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Everything posted by racheld
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Mike, I seldom use "awesome" in polite conversation, but this is a time. Your memories and descriptions are SO real, and give a mental picture and taste of all your delicious meals. Welcome!!!
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Here's one once-removed, a wannabee, an about-to-be in the Spring. I've always loved the IDEA of bees, the THOUGHT of bees, and that magical, mystical, alchemical gift that THEY were given in the Cosmic Order of things---that sets them apart and makes them the Golden Child of the insect world. No silkworm spinning, no wasp spitting out the beginnings of a slate for the written word, no spider or ant or butterfly can equal that worth-its-hefty-weight-in-real-gold sweetness. DS is knower, arbiter, enactor of all things Bee-related, and he's off today for the holiday---he'll answer any questions tomorrow if anybody's interested. And we're as urban as a tree-lined street, vegetable garden out back, flowers and vines and honeysuckle trees separated from restaurants, ethnic markets, entertainment and stores by one block, and from the hallowed halls of city AND state government by a mere few miles, can make us.
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eG Foodblog: C. sapidus - Crabs, Borscht, and Fish Sauce
racheld replied to a topic in Food Traditions & Culture
I'm so gladddd it's you!!! What great kitchen apprentices you have, and their plates look like mine---more cucumber than anything else. I'll be SO GLAD when we have them in the garden again; it's lovely to walk out five minutes before dinner and pick one (or six). Your page numbers on the calendar look like my hymn list used to look when I was pianist for our little church for so many years. (And I guessed it was you. You just don't have to tell anyone that I guessed it for November). -
Does the stuffing reach far down into the foot, yielding a nice slice, or do you save the little piggy-toes for Cook's Treat? This is fascinating. Like a Gucci jar of the pickled pig's feet that sat in every refrigerator of my childhood. I can still smell the porky/vinegar tang in the air when that lid smicked open. Your party was divine. And all those wines---did you remove glasses with each course?
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Dear Lord. There've been so many quote-frames on here, I feel like I'm at Versailles. The overuse of quotequotequote usually means one of two things: We're all in a frenzy of mutual admiration. "You are so wonderful." "Oh, NO. Not I. It is YOU." "After YOUUUUU!!!" "No, After YOUUUUUU!" OR: There's enough snark-frenzy in the waters that SOMEBODY is gonna close us down. This has been mostly fun. I hope the censors aren't gearing up.
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Incredibly beautiful to my sleepy eyes this morning---what a lovely way to celebrate!! I "do" everybody's birthday, and especially enjoy doing my own. Never anything on that scale of difficulty or proportion, but I loved seeing your presentations and imagining the tastes, course after course. Chris just passed behind me as I was looking at the beef, and as I scrolled down, he said, "Whoa!!! Go back to that roast!" Just wonderful, and Happy Birthday.
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There were no whole collards when I shopped for produce yesterday---I settled for two of those crinkly bags of "cut" ones. They are fresh and dark green, and will cook up just like we like them. I'll sit with a BIG bowl in my lap, perhaps with a TIVO'ed Top Chef to watch and dissect and grumble to. I will take each long shred, tear out the biggest of the center stem chunks, leave the smaller, tenderer ones for contrast and heft, and then wash the whole pan through several clear, cold washings, lifting them out onto a big tray as they emerge dripping from the water. Then they'll go into the biggest, heaviest pot, with just the water that clings to them, along with some salt, a few sprinkles of sugar, a big meat-clinging ham bone from the freezer, and lid on, they will cook gently for a LONG time, the old Mammaw way. It's a cold, drizzly day, and the scent of cooking greens and crusty cornbread will fill the house with the scent-memories of a lifetime. Perhaps a little cool bowl of baby red potato salad alongside, with some crisp crescents of cold sweet onion, and a few hearty shakes of the just-ready pepper sauce with the little wasptails. It's been brewing in the sunshine in the upstairs kitchen window, with the reds and yellows of the peppers reflecting the light all over the walls. Chris will come smiling down the stairs, with a brisk breeze of the outdoor cold and damp, will change into his warm sweats, have a sip of something warming, and we'll sit down to a meal which has warmed and comforted and filled generations with the homey, homely ordinariness of a sublime comfort food. He'll pick up the peppersauce bottle, sprinkle a few little glugs into his bowl, taste, and give it a couple more drops. A big bite of the wedge-end of the buttery cornbread, a bit of cool, mustardy potato, and the circle is complete---Greens and Cornbread. If the whole world could catch on to this---we'd all be better off. I've always said if I ever wrote a book about the South, it would be called "Blues and Greens." One feeds and enhances the other, in a never-ending cycle, repeated every day. And each is better for the kinship.
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Beautiful and fascinating---one of the glories of Nature. Thank you for sharing. I just wonder how many disposable shovels they had to haul up that lava field and sacrifice to the cooking of one little hen. That lunch must have been more costly than five hours at FL. Wow. What wouldn't we give for a Kitchen View of THAT one.
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All the scrumptious dinners, and the Asian dinners on the last few pages would make glad the hearts of anyone wok-proud or skillet-skilled. All the pictures are stunning, especially Chufi's transparent rainbows formed into rolls. These pancakes are just amazing, and I hope you're posting the recipe. Perhaps we can retire DIVE for a time in favor of LOLL.
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I wondered when someone was going to discuss beekeeping and honey. I printed the piece out for DS#2, who kept beehives for years down South. He'll enjoy reading this tonight, and we'll discuss it tomorrow. At least HE will, as I listen and comment a bit; most of my BEE discussion consists of nodding wisely and varying the timbre of the "Ummm" to "Hmmm" occasionally. He knows MORE about bees and their magical lifestyles than any book I've ever read, and loves to get together with fellow bee-folks for sharing tips, learning news, and enjoying talking to someone who understands the subject. We're installing a couple of hives in the back garden this Spring---bees seem to flourish in this Indiana weather, judging by the exhibits and wonderful honey at the County and State Fairs every year. That should help with the convoluted- cucumber problem---the Burpless trellises, usually a riot of long, green, tender cukes, had about one-third curly, one-ended ones this year. Though still tasty, they were for slicing only, and not pretty in the jar. Thanks for such a well-researched, interesting piece. You've given me material for a REAL comment or two tomorrow, between the Umms. And a pan of cathead biscuits will go into the oven in a couple of hours---the potroast is meltingly tender and fragrant, and all it needs is a good ole buttered biscuit and honey to complete a whole "comfort" meal this cold night.
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Thanks for the Chexmix, Jess, and for the Dill link, Maggie. I hope you're better soon---even medicated, you're a great read. Ol' Jerr Lee's travelin' in Good Company. Or High Cotton. Whichever.
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And WELCOME nola2chi! That was a lovely reminiscence, lovely post.
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Every pantry of my childhood held several tall red cans of salmon, with a silvery, leaping fish portrayed in a little oval on the label. Salmon in the tall can was cheaper than the squat cans of Starkist tuna, and you could stretch one can to feed a family of four---especially if one of the members was ME, who hated the stuff. I still can't abide eating it, but have turned out countless little paving-stones over the years, starting with about ten crushed Premium crackers, and the clunky cylinder of salmon laid out on a white plate, so as to dissect it from all those pesky little bones (especially the crunchy round ones---they had a fossily look to them, like something in a line-drawing in my science book). And even after I caught on to the "don't cook fish too long" trick, I marveled at the soft, mushy pinkfleshed fish, and wondered HOW LONG it took to cook those bones to that crumbly, edible stage. My Grandfather would walk up beside Mammaw as she "picked over" the fish for cooking, and pick up every little round cylinder, crunching it between his back teeth with evident enjoyment. The silver skin had a strong fishy tang to it, and it was stripped away, leaving just the soft pinkness of the fish itself, which was crumbled into a bowl with a little minced onion, the cracker crumbs, and an egg, as well as the secret--a teaspoon or so of Blue Plate mayonnaise, which lifted the everyday dish from the level of ordinary cooks' possiblilties to a special flavor only known at OUR table. Tablespoons of the mixture were dropped gently into melted Crisco or oil in the big black skillet; the back of the egg-turner was used to smash the patties a little flatter, and after a good crusting on the bottom, they were flipped to brown golden on the other side. Ours didn't seem to have any soft center---they looked more like crispy little pancakes with chunky bits of fish and little white or golden shards of fragrant onion. Tartar sauce was the favored accompaniment, made up cool and tart while the patties were frying---a spoon or so of finely chopped home-canned dill pickle and an equal amount of sweet onion, cut about the size of rice---all stirred into perhaps a half-cup of cold mayo with a dribble of the salty, dilly juice from the picklejar. I liked the sauce very much, and still follow that exact recipe today, for accompanying all fried seafoods or fish of any sort. We do not, however, subscribe to Aunt G's recipe, which calls for a dash of cream of tartar, just because that's what it is. I don't make the patties too often any more---short cans of the candypink "fancy" salmon stand in my own pantry, for Caro's favorite salad, made up like tuna, but with the tartar sauce stirred into the right-out-of-the-can fish, for a nice cool dinner to take to work, or for Summer lunches. Chris likes little bites of it on crackers as a nibble while dinner is cooking. Chris' children remember their maternal Grandmother as making the salmon patties almost every time they visited her house---her other mainstay was fried chicken tenders, and both dishes are still favorites of them all. She was a lovely woman, slender and spare of aspect and word, but very kind to me, in my role of outsider joining her family. Her soft voice echoed her kindness and generosity of Spirit, and I remember her fondly. Almost all the women who made those salmon patties spoke in the same soft, gentle tones, and I think perhaps the secret of the flavor and the charm lay in the pronunciation common to all: "Would Y'all want some sal-mon paddehs for supper?"
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What else is done to the "cake" to make it breakable? Cooking of vermicelli, even to al dente, still renders it pliable and slippery. Was it fried, perhaps? rachel Visions of those slithery strands, escaping the fork and writhing back into the viscous honeyed oil. UGH---even as I posted, you HAD to bring up Chexbres again, didn't you? Brainburn. P'too, P'too.
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I turned on the oven as I straightened the kitchen after supper, and slid one of the red Silpats onto the smallest air-bake cookie sheet. During the next commercial in this evening's "Enterprise" marathon, Chris took out the last frozen roll of the dozen or so of Chocolate Chip/Toasted Pecan cookies he made for Christmas gifts, and sliced off six. He slid them in the oven, watched a few more moments of interplanetary rescue/battle/negotiation, and put them out on a rack to cool just enough to handle safely, and we bit into them while the chocolate chunks were still melty and the pecans crisp and toasty. He had a frozen mug of milk and I finished my glass of iced tea with my half cookie. Lovely way to serve them---all the labor and cleanup done long ago, and just the baking and enjoying left to do.
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Armchair observer, here---I have not much frame of reference since I have not had the travel or vast dining experience and knowledge evinced by so many contributors to this thread, and I am just enjoying the repartee. I'm just wondering about the title---was it purposefully composed to express the content, or is there some esoteric background which provided the words? So many of the titles of these pieces are cleverly put out there, to be "caught" or not---The Frying of Latke 49 comes to mind---that one was so "in" it could have come through a wormhole. Pray continue.
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Will you still need me, will you still feed me
racheld replied to a topic in Food Traditions & Culture
and what brave soul among us will lift the cast iron skillet to make our communal true southern fried chicken? ← I WILL!!! But Y'all better hurry up, while I can still lift this five-pounder!! -
As a former caterer and veteran of hundreds of midnight packup-and-carry-home of countless boxes, bags, bowls, etc., I'm fascinated that from the STREET they would pick up all these odd lots of spillable stuff and get it home and back the next time. Do they bag up foods, stack up bowls, and load a car, cart, cycle? The logistics of this thing is just amazing. Everything looks like the most delicious, interesting, gotta-have-some-NOW food. But I'm just speaking from my own caretaking with all the food I've sold and served over the years---hot food is easy to maintain with a heat source, but where do they WASH all the greens, cucumbers, salad items that go onto the sandwiches and wraps? Thanks for the wonderful tour. I used to have a little almost-mantra back in the early seventies: Someday, that will be where we'll want to go on a vacation. I'm so glad you've shown us your life there---it's much like I hoped.
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Chinmi, INDEED! I'm learning a lot here, Y'all.
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Our own member bleudavergne's Lucy's Kitchen Notebook has been nominated by the Well Fed Network for Blog of the Year in two categories: City and Writing. Those of us who follow her writings daily can attest to the beautiful, interesting, informative stuff that she so effortlessly puts onto the page, with some of the most ethereal and captivating photography anywhere. She's in a Top-Five runoff, and the deadline for voting is Tuesday, January 9. You can go to any of her posts and click on the Lucy's Kitchen Notebook topic at the bottom; the January 5th entry A Bowl of Scorpions tells about the nominations, and will link to the ballot site. If anyone will make a direct link to her blog, please do so---I'm still learning how to navigate all the sites. We're very fortunate to have Lucy as an eGullet member, and her gifts are outstanding. The welcome into her home is gracious and charming, and accompanying her on her daily travels through Lyon is a wonderful experience. If you've never read her blog, you're in for a lovely treat---I look forward to her insightful and beautiful prose and photographs every day. There's a consideration for the food, the places, the people; a studied contemplation of the day, the light and the flavors encompasses the curve of a lemon, the green of an olive, with weight given to their respective attributes. Nothing is wasted here, no food, no moment, no slice of light across the tablecloth, and the full enjoyment of every sense is fulfilled through the words and pictures. This is a one-of-a-kind work in progress, and it's too good to miss.
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There's a book club a-startin' in this topic, and everyone's going to re-read The Art of Eating, so maybe one of us will run across your quote soon. And please join in, if you have or haven't read it.
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I enjoyed 'em---all of 'em. Perhaps it was my small-town upbringing that kept me from reading in all of the nuances and side-plots; maybe I was just concentrating on the great luxuries and sumptuous delicacies---the foie gras equally matched by the midnight cornflakes, the salt of lipsweat flavoring the first bite of that unexpectedly lavish lunch after that long hike, the running-board picnic of lifting the weight of crusty-warm peach pie to young, eager lips. I generally ignored all the intimated affairs and got so tired of seeing the word "Chexbres" I had to slough it off like a pesky mantra in order to go to sleep. I had no comparison to the jazzy lifestyle, the Evening-in-Paris, smokewhiff wardrobe for dinners and dances, the girls' school crushes and spite. The book was a grand revelation, akin to opening the sepia side of Dorothy's door onto a colorful realm of nightlife and restaurants and the cooking of marvelous dishes and dining in style. One vignette has stayed with me, above the descriptive distaste for the visiting girlfriend with her languorous, lazy hand outstretched for endless cigarettes, beyond the several meager kitchens and the travel and ocean's crisscross: The morning's fresh peach, which by evening's last light was "bruised and voluptuously dying." It's like Kriss Kristofferson's writing of Sunday Morning Sidewalk---I don't care if he'd retired on the spot and never hit another lick, and no matter what else he contributed, just that was enough. Love her or hate her, she had a Voice to be reckoned with, and I'm ready to delve in with the crowd. If I can find where in the pee-diddle I put that book.
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I can only say WOW! What an accomplishment!! And will there be recipes? Please? Welcome to eGullet---you're off to a flying start.
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OUCH!! That's gonna go into my painful memory bank, along with another helpful little person who carefully slid his grilled cheese sandwich into the videotape slot of the console. It loaded in perfectly, I gather, but removal was a mess. Or the other HLP who wanted to see what spaghetti sauce would sound like if you sucked it into the vacuum hose. On reflection, I do believe you got off lightly. Sympathy all the same.
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Official First DIVE of 2007, tied by a luscious lounge atop Bryan's creme caramel. WELL DONE, All.