dined a week later), whipped up hearty servings of crispy-skinned seared snapper over sweet and sour chard and tomato brown butter, and roasted grouper over corn pudding with salsa cruda and grilled peach. Now, slap me silly if we ain't in the South! Also on their menu, a fried mac and cheese that stands alone at a size comparable to a very large, well-endowed grapefruit. (We were informed that this southern treat remains the most time-consuming item to prepare on the menu.)

Now, if I do say so myself, I think I'll be off my soapbox for the night, clamp me on some pearls and cook me up a tomato pie! Bon Appetit, y'all!

Grandma's Tomato Pie

1 box Bisquick
4-5 large tomatoes
1/2 c. mayo
3/4 c. shredded cheddar cheese
salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. (400 depending upon your oven)
First: prepare the crust
Follow instructions on pkg. for crust and press into deep-dish pie plate.
Second: thinly slice 4-5 large tomatoes and layer in dish.
Third: Mix 1/2 c. mayonnaise and 3/4 c. shredded cheddar cheese, spread in an even layer across the top of the tomatoes.
Salt and pepper the top, pop in the oven and bake 25-35 min. or until the Bisquick crust is a golden brown and the cheese is melted and bubbly.

*optional: add 1 tsp. italian seasoning, 1/2 T chopped chives, or fresh basil leaves to tomatoes.

To Be or Not to Be a Black-Eye Pea

2010-01-05T14:41:00.000-08:00

Does anyone else ever wonder what it would be like to be a black-eye pea?

Often the black sheep of its' distant relatives, the black-eye pea spends its life being somewhat avoided; small and lonely, it's spotted skin rarely stars as an accompaniment to fried chicken, roast turkey or slow-cooked pot roast. No, these roles are reserved for the more elegant green pea or hearty butter bean.

Until recently, even crispy crudites turned up their noses, diving with strict loyalty into creamy blends of chickpea and white bean hummus.

How sad then, to be a black-eye pea, forever subject to twisted mouths and wrinkled noses. And, how triumphant when decided upon to play the role of good luck charm on New Year's celebrations.

Yes! Cheers to the compassionate soul that demanded black-eye peas be the bearer of good luck each new year!

Despite the good news, however, many receive the pea with trepidation. They fork single peas, and pinching their noses between thumb and forefingers, hesitate a moment before hastily shoving the small, trembling pea into their mouths, chewing quickly and concluding with an overly dramatic attempt at swallowing. Now, how's a pea to feel when greeted with such a reception?

I, for one, want to take a stand for the black-eyed peas of the world and provide these underdogs with the due reverence they deserve! And, I will do so by providing two of the most delicious, good-luck recipes for you to share with your families in your upcoming new year's celebrations. So, take the plunge, prejudice aside, and dive into the delectable world of the black-eye pea!

Carolina Caviar
This dip is a true crowd pleaser. No matter how much we make, we never have left overs, and for the people in my household, this is truly a travesty.

3 bell peppers (1 red, 1 orange, 1 green) diced
2 cans sweet white corn, drained
2 cans black-eye peas, drained
3 green onions, diced
4 large tomatoes, diced
1/4 c. chopped cilantro
1-2 Tb fresh lemon juice
1/4 c. Champagne dressing (Italian, red-wine vinegar and olive oil, or another favorite dressing will do if you prefer.)

Toss all ingredients to combine and serve with Tostito Scoops. Enjoy!

New Year's Southern Stew
My husband created this recipe and it was the most satiating, comforting pot of stew I've had in quite awhile. My mouth waters just thinking of it. May it bring you just as much joy and good luck!

1 6 oz. can tomato paste
3 c. water
1 c. chicken stock
1/2 head cauliflower, roughly chopped
1/2 yellow onion, sliced
1 8 oz. can black-eye peas, drained
1 Tb. fresh rosemary leaves
1 link turkey kielbasa sausage

In medium size pot, let cauliflower simmer in water, chicken stock, tomato paste and rosemary, 10 mins. In skillet, saute onion and sausage until onion is soft and sausage browned on both sides. Add onion and sausage to simmering cauliflower stew. Simmer add'l. 5 mins. Add black-eye peas and serve with crusty, twice baked corn bread to sop up all the tangy tomato, rosemary-scented rustic goodness.

Banana Seats & Fireworks

2009-07-05T19:47:00.000-07:00

The Fourth of July conjures up hazy recollections of banana seat bikes at neighborhood block parties, picking Blue crab fresh from the Chesapeake Bay and watermelon-seed spitting contests. I even recall a particular Fourth of July, back in the early 90’s where neighbors performed the popular Madonna song, Vogue, while decked out in blonde wigs and black leather, thus sparking an early love affair for beauty marks (er, moles) and tall black boots.

Nineteen years and 1,500 miles from the east coast later, I am re-evaluating my defining Fourth of July festivities.

In reverence of my favorite shell fish, I munch on Utz Crab chips and sip Perrier’s Pamplemousse Rose (grapefruit scented) sparkling water, while flipping through the July editions of Gourmet and Bon Appétit for inspiration.

I drool over coffee-rubbed, barbeque burgers, chipotle baby-back ribs, peanut butter and chocolate chip blondies à la mode and a particular honey caramel peach pie.

With lips already in smacking mode, I open a notebook and begin planning in accordance with my allotted budget. Now there’s a surefire way to stunt my cooking enthusiasm. On a teaching salary, it is essential that I become the world’s most creatively prudent cook.

I remember the 99 cent strawberries from the grocer down the street and decide on a strawberry dessert. I think of the pot of basil on my front stoop and sweet potatoes in my cupboard. And, though slightly dejected at moments, having discarded romanticized notions of baby back ribs, lobster rolls and giant blueberry pies, I settle on a menu that is both budget-friendly and still lip-smacking-good. And, here it goes:

Grilled corn with cumin and lime
Open face tomato, egg and basil sandwiches
Sweet potato salad with cilantro and sautéed peppers
Mini frittatas with bacon and herbs
Strawberry crisp dessert

And, as for banana-seat bike riding and Madonna impersonations, I settle for the pool in the backyard and a place on the hood of the car for Houston’s fireworks show, with many thanks to host, Shell Oil.

Happy Fourth to Americans everywhere! We sure are a lucky bunch. God bless the USA!

Porks & Prawns

2009-05-20T06:28:00.000-07:00

When I was young, summer smelled of honeysuckle, magnolia, a fresh-cut lawn and juicy pork chops. If I close my eyes, I see my dad's watchful eye hovering above the grill, returning every three minutes from the kitchen.

If I follow my dad inside, he'll be spinning my mother around to old Van Morrison or Frank Sinatra. Watching their faces, I see that they are smiling, sometimes laughing, with eyes often closed; anticipating their familiar dance partner's every move.

Tonight, I am back home, not quite as young. But, summer smells relatively unchanged. An occasional perfume of gardenia floats beneath my nose, replacing the wisteria of my youth. And, prawns replace pork's former place on the grill. The music has been updated to pop-crooner Lenny Kravitz, who screeches, "American wommman," as my mother shimmies in circles around my dad.

It is always nice to be home, no matter pork or prawn. Everything's more delicious when made while dancing with those you love.

Dad's Prawns with Lemon-Garlic Butter:

Olive oil for coating

Spice rub:
1 Tbl. sweet paprika
1 Tbl. garlic powder
1 tsp. lemon pepper
2 tsp. salt

24 large prawns

Lemon-Garlic Butter:
1/2 c. salted butter
zest of one lemon
juice of one lemon
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper

16 wooden skewers, soaked for thirty minutes

Coat prawns with rub and thread onto skewers.
Melt butter in saucepan, stirring in lemon juice and zest, garlic and cayenne. Reserve half for basting, the other for serving.

Grill over direct heat, turning once or twice to baste, until evenly pink.

Serve immediately to jazzy tunes of choice!

Welcome Summer

2009-05-18T06:25:00.000-07:00

With early May temperatures already topping the hottest of summer days in Atlanta, my tasetbuds have catapulted into the cool, sweet and refreshing tastes of summer here in Houston.

The comforting crab bisques of cool spring evenings, I have replaced with chilled gazpachos and zucchini vichyssoises. My beloved breakfasts of blueberry scones, warm and crisped from the oven, have been replaced by simple bowls of honeynut Cheerios and ice-cold milk.
My palate embraces all things cool to counteract the thick blanket of warm air that is Houston spring disguised as summer.

A favorite summer meal of my hubby-to-be is a cool salad made with salty feta cheese and large, juicy pieces of sweet watermelon. Grilled snapper with lemon and thyme works well alongside the salad.

And, if we decide to have guests, we often throw together an additional accompaniment of crisp green beans and boiled red potatoes with rosemary, olive oil, cracked pepper and sea salt.
Everything we serve chilled or room-temperature, except for the fish, whose mere existence reminds us of summer and refreshing dips in the sea.

Such summer meals, full of citrus, fresh herbs and seafood, make us feel as if we are relaxing on the Mediterranean, or on moonlit porches along the Amalfi coast. Nevermind our Texas palms or plastic lawn chairs, our tongues for the moment, have transported us to far away places.

For dessert, we travel west, over a Peruvian dulce de leche torte served with a small scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. (A great recipe can be found on www.gourmet.com)

*For the feta cheese & watermelon salad, add as much or as little of the ingredients to suit your taste. We usually chunk one whole watermelon and in a large bowl, combine with 8-oz. of chunked feta cheese, one red onion, sliced thin, & fresh mint. We then toss the salad with a viniagrette made of 1/4 c. olive oil, two Tbl. of dijon mustard, two Tbl. of red wine vinegar, one Tbl. of honey, salt & pepper. Voila!

For cool summer evenings, a favorite zucchini vichyssoise:

2 Tbl. olive oil
5 chopped leeks, white & green parts
8 small white boiling potatoes, chopped
2 chopped zucchinis
1 1/2 c. chicken stock
2 Tbl. cream
Julienned zucchini & chopped green green onion for garnish
salt & pepper

Heat 2 Tbl. of oil in a large stockpot. Add leeks, and saute over med-low for five minutes. Add potatoes, zucchini, stock, salt & pepper; bring to a boil, cover and simmer over low heat for thirty minutes. Let cool. In batches, process in blender or food processor until smooth. Return to pot, add cream, salt and pepper. Serve cold with julienned zucchini and green onion. Enjoy!

Happy Summer!

Project Polenta

2009-03-18T12:29:00.000-07:00

Today, I made an orange polenta cake.
For breakfast :)

8 a.m.
Scrounging around my pantry, numb to the usual granola, oatmeal and much beloved huevos rancheros...

9 a.m.
Still sipping black coffee, much distressed over my sans cream situation, too lazy to slip into a pair of jeans and drive to the market to replenish supply..

9:30
Flipping through Gourmet, discover Orange Polenta Cake, dripping in orange marmalade glaze.
Quickly scan recipe.

Pajama toes to action!

Whipping around the corner and into the kitchen, I fling myself upon various cabinets, and discover:
1 c. of yellow corn meal, life expiration of April 2009. I look to the calendar. March 18, 2009.
I think to myself,

sad little bag,
you are just what I need,
the delights you may bring,
may far exceed,
all that I
had prior believed!

Hm, not much of a poet, I see. 'Tis sad, but so.

I discover eggs, flour, baking powder and salt and throw in a 1/4 c. of dried cranberries for good measure. I tackle the fridge, which, much to my relief, possesses two sticks of butter and one jar of orange marmalade. I grab a bag of almonds, flinching momentarily at the word ground that stares up at me from its glossy page.

However, en lieu of a much desired food processor or even a mortar & pestle, I move full speed ahead, my tingling tongue reminding me there isn't a moment to waste.

Positioning one of my heaviest and most daunting of cleavers above two handfuls of unsuspecting almonds, I begin the daunting maneuver; and, soon enough, I even begin to enjoy their slight crunch against the bamboo board.

The project does not take long, but between the manual grinding and mixing ( to which my arms have felt, most keenly, the absence of a recently departed blender) I exit the kitchen, roused from my morning ambitions, and eager to sample its result.

Forty minutes later, a warm perfume of cornmeal, toasted almonds and orange fill my home.
The result- celestial. The cake is both crunchy and sweet with welcome bits of chewy cranberries and orange rind. Embracing both the efforts and profound result in taste and texture, I congratulate both myself and the masterminds of the recipe, whoever and wherever they may be.

So, do try this one at home, for a company of others or simply for the company of oneself!
bon appetit!

Orange Polenta Cake:

For Caramel Orange Layer:
*I omitted the caramel orange layer from my reproduction of the cake, but it was still supremely delicious!
1/2 c. granulated sugar
2 Tbsp water
2 Tbsp unsalted butter, cut into bits
2 naval oranges

For Cake:
1 3/4 sticks unsalted butter, softened
1 c. granulated sugar
3 large eggs
2 tsp orange flower water (I omitted)
1/2 c. flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 c. ground almonds
2/3 c. quick-cooking polenta

For Glaze:
1/4 c. orange marmalade
1 Tbsp water

Make caramel orange layer:

Preheat oven to 350 deg. F. Lightly butter 9-in. round cake pan, then line with parchment paper.
Bring sugar & water to boil in small sauce pan over med. heat, stirring until sugar has dissolved. Boil until dark amber in color. Remove from heat, add butter and quickly pour into cake pan. Grate orange zest of two oranges and set aside for cake. Cut oranges crosswise and arrange slices in 1 layer over caramel.

Make cake:

Beat butter with sugar until combined. Add eggs, one at a time. Mix in orange flower water and zest.
Whisk together flour, baking powder and salt. With mixer at low speed, add almonds, polenta, and flour mixture into egg mixture until just combined.
Spread batter evenly over caramel and orange slices. Bake until inserted wooden pick comes out clean. 1- 1 1/4 hrs. Cool 5 minutes and invert to cake plate. Remove parchment.

Make glaze:

Heat marmalade and water until melted. Brush top of cake with glaze and serve warm!

Down on the Farm

2009-03-08T05:43:00.000-07:00

A certain avocado jogged my memory today, to one balmy evening in Ojai, California from a summer past.

The avocado I speak of, at present, I purchased from a local farmer's market in Houston, Texas. Not expecting anything extraordinarily different from this particular piece of fruit, my senses were jolted upon my first bite of its fragrant, green flesh. The avocado burst forth with an earthy aroma of lilacs on my tongue. Slightly shocked, I turned my head for a quick scan of my surrounding flowers, but to no avail. I bit into another slice. Lilacs, again, flitted across my tongue.

I was utterly delighted with such an exquisite avocado, and its creator's surprisingly delicious compost selection.

Needless to say, the experience jolted my memory to a previous meal, shared between my mother and myself, that offered delightfully surprising results from unsuspecting food candidates.

The meal took place on a balmy evening, in a home situated amongst orange and lemon orchards, in Ojai, California. My mother and I had spent our morning carousing through the local farmers market, sampling ancho-chile spiced dark chocolate, a micro biotic Jungle Ice Cream, sweetened with local honey, and a variety of goat cheeses: cheddar goat cheese, soft goat cheese, hard, nutty-flavored goat cheese reminiscent of asiago.

With pockets not quite deep enough to leave with everything we saw and tasted, we left the market with one bunch of dandelion greens, one bunch of multi-colored nasturtiums, a 4-ounce container of walnuts and a chunk of the crumbly feta-like goat cheese.

My addition to our salad that evening, an avocado I plucked myself, from the tree outside my bedroom window. And, a citrus-vinaigrette, made with the juices of one orange and one lemon from the surrounding orchards.

The salad was truly something to be marveled; from the peppery crunch of the dandelion greens, sweet, creamy goat cheese and earth-flavored flesh of avocado, to the physical splendor of red, purple and orange nasturtium blossoms. Not to mention, a vinaigrette worth drinking, both sweet and tart, from the freshly-squeezed juices of orange of lemon.

Thinking back to the evening, of my mother and myself, sipping rose and dining on the stems of my childhood bouquets, my heart fills with supreme gratitude; for earth's many blessings and the sharing of these blessings with the very best of company!

Mama's Farmer Salad:
serves 3

1 bunch of dandelion greens
1 bunch of nasturtiums
A handful of spinach leaves
1 avocado, sliced
1 handful walnuts
2 ounces crumbly goat cheese

Citrus Vinaigrette:

1/2 orange, freshly-squeezed
1/2 lemon, freshly-squeezed
1/3 c. good olive oil
ground black pepper

Heavenly Crepes

2009-03-03T07:24:00.000-08:00

Crepe-alicious!

Ever crave something and magically, poof, as if by fate, you find yourself in some omniscient, foodie god's favor? I encountered such fateful parallels recently, on the receipt of Martha Stewart's February issue of Living magazine.

Having discovered a fabulous restaurant in the midtown area of Houston, Texas, known as Coco's Crepes and Coffee, I find too often, my thoughts revolving and taste buds salivating for a bite of one of Coco's legendary savory crepes; the earthy flavor of goat cheese sandwiched between roasted tomatoes, zucchini, mushrooms and squash all wrapped up a slightly sweet whole-wheat crepe, topped with a warm, roasted red pepper aioli...mmmm...could anything be sweeter? Such moments reveal to me, that heaven may be a place on earth after all.

So, when I opened to Martha's article titled, Crepes 101, I could almost hear the far tinkling of angels' heralding my good fortune.

In the article, Martha offers a recipe for basic crepes, as well as a buckwheat variation, which she suggests for savory combinations. And, while I prefer the savory creations to the typical sweet, nutella variety, she includes a recipe for crepes banana foster, that looks almost too good to be true, with warm, fattened bananas nestled in a puddle of sweetened rum, vanilla and brown sugar.

And, to share the food fortune bestowed upon me, I leave unto all of you, the recipes that leave me weak in the knees.

Bon appetit!

Basic Crepes
makes 32 six-inch or 12 ten-inch crepes

1 3/4 c. all purpose flour
1/2 tsp. coarse salt
2 c. whole milk, room temp.
3 large eggs, room temp.
2 1/2 oz. (5 tablespoons) unsalted butter, room temp.

1. Sift flour and salt in large bowl.
2. Whisk milk and eggs together in med. bowl.
3. Pour milk mixture into large flour mixture, whisking to combine.
4. Whisk in butter and refrigerate mixture for 2 hrs.
*Batter should be consistency of heavy cream; add more milk if necessary.

5. Heat 8- or 12-in. nonstick skillet over med. heat, and brush with butter.
6. Ladle 3 Tb (for small crepes) or 1/3 c. batter (for large crepes) into pan, turning and tilting skillet to coat evenly. Cook until top appears set, bottom is golden brown, and center is lifted by pockets of air, about 1 min.
7. Run spatula around edges to loosen, slip spatula under crepe, and flip in one swift gesture. Cook about 45 sec. more, until bottom is firm.
8. Transfer to plate, and cover.
9. Repeat with remaining batter, brushing pan with butter every 2 or 3 crepes.

For buckwheat variation:

Substitute 3/4 c. buckwheat flour for all purpose flour, and add an additional 3/4 c. whole milk.

Bananas Foster Crepes
serves 4

1 1/2 oz. (3 tablespoons) unsalted butter
1/2 c. dark-brown sugar
2 ripe bananas
1/8 tsp. ground cinnamon
pinch of salt
pinch of ground nutmeg
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1/4 c. dark rum
4 basic small crepes (see basic recipe)
1/2 c. creme fraiche

1. Warm butter and sugar in saute pan over med. heat until butter melts.
2. Add bananas, cinnamon, salt, nutmeg, and vanilla, and cook, stirring, for 1-2 min. Remove pan from heat, add rum.
3. Return to heat, light with long match, and cook until flames stop.
4. Divide bananas among crepes, fold each crepe in half, then fold in half again.
5. Drizzle with reserved sauce, and top with creme fraiche!

For more crepe recipes, visit www.marthastewart.com.

To Epicurus, with Thanks

2009-02-23T08:06:00.000-08:00

A lover of words as well as food, I begin my blog, in appreciation, to those fore founders of definitive thought and reason.

To Epicurus: who believed and taught that the highest good is that of personal happiness & who gave definition to the selective group of people known as gourmands, who seek pleasure and indulgence in our food, drink and life!

On the eve of this past New Year, I packed my bags, with boots and suits (swim) and a hearty appetite, for truly authentic Spanish cuisine and mouthwatering barbecue. With bibs and sis in tow, and dreams of sticky fingers, I put the keys in the ignition and set off for the proud, great state of Texas! Yeehaw!

Upon arrival, we were greeted with a beef brisket so tender, it nearly melted on our tongues and pork tamales, sweet from recent steamings in banana leaves. Despite our east-coast allegiances and better judgement, we swooned, in love with a new cuisine.

Our second day, we dined on Swiss chard and sweet potato enchiladas topped with a sweet chili sauce and crunchy pumpkin seeds.

Our third, on Texas style cheese-steaks, tenderly ground with sweet onion and a teriyaki-dijon mustard that we sopped up with the remaining pieces of our giant, potato hoagie rolls.

Four days and two months later, I am still here.

A twist on the Swiss chard and sweet potato enchiladas I've found along the way:

Sweet Potato Enchiladas with Garlic & Walnuts

1 1/2 c. mashed sweet potatoes
1 head roasted garlic
1/4 cup toasted walnuts
Salt and pepper to taste
1 pkg. corn tortillas
1/4 c. feta cheese
1 c. salsa Verde or red enchilada sauce

Cut top off of roasted garlic head and squeeze to remove garlic from skin. Mash together with sweet potatoes, mix in nuts, salt and pepper to taste. Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a small skillet and cook corn tortillas individually in oil until softened, draining on a paper towel. Take one tortilla and spread a spoonful of filling down the length of the tortilla, left of the center. Sprinkle a bit of feta cheese. Fold shorter (left) side overfilling, then roll up and place in a greased, square baking pan.

Continue with the rest of tortillas and filling. Pour salsa Verde or red enchilada sauce over enchiladas. Cover with tin foil and bake at 375 degrees for about 20 minutes. Remove foil and bake 10 more minutes.

Top with crumbled, toasted walnuts, creme fraiche and cilantro.