Homesick Texan

Pimento cheese, hold the pimentos

2009-11-23T10:05:00.004-05:00

I’m heading home in a couple of days, and since I won’t arrive to the farm until late Thursday morning, I’ve been trying to figure out dishes I can contribute to the Thanksgiving feast that won’t take a lot of time and effort. As I was going through my list of recipes, I came across that old favorite—pimento cheese.

Truth be told, I hadn’t eaten any since my grandfather’s funeral back in 2008. A woman that goes to my grandparent’s church had read my earlier blog post where I remarked that pimento cheese makes for fine funeral food. And so she made my recipe and brought it to the farm.

It was a hit—so much of a hit that my uncle Richard and I got in a huge fight over who would get to eat the last couple of spoonfuls. (Now lest you think my family and I don’t get along—we were all a bit stressed because of the funeral and were behaving like five year olds. This is not to say, however, that it wasn’t indeed a fine batch of pimento cheese.) That day was over a year ago, and that’s just too long to go without eating pimento cheese. So I decided to whip up a batch.

Pimento cheese is simple, really. At its most basic it’s just shredded cheddar cheese, some mayonnaise and chopped pimentos. But when I opened my refrigerator, I realized that I didn’t have any pimentos on hand. So I improvised.

I enjoy the tangy sweetness of the little red pimentos, but I also like the splash of color the peppers give to the spread. I had some Ro-Tel tomatoes on hand, so I threw them into my bowl. And to keep with the Tex-Mex theme, I decided to mix some lime juice, cilantro and cumin into my mayonnaise and tossed in a chopped Serrano chile as well.

There are many ways to eat pimento cheese, but my favorite way has always been simply as a dip. And the Tex-Mex profile of this spread definitely makes it perfect for tortilla chips. But it would also be terrific on a biscuit, folded into an omelet, or even scooped on top of a burger.

What do you call pimento cheese when it doesn’t have pimentos? Pepper cheese? Tomato cheese? Pimento-not cheese? Tex-Mex cheese? I have no idea, but no matter what you call this pimento cheese, it’s still pretty darn good.

Tex-Mex pimento cheese, hold the pimentos
1 pound of shredded cheddar cheese (four cups)
1 can of Ro-Tel, drained
1/3 cup of mayonnaise
1/4 teaspoon cumin
1 tablespoon of lime juice
1/4 cup of cilantro chopped
1 clove of garlic, mined
2 Serrano chiles, finely diced
Salt, black pepper and Cayenne to taste

Method:
Mix all ingredients together and chill for a few hours.

Chipotle sweet potato soup

2009-11-18T10:04:00.012-05:00

Tonight I made one of my favorite soups, a thick sweet potato soup made fiery and smoky with chipotles. I make this soup often in the cold-weather months, but for some reason I’ve never shared it with you. Well that’s about to change.

I’ll be going home next week and with my clothes a bit snug and my complexion splotchy, I decided to do a quick, two-day detox before the holidays. Over the weekend I drank furry apple juice spiked with cayenne, sipped dandelion tea mixed with lots of lemon and ginger, and downed the occasional glass of almond milk for a bit of protein.

I didn’t have much energy, so I just lay on the couch reading my friend’s new book. The weather was mild with high temperatures and gentle breezes, so in the afternoons I’d go for walks by the river. I made up this regime, so I don’t know if I was following proper detox form, but after a couple of days I was less puffy and possessed a sense of peace and restfulness I hadn’t had for quite a while.

But enough about my detox—you want to know about the chipotle sweet potato soup! It’s recommended when you conclude a detox that you shouldn’t overburden your system. So smoked brisket and a big bowl of queso—no matter how much I was craving them—were out of the question.

In my refrigerator, however, were some sweet potatoes. And I knew that this quick soup would be a fine, fine way to re-enter the land of the eating. There’s not much to it, you just throw together your aromatics, the chopped sweet potatoes, some chipotles and spices, pour in some chicken broth and let it cook. After about half an hour, let it cool a bit and then puree it. Ladle it into bowls and serve.

I like to top it with sour cream and some chipotle-cinnamon roasted pecans, for a bit of cream and crunch. But honestly, this soup is equally fine on its own.

After Thanksgiving, if you have leftover sweet potatoes, this is a wonderful way to use them. Or this soup would also make for a stunning starter. Though you don’t really need a special occasion to eat it. I find that I love it best on those cool, quiet evenings when I’m seeking something simple and satisfying. And this chipotle sweet potato soup always does the trick.

Chipotle sweet potato soup
Ingredients:
2 pounds of sweet potatoes (about two large or three skinny ones), peeled and cubed
2 carrots, peeled and diced
2 stalks of celery, diced
1 medium onion, diced
4 cloves of garlic, minced
4 cups of chicken or vegetable broth
2-4 chipotles in adobo (depending on your heat tolerance) chopped
1 teaspoon ginger
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
Juice of one lime
1 tablespoon of olive oil
Salt and black pepper to taste
Sour cream
Cinnamon-chipotle pecans (recipe to follow)

Method:
Heat the olive oil on medium low in a large soup pot, and cook the onions, celery and carrot for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the garlic and cook for one more minute.

Add the sweet potatoes, broth, chipotles, ginger, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg to the pot. Bring to a boil and then simmer, covered, for 20 minutes or until sweet potatoes are tender.

Let the soup cool, and then in batches, puree it in the blender. If you prefer, you can use an immersion blender in the pot instead.

Once the soup has been pureed, stir in the lime juice and add salt and black pepper to taste.

Serve topped with a dollop of sour cream and some of the chopped cinnamon-chipotle pecans.

Serves 8

Cinnamon chipotle pecans
Ingredients:
2 tablespoons of butter
1 cup of chopped pecans
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon of chipotle powder
Salt to taste

Method:
Melt the butter in a skillet on low heat. Add the pecans and stir them until they are covered in the butter. Add the cinnamon and chipotle powder and stir to coat. Cook the pecans, stirring occasionally, for ten minutes. Salt to taste.

Notes: If you have cooked sweet potatoes leftover, you can add them instead and lessen the cooking time to about five minutes, which should be enough time for the flavors to come together.

Tex-Mex chicken and dumplings recipe

2009-11-11T09:48:00.007-05:00

Is there a cuter word in the English language than dumpling? Nope, I didn’t think so. And when you pair it with chicken to make chicken and dumplings, you have one of my favorite belly-filling, spirit-warming, cold-weather dishes.

As befits a homesick Texan, I spend chunks of time thinking of places I’d like to visit when I’m at home. My latest obsession is taking road trips on many of the state’s two-lane highways, motoring through some of the smaller towns that you wouldn’t normally see if you stayed on the interstates.

One of the best things about these towns is that they usually have a café that specializes in classic Texan cooking. You know the kind of joint I’m talking about—it’s a place where you can get a cheese enchilada to go with your chicken-fried steak, the lima beans are dripping with a bacon-rich broth, the iced tea is served in a bottomless glass and the toughest decision you’ll make that day is whether to order the pie or the cobbler for dessert.

Oh, and of course, these cafés always serve chicken and dumplings.

The first time I had chicken and dumplings was at my friend Laura’s house when I was in second grade. I know that seems kind of a late age to be introduced to the dish, but sadly, I don’t come from chicken and dumplings people—certain members of my family think they’re too mushy. I, however, disagree.

As Laura’s mother dropped the balls of dough into the bubbling broth, she allowed us to throw a couple into the pot as well. That was fun, but the real magic occurred when we returned a few minutes later. The dough had expanded to nearly four times its size and the soup and the dumplings had become one. And when I tucked into the thick, creamy concoction, I realized what I had been missing for so long: chicken and dumplings are like a security blanket in a bowl.

I’ve had lots of people ask me for my recipe, but since we didn’t make them at home, I took some liberties when coming up with a version of this classic dish. First, I decided to spice it up with some jalapenos and cilantro. To keep with the Tex-Mex theme, I considered making it the easy way—with strips of flour tortillas standing in for proper dumplings. But instead I came up with an even better idea: cornmeal dumplings.

The Tex-Mex trinity of jalapeno, cilantro and lime paired with the light corn dumplings reminded me of a soupy chicken-tamale pie. (And did you know that tamales are considered dumplings? I didn’t!). These are definitely not your grandmother’s chicken and dumplings. But don't worry, these Tex-Mex chicken and dumplings still fulfill the original dish’s mandate, which is that after eating it you will feel cozy and satisfied. And sometimes, that's just what you need.

Tex-Mex chicken and dumplings
For the chicken:
1 four-pound chicken
16 cups of water (1 gallon)
1 onion
9 cloves of garlic, divided
2 carrots, peeled and cut into quarters
4 celery stalks, cut into quarters
2 bay leaves
1 tablespoon dried or 1 stalk fresh epazote (optional)
1 leafy stem of cilantro (optional) plus 1/4 cup of cilantro, chopped
1 can of Ro-Tel
2 jalapenos, sliced
1/4 cup cilantro
Juice of one lime
1/2 cup of cream
Salt, black pepper, cayenne and cumin to taste

For the cornmeal dumplings:
1 cup cornmeal
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1/2 cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon melted butter
1 jalapeno, finely diced
2 tablespoons of minced cilantro

Method:
Clean and rinse your chicken and place in a large stock pot. Add water, onion, 8 cloves of garlic, carrots, celery, bay leaves, epazote and whole cilantro stem. Add salt and pepper to taste. Bring to a boil and then simmer for an hour and a half, occasionally skimming the foamy scum off the surface.

Remove chicken from pot and turn off the heat. After it’s cooled, remove fat and pick the meat off the bones and either shred or cut into bite-sized pieces. Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper to taste.

Take cooled broth and strain and throw out the vegetables as they’ve done their duty. Now you need to remove the fat from the broth. If you don’t have a preferred way of getting rid of the fat or lack a gravy separator, you can try the plastic bag method. Take a quart-sized plastic storage bag, pour some broth into it. You will see the fat rise to the top. Snip a bottom corner of the bag and drain the broth, stopping when you get to the fat layer. (You will probably have to do this in batches).

Place the broth back into the pot and add the shredded chicken and lime juice. In a blender, add the can of Ro-Tel, sliced jalapenos, chopped cilantro and garlic and blend. Add puree to the pot. Now add the cream. Add salt, black pepper, cayenne and cumin to taste. Bring to a boil. And while the soup is coming to a boil, make the cornmeal dumplings.

Sift together the cornmeal, flour, baking powder and salt. Beat the milk with the eggs and add to the dry ingredients. Stir in the melted butter, cilantro and jalapenos.

When soup is boiling, turn heat down to low and gently drop the dumpling batter into the pot, one tablespoon or so at a time. Do not stir. Place lid on top and steam dumplings for 20 minutes.

Ladle the chicken and dumplings into bowls and sprinkle cilantro on top. Serves six to eight.

Notes: If you want a thicker broth, feel free to add some flour. I'd add it slowly, a quarter cup at a time.

Peanut butter pie recipe

2009-11-04T12:14:00.006-05:00

I have a new favorite pie that I will be sharing with my family at Thanksgiving—it’s peanut butter pie. But before I tell you how to make it, first a little background.

Two years ago, I received a cookbook in the mail. It was spiral-bound with a lavender cover that had a black and white photo of a woman pulling a tray of rolls from an oven. The title of the book was “Gennie’s Bishop Grill. The Best Buns in Town!!!”

Inside the front flap was an inscription: “Lisa, We hope you enjoy a little bit of Texas home cooking! Thanks, Rosemarie.” I scratched my head. I had not ordered this cookbook, nor was I familiar with either Rosemarie or Gennie’s Bishop Grill. It was strange.

A couple of days later, my dad called. “Lisa, did you send me a cookbook from Gennie’s Bishop Grill?” I told him I had not. Now I was really confused! Who was Rosemarie and why was she sending my dad and me cookbooks?

But before I had a chance to say this, my dad continued. “I love Gennie’s Bishop Grill! I used to eat there all the time!” He went on to tell me that Gennie’s Bishop Grill was a restaurant in the Bishop’s Art District that served up excellent home cooking. It was known for its chicken-fried steak, yeast rolls and its pies—namely its peanut butter pie.

The owners of the restaurant, Rosemarie (daughter of Gennie) and her husband Gus, retired in 2005 and closed the restaurant. But they had a bunch of cookbooks and the Dallas Morning News had written an article about the restaurant, with an address to place orders for this trove of Texan home cooking.

I had wanted to make a custard-based peanut butter pie for quite a while, but most of the recipes I saw were the kind where you mix the peanut butter with cream cheese and whipped cream and spoon this into a chocolate-cookie crust. Not a bad dessert, but not quite what I was looking for.

I asked my grandma if she had one, and she recommended taking her chocolate pie recipe and substituting peanut butter for the chocolate. I followed her advice and fell in love. This was the peanut butter pie I had been seeking!

A few days later when I was talking to my grandma, she said, “Are you still looking for peanut butter pie recipes? I bet there’s a good one in that cookbook I sent you.”

Now, my grandma often sends me recipes clipped from the newspaper or photocopied from an old family recipe cards, but I didn’t recall her ever sending me an actual cookbook.

“What cookbook?” I asked.

“Oh, you know—the one from that Oak Cliff cafe that closed. I read about it in the paper and bought one for you and one for your dad.”

But of course! The mystery was solved. And yes, Grandma was correct—there was indeed a recipe for peanut butter pie in the cookbook. And while it was a little bit different from the one I had already made, I could tell by reading it that the food at Gennie’s Bishop Grill was pretty spectacular and I’m sorry I was never able to eat at their restaurant. But thankfully, their good food lives on in their cookbook, which I’m very happy to own.

Peanut Butter Pie

Filling ingredients:
2 egg yolks, beaten slightly
1 1/2 cups of milk
3/4 cups of sugar
5 tablespoons of flour
1/4 teaspoon of salt
1/2 teaspoon of vanilla
¾ cup of peanut butter
1/8 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon cayenne

Meringue ingredients:
2 egg whites
1/8 teaspoon of salt
4 tablespoons of sugar

Your favorite pie crust. (I use my grandma's pie crust.)

Method:
In a pot, whisk together the eggs, milk, sugar, flour and salt. While stirring, cook on medium heat until it bubbles and thickens, about five to 10 minutes.

Remove from heat and stir in the vanilla, cinnamon, cayenne and peanut butter.

Meanwhile, poke holes in your pie crust with a fork and bake it at 350 until it’s brown, about 20 minutes.

Beat your egg whites with salt and when they start to get fluffy add the sugar.

Pour the peanut butter custard into the baked pie shell and top with the beaten egg whites.

Bake pie until peaks on the meringue are lightly browned, about 10 minutes.

Notes: I used smooth, unsweetened peanut butter; feel free to use chunky. If you use sweetened peanut butter, however, you may want to cut down on the sugar. And I like to top my meringue with roasted peanuts. A sprinkle of cocoa powder is also delicious. And I understand some of you don't even like meringue! The Bishop Grill recipe is topped with whipped cream, which I bet is also pretty darn good.

And I heard from Rosemarie and she still has copies of the cookbook! If you'd like to order one here's the information: Write to Rosemarie Hudson 202 N Avenue D, Clifton, TX 76634. The cost is $18.00. Checks or money orders are fine.

Jalapeno cheese bun recipe for a proper Texas burger

2009-10-29T08:53:00.015-04:00

When I first moved to New York, I was struck by the presence of what was called a Texas burger. At first I was thrilled, curious as to what it could contain—guacamole, jalapenos or salsa all seemed like reasonable guesses. But I was wrong. In New York, a Texas burger means that it’s topped with a fried egg. A fried egg? Now that doesn’t really say Texas to me—does it say Texas to you?

For almost 15 years, I’ve pondered this burger. You may find burgers in Texas that have a fried egg on them, of course, but it’s definitely the exception not the norm. When I think of the burgers I grew up with, I think about a thick patty topped with cheese, lettuce (preferably crunchy iceberg), tomatoes, onions and dill pickle slices, nestled between a bun spread with mustard and mayonnaise. And perhaps you’ll throw on some jalapenos if you’re feeling racy.

Of course, Texas being a large and diverse place there are variations on our burgers. On some Texas burgers you may find refried beans and corn chips, or cream cheese with jalapenos, or guacamole and bacon or perhaps a hearty dollop of chile con queso. All of these additions, however, still remind me of our native cuisine. But the fried egg? Not so much.

This isn’t to say that we don’t put fried eggs on foods. Take West Texas stacked enchiladas, which are made creamy and rich with the addition of a runny, fried egg on top of a mountain of corn tortillas, chili gravy and cheese. (Actually, that could make for a good burger—a patty topped with Longhorn cheddar, chili gravy with some refried beans spread on the bun.) But nope, in New York the fried-egg Texas burger doesn’t come dressed that way. Heck, I’ve even seen a so-called Texas burger come with fried egg, barbecue sauce and blue cheese crumbles, which, being in polite company, we will not discuss my reaction to this insult to the good name of Texas.

Texas Monthly recently published its top 50 burgers in the state and when I was reading the list, I was struck by how many places now sandwich their beef patty on a homemade jalapeno cheese bun. Now we’re talking! While the quality of the meat is what makes for a great hamburger, the bun is also a very important part of the equation. And as Alison Cook wrote in 1983, “If Texans hold any truth to be self-evident, it is that there is nothing that would not be improved by the addition of a little jalapeno.”

No stranger to making jalapeno cheese bread, I decided to make my own jalapeno cheese buns. I went for a soft, egg-rich bread like my cemita rolls and just threw in some fresh diced jalapenos and a mess of shredded cheddar cheese. The buns were sturdy yet tender with enough flavor from the chiles and cheese to make them pleasant eating just on their own. But pair the buns with a thick juicy beef patty, some iceberg lettuce, mayonnaise, mustard, red onion and sliced dill pickles and you have yourself my perfect version of a Texas burger.

I've told you mine and now I'm curious: what’s your perfect Texas burger?

Jalapeno cheese buns
Ingredients:
2 cups (9 oz.) all-purpose or bread flour, plus 1/2 cup for kneading
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon (or one packet) of yeast
1/2 cup buttermilk, heated to 110 degrees
1/4 cup canola oil
1 egg room temperature
2 jalapenos, stems and seeds removed and diced
3/4 cup shredded longhorn cheddar

Method:
Mix together the 2 cups of flour, salt, sugar, and yeast. Beat the egg with the oil and then add the warm buttermilk. Stir the liquid into the dry ingredients and mix well.

Let dough rest for 15 minutes and then add the jalapenos and shredded cheddar. Spread a 1/2 cup of flour on a clean surface and knead dough for five minutes or until it comes together. Note that the dough will be a little sticky.

Place the dough in an oiled bowl, cover it and let it rise until it’s doubled in size, about an hour and a half.

Depending on how large you want your rolls to be, divide the dough into eight or four balls and let them rest, covered for 15 minutes.

To shape the rolls, take each ball and then flatten it so it looks like a disc.

Place each roll a few inches apart on a parchment-paper lined baking sheet. Cover the baking sheet and let the rolls rise for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Bake the rolls for 15 minutes or until lightly browned.

Note: Bread only lasts a day, but freezes well.

Sour cream chicken enchiladas recipe

2009-10-19T09:52:00.002-04:00

When I was in college, on Saturday afternoons a large group of us would celebrate the weekend by going to lunch at the local Tex-Mex restaurant. We’d toast the weekend with tall glasses of iced tea and salty chips dipped in salsa, and as we were in North Texas, most of us would order the house special—sour cream chicken enchiladas.

Tex-Mex is the large umbrella phrase that covers what people have determined to be Americanized Mexican food, but it’s a very broad term as a Tex-Mex plate found in North Texas will be very different than a Tex-Mex plate found near the Gulf. This is what I discovered when I went to college in the small town of Sherman near the Oklahoma border. Green sauce was gone, with sour-cream based enchilada sauce to be found in its place. Different, yes, but just as satisfying.

The sour cream enchiladas were stuffed with shredded chicken that had been spiced with generous amounts of salt and black pepper, a simple blend that still had flavor. The sauce itself was a creamy blend of sour cream and chicken broth. A few pickled jalapenos were added, yet they provided more color than fire, as all that cream mitigated any heat. But what this sauce lacked in piquancy, it made up for it in creamy comfort and a taste so smooth I’d always order an extra bowl on the side.

My love for these enchiladas is firmly embedded into those four years I was in college—I hadn’t eaten them before and I hadn’t eaten them since. While my tastes have changed since then, I am still a fool for sour cream (give me a spoon and a carton and I’ll be eating myself silly in no time) so I decided to revisit this North Texas classic.

After following what was purported to be a close approximation of this restaurant’s recipe, I was struck by how bland the sour cream sauce was—I couldn’t believe I used to love it so much! I tried punching it up with some cayenne, garlic and cumin, but it was still too flat for me—it needed some tang. I was afraid limejuice would curdle the sauce, so I pureed it with some roasted tomatillos instead.

I took another bite. I wasn’t bored this time! In fact this sauce was a nod to two long-ago favorites as it was the marriage of my Houston green sauce with my North Texas sour-cream sauce. But I shouldn’t have been too surprised. I mean, I’ve certainly changed since I was 18 so why couldn’t my sour cream sauce change as well? And if I do say so myself, we’re both much improved by the changes made through the years.

Sour cream chicken enchiladas
Ingredients:
For the filling:
Four boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 medium-sized onion, diced (about 3/4 of a cup)

For the sour cream sauce:
2 cloves of garlic, minced
2 Serrano chiles, diced
2 tablespoons of butter
2 tablespoons of flour
2 cups of chicken broth
2 cups of sour cream
1 teaspoon of cumin
1/4 cup chopped cilantro
8 fresh tomatillos, husks removed and cut in half or one 10 oz. can of tomatillos
Dash of cayenne
Salt and pepper to taste

For the enchiladas
12 corn tortillas
1 tablespoon of canola oil
2 cups shredded Monterey Jack cheese
1/2 cup chopped cilantro

Method:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Sprinkle the chicken breasts on each side with the salt and black pepper. In a large cast-iron set on medium heat, and cook the chicken breasts on each side for three minutes. Place in the oven and bake for 30 minutes. When the chicken is done, take the chicken out of the oven and let cool. Then shred with two forks. Keep the oven on as you’ll be using it again.

While the chicken is baking, in a pot melt the butter. Throw in the diced Serrano chiles and cook until soft, about three or four minutes. Add the minced garlic and cook for another minute. Add the flour and cook for one more minute. Pour the chicken broth into the pot, and whisking constantly cook until chicken broth has thickened. Stir in the sour cream, cumin, cayenne and cilantro. Remove from heat.

If using fresh tomatillos, place them under the broiler on a foil-lined sheet and cook on each side until blackened, about four minutes per side. Place in a blender along with the sour cream sauce and puree into smooth. If using canned tomatillos, skip the broiler step and just place them in the blender with the sour cream sauce and proceed.

Heat the canola oil in a skillet and cook the corn tortillas on each side a couple of minutes until soft. Wrap in a cloth to keep warm as you continue to cook all 12.

To assemble the enchiladas, pour one cup of the sour cream sauce in the bottom of a casserole pan. Take each corn tortilla and place in the middle 1/3 cup of shredded chicken, 1 teaspoon of diced onions and 1 tablespoon of cheese (I’m not usually this scientific but if you’ve never made them before and desire exact measurements this would be it!).

Roll the tortillas around the filling and place the rolled tortillas seam side down in the casserole dish. Cover the enchiladas with the remaining sauce and cheese and bake at 350 for 25 minutes or until top is brown and bubbling.

Serve topped with chopped cilantro. Makes 12 enchiladas.

Rain makes ancho chile applesauce

2009-10-11T11:03:00.007-04:00

I went apple picking in Connecticut with my mom last weekend. It wasn’t the first time I’d picked apples—we have apple trees at the family farm and every August they need to be harvested. (Though this year, some creature ate all the apples so there weren't any for us to eat.) But it was the first time I’d been apple picking in New England.

When we arrived at the farm, I was struck by how the air was fragrant with apples, made prominent by the recent rains. My mom said, “I wish there was a way to photograph this smell so I could keep it with me forever.”

And everyone was so happy! The orchards were filled with teenagers, young families, grandparents and little kids, with nary a frown to be found. While ostensibly, apple picking could be construed as work, it’s definitely joyful work. Is it because apples are so round and cute? Or is it because apples are the hallmark of a new season? I don’t know, but having pulled vegetables out of the ground and plucked apples from trees, I can attest from personal experience that apple picking is definitely the superior farm task.

My mom was in Connecticut for a job interview. This is a very important job that I hope she gets, but at the same time I have mixed feelings about it as it would mean she would have to move away from Texas. And as my brother and dad have moved away from Texas, too, I told her that I just might have to move back home so someone in our immediate family would still live there. Of course, this would be highly ironic since if she does move to Connecticut she will only be a train ride away. She wasn’t pleased with this bit of information.

When you live in New York City, you have very limited storage space. My mom has been gracious enough to store both a large trunk filled with all sorts of grade-school mementoes (photos, yearbooks and old papers) and my library of children’s books ever since I moved out the house many, many years ago. But she told me this weekend that if she got the job that I’d have to reclaim these items as she would probably downsize. I was speechless—where would I put all this stuff?

As you can probably gather, I’m going through a bit of a crisis by her possible move. OK, so it’s not really a serious crisis—I just have issues with change, even if it’s for the best. But no matter, I needed some solace from all this news.

If my mom moves to Connecticut, one of the books I will be reintroducing into my library is an old childhood favorite, “Rain Makes Applesauce.” But despite my love for this book, for some reason I'd never made applesauce.

When I returned home, I took a few of my apples and threw them in a pot with some spices, ancho chile powder and lemon zest. For a first-time attempt, it was pretty darn good. And while I'm a bit anxious not knowing how this Connecticut story will end, at least as I ate my applesauce I felt content and warm.

Ancho chile applesauce
Ingredients:
5 medium-sized apples, peeled, cored and diced (most varieties are great as sauce and feel free to mix varities)
1 teaspoon ancho chile powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1/2 cup of water
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
Pinch of Cayenne

Method:
Place the apples, ancho chile powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, lemon zest and water in a pot, and cook on medium-low heat, stirring occasionally.

After about half an hour, the apples should be cooked down to almost mush. Stir in the sugars, vanilla, cayenne and salt and cook on low for five minutes.

Makes 4-6 servings
.
Notes: If you use really sweet apples, such as Honeycrisp, Fujis or Galas, you might find you don’t need as much sugar. I used more-tart Winesap and Liberty apples, which is why I used this amount of sugar.

Homemade cheese: queso blanco

2009-10-01T11:12:00.009-04:00

What if I told you that making cheese required nothing more than a gallon of milk, a few limes and a cheese-cloth—would you believe me? OK, you might want to use a thermometer if you’re feeling scientific, but you don’t have to use one. Yep, with as much effort as it takes to go to the store, you can soon impress your friends with your homemade queso blanco.

After reading about Barbara Kingsolver’s cheese-making adventure in “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle,” I knew it was something I definitely wanted to try—she made it sound so easy! But as I started doing research on making cheese, I realized that there were certain ingredients I would need to make most of the cheeses I wanted to create. Strange ingredients—such as rennet, calcium chloride, tartaric acid and mesophilic culture—that you won’t find at your local supermarket.

You can order these supplies online, but when I’m bitten by a bug I require instant gratification. And I was determined to make cheese right at that moment.

Enter queso blanco. This simple cheese doesn’t call for those other ingredients. And while the end result may not be as creamy as Brie, as smoky as Gouda or as nutty as Manchego—the end result is still recognizably cheese and a darn tasty one at that.

Now, queso blanco won’t melt, but you can slice it and fry it in your skillet, crumble it into your refried beans, wrap bacon around it and bake it, spread it on crusty bread or toss it with some vegetables and salsa. Because it’s not aged, it has a neutral flavor like mozzarella, but I like to add herbs, spices and chiles to punch it up a bit.

And if you’re anything like me, you’ll be completely intrigued with making cheese and will order the supplies to take it to the next level. So yes, if you were wondering, that is indeed a packet of rennet on my counter.

Queso blanco
Ingredients:
One gallon of whole milk, can use pasteurized or raw but don't use ultrapasteurized
1/2 cup of lime juice (about four limes) or 1/4 cup of white vinegar
Salt to taste

Method:
Heat the milk in a non-aluminum pot on medium-low heat for about 10 minutes or until it looks like it’s just about to boil (but don’t let it boil!). If you’re using a thermometer, the temperature should be 185 degrees.

Add the lime juice. The curds will separate from the whey and the mixture will look grainy, kind of like you’ve just thrown a bunch of corn meal into a pot of skim milk. Let it simmer for a couple of minutes.

Pour the pot’s contents into a cheesecloth-lined colander and let it drain for a couple of minutes. (If you want to save the whey so you can use it to make ricotta, feed your plants or add a bit of protein to your morning oatmeal, place the colander over a pot.)

Sprinkle the curds with salt (you can go saltier than you normally would as a lot of the salt will drain from the cheese as it dries). Now is the time to add any herbs, spices and/or chopped chiles.

Gather the curds in the center, tie the cheesecloth’s ends and hang the cloth on the faucet so it can drain for a few hours. I like to drain it for at least four hours, overnight if I’m patient.

Untie the cheesecloth, and look at that gorgeous white ball. You’ve made about 16 ounces of
cheese! It keeps in the refrigerator for as long as the milk would have kept, so please check your expiration date.

Mom's oatmeal cookies

2009-09-25T02:52:00.002-04:00

When I was young, my mom did things differently from the other mothers. When the other kids were eating sugary cereals, I had to eat Uncle Sam. When the other kids were drinking milk shakes, I had to drink raspberry kefir. And when the other kids had smooth, flat store-bought cookies in their lunch boxes, I had chunky, lumpy homemade oatmeal cookies that looked like golf balls.

Appearances aside, I loved these oatmeal cookies as they were spiced with brown sugar and dotted with chocolate chips. But they looked strange, definitely not like the other kid’s cookies or something you’d find at a bakery. And when you’re in elementary school, appearances mean everything.

In the fifth grade, we had assigned seats at our lunchroom table. I was seated next to a boy named Vance. I knew him from our country club as we had taken tennis lessons together that past summer, but over the course of the school year we became better friends and he asked me to “go with him.” I thought he liked me because I was cute and lively (my nickname was Spaghetti Legs) but in time, I realized the truth.

Once I became Vance’s girlfriend, he told me that what was his was mine and vice versa. So I got to eat his Oreos and he got to eat my mom’s cookies. I thought that I was getting the better end of the deal and he was just being kind.

But one day I didn’t want to eat Oreos—I wanted my mom’s oatmeal cookies. Vance threw a fit. “You don’t want to trade? Your mom’s cookies are the best cookies I’ve ever had. I wish I had a mom who made cookies as good as these! And you don’t even appreciate them!” he said.

I was shocked at his outburst. Someone would choose lumpy, chunky cookies over perfect store-bought cookies? And that’s when I knew—my mom’s cookies were indeed superior.

I held my ground and told him I’d be happy to trade my peanut butter and banana sandwich on homemade bread for his baloney sandwich on Mrs. Baird’s, but it was no deal. He wanted those oatmeal cookies.

We broke up soon after—it was fifth grade after all—but remained good friends throughout our grade-school years. And sometimes, when I was feeling generous, I’d share with him my mom’s oatmeal cookies—no reciprocation necessary.

Mom’s oatmeal cookies
Ingredients:
3/4 cup of butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup of brown sugar
1 egg, at room temperature
1 tsp. vanilla
3 cup of oats
1 cup of whole-wheat flour
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
2 cups of chocolate chips

Method:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Cream together the butter, sugar and egg. Add the rest of the ingredients and mix well.
Place 1 teaspoon-sized balls of dough on a greased or parchment-paper lined cookie sheet and bake at 350 for 12-15 minutes.
Makes four dozen.

Bacon jam recipe: make it at home

2009-09-16T09:19:00.017-04:00

“Bacon jam tastes like the love child of pulled pork and pate!” said one friend. “I am now officially in pig heaven,” said another as I shared tastes from the jar of Skillet’s bacon jam that had just arrived in the mail.

Bacon jam? Yes, indeed—it is good stuff. And so good, in fact, that I decided to figure out a way of making my own bacon jam at home so I wouldn’t have to rely on someone else for this smoky, pork-rich treat.

Over the past few months, it seems that you can’t escape the topic of bacon jam. Skillet’s rendition has certainly excited people, but at heart bacon jam is simply a potted meat, something that has been gracing battlefields, picnics, high teas and nursery suppers for hundreds of years.

For most, the term potted meat conjures up images of mystery meat in a can, but traditionally potted meat was made at home from meat scraps, herbs, spices and maybe an acid or a spirit, such as vinegar or brandy. Making potted meat was a preservation method, meant to extend the meat’s life just a few more weeks. Nothing mysterious or scary about its contents at all! Matter of fact, when made from quality ingredients, potted meat is as satisfying as pate, though it’s far easier to make. And like pate, potted meat can be either elegant and smooth or rustic with chunks.

As for my homemade bacon jam, I knew that it should have the smoky fire that comes from chipotles, the warming depth that comes from chocolate and allspice, a hint of sweetness, but also the bitterness that comes from coffee and the tang that comes from apple-cider vinegar.

I chose to use thick slices of center-cut bacon because I wanted to cook my meat for a long time and didn’t want it to completely disintegrate. And finally, I also added plenty of black pepper for heat and ancho chile powder both for its color and its fruity, nutty flavor.

Unfortunately, the first batch spent too much time in the food processor and ended up with a consistency that was a bit too creamy on the tongue; you definitely want some texture in your bacon jam to remind you of the spread’s source. But subsequent batches were just the right balance between being smooth and rough, much like your favorite homemade fruit jams where chunks of fruit are nestled in a thick syrup suspension.

Bacon jam is excellent on slices of tomatoes, plopped on a warm biscuit, stirred into a bowl of beans or spread on top of a cheeseburger. Or you can just grab a spoon and dig into your jar.

But best of all, it’s superb for sharing. You’ll soon see—nothing makes a friend's face light up more then when you pass them a jar and say, “Here, have a taste. It’s bacon jam!”

Chipotle bacon jam
1 pound of bacon
4 cloves of garlic, minced
1 sliver of onion
1-4 chipotles en adobo (depending on the level of heat you can tolerate)
2 teaspoons adobo sauce (from the can)
2 teaspoons ancho chile powder
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon ground Mexican hot chocolate
1 cup of brewed coffee
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
Black pepper to taste

Method:
Cook the bacon until fat is rendered, but not too crisp. Cut cooked bacon into two-inch sized pieces.

On medium heat, cook the onion and garlic in one tablespoon of rendered bacon fat in a medium-sized pot for two minutes. Add the cooked bacon, spices, apple-cider vinegar and coffee. Simmer on low for two hours, stirring occasionally. If jam starts to get dry, add water, 1/4 cup at a time.

After two hours, place bacon jam into a food processor, and puree for two or three seconds, tops. You just want to bring it together but still have some chunks.

Molletes with homemade bolillos

2009-09-07T22:33:00.021-04:00

Do you love refried beans and cheese? Do you love a crusty yet soft roll? Then allow me to introduce you to a superb Mexican dish: molletes.

Earlier this summer, I traveled to Mexico City. It was the rainy season, which means that every afternoon it would rain for an hour or so. By the time I landed from New York, however, that day’s shower had passed, leaving the air clear and the streets clean.

I knew I wanted to stay in the Condesa neighborhood and I found a delightful place called The Red Tree House that was filled with light and trees—two things often in short supply here in New York City.

My agenda for the trip was precise: eat well and take photos. On the first morning, I woke up early with the plan to go to El Mercado Merced, the largest market in Mexico City. Before leaving, I walked through the dining area and saw a lavish display of pastries, fruits, juices and yogurt. The owner asked I wanted to stay for breakfast. The cold spread was indeed gorgeous, but I wanted something hot—namely refried beans—and so I declined and left the house.

This pattern continued for the next two days. As I was leaving, the owner or manager would ask if I wanted breakfast, and I would politely decline the pastries because I wanted to eat beans.

Three days into my stay I was talking to the manager, Ernesto. He asked if I was so interested in food, why I never stayed for breakfast. I told him that I wanted hot food, street food—I wanted to eat like the locals. He laughed and said, “Well you’re missing out because we have the best breakfast in all of Mexico City!”

Ernesto then told me that besides the pastries, the ladies also made a hot breakfast every morning. He then rattled off a list of what had been on the menu every day since my arrival. And as I listened to him, I realized that I had been missing out on some of my favorite Mexican breakfasts. I was a fool.

What had I missed? Namely, molletes. (Pronounced: mo-YEH-tehs.) One of the mornings I had been at the inn, the cooks had made molletes—a dish comprised of crusty rolls known as bolillos, split open and topped with salsa, refried beans and melted cheese.

If you know me at all, you know this: refried beans are my comfort food. And granted, I had eaten some wonderful beans during my stay in Mexico City, but I had missed out on a chance to eat probably some of the best refried beans, right there at my home away from home.

I asked Ernesto if they would be serving molletes again before I left. He said no. But no matter, as soon as I returned to New York, my first order of business was to make my own molletes, on homemade bolillo rolls. And while extremely satisfying, I do believe another trip to the Red Tree House is in order—soon—so I can compare my molletes to theirs.

Molletes
Ingredients:
4 bolillo rolls (recipe follows)
1 cup of refried beans
2 cups of shredded cheddar or Monterrey Jack cheese
1 cup of salsa

Method:
Preheat the oven to 350
Split the bolillos in half, lengthwise. Top each half with 1 tablespoon of salsa, 1/8 cup of refried beans and 1/4 cup of cheese. Bake for 10 minutes or until cheese is melted. Serve with extra salsa.

Notes: This is how I like my molletes, but the fun thing about them is that you can make them any way you like. You can make them with black beans, borracho beans, even no beans if you prefer. And feel free to add bacon or sausage.

Serves: 4

Bolillos
Ingredients:
2 1/2 cups of flour
1 cup of warm water
1 teaspoon dry yeast
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1/4 cup of canola oil
Cornmeal

Method:
Mix together one cup of flour, yeast and warm water. Add one more cup of flour, sugar, salt and oil and stir until ingredients are combined but dough is still wet and shaggy. Let dough rest for 15 minutes.

Sprinkle 1/2 cup of flour on a clean surface and knead dough until it shapes into a ball, about 10 minutes.

Place into a greased bowl, cover and let it rise until doubled in size, about an hour.

After dough has risen, divide dough into 8 equal pieces. Take each piece and flatten it into a circle. Take one side, and fold it in half into the center. Take the opposite side and do the same. Roll folded dough with your hands until it’s spindle shaped, wider in the middle and tapered at the ends. (Here’s an expert shaping bolillos.)

Place shaped rolls on a greased or parchment-paper lined cookie sheet that’s sprinkled with a bit of cornmeal, cover, and let rise until doubled in size, about an hour.

Twenty minutes before baking, heat oven to 425 degrees. Five minutes before baking, place an oven-safe pan filled with water on the bottom of the oven.

Mix 1/2 cup of warm water with 1/4 teaspoon of salt, and brush on each roll. Then, with a sharp knife, razor or lame, make a slash lengthwise through each roll.

Place rolls on bottom rack of oven (be careful when opening oven as steam might come out) and cook for 15 minutes or until the bolilllos are light brown in color and make a hollow sound when you thump them.

These keep for a couple of days, though they if they get too soft. just reheat in the oven to firm them up. They also freeze well.

Hatch chile potato casserole: funeral food

2009-08-26T15:02:00.006-04:00

“Pass the chicken, pass the pie. We sure eat good when someone dies. Funeral food, it's so good for the soul. Funeral food, fills you up down to your toes.” —Kate Campbell

Funeral food was much on my mind last week as I returned to Texas to attend my grandma Ashner’s funeral.

She had been riddled with pancreatic cancer and when she was diagnosed last fall she was given five months to live. That she made it through 11 months was a gift and while I miss her, I know that she’s no longer feeling any pain.

Grandma Ashner, aka Grandma Fain or Grandma Texas, was my dad’s mother. She was a traditional Southern woman that despite her gentle, belle-like nature also had the strength to raise six children pretty much by herself in not the best of circumstances, with little complaint and much love. She was a passionate Aggie in a family of Longhorns and a staunch Democrat in a family where Republicans are the majority. She also had good Texan taste—adoring both the Dallas Cowboys and George Strait. And she made exceptional giblet gravy, which makes any other holiday condiment taste tepid and weak and wonderful chicken-fried steak, which of course makes all Texans smile.

Grandma Ashner holding me on my first birthday, with my aunts Julie and Jill joining in the fun.

I like to say I get my sweet nature from my mother’s side of the family—where pies are a specialty—and my savory nature from my dad’s side of the family—where chili and Tex-Mex are more on offer. But this is an oversimplification as Grandma Ashner was as sweet as they come. She always had a smile on her face and called everyone either darlin’, sweetheart or precious. And when it was time to bid farewell, you couldn’t leave without her saying, “Sweetheart, give me some sugar!”

My dad’s side of the family is large. He and his five siblings have produced 17 grandchildren and 13 great-grandchilden. I hadn’t seen many of my relatives in far too long, my being all the way up here in New York City and all. And while I wasn’t happy that I was seeing them again under such sad circumstances, it was indeed wonderful to be reunited with such a loving and cool bunch of people.

After the funeral, we went over to my cousin’s house where there was a full spread of casseroles, cold cuts, dips, salads, cookies and cakes provided by friends of the family. We were starving and this was just what we needed—funeral food, easy and comforting.

As we stood talking in the kitchen about how we’re going to put together a family cookbook to honor both Grandma and our family’s love of cooking and good food, we nibbled on a potato casserole that none of us could stop eating. It was rich, thick and creamy, and while you were stuffed after one bite you couldn’t put down your fork. Heck, many of us even went back for seconds and even thirds. There were no complaints, however, as this is what we needed that day—simple food that didn’t require much thought, just pure, fulfilling pleasure.

I have a recipe for potato casserole that may not be exactly what we ate, but it’s very similar. It’s not everyday fare as it’s heavy and not all that healthy. But that’s exactly what makes it perfect funeral food—for those times when you need something easy that can help fill the void caused by a loved one’s passing. And while it will be impossible to fill the void left by Grandma Ashner, for a moment at least, funeral food such as this potato casserole rose to the occasion and did its part.

Hatch chile potato casserole
Ingredients:
1 medium yellow onion diced
2 Hatch chiles, diced (Can use Anaheim chiles if Hatch chiles are unavailable)
4 tablespoons of butter, divided
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 teaspoon cumin
2 teaspoons salt (or to taste)
1 teaspoon black pepper (or to taste)
A pinch of Cayenne pepper
2 pounds of Russet potatoes, peeled and cut into small dice
1 cup heavy cream

Method:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large cast-iron skillet set on medium-low heat, melt two tablespoons of butter and then cook onion and chiles until onions start to brown a bit, about fifteen minutes. Turn off the heat.

Mix together the garlic, cumin, salt, black pepper and Cayenne pepper.

Add the diced potatoes to the skillet and mix with the onions and peppers. Stir in the garlic and spice mixture.

Pour the cream over the potatoes and cover skillet with foil. Bake for one hour.

After an hour, cut up remaining two tablespoons of butter and dot on top of cooked potatoes. Place skillet under the broiler for two minutes or until butter has melted and potatoes are starting to brown on top.

Let casserole cool a bit and serve. Serves six-to-eight.

Spicy pickled okra

2009-08-13T12:07:00.004-04:00

Okra: people either love it or hate it. But okra and I have a more complicated relationship. My head tells me that I don’t like okra—I find it slimy and strange. But if you present me with a plate of fried okra or a jar of pickled okra, I’ll eat it—happily and greedily.

I come late to okra, which belies my Southern heritage, I know. I only started eating fried okra a few years ago (though have since made up for much lost time) and pickled okra is an even more recent addition to my table.

A Texan friend had called me, thrilled that she had found “Talk O’ Texas” brand of pickled okra at a New York grocery store. I must have not expressed the appropriate amount of enthusiasm for her discovery because she said, “What’s wrong, don’t you like okra pickles?”

I admitted that I had never even tried them before, I was so adamantly against the vegetable. She chided me and told me that my attitude needed to change as I was missing out on a very good thing.

It wasn’t until last October that I finally took the okra-pickle plunge. I was at the annual Southern Foodways Symposium in Oxford, Mississippi and during a gumbo luncheon, jars of Tabasco spicy pickled okra were offered as gifts. None of my table mates wanted their jars and since I hate to see good food go to waste, I ended up with several jars of the pickles.

That night, after enjoying myself a bit too much, I ended up in my motel room hungry. Having only the pickles on hand, I decided that they would have to suffice. But surprisingly, I found them more than adequate—I actually enjoyed eating them and was thankful that I had more than one jar as I learned that I my friend was correct—pickled okra is indeed a very good thing.

Okra pickles are especially refreshing right now. Cold and crisp, I like to toss them into salads, dip them in hummus or use as a garnish in a glass of vegetable juice. There are still slight texture issues—yes, that’s a slight hint of softness in the center of each pod—but I find that the tang of the vinegar and fire of the chiles used in the brine make up for what I normally find unappealing.

And if you see red okra, definitely grab some. It’s a bit drier than the green okra and makes for an especially fine pickle—plus it turns the brine a rosy shade.

I’m not going to chide you if you don’t like okra—I realize opinions on it are heated. But no matter how you feel, do yourself a favor and at least try these spicy okra pickles. Who knows, you might even change your mind.

Spicy pickled okra
2 pounds okra, stems trimmed
8 garlic cloves
1 cup fresh dill
4 serrano chiles, stem removed 4
2 teaspoons chile flakes
2 teaspoons cumin seed
4 teaspoons salt
3 cups apple cider vinegar

Evenly divide between four sterilized pint-sized jars the okra, dill, Serrano chiles and garlic cloves.

Bring the vinegar and spices to a boil and pour into the jars. Fill up the rest of the jar with water.

Let cool (about half an hour) and then cover and refrigerate.

Will be ready in a day and will keep in the refrigerator for a few months, though they probably won't last that long.

Note: If you live in New York, I bought my red okra from Yuno Farms, which is at different Greenmarkets throughout the week: Union Square on Mondays; Dag Hammarskjold on Wednesdays, and West Village on Saturdays.

Speaking of farmers markets, Serious Eats has produced a beautiful short film about small farmer Rick Bishop of Mountain Sweet Berry Farm, which includes short interviews with people such as chefs Dan Barber, Alex Guarneschell and Tom Valenti, and bloggers such as Cathy Erway and myself talking about why we love the farmers market.

How to make apricot jam

2009-08-05T15:31:00.006-04:00

They say third time’s the charm and it was for me in my attempt at making jam. And, oh, what a jam! I made possibly the best-ever apricot jam.

The first time I tried making jam was last summer. I had a big batch of bruised strawberries and so I made a strawberry jam, following the directions on the pectin box. I must not follow directions very well because what I ended up with was a thick gummy blob. The flavor was good but the texture was just wrong.

So traumatized by my first-foray into the jam-making world, I didn’t gather enough courage to try again until a few weeks ago. This time, I followed a friend’s instructions for freezer jam with a huge haul of sour cherries. But again, I failed, as I let the mixture boil too long. After the jam cooled in the jar what I had was a rock-solid piece of candy, which wasn't very appropriate for spreading on toast.

I am not one to give up, however, and last weekend when I saw a gorgeous display of apricots at the farmers’ market, I decided to try making jam one more time.

I asked the farmer for advice on making apricot jam, and she told me that the key to making jam was to not over think it. I'm certainly guilty of over thinking things, so that was wisdom I could use. I then asked her if she had any other advice and she said, “People who don’t use Sure-Jell are snobs!”

Well, that was not what I wanted to hear! I have no problem with Sure-Jell, but after my pectin disaster last summer I wanted my jam to have a softer set, so I asked her if it was possible to make a decent jam without it. “Of course,” she replied. “Just make sure you have enough sugar.

How much is enough sugar? I heard everything from a one-to-one ratio of sugar to uncooked fruit to a 3/4-to-one ratio of sugar to uncooked fruit. Wanting to keep my jam slightly tart, I went with the latter.

After slicing my apricots and removing the pits, I measured how much I had and then threw them in a large pot. I added 3/4 cup of sugar for every cup of sliced fruit and one tablespoon of lemon juice per cup of fruit. To later test for doneness, I place a plate in the freezer.

I placed the pot on a burner, turned the heat to medium low and stirred the mixture every few minutes. It became juicy. And then the fruit began to turn to mush. There was foam, but I just kept stirring. After about an hour, the mixture was like a thick sauce, with a few small chunks of fruit but for the most part soft and smooth.

Thinking that the jam looked good and not wanting it to get too overcooked, I took out my plate from the freezer and plopped a dollop of jam on it to see if it was ready. After a minute, I turned the plate to see if it ran, and the jam did. So I cooked it for five more minutes and then repeated the frozen-plate test. This time, the jam stayed solid. The jam was done.

I packed it into sterilized jars, putting a chopped chipotle with one teaspoon of adobo sauce into one of the jars for the most incredible spicy-sweet jam, and then put my jars in the refrigerator. And the next morning I had the most beautifully set, tart and fragrant apricot jam to put on my peanut-butter toast.

Now, I’m sure that there are more scientific methods out there that employ thermometers and timers, but I found this method worked fine for me. But I’m still just a beginner, so please let me know in the comments what tips you have for making jam, so we can all become better at this age-old preservation process!

Apricot jam
Ingredients:
1 pound of sliced apricots, pits removed (4 cups)
3 1/2 cups of sugar
4 tablespoons of lemon juice (about one lemon) plus zest

Method:
Place the apricots, sugar, lemon juice and zest in a pot, and add a couple of tablespoons of water.

Place a plate into the freezer.

Turn the heat to medium low, and stirring every five minutes or so, let the fruit cook. It will first get juicy with the fruit intact, and then the fruit will start to disintegrate. As it cooks, there will be foam on top, but just keep stirring, don’t worry about skimming it.

After about an hour, the jam will be about two or three shades darker and will be smooth and thick, with a few lumps here and there. When it coats the back of a spoon, take out the plate from the freezer and place a dollop of the jam on the plate. If it runs, cook it for five more minutes and then test it again. But if becomes solid, then the jam is done.

Place in a sterilized half-pint jar(s).

When it comes to room temperature, put on the lid and then place in the refrigerator. After a few hours it will be more solid and ready for eating.

Makes about one pint.

Note: If you want to jazz up the flavor, you can add chipotle chiles in adobo, cloves, a cinnamon stick or a vanilla bean while it cooks.

The key, that I’ve learned, is to not over cook it. But if you do, and the next day you find that you have a jar of rock-hard candy instead of jam, all is not lost! You can place the jar into a pot of water and let it come to a boil. The jam will heat up and become liquid, and then you can slowly add more water to it until it’s more runny. Try the freezer test again and then repack it. (This is how I eventually saved my sour-cherry jam).

Tex-Mex squash casserole

2009-07-30T08:24:00.010-04:00

I took a wrong exit on my way to the Birmingham Airport. I don’t usually mind getting lost because this can often lead to discovery. But after meandering endlessly down tree-lined country roads I realized that my journey, while beautiful, needed to have a focus or I would miss my flight back to New York. I pulled into the first parking lot I saw. It was for a restaurant—Joel’s Restaurant of Trussville, Alabama. The lot was packed with cars, which is always a good sign. But that’s not why I decided to stay and eat lunch. Nope, I decided to sit a spell because they had on the buffet squash casserole. And I adore squash casserole.

I’ve always thought it strange that I love squash casserole so much considering how little I enjoy eating squash any other way. Steamed, grilled, sautéed—no matter how it’s prepared I often pick at it and push it to the side of a plate. I’m just not a fan of its soft texture and abundance of flat, slimy seeds. But serve me squash in a casserole and I’ll eat seconds or even thirds.

OK, perhaps it’s not that odd that I love squash casserole since it’s a creamy, crunchy mass that’s closer to the fattening family than the vegetable family. But this doesn’t make it even less delicious. And I always rationalize eating it by telling myself that certainly some of the squash’s vitamins would have leached into the swirls of dairy that hold the squash in suspension.

This squash casserole on offer at Joel’s that day was the same kind that my mom and my grandma make: yellow summer squash cut into rounds, baked with a mix of cream of mushroom soup, cream of chicken soup and a package of corn bread stuffing. Yes, it qualifies as semi-homemade but it sure is good. That said, when I picked up a few pounds of yellow squash and zucchini at the farmers market recently, I didn’t have any of these squash casserole ingredients on hand. So I knew if this squash was going to be eaten I’d just have to improvise.

I made my first batch of squash casserole, thinking that it was going to be swell and I was going to be able to tell the world, “You don’t need cream of mushroom soup!” But what I made wasn’t all that good. I then made two more pans and had a casserole bake off—me vs. the mushroom soup. A fine idea in practice, yes, but not necessarily execution when it’s hot and humid both inside and out.

I was about ready to admit defeat when I hit on the bright idea to adapt my King Ranch recipe into a squash casserole. And, it worked! At last I had a squash casserole that could rub shoulders with my mom’s squash casserole.

Does mine taste the same? No, it's different but no less equal. So now we'll just have to make room on the table for two squash casseroles, which isn't a bad thing at all.

Tex-Mex squash casserole

2 yellow squash and 2 zucchini, cut into coins (4 cups)
1 medium onion, diced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 jalapeno, diced
2 tablespoons of butter
1 can of Ro-Tel tomatoes, drained or two cups of diced fresh tomatoes with 1/4 cup of diced green chiles, such as a jalapeno
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 teaspoon of cumin
1/2 teaspoon of cayenne pepper
1 cup of chicken or vegetable broth
2 tablespoons of flour
1/2 cup of half and half
1/2 cup of sour cream
1/2 cup of cilantro, chopped
2 cups total of grated pepper jack and cheddar
2 cups crushed tortilla chips
Salt and pepper to taste

Method:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Heat the butter in a large skillet on medium heat. When melted, add the squash, onion and jalapeno, and sauté until onions are translucent and the squash is soft, about ten minutes.

Add the garlic, cumin, chili powder, cayenne, salt, pepper and cook for a minute. Then stir in the flour and cook until a light-brown past forms, about a minute.

Now add the broth and tomatoes and stir until the mixture thickens, which should happen in a couple of minutes. Add the half and half, sour cream and cilantro and turn off the heat.

In a greased casserole dish, layer the bottom with the crushed tortilla chips. Pour on top of the chips the creamy squash mixture and then cover the whole dish with the grated cheese.

Cook uncovered for thirty minutes, or until top is brown and bubbling.

Serves 6-8.

Mom's squash casserole

Ingredients:
5 yellow squash, cut into rounds (4 cups)
1 stick of butter
1 package herb stuffing mix (Pepperidge Farm preferred)
1 onion, chopped
1 cup sour cream
1 can of cream of chicken soup
1 carrot, grated
Salt and pepper to taste

Method:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Melt butter and mix with herb stuffing mix.

Meanwhile, cook 5 yellow squash till soft.

Mash squash and mix with onion, sour cream, cream of chicken soup, grated carrot, salt and pepper.

Layer dressing and squash mixture in casserole, ending with dressing.

Bake covered for 30 minutes.

How to make cow head barbacoa

2009-07-22T00:07:00.015-04:00

“What do you want with a cow head?” asked the farmer selling beef at the Union Square Greenmarket. “We don’t sell cow heads here in New York—they’re illegal.”

Not to be deterred, I got on the phone and called my local butchers. It was the same conversation each time. First, they’d express shock and disgust at my query. And then they would curtly inform me that they could not ever, no way, no how get me a cow head as indeed, they’re illegal to sell in New York by order of the USDA. Something to do with eating cow brains having a connection to possibly getting mad cow’s disease.

So what’s a barbacoa-craving Texan in New York to do? I've made lamb barbacoa, but I wanted beef barbacoa. If I were at home, I could pop over to my local Fiesta grocery store and pick up a cow’s head in the meat section, nestled between the ground beef and slabs of brisket. But here my options were more limited, though I was advised that if I became friends with a farmer I’d probably have no problem getting a cow head.

I became friends with Elizabeth Karmel instead.

If you don’t know Elizabeth, she is America’s foremost female grilling expert, creator of Girls at the Grill, author of Soaked, Slathered & Seasoned and Taming the Flame and executive chef at New York’s best barbecue joint, Hill Country. And when she heard about my quest she graciously offered to help me get a cow head so we could make smoke it and make barbacoa.

She did indeed deliver, and last week a small group of us gathered at Hill Country to begin the two-day process of smoking a cow head in Hill Country’s smokers.

Back in Texas, a cow head traditionally is slow-cooked in the ground (though that’s a largely extinct practice now due to health departments’ intervention. Today, most cow head’s are cooked in an oven, slow cooker or on the grill). Elizabeth aimed to recreate this experience by wrapping the cow head in banana leaves and then containing the wrapped skull in two hotel pans.

For seasoning and moisture, we sprinkled a simple rub of black pepper, salt and cayenne over the skull and in its crevices, and added a couple of beers to the banana-leaf-lined pan. We also decided to smoke the tongue with the cow head, even though most barbacoa-making instructions call for it to be cooked separately. (Which makes no sense to me, but what do I know—I’m a cow-head-cooking virgin!)

I was struck by how simple the whole procedure was. Sure, the cow head was large and awkward and having three people available to help wrap it was advantageous. But save for a little mishap with one of the smoker’s shelves, there was little drama.

There was, however, much curiosity from those at the restaurant who witnessed our preparation. One of the pit masters said he wanted the teeth so he could have dentures made. Another took one look at the cow head and said he would never eat beef again. It was also amusing to note that those of us involved in eating and preparing the cow head were all women (three of us, including Slashfood’s Kat Kinsman and the New York Times’ Jill Santopietro, were even wearing skirts as we pulled the meat from the skull), whereas those who were horrified by the cow head were all men. We were fierce!

The verdict? This was some amazingly tender barbacoa. And if I closed my eyes I could have been at a taco stand in El Paso. As we grabbed the meat from the skull and pulled it apart, you could smell the smoke and feel its moist tenderness. We stuffed the meat into flour tortillas and dressed our tacos with salsas, cilantro and onions. Each bite was a succulent treat. I even dared to try the eyeball— which was squishy and bland, and the brains—which had the smooth texture of sweetbreads.

If you have the time and the inclination, and the access to a cow’s head, I highly recommend you try this. Despite the savage-appearance of cooking a cow’s head, this barbacoa was ultimately a delicate treat.

Smoked cow head barbacoa, as prepared by Elizabeth Karmel
Ingredients:
1 cow head
Salt, pepper and cayenne
Two bottles of beer
Long banana leaves

Method:
Sprinkle the salt, pepper and cayenne all over the cow head

Completely wrap the cow head in several layers of banana leaves, securing it with kitchen twine.

In a banana-leaf-lined hotel pan, pour two bottles of beer.

Set the banana-leaf-wrapped cow head into the pan, and fold over pan-lining leaves.

Cover cow head and bottom pan with another hotel pan. Secure tight with kitchen twine.

Smoke for 24 hours, remove meat from head (will have to peel the skin off of the tongue), pull apart and make tacos!

Banana pudding ice cream

2009-07-14T22:23:00.010-04:00

I have a confession. I’ve never had the pleasure of eating Blue Bell’s Banana Pudding ice cream. I’m not sure why. After all, I love banana pudding and I love ice cream.

As you probably know, Blue Bell doesn’t sell its ice cream north of the Mason-Dixon line (though you can find a few flavors at Hill Country here in New York), and when I go home I get caught up on eating my old favorites—Cookies ‘N Cream and Buttered Pecan, which leaves me little time to experiment. That or whenever I’m home it’s not around as it’s only in stores for three months out the year.

That said, I’ve been craving it as there’s something very appealing about a banana pudding ice cream.

Whenever I hear about the release of their seasonal flavors, I get a little sad that I won’t get to try them. And since their banana pudding ice cream is now available, I decided that even if I couldn’t buy it at the store, I could at least try to make a batch at home.

I usually make my ice cream with just cream and half and half, and don’t bother making a custard with eggs. (After all, it’s called ice cream not ice custard.) But I wanted this ice cream to be yellow and the best way I knew how to do that naturally was to make it with bright yellow egg yolks.

Sadly, the egg yolks didn’t make the ice cream yellow, but it did turn out a lovely shade of off white. But more importantly, I am now a convert for making a custard as the ice cream stayed creamy even after a spell the freezer, and was so rich that I didn’t have to eat a whole mess to feel satisfied.

I ended up straining my bananas as the first batch of ice cream I made turned an icky shade of gray, which I suspected was from banana pulp (that and I had to leave it in the refrigerator for a couple of days before freezing because I was too busy to sit and wait for my dang ice cream machine to do its magic.) But just to be safe, I also added some lemon juice, which not only kept the ice cream a pretty color (if not bright yellow) but also brightened up the flavor.

I’m kind of nuts about ingredients these days, so I toyed with using a certain grocery store’s organic vanilla wafers, but as soon as I opened the box and took a bite, I knew that there was no substitution for the proper cookie for a banana pudding—Nabisco’s Nilla Wafers. The organic one was just too thick and crisp and I had a feeling it would never soften and blend into the banana pudding ice cream, as a Nilla Wafer is wont to do.

So how is it? Well, I love it, but not having Blue Bell’s version of banana pudding ice cream, I shared some of mine with a friend who has eaten the stuff from Brenham. He took a bite, smiled and declared it very, very good. And that’s just the answer I needed to hear.

Banana pudding ice cream
Ingredients:
1 cup of cream
2 cups of half and half
3 egg yolks (save the whites for something else as we won’t be making a meringue)
3/4 cups of sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 bananas cut into slices
1 teaspoon of lemon juice
pinch of nutmeg
2 cups of Nilla Wafers roughly crushed (make sure they're not crumbs but nice chunks).

Method:
Cook the half and half on medium heat until warm, do not let it come to a boil.

Meanwhile, beat the egg yolks with the sugar and vanilla. Add to this 1/2 a cup of the warm and half and half, and then stir the egg mixture and banana slices into the remaining half and half.

Heat this on medium low for five minutes or until it gets slightly thick. Do not let it come to a boil. You’ll know it’s ready when it coats the back of your spoon.

Stir in the nutmeg and lemon juice, turn off the heat, and just let the whole thing rest for about 45 minutes.

Remove the banana slices, stir in the cream, chill overnight or for at least four hours and then freeze according to your ice-cream maker’s instructions. About five minutes before the ice cream is finished being whipped around, add the Nilla Wafers.

Can serve with reserved banana slices. Makes one quart.

How to season a molcajete

2009-07-10T07:50:00.004-04:00

At the delightful bed and breakfast, known as the Red Tree House, that I stayed at on a recent trip to Mexico City, every morning I would see the owner’s aunt use a molcajete to make salsa. I have eaten many salsas through the years and let me just say that this was some of the best salsa I’d ever tasted in my life. I know that much love and passion went into this cooking and that’s the main reason why it was so compelling. But I also figured that using a molcajete didn’t hurt. And so at the moment, I decided must have my own molcajete.

If you’re not familiar with a molcajete, it is a Mexican mortar and pestle. The term molcajete actually refers to the three-legged round bowl, which has been carved out of basalt. The pestle, which is known as the tejolote, has also been carved out of the same volcanic rock. In the thousands of years that this ancient tool has been used, there haven’t been any changes to the core shape—it’s a timeless design. Though because it’s a squatty vessel with legs, molcajetes are sometimes carved into animal shapes such as a bull or a pig.

A molcajete is an extremely durable piece of cookware, so durable, in fact, that in Mexico people pass down their well-loved molcajetes to the next generation, just as Southerners pass down cast-iron cookware to their children and grandchildren. And this is the key: a molcajete only gets better with use, as it absorbs flavors and reflects these back into whatever you’re currently making. A well-seasoned molcajete also is smooth and is no longer in danger of shedding lava-rock grit into your food.

Being more Tex than Mex, I realized that I didn’t have anyone to bequeath me a well-seasoned molcajete—if I wanted one I would have to buy it new. And yes, it would need to be seasoned. After going through the act, I decided that no one should ever have to suffer through my mistakes. So if you’re interested in acquiring a molcajete, here are my tips on making the best out of the seasoning process. And if you follow these instructions, you’ll soon discover that a molcajete is quite simple to use and enjoy.

10 (not quite) easy steps for a well-seasoned molcajete

1. On the way to Spanish Harlem to buy a molcajete at the Mexican grocery that you know sells them, pop into a chain home-furnishings store. Yep, they’re having a sale and included in said bargains is a molcajete. It looks pretty and the price is right, so you buy it.

2. Follow the seasoning instructions that come with the molcajete. The first step is to soak the molcajete in water for a few hours. No problem.

3. After you’ve dried the molcajete,take a small handful (about 1/4 of a cup) of rice and pound it into the molcajete until the rice turns into a grey powder. Repeat this process until rice no longer turns grey but instead stays white.

4. Clean up the rice that has shot out of the molcajete as you’ve been pounding it. You’ll need a vacuum (with hose attachments) and a screwdriver (to wedge up you laptop’s keyboard to pull out errant kernels—yes, that’s why your “T” and “F” keys no longer work). But no matter how thorough you are, please don’t be surprised if you see rice all over the house for weeks—it happens to the best of us.

5. Smash into the molcajete some garlic, cumin seeds, rock salt and cilantro. Create a paste and let it sit overnight so that the molcajete can absorb the flavors. When you clean it the next day, don’t be alarmed if small patches of the molcajete are now stained green—chlorophyll is good for you.

6. If the big-box store’s instructions are to be believed, the molcajete should now be seasoned. Make a batch of guacamole, take a bite, and get a mouthful of grit. Repeat steps two through five, about 20 times.

7. After going through seven avocados, 14 tomatoes, 21 cloves of garlic, a pound of cilantro, countless cumin seeds and chunks of rock salt, you finally admit to yourself that your salsas still have grit in them.

8. Texan food writer Melissa Guerra recommends using a wire brush to season a molcajete, so you buy one at the hardware store. You spend the rest of the evening scrubbing your molcajete with the brush, subsequently scraping your knuckles until they bleed a little bit into the bowl. But that’s OK—blood has iron, right? And that’s good for you.

9. You make a batch of salsa. Grit. You ask around and the consensus is that the big-box store might be selling molcajetes that are partially made out of concrete and no matter what you do, it will never, ever be smooth and grit free because the stone is just too soft. Yes, you’ve bought an overpriced decorative bowl, useful only for showing off those tomatoes you bought at the farmer’s market.

10. Head up to Spanish Harlem, buy a molcajete from the Mexican grocery store you intended to buy one from in the first place and notice that it looks exactly like the one your bed and breakfast used in Mexico (it’s shaped like a pig!). Take it home and repeat steps two through five. Make a batch of salsa, and enjoy it—grit free!

Now, in case you’re wondering if I think it’s worth having a molcajete, I do indeed. I haven’t thrown out my blender, but if I have the time to make a salsa in my molcajete I’m in for a real treat. There’s just something about the texture and flavor that can’t be replicated in a machine.

And if you’re looking for recipes to make in your new molcajete, then head on over to Serious Eats, where I will be writing about salsas on Thursdays for the rest of the summer.¡Buen provecho!

Other people's molcajete-seasoning experiences:
Carolynn Carreño goes through a ton of rice to season her molcajete.
As does the Foodinista.
Melissa Guerra sells molcajetes and discusses her wire-brush method.
And The Kitchn warns about cheap molcajetes.

Texas potato salad, what is it?

2009-07-03T10:52:00.015-04:00

Is there such a thing as Texas potato salad? And if so, what is it exactly?

When I asked my family how they make their potato salad, they all provided recipes that called for similar ingredients: chunky, unpeeled potatoes (either red new, brown russet or Yukon gold potatoes), green onions, celery, hard-boiled eggs, sweet pickles, mustard and mayonnaise. And if you’re on my dad’s side of the family, you stir in some Durkee’s as well.

This is the potato salad that always graced the table at our family barbecues—a thick mouthful that was soft and crunchy, tangy and sweet. But as I asked friends that hail from other regions of the country how they make their potato salads, their recipes sounded shockingly similar.

My family assured me, “Yes, this is how we do it.”

But is it particularly Texan?

People say it’s the mustard that makes a potato salad a Texas potato salad, but doesn’t everyone use mustard? Perhaps we just use more.

Of course, we also eat a lot of German potato salad in Texas. This concoction, most commonly found in the Hill Country, is usually served warm (though it’s also delicious cold). It’s a mix of red new potatoes, bacon, green onions, mustard and vinegar—with nary a dollop of mayonnaise to be found.

Sure, mustard is a quintessential Texas condiment. But so are pickled jalapenos. And why aren’t these in a Texas potato salad? Heck, even my mom—who is the queen of pickled jalapenos and its juice—doesn’t add it to hers. “Why not,” I asked. She didn’t have an answer, but insisted that sweet pickles are a key ingredient that compliments the other flavors.

Even though I’m no fan of sweet pickles, apparently I’ve been eating them in my potato salad my whole life without complaint, so I could see her point. But I still felt that a Texas potato salad needed jalapenos. So I compromised and made a batch of bread and butter jalapeno pickles and added that instead.

I love it when I have a hunch and it’s proven correct. And yes, these bread and butter jalapenos were a wonderful balance—sweet enough to be pleasing to the tongue yet fiery enough to make my lips tingle. Bread and butter jalapeno pickles were just what I needed to perk up my potato salad and make it my Texas potato salad.

But enough about me, what does Texas potato salad mean to you?

Texas potato salad
Ingredients:
2 pounds of red new potatoes, cubed
2 celery stalks, diced
2 green onions, sliced
1/4 cup of apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup of bread and butter jalapenos, diced (recipe follows or you can use store bought)
1/4 cup of yellow mustard
1/4 cup of mayonnaise
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon bread and butter jalapeno pickle juice
Salt and black pepper to taste

Method:
In a large pot, cover potatoes with cold water, bring to a boil and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. Should be tender but not mushy.

Drain potatoes and rinse in cold water. Toss with vinegar and salt, and let cool in the refrigerator for half an hour.

After the potatoes have cooled, gently stir in the mustard and mayonnaise into the potatoes and then add the rest of the ingredients.

Serves four to six.

Notes: Lots of people like to also add dill pickles and sliced eggs and it always tastes good. And I used red new potatoes because that’s what my grandmother grows on her farm, but you can also use Yukon gold or any other potato that you prefer. I also leave my potatoes unpeeled because I like the texture and flavor of the skins, but feel free to peel your potatoes if that’s how you like them.

Bread and butter jalapeno pickles
Ingredients:
1/2 pound jalapenos (about four)
1 cup of apple cider vinegar
1/2 cup of sugar
1 teaspoon mustard seed
1/2 teaspoon cloves
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1 cinnamon stick

Method:
Pack into a pint-sized jar the sliced jalapenos
Bring the vinegar, sugar and spices to a boil, and pour over the jalapenos.
Let cool (about half an hour) and then cover and refrigerate.
Will be ready in a couple of hours, but I like to let them pickle overnight.

Pickled shrimp with lime

2009-06-30T09:24:00.011-04:00

When the days are hot and muggy, chilled pickled shrimp is a lush and refreshing way to help you forget you’re roasting in a hard, cement-coated city.

Pickled shrimp, which in Spanish would be called ceviche, is simply lightly cooked shrimp soaked overnight in an acidic liquid—such as citrus juice or vinegar—that’s flavored with herbs and aromatics. Pickled shrimp is perfect for summer. And I had some at lunch recently—a bowl so bright and cooling that if I closed my eyes I could imagine that I was no longer in steamy Manhattan but instead lounging on a breezy beach by the sea.

My dining companion was a New York book editor who hails from Texas, whom I’ve had the pleasure of corresponding with for the past few months. And it was a real joy getting to know her as I always get a kick out of meeting fellow Texans; our shared love of our home state instantly creates a special bond.

Though, truth be told, I was also interested in talking to her about publishing. People have been telling me I should write a book and for someone who has loved writing her whole life, this is all very flattering.

That said, for a long time I’ve struggled with what I’d have to say in a book. Not to mention, if I wrote a book would it be a food narrative or a straight-on cookbook? I’ve been advised to do both, which just adds to my confusion.

Our conversation was constructive. But also edifying was the food, especially an appetizer of shrimp pickled in lime juice with Serrano peppers, red onions and chunks of pineapple.

Straight from the bowl we both ate the pickled shrimp, so fast there wasn’t time to layer it on warm flour tortillas also on the table (though that would have been good, too). We did, however, take the time to deconstruct the dish. While a couple of flavors and textures eluded us, it was still clear enough that I knew I could come back home and recreate something similar with ease.

And that’s just what I did.

I enjoyed my lunch and the chance to get to know a fellow Texan in New York, and I’m feeling a bit more clarity about what sort of book I’ll write. But I know I have some more pondering to do, probably because it’s my silly nature to make life difficult by over thinking things.

Fortunately, however, I didn’t have to think too long about making this bowl of pickled shrimp—its flavors came together seamlessly. And, perhaps with a bit of hard work and hope, the right idea for a book will soon come together with such ease, too.

Pickled shrimp, inspired by the restaurant Cabrito

Ingredients:
1 1/2 pounds of uncooked medium-sized shrimp, peeled and de-veined
4 limes juiced (1/2 cup)
1/2 cup of pineapple juice

1/4 cup of white wine vinegar
1/4 cup of chopped cilantro
1-2 Serrano chiles, sliced
1/2 medium red onion, cut into slivers
1 clove of garlic, crushed
1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds
1/2 teaspoon cayenne
1 bay leaf
2 tablespoons of salt, plus more to taste

Method:
Add the cayenne, bay leaf and 2 tablespoons of salt to a large pot of water. Bring to a boil and then add the shrimp. Cook shrimp for one minute, drain and run cold water over shrimp.

In a large jar or plastic food-storage bag, add shrimp and rest of ingredients. Add 1 cup of water (or enough to cover the shrimp), sprinkle in a bit of salt, and marinate in the refrigerator overnight, shaking or turning occasionally.

Can serve in bowls, on tortilla chips or with tortillas. Serves four.

Note: You can doll it up by adding cubed avocado, pineapple or mango when serving, if you wish (not while pickling otherwise the fruit will get mushy). The restaurant where we ate added pepitas on top, which was a great contrast in texture and flavor.

Buttermilk dressing

2009-06-23T10:11:00.001-04:00

The first time I ate pizza with my New York friends, I learned that Texans have a special relationship with buttermilk dressing. When the pizza arrived, I pulled a jar out of the refrigerator, grabbed a slice of pizza and drizzled some of the creamy, tangy dressing all over it.

“What are you doing?” said my friends.

“You don’t put buttermilk dressing on your pizza?” I said.

“No! That's disgusting!” said my friends.

I shrugged and then continued to eat my buttermilk-dressing soaked pizza. And it was good.

When it comes to buttermilk dressing, Texans don’t just stop at pizza. We, of course, put it on our salads. But we also use it as a dip for our steak fingers, onion rings, fried okra, cheese fries and leftover fried chicken, among many other things.

Buttermilk dressing has long been a popular staple in a Texan’s larder. Its presence harks back to a time when dairy was ubiquitous and cheap, so it made sense to craft a dressing out of buttermilk and eggs rather than oil, which was scarce.

In the 1960’s, buttermilk dressing became branded as ranch dressing, but I prefer to call it by its proper name, especially as the stuff you buy in a bottle has almost no relationship to what you can make at home. And yes, buttermilk is indeed the star.

I was reading recipes for buttermilk dressing from almost 100 years ago, and back then it was a boiled dressing made with eggs, vinegar, buttermilk, herbs and spices. In the late 1930’s, however, both vegetable oil and commercial mayonnaise became more available and so people started using those ingredients to make their buttermilk dressing instead.

I have to say that the latter method is how I’ve been making my buttermilk dressing for years as it takes minimal effort to achieve maximum flavor. But I was curious about the boiled method. My grandma has no fond memories of the boiled dressing my great-grandmother made and perhaps the use of mayonnaise indeed marks progress. That said, I decided to make a batch of buttermilk dressing the truly old-fashioned way.

In researching recipes, I discovered that Craig Claiborne (the longtime New York Times food editor and fellow Southerner) also found his mother’s boiled dressing distasteful. No matter, I decided to persevere in making a batch.

Well, after boiling together a concoction of eggs, apple-cider vinegar, mustard, cayenne, buttermilk and butter, I was left with a thick, acidic custard that smelled so bad I had to throw open the windows and leave my apartment for a spell. (Note to self: if both your grandma and Craig Claiborne hate something, you will probably hate it, too.)

So indeed, progress has been made by the advent of widely available commercial mayonnaise. And thankfully, making buttermilk dressing is a snap, which means that you can have it whenever the occasion arises. So go on, what are you waiting for? You just know that slice of cold pizza sitting in your fridge needs an embellishment, and nothing makes leftovers, fried foods or salads sing like a good dose of creamy, tangy, spicy buttermilk dressing.

Buttermilk dressing, extra spicy
Ingredients:
1/4 cup of mayonnaise
1/2 cup of sour cream
1/2 cup of buttermilk
1/4 cup of chopped cilantro
1/4 cup of freshly squeezed lime juice
1 clove of garlic, crushed
1 serrano pepper, finely diced
1 teaspoon of chopped fresh chives
1/8 teaspoon of cayenne pepper
Salt and black pepper to taste

Method:
Mix all the ingredients together and let chill for an hour.
Makes 1 cup, keeps for a week in the refrigerator.
Notes: I like my dressing on the thinner side, so if you prefer it thicker use 1/2 cup of mayonnaise. And if you don't want it to be so spicy, feel free to omit the Serrano or substitute a jalapeno pepper instead. Also, you can use parsley instead of cilantro if you're one of those "Cilantro tastes like soap" people, I won't be insulted.

Guacamole, my way

2009-06-15T19:01:00.011-04:00

I’m often asked why I don’t have a guacamole recipe on my site. I reckon the simplest answer is because I don’t have a recipe for guacamole. Instead, I just add some ingredients to a smashed-up avocado and call it a dip.

When my mom was in the liturgical nacho stage of her life (so-called because she made her daily lunch of nachos always the exact same way) she’d whip up a batch of guacamole to go with them. She totally cheated, however, as she mashed an avocado with bottled hot sauce.

My mom can do many things very, very well, but I have to admit that this guacamole was not the best I’d eaten in my life. (And, for the record, she insists that she no longer makes guacamole this way.)

Guacamole is all about freshness and using a bottled hot sauce is anathema to this underlying principle. While you want the avocado to be the star, the other ingredients need to be heard as well, and nothing is louder than the crunch of fresh chiles, the tang of lime juice and the bite of fresh garlic.

There’s also the problem of bottled salsa having tomatoes as a base. I’m a firm believer that tomatoes shouldn’t be in guacamole; the texture is just wrong. Tomatoes are too juicy and soft and I want my accents to the avocado to be firm. I realize most people would disagree with me, but that’s OK as that’s probably the best thing about guacamole—everyone makes guacamole the way that they like it.

Take my uncle, for instance. He stirs in a heaping spoonful of mayonnaise into his guacamole, which he swears makes it super creamy. Then there’s a friend who’s been known to add sesame seeds to her guacamole, which is a subtle yet surprising accent. Obviously, the ways to make guacamole are infinite.

So, I’m happy to share with you how I make my guacamole, but what I really want to know is how you make your guacamole.

Guacamole
Ingredients:
2 ripe Hass avocados, peeled and cut in half
2 cloves of garlic, crushed
1 Serrano pepper, diced
1/2 cup of chopped cilantro
Juice from 1/2 a lime
Salt to taste

Method:
Mix all the ingredients together either with a fork in a bowl or in a Mexican mortar and pestle (molcajete) until desired consistency. If you’re using a molcajete, there’s no need to crush the garlic. And you can add another Serrano pepper if you like it extra hot.
Serves two to four.

Saveur, the Texas issue

2009-06-08T12:53:00.007-04:00

Do you love Texas food as much as I do? Then check out the June issue of Saveur, a special edition devoted to the Lone Star State.

You’ll find a beautiful portrait of West Texas border food, a convincing argument to eat okra, a history of chuck wagon cooking, stunning photos by Penny De Los Santos, excellent writing by Robb Walsh, Patricia Sharpe and Alison Cook, and recipes galore.

Oh, and there’s also a fine essay (if I say so myself) by yours truly, your favorite Homesick Texan food blogger.

But the most exciting thing for me is seeing my Texas-shaped cake pan in the magazine. My grandma baked a big cookie into this pan and mailed it to me when I first moved away from Texas. She wrote, “I’m sending this to you so you’ll always remember where you came from.” As you can see, it’s an oft-used and well-loved treasure. And I may be biased, but I can think of no better way to illustrate a section entitled, “Twenty-four reasons why we love Texas.” Can you?

So a big hearty howdy if you’re coming here for the first time—happy reading and eating!

Aunt Margaret's strawberry delight

2009-05-28T08:45:00.010-04:00

A few weeks ago, before it was strawberry season, my grandma tempted me with a dessert my Aunt Margaret used to make: strawberry delight.

Aunt Margaret was one of the fancier members of the family. She was always impeccably dressed and when I was young, she would give me her perfume and make-up samples from Neiman Marcus.

Like Aunt Margaret, strawberry delight sounded swank. And when my grandma gave me the recipe, she admitted that strawberry delight was both elaborate and delicious. But she then added no dessert could compare to eating fresh, ripe berries either on their own or with cream on a flaky biscuit split in two.

Dazzled by the name, however, I insisted on making strawberry delight when I bought my first pints of the juicy red berries at the farmer’s market last week.

Strawberry delight is very similar to a fool, where the berries are mashed and then stirred into whipped cream. This dessert differs, however, by the addition of a buttery pecan crust and a meringue that’s folded into the strawberries and cream.

Now, if I had any sense, I would have heeded my grandmother’s advice and kept it simple. But I like a challenge and when I was faced with whipping a couple of egg whites into a meringue without a stand mixer, I knew I had to give it a try. How hard could it be? I make whipped cream all the time with my eggbeater so I assumed that a meringue could hardly be all that more work.

One hour later, I was still struggling to make my egg whites fluff while the strawberries sat on the counter mocking me with their easy beauty. Tired of spinning the eggbeater, I took my meringue and folded it into the whipped cream and berries. I spread the whipped concoction over the crust and then put it into the freezer to chill overnight.

In the morning, when I pulled the pan out of the freezer I was stuck by how the peaks in the dessert looked like the topography of a pretty pink world. I cut out a piece and took a bite. It was buttery, nutty, creamy and fruity. It had been a lot of work, but it was indeed good.

Desserts such as this are frilly and fun and remind me of summer garden parties or church potlucks; there is a certain nostalgia when you dip your spoon into a creamy, cold square.

That said, my grandma made an excellent point about simpler pleasures. And this time of the year when the summertime fruits are making their debuts, I do believe that nothing beats eating them as they were made, still fresh, juicy and warm from the sun.

Strawberry Delight
Ingredients for the crust:
1 cup flour
1/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1 cup chopped pecans
1/2 cup melted butter
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
Pinch of salt

Ingredients for the filling:
2 cups of fresh strawberries, sliced in half
1/4 cup of brown sugar
1/2 cup sugar
2 teaspoons of lemon juice
2 egg whites
8 oz. of heavy cream
1/8 teaspoon of ground ginger
1 teaspoon of vanilla

Method:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Mix the crust ingredients and bake in a 9x13 pan for 20 minutes.

Stir the brown sugar into the sliced strawberries and let macerate at room temperature for half an hour or until juicy.

Beat the egg whites, lemon juice and sugar until light and fluffy. Then whip the cream until also light and fluffy and then stir into it the vanilla and ginger.

Add the strawberries to the whipped cream and then fold in the meringue.

Spread the fluffy strawberry filling over the crust, cover well and then freeze overnight or for at least six hours.

Before serving, let it thaw a bit and then cut into squares.

Alternatively, you could freeze the crust and filling into six or eight bowls or glasses and serve it that way.

Dr Pepper ribs: sticky, spicy and sweet

2009-05-20T11:42:00.006-04:00

I’ve been on a rib kick lately. I usually like my ribs simple—seasoned with nothing but a salt, cayenne and black pepper rub, smoked low and slow over post-oak wood. But when I’m trying to make outdoor fare inside, I tend to change my tune. Take my Dr Pepper ribs. These are sticky, spicy and sweet, which is the exact opposite of how I like my barbecue. And yet, I love my Dr Pepper ribs so much that I could eat a whole rack by myself.

Now if you know me well, you are aware that I’m a staunch opponent of sauce on barbecue. And yes, these ribs are wet and messy, so much in fact that if you don’t have a stack of napkins nearby you should probably wear a bib. So what changed my mind and why did I decide to make saucy ribs?

We Texans love to cook with Dr Pepper. I love to use Dr Pepper in my peanut brittle and a Dr Pepper chocolate cake is wonderful as well as it always turns out so moist. But I’d never tried using Dr Pepper with meat and I was curious if it would make that much of a difference.

I’ve tried making meat with my stove-top smoker in the style that I like it, but save for fish and vegetables, the results haven’t been great. So when it comes to oven-baked ribs, I decided to eschew outside authenticity and instead shoot for lots of flavor. Enter the Dr Pepper.

At first I tried making my ribs savory, using the Dr Pepper as only a tenderizer. This was wrong as the ribs were soggy with a strange flavor. It wasn’t, however the Dr Pepper’s fault—it was mine for pretending that the drink was something it wasn’t. So I decided that I would embrace the Dr Pepper’s inherent sweetness and try to compliment that with flavors that balanced it instead of fought it.

I coated the ribs in a smoky, sweet dry rub made with chipotle powder and brown sugar and let them rest for a few hours. I then made a glaze with my chipotle ketchup, Dr Pepper, mustard, vinegar, molasses and allspice. I baked the ribs in a low oven for a little over an hour and then started applying my Dr Pepper glaze. After another hour and a stint under the broiler, the meat was tender and each bite was coated in a sticky glaze both fiery and sweet.

Now because these ribs are messy, you may be tempted to eat these with a knife and a fork. Don’t. A year ago, the family was gathered for Thanksgiving at my grandmother’s farm and her neighbor brought over some ribs. Because we were having a sit-down dinner, I started to eat my ribs with a knife and a fork. “What are you doing?” said my uncle. “You don’t eat ribs with silverware! Use your hands like a Texan.”

You won’t find wet, sticky ribs at a Hill Country barbecue joint, so you could argue ribs such as these aren’t authentically Texan. But that’s just silly. Why? Because there’s nothing more Texan than Dr Pepper, chipotle peppers and eating meat with your hands!

What do you like to make with Dr Pepper?

Dr Pepper ribs
Ingredients:

For the rub:
1/4 cup of salt
1/4 cup of black pepper
1/4 cup of brown sugar
4 teaspoons of mustard powder
1/2 teaspoon of cayenne
2 teaspoons of chipotle powder
1/2 teaspoon of allspice

For the glaze:
2 cups of Dr Pepper
1 cup of ketchup
1/2 cup of mustard
1/4 cup of apple cider vinegar
2 tablespoons of molasses
2-4 teaspoons of chipotle powder

Two racks of St Louis ribs
1/4 cup of Dr Pepper

Coat the ribs with the rub, wrap in plastic and place in the refrigerator for at least four hours.

Heat the oven to 300 degrees and bring the ribs to room temperature.

In a foil-lined large baking or roasting pan, arrange the ribs with the meat side up, pour in 1/4 cup of Dr Pepper, cover pan tightly with foil and place in the oven.

Meanwhile, place all the glaze ingredients in a pan, bring to a boil and then simmer for 20 minutes until thick and syrupy.

After an hour and a half, take the ribs out of the oven and spread some of the glaze on each side of the racks. Place back in the oven, meat side up and cook uncovered for 30 minutes.

After 30 minutes, take out the ribs and spread more glaze over them and cook for 30 more minutes or until ribs are desired tenderness.

At this point, take the ribs out of the oven, spread more glaze on them and then cook each side under the broiler for four minutes.

Divide and serve!
Notes: You can use my chipotle ketchup instead of regular ketchup for the glaze and I used Dublin Dr Pepper, but you can use regular Dr Pepper, just don't use diet!