racheld
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Posts posted by racheld
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Oh, Jaymes!!! What a treat!! I hope you're taking loads of pictures, and will post the whole trip in all its colorful, delicious glory when you return.
I'd trade you a BIG black skillet of catheads, with butter and preserves, all warm and crusty and drippy, for just one glimpse out your porthole at that ocean.
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Well, Hay, Rebecca! I missed your line as I saw the "quote" thing on down there. You always say the NICEST things. Hope all is well up there in more-snow-even-than-us country. Stay warm and well, and keep that magical soup pot going.
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How long does it take a Grovelgram to get from here to there? I'd stay prostrate at your feet for eons for some deep-South muscadines.
She's still pouting that I finally threw the wrinkly, ice-ridden, freezer-scented things out---I had made the mistake of putting up a couple of bushels of bell peppers, just one-minute-blanched halves cuddled together in bags, and the pepper-scent took over every item inside the freezer.
We had to do a suds-wash, a soda-wash, a set-the-little-fan-inside-for-an-hour-to-dry, and a BIGGGG crumple of several Sunday newspapers to sit for a couple of days before the smell dissipated. All is well now, but no muscadines
Thanks for the offer---that would be TERRIFIC---they live in GA.
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This is one on-line marketer of "hoop cheese" though all the pre-wrapping, bubble-kept effect is not conducive to the real feel of the cheese as it's opened with that whiff of secret alchemies going on within; nor do you get the generations-old feeling of the timelessness of the motions and scent as it's cut and crinkled toward you in the butcher paper. This one MIGHT do:
http://striplings.com/show_product.aspx?pr...38&categoryid=2
Well now...
We'll be going right by Striplings on Saturday, after we deliver 11 greyhounds to our fabulous adoption friends from Atlanta! We schedule our meet-ups at Priester's Pecans, so I can replenish my stash of pecan meal, browse their cookbooks and stock up on other goodies.
Striplings has a gorgeous new store and I haven't been there yet. DH has munched there several times, but he doesn't "do" cheese! I'll be HAPPY to stop in and taste test their rat/hoop cheese.
I KNOW they have great housemade beef jerky (it's speecy-spicy), excellent bacon and good green tomato pickles. Anything else y'all want me to taste test?
Pam
Muscadine jelly, please. I've never lived down the time I threw out (after three years) the two gallon-bags of frozen muscadines I was keeping in the freezer for a relative. She was always going to "make some jelly when I get around to it---it's my favorite."
I'll just have them send her a coupla pints in penance.
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That's exactly like my Mammaw's Chicken and Dumplin's!!
And more from some fine cooks over on the Southern Food Culture section:
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The BEST kind, though, is found at The Smokehouse, down I-65 at the Pine Apple exit---you just know something in such a deliciously-named place must be good. We always pick up five pounds or so on the way down, set the whole thing on the dining table with a knife, and everyone who comes by shaves off a bit for snacking.
And at any meal---the cheese is still the centerpiece, and whoever has dropped in will just help themselves to a piece. It's like a foreign delicacy, though it's always available within forty miles of them. The cheese slowly dwindles, and is re-wrapped and bagged until it's just a shadow of its former glory.
By the time we've packed the car, had the last cup of Folger's, said our goodbyes, the cheese is a forlorn little slump, to be melted into a sandwich or onto a dish of pasta for those left behind.
And we pick up our OWN five pounds for the long drive home. Chris' trusty pocket knife will whittle us off a bit for munching with a Quik-Stop coke, as we talk the miles away, and it's nice to have that big ole hunka cheese in the fridge for days to come.
This is one on-line marketer of "hoop cheese" though all the pre-wrapping, bubble-kept effect is not conducive to the real feel of the cheese as it's opened with that whiff of secret alchemies going on within; nor do you get the generations-old feeling of the timelessness of the motions and scent as it's cut and crinkled toward you in the butcher paper. This one MIGHT do:
http://striplings.com/show_product.aspx?pr...38&categoryid=2
And perhaps they DO have one of these:
http://www.crackerbarrel.com/about-decor.cfm?doc_id=129
My own Aunt Lucy of the smalltown country store had a butcher block in the meat market section which must have counted for one felled sequoia---It spanned four feet or so, and was probably two feet thick, with a tidy little hanger at the side for all those worn-to-the-bone knives with blades slendered from years of use and honing on the big round stone.
And the millions of grooves in the surface should have been a hive of food-poisoning activity from all the tons of meat cut fresh-to-order on its worn surface, but I never heard of anyone's getting sick from it. Aunt Lucy's daily manning of the stiff brush and the pan of boiling Lysol water, then the hosing of the suds down the floor drain kept the place within whatever clean-code ruled the day.
She was a careful, fastidiously clean woman, of her person and of her work, and I remember her fondly, as she heaved that huge wheel of golden cheese from its container. She would choose the widest knife, grasp it in her wiry hand, and lean her entire hundred pounds into the effort of the blade. A great wedge would separate, and then the whisk of the paper being unrolled from the big reel, the skritch across the teeth of the cutter, like flipping a sheet off a bed.
And the wrapping of the unwieldy wedge, its shape struggling with the folds, is a sound I'll always remember. For a long time, there was string for the tying---a big roll of it wound intricately on itself, hanging from a ceiling hook and run through a line of little loops across the ceiling to keep it snarl-free. Later there was a heavy scroll of tape, such an innovative new convenience, though the string never left its little pinata-place in the ceiling.
Like wine, cheese memories grow even better with age.
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Well, my goodness, Kind Sir. If you ain't just turned my little ole head; yes, you have. (It DOES appear that a website the caliber of this one would have at least one "simper" smilie).
And Velveeta IS the Velveeta of the South, used in everything from tacos to mac and cheese to asparagus casserole to soup to grilled cheese to the creme de la creme: Rotel Dip.
A can of Rotel tomatoes, whatever Fahrenheit/Scoville you choose, most of a brick of Velveeta, and you're in business for any hors d'oeuvre party, wedding shower, or Preacher Pounding that side of the M/D. A pound or two of well-browned ground beef, and you can break out Mammaw's best silver chafing dish and invite your Congressman.
And there's a really handy gauge for describing levels of temper:
There's spittin' mad, and there's "it flew all over me," and there's "I could pinch his head off," as well as "so mad I could fly." REALLY bad occasions are reserved for "I could just go to bed and eat Velveeta right out of the box."
And there's always Miz Paula's Velveeta Fudge
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Total amateur here---not really even that; you can't be an amateur if you haven't tried it ONCE I suppose. Just from a curious bystander's view---just how much of the white chocolate did it take to yield that little cup, and what's the volume of the consomme?
I'm just thinking of a distillation of all the richness into something you could sip, or dip up with a teensy spoon, and I'd think the serving for any course would be infinitesimal. Perhaps I just don't have a transmutation-ratio spot in my brain.
I kept waiting for a picture, as I could NOT IMAGINE clarifying something so densely clouded, especially with the addition of creme fraiche. This is just fascinating. Still from my ignorant point of view---it's just amazing.
Will there be more?
LEXICOGRAPHER, Are you paying attention? Consommified
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Rat-trap cheese is exactly what you'd think---a goldy yellowy orange of a shade unknown in nature. Called HOOOOOP cheese by almost everyone I know, it springs full-blown from the brow of one of the lesser gods, one of the not-quite-graduated minor deities who still goofs up now and again, thus his relegation to cheese-springing and an occasional cat-in-a-tree snafu which goes unnoticed, except for irritating the cat.
The cheese is made of no natural product known to man---it has the texture of Play-Doh and comes in a box. The box is round and pale, made of thinly-shaved wood, which over the days of its residence atop the butcher case grows greasily stained and takes on the appearance of a harlot's hatbox, roughly handled and none too clean.
You ask about the cheese. Lid is popped loose, laid aside. Rustle of paper, removal of great wheel of cheese, worthy of a comic-book picnic, alongside the winebottle and basket of fruit. BIIIIG knife wielded, slivering off a see-through piece the size of a bank card, which is proffered on a knifetip like a saber. You sample, munching thoughtfully, pondering things, and nod.
"Bout a pound," you say. The huge knife descends, slicing through the gummy cake to bring forth a golden wedge pre-touched by Midas. Onto paper, onto scale.
You rustle it home in the sack, breaking off a crumble now and then as you put away the groceries. It's a perfect topping for a soda-cracker, sliced thin and almost square to fit, and the best accompaniment is an ice-cold Co-Cola, fished from the ice-and-frigid-water of a cooler alongside a fishing hole or up a deerstand. Carried all day in the pocket of a huntin' coat, with a sleeve of Premiums and a couple of juice-heavy Satsumas---that's a picnic easy to tote and nice to eat.
Sometimes by lunch, hip-warmth and weather have heated the chunk to an almost-transparent state, with little dews of oily sweat appearing across the surface. And leaving it uncovered altogether will result in a leather you could make shoes out of---chewy and rich with all the goodness distilled into that one mouthful of cheese-jerky.
And it does make a good rat-lure, if you have the need. A piece of that speared on the little catch-doohickey of a mousetrap has been the downfall of many a small rodent, with the siren-call of the aroma calling them from their little mouse-duties. And the good rich goodness of that heavy, waxy cheese---any mouse would think it worth the price.
The taste is incomparable to anything in any cook's lexicon. It's rich and homey and nutty and of a texture that calls for one-more-bite. Hoop cheese, rat-trap cheese, just cheese---as it's the only game in town in some stores in the South---it's maybe an acquired taste. But it's addictive, and I'm glad there's a bit left in the fridge.
With a cold apple---lunch.
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We DID have a lovely time, and he's SO pleased and happy at all the good wishes. This was one LOADED birthday---he had a BIG one last year, and it was mostly all celebrated at one party.
And Paminna cheese---alas, it seemed to be a bit of overkill at such an already so-cheesy affair. There was a warm Brie on the nibbles table, cream cheese in the crab spread and the lox spread, and then lusty handfuls of good hearty Cheddar in the potatoes and both quiches.
Plus that orphaned mac and cheese, which I baked only because I made and wrapped and froze it just before Christmas. A lot of it was left; dishes went home with guests, and there's a two-serving box in the freezer for some cold night or a quick hot lunch.
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No blues from this direction, though a birthday cake, ordered years ago by a gentleman for his wife's birthday, did specify blue flowers. I thought nothing of it, wrote it down, and then he said, "I had them on mine last year, and they had the BEST taste of any flowers I ever ate."
And I cringe just to hear the Good Humor truck jingle by---memories of the neon blue/orange popsicles always chosen by Granddaughter, just for the colors on the side of the truck.
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THAT was inside an immense navel orange---the little fishy is about an inch long, and came out whole and round as I separated the big segments. I did fluff up his tail a bit, just for the effect.
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Thank you, Pierogi, Dear. There's nothing in my life as important as taking care of those dear to me. That's what makes me happy---Making THEM happy.
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Thank you, Fabby, for these delicious peeks into your completed kitchen. We of the Cuisinical Sect would all gladly genuflect at that gleaming golden altar.
And best to little Nigel, as he joins the clan.
(But I'm still wanting a glimpse of Snakey Boy and Cold Flame). They could probably jump in anytime with their own thread, and be avidly followed into legend and culinary history. This would certainly be a welcoming venue for chefs of their credentials.
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We served these Sunday at Chris' Birthday Brunch:
The pears were brought back last Summer by DS#2 from a trip to Mississippi. He picked them on the old "Home Place" where they grew up, and he and I sat on the patio three states away and peeled and cut, talking of the old days.
The pear pieces go into an enamel pan to be covered with almost as much sugar as pears, then weep their juices out overnight, to be cooked until rosy and sweet the next morning before canning.
We served them with these:
And there were several kinds of olives on the buffet, as well, along with several cheeses.
I've already used these pictures over on the Birthday Brunch thread, but they're the only ones of biscuits and preserves that I have.
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Good Morning, Fabby!
I'm hoping you're high and dry, and that no leaky lights will deter you from your appointed rounds.
I spent our lazy evening envisioning your bright, lively party, spread into all those rooms we've glimpsed, drawn magically to that beacon of steel and cuisinary heaven that is your stove
We went out for Chinese---I thought of you in those FABulous shoes, welcoming and gracious, serving out that salmon and beef and all the other lovely goodies in that warm, golden light.
Can't wait for pictures!!
rachel, agog
And a HAPPY Birthday to Mr. FAB.
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There's a lot of wedding dinnering and lunching in Cousins but those are certainly not the crux of the movie, despite its being about a huge, love-to-eat Italian family and the couple who seem to get thrown together at every one of the parties.
They go on a sunny, swells-of-music motorbike ride down the coast, spend the afternoon in a little cottage at a tourist camp, and wake to order from the small restaurant down the road. They lie there considering what they'd like to eat.
Scrambled eggs, an egg roll each, fries and ketchup, a chocolate cake, champagne-- all the necessary food groups.
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Hi, and Hippo Birdy to Chris!
Rachel, those pink glasses were a definite triumph of the thrift, dear!
I'm looking at all of that luscious, LOVE filled food, and thinking that if I could have one thing from all of that glory, it would be a biscuit. And then a small pastry. And, some beans. OK, some grapes, as well.
May you have a wonderful year, Chris!
I'm so happy to hear from youi!!! Hope you've been feeling well---you certainly sound chipper today.
The glasses certainly WERE---I'd never have thought to Google them---I thought they were just some clunky bits that came from the "seconds" store perhaps. They are listed in the Fostoria line, with a picture and everything.
I'd bake you a biscuit this minute, Sweetpea.
Shelby---We're known as the "Goodwill House" in that almost everything is from thrift stores. We moved here for a short-term training for Chris in 1990, with VERY little of our own stuff from down South. And never DID move all of it here. We've filled the house with "finds" for years---covered a lot of it in the Thanksgiving blog last year, showing off lots of bargains.
I love things that other people have loved and used. Chris calls me a dish junkie.
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I've never watched them be made, but I'm SURE they are. And probably with FF shortening, as well.
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Welcome, Andy! Your "Life is a Laugh" blog made me smile.
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And for dessert, a tray of Caro's ethereal pastries, baked as we slept and brought home early in the morning:
There are strawberry, raspberry, blueberry, apple butter, and my favorite: Pineapple with cheese. She made them half-size, so they weren't quite so formidable after such a big brunch.
There was also a little cakestand of inch-square cheesecake bites, in the pretty ruffled paper---just a big box of Eli's from Sam's, snugged in the freezer for a quick dessert when need arises---turtle, plain, and raspberry/white chocolate.
And of course, Birthday Cake:
With scoops of Pillsbury's "Homemade" ice cream---a deep rich golden vanilla that we like very much. And, of course, another encore for The Candle.
And, speaking of ice cream, we had gone out the back gate to the Chinese restaurant that's practically in our back yard---about eleven o'clock every day you can smell the garlic as it hits the hot wok. Chris wanted to go on around the block to DQ for a blizzard for dessert, so we hit the drive-thru. I'd been seeing the "Dilly Bar" ad on the sign for years, but this one said: "Buy 6, Get 10 Free." So I asked how much; he said $7.99, and handed out two laden paper bags, each holding eight, top-stapled and standing in huge ranks in the freezer like lines of khaki soldiers.
I'd never tasted one, and intended to offer them with dessert; I'd mentioned them while we were eating, and everybody seemed to know what they were except me.
Then I forgot them. And the lovely steamed carrots, glowing orangey-gold, cooked just SO---they were the Forgotten Dish, of which there always IS one at any Southern gathering---it's the LAW. I found them in the microwave when I went to put on the pot of water for iced tea, and parceled them out half to Caro for her dinner, and half to DDIL to take for her lunch next day. Oh, Well, another tradition fulfilled.
And we now have sixteen Dilly Bars for whenever there's an ice-cream crisis.
The guests stayed on until twilight, then staggered out into the crisp coldness, still laughing and chatting down the drive and laden with Glad-boxes and baggies of leftovers---a good way to end a party.
I did three dishwashers full, got all the pots and pans scrubbed and shining and draining on the counter, made a big pitcher of decaf iced tea, and we chose amongst the remaining leftovers for our meager supper.
Lovely day with friends, and a delicious close to the Birthday Saga.
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But there were LOTS. DS brought one of his lovely Shepherd's Pies---that guy is a wonder with a piecrust. It flaked deliciously with every cut. I never had the "hand" for it, as my Mammaw used to say. Mine always turn out like unsweet cookies, or huge ole tough Communion wafers
This one was crisp-crusted, with juicy browned meat and potatoes and a lovely gravy, just the right amount:
I don't think any shepherds intent on making a pye would have been lugging such a heavy skillet about after those sheep, but this one was perfect. This one was a surprise, as I hadn't asked them to bring anything, but it was wonderful.
And my own black-skillet contribution:
Not-quite-cathead biscuits. They were baked, then brushed with melted butter, with more butter on the tables to nestle between. Also on the tables were dishes of peach and pear preserves, from our old sand-pear trees down South:
One guest is a biscuit and preserves fanatic. He took home some of both last year, and this year, as we cleared the tables for dessert, I set a little Glad-box in front of him, and told him to empty the compote into it. He did, with a last, parting detour by the stove to gather up the last three biscuits.
He doesn't know how lucky he was---that was the second-to last jar, and it's a long time til September.
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Isn't Fresser the silver-tongued, ruby-lipped devil.
That picture of the gleams of your kitchen---I just keep looking and looking. Just magnificent.
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And then there were sausages and bacon:
On the left is a pile of Conecuh sausage, made just a few miles from our Alabama home; we pick up a few pounds every time we travel down I-65. It's a nice dryish sausage, not juicy and drippy, but just a lovely bite of really porky/sage-and-pepper-flavored meat in a natural casing.
Top and bottom is Turkey Kielbasa, baked so the skin is crisp and ready to burst, and right are some of the Emeril chicken/apple sausages, which have a really nice flavor. Center is thick-cut maple bacon, cooked really crisp like Chris likes it. We roasted the sausages whole, to stay juicy, and cut them into diagonals for serving.
Size reference: the platter is almost two feet wide.
Cannisters are pasta--the BIG square one in the corner holds ten pounds of the twenty-pound bag of Calrose we buy. I learned to wash-and-cook rice from a friend down South---her husband was from the Philippines, and his Mom taught her.
I use an old heavy-bottomed pot and it comes out perfect and just-right-sticky every time. For this meal, I cooked the usual three cups; we always have a container of cold leftover rice in the fridge---it reheats perfectly, and makes KILLER fried rice with whatever add-ins we have on hand.
There was lovely fruit:
The Globe grapes were as big as a "small" egg, and SOOO sweet and juicy, and the strawberries were just magnificent---the best Wintertime berries I've ever found.
So it isn't ALL carbs and cheese.
Rat-Trap Cheese
in Food Traditions & Culture
Posted
Hooray for your good trip, and for the safe delivery of your lucky dogs. We applied for one once, but though we had many, many acres in which to run, and the house was at least a quarter-mile from the nearest blacktop, none of it had the required fencing. I'd have loved to have one of those delicate, dedicated, sweet creatures to come live with us.
A good tooth-snap is a most important criterion for a true Southern sausage. I can just hear it now.
A friend of mine used to make a particular treat for her children---strings of those tiny who-knows-what's-innum weenies, lifted in long strands from inside the cold case of the little country store, and which she referred to as "those good little poppin' kind."