racheld
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Posts posted by racheld
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Through a sweet little newspaperish magazine available in grocery stores, quick-marts and fillin' stations. Ours was called "Tradewinds" and spanned several states, I think; you could find lily bulbs, hound pups, parts for your '58 Fairlane, recipes, and nice people to chat with or meet.
Five of us "girls" who went out together on occasion dared each other to answer one, and he was the one I picked. I still get chills at the "maybe not" of the whole thing, but he says it would have happened somehow. He subscribes to the theory that he'd have stopped to fix my flat tire, or some such happenstance.
I'm just glad it happened.
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Wonderful warm delve into sunshine and scenery and greenery and food---just exactly what a Hawaii blog should be. And family and friends and home just added that extra touch.
Thanks for inviting us along---it's been glorious.
rachel
PS---that's just how Chris and I met.
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Hey, BigHoss!! We came up I-65 from the coast yesterday, and took the Murphreesboro exit. We pulled into KFC, checked our little atlas, and headed east on that road, hitting Alt. 31 and going north. Chris said he bet it was on the "Main Drag" and there it was, on the left.
The hours thing somehow got lost in your post, and it was several months ago, so being that close, we took a chance on your being there on New Year's Eve, with big crowds and all. Empty lot, quiet sunny Sunday afternoon.
No pulled pork, slaw-on, for me
and Chris got such a rib-crave as we drove through that beautiful countryside, he stopped at Logan's, but THAT lot was full-to-bursting, and we had miles to go before we slept---700 total yesterday.We DID, however, get some nice pictures of your sign and your building---the Georgia O'Keeffe touch in the flowerbeds is quite apropos.
Someone in a purplish van was leaving as we stopped---hopeful, hungry customers, we supposed, and we settled for Cracker Barrel, several more exits up past Nashville.
There will be a lot more trips just to Murphreesboro, so (Ahnold voice), "We'll be BAAUKKK" in the Spring, with kids and Grands in tow. We'll have the windows down as we approach, noses lifted for the first scent of that pit turning out the glistening, tender, delicious meat.
edited to apostrophe Miss Georgia
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More Globe-Trek!!! This is lovely---I'm looking forward to this week of new tastes and adventures.
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Oh, Suzi, !! What a bright beginning to a New Year!! We just got home from five days on the road, and this is just a perfect homecoming.
All the scenery and the places you go---what a lively, lovely life you lead. All the produce and exotic plants, plus living within the sound of the surf. That's the thing I really miss about living on the coast---we'd look at each other after supper, grab a towel and some water, and head for the beach, to just sit and watch and listen. We'd linger WAY into the early morning, with no companions save the waves and convivial crab life and the occasional bandana/safari shorts metal-detecting man, both scooping the night away, looking for treasure.
One thing that really struck a note---the calabash cousins. I consider a lot of my old friends from childhood to be "dipper kin" because of the back-porch buckets of cold clear well water brought from the flowing well in the center of town, even though everyone had a perfectly good faucet in the kitchen. We'd run up on the porch out of breath, scoop up that heavenly silvery cool water, pass the shiny dipper til every thirst was sated, and off we'd go, Mammaw's oldest towels safety pinned into Superman or Batman capes, or on some laughing pursuit known only to ourselves.
And it's lovely to see your whole family participating--taking the girls to your meeting was a nice note, with the warm atmosphere of the coffeehouse---beats folding chairs around a big table, stale coffee burbling in the 30-cup, everytime. I'm SO glad I got home before you had to sign off---it's been a fascinating read, and your photos are spectacular.
Thanks for the invitation to share your busy, interesting life.
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Over on the Dinner Thread, Ann T has a GORGEOUS pair of golden-brown beauties all laid out like a Christmas card---Post #18374.
I told her you'd be PROUD, Maggie.
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Thank you for this all-year gift you keep renewing for us. The cookies on the red-decorated tree are just beautiful---Miss Martha would be proud.
And a Happy Holiday to Y'all so far away!!![Moderator note: The original Dutch Cooking topic became too large for our servers to handle efficiently, so we've divided it up; the following part of this discussion is here: Dutch Cooking (2007-)]
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And a Happy Christmas morning to Y'all!!! My whole household is still sleeping (save for KittyDear, who has been up to the VERY first mischief in all her long life---I found a book almost shredded of its wrapping paper beneath the tree), and I came over HERE where it's bright and WARM.
I LOVE your Christmas Eve dinner---gathered close for a dip into the communal bowl. That's a dining experience long in every culture, and it's lovely to see the shared laughter and closeness as you taste the rich warmth of the fondue.
We did our own dipping via a big ladle, into the huge bowl of long-cooked pinto beans, ladling it over Calrose and topping it with our own choices of finely chopped onion, hot sauce, Lea & Perrins, soy sauce, sriracha, or sambal. We took a beans and cornbread meal and made it a celebration, for many tastes.
Thank you for taking all the time during this holiday---holiday blogs are HARD!!!
And go get me a Tuffy hug.
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And, back in my neighborhood, reindeer on the lawn outside my condo complex
I'm so glad it's YOU!!! We haven't had any Winter yet, so it's not sun-dep, but the thought of all those flowers and mountains and the GREEN of it---what a treat!!!
Perhaps it's the farawayness of Hawaii, or something to do with the lack of snow, but those reindeer on the lawn are having a TERRIBLE time trying to pull that sleigh backward through the grass---no wonder they're straining every muscle.
Is that just a snowless Christmas thing?
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I will be having some tourtiere tommorow. We always topped our with a relish made out of pickled green tomatoes.
Got those, too---sweet or salty/sour?
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Goodness, Penelope, what a terrific first post!!! And then I see you've been here for four years, so PLEASE don't hesitate before chiming in again.
And probably our record: A much-belated Welcome!!
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If you'd posted that meal at Thanksgiving, you'd have ALREADY been carrying your official G.R.I.T.S. membership card. What a feast, and authentic down to the pork sausage---lots of my family and neighbors added a good chunk of homemade sagey-sausage to dressing.
So---as the assumed conveyor of the G.R.I.T.S. membership---I hereby declare that you are retroactively named a Guy Raised In The South, with all the attending honors, privileges and appurtenances pertaining thereto. You're the second NY member, I think, with Daniel gaining his status with all those collard dishes, and his brave attack of the crab boil and a forty-pounds-of-pork dinner.
Y'all please pass the gravy---and no mint in my tea, either.
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We have a three-days-in-a-row gatherings, with our usual bean supper on Christmas Eve. It's been going on for about thirty years now, wherever we've lived, beginning in our Southern years when there would be twenty or thirty at table, with a huge pot of pintos with a whole ham cooked in. The melty-pink ham was taken out, sort of mushed into bite-sized pieces and put back into the pot, then served in bowls over rice or crumbled cornbread.
Big pans of crusty cornbread, a huge cut-glass bowl of blue slaw with shredded green peppers, carrot and celery seeds in a sweetish Deep-South dressing; a dish of confetti corn salad, with minced onion, pimiento, slightly-sweet vinaigrette with mustard seeds; beet pickles; homemade saltwater dills, and a bowl of chilled sweet onion wedges, passed with a little plate and sharp knife for those who prefer their crisp onion atop the beans.
Last year we had one guest who found her place before we were seated, and I noticed that she stood and chopped a large quantity of onion onto her plate so she could dive right in once the beans were in the bowls.
Christmas Dinner will be just us three, I think, as we share DS#2 and DDIL with her parents on all holidays. We all live within forty miles, and there's really no reason to alternate. They go there for a noon dinner, then to us for the candlelight, after-six meal. This year, they are also visiting her Grandmother, so I don't know if they will be joining us for the usual turkey and dressing, gravy, sauteed Brussels sprouts, smothered squash and onions, cranberry spooned straight from the can into a bowl, hearts of palm/avocado/grape tomato salad, Watergate salad, and ambrosia.
Day-after-Christmas Granddaughter #1 will be here for a little family celebration before we drive her home to Georgia. We'll set the table with the bright red cloth embroidered in white cross-stitch Christmas ornaments, and the heavy poinsettia plates with matching goblets. We'll have some of her favorites: Chris' grill-baked ham, sliced rosy and shining; homemade mac and cheese, made with the cute little orecchiette ears, with a mixture of colby, jack, and queso. A plain asparagus casserole for the adults, with the bechamel made with old- fashioned hoop cheese and the liquor from the tall cans of Green Giant spears, with skillet-sizzled buttery cracker crumbs atop; just-baked rolls, and a hearts of romaine, thin red onion, and mandarins salad, with a tart Dijon vinaigrette---Our Girl has had a sour-tooth all her life, and loves anything mustardy or vinegary; she also has a particular fondness for the sharpest Altoids and the little Listerine sheets-in-a-box---black or green olives have been her passion since she was a baby; her usual portion was ten of each, which she ate daintily off each fingertip.
We have bags made up this year---our salute to the usual gold-and-silver crackers on the plate---little race-cars, yo-yos, magic tricks, crayons and jokes and puzzles, with silly hats the order of the day. After-Christmas-dinner is the most fun of all, I think, with all the hard work past, and the relaxing, laughing evening with good food and fun to enjoy.
Then, early Wednesday, we'll head toward Georgia, to see all the other children save the one who still lives in Mississippi---he and his family will be coming here in January while the farming is "laid by" and there's time to travel.
Thursday night, we anticipate taking all the Georgia three, their spouses and sweethearts, the two granddaughters, our son visiting from San Francisco and his fiancee and her mother, just arrived from Brazil for a visit, and whom we will be meeting for the first time, out to dinner. Then on to the Alabama coast, for a whirlwind visit with Chris' family.
I have no idea what the meals will be there, as I'm always the cook when I'm there, carrying great frozen casseroles and desserts and smoked turkeys and hams those seven hundred miles, but not this year---I'll join all the sit-in-the-den crowd, laughing and talking and waiting for the dinner bell. It's never happened before, but I'm gonna try it, just this once. We ARE, however, taking several pound cakes, lots of breakfast muffins, a couple of dozen croissants, and a smoked turkey breast---that should take care of breakfast and maybe a lunch or two. Dinner can be a la Church's---I ain't cookin'.
Says rachel, whose resolve is long-distance and probably crumbly.
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This is a don't-miss for me---an articulate, informed, interesting host, with just enough geniality to leave the cloy-sweet and bubbly to dessert and champagne.
My favorite of all the new food shows, and I hope Indy is on the list soon---I tried to do justice to Shapiro's at Thanksgiving, but a picture just doesn't convey that rich redolence of warm, rosy corned beef---and the rye to die.
My house has two guest rooms and good cooking for between samplings of all the local fare.
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RP, you're this month's winner!!!
Now, if you'd found a little cut-glass pickle-dish or two, well---we'd be talkin' Thrifter Emeritus, here.
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What a lovely taste of far-away, especially for a Hot-Christmas child who also spent swaying, knee-knock hours in Woolworth's, gazing longingly at the glitter-stars of unattainable glory. Sprigs of pine, pressed a little higher than the paper, and the green not-quite-hitting the marks, were the usual settle-for for parents, Grands, teacher, etc.
I've always loved the IDEA of the late-night church-going, the return from Mass to a festive table, the candle-lit crunch through the midnight snow---try conjuring any of THAT from a sixty-degree, adamantly-green, all-Baptist small town, whose sidewalks were barely extant in the daytime, and whose parental insistence on just-dark bedtime on Christmas Eve precluded anything but the most brief of suppers. Midnight awakenings, perhaps, but only for breath-held listenings and squintings for that first chink of releasing daylight.
And I love the recipe, the reasons, the history---I've been meaning to make one for months, since I read Lucy's how-to and commentary, and have also been murmuring the name from time to time, tasting the savory syllables on my lips in lieu of the actual WORK of the thing. I have the squatty pan, the recipe, the several alternatives for the pastry.
This short season is already reserved for almost every moment, with guests, meals, celebrations, more guests, a long whirlwind trip for four-generation visits down South. Iron-cold January will be the season to visit the local mercado for lard, to sift the flour, measure the salt, and get my chilly fingers into that malleable mass. Pickled beets, I have. Showboat beans, to lace with onion, brown sugar, bacon. Chowchow, as much a staple as coffee and salt. And some snowfly night, Chris will come home to a Maggie-meal, I promise---more to myself than to you, I think.
Your words were an unexpected treat this morning. Thank you for the early gift.
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This sounds simply lovely, and I echo the add-liquid-to-melt.
If only we didn't have plans for roasting these two pounds of lovely fat shiny fellows tonight!!
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Potatoes frying, the scent of crisping onion, the sweat-flying, all-elbows jostle of a shared kitchen, and four black skillets---you had it ALL.
I can smell the aroma from here. Does the Beard House still have electric stoves? I remember Mr. B. had an aversion to the smell of gas burners.
And a pox on willy-nilly condiment grabbers; they should all be drowned in Cool-Whip.
rachel
eyes brimming, reflecting the color of beer
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Thank you, thank you for this glimpse of other places, other climes, other cuisines that I'll never sample save through the eyes and tastebuds of others.
Your descriptions and pictures have been wonderful, and this has been an especially delightful blog-week. Please keep posting---there's a whole world of flavor you haven't covered yet.
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Just beautiful, Shaya---it was not like just reading words, but remembering all the aromas and motions and emotions of the cooking process.
I'm so glad I discovered it just as I was about to go to sleep. Thank you.
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Just one question out to the wide world of cocktail parties: Re: The thirteen items vs. the four:
The winning team had a lot of items, a ton of food, and a constantly-replenished table, ready and bountiful whenever the next guests walked by. Those people were happily loading up their plates with all the goodies, with no delay and no stingy portions.
Losing group had wan, empty trays, and not many of them at that, sitting forlornly whilst people lined up, forks in hand and anticipatory smiles on faces, waiting for the next tray to come from the kitchen truck. I had heard Elia mutter to herself that she wanted to just stay in the kitchen and stay on top of things, cooking slowly and doing it just right.
I distinctly heard her say, "Two hundred. Two hours. Eight hundred canapes. It's perfect."
I have had a lifetime of catering parties, weddings, showers, cocktails, and every kind of party you can imagine, and I would have just DIED had a table of mine fallen into such an unwelcoming shambles. Please tell me she didn't mean ONE bite per person PER half hour.
No matter WHAT they were serving---ortolan stuffed with foie gras, each piece perched in a Faberge egg---NOTHING is good enough to excuse such a skimpy, stingy table.
My cocktail party experience has been mostly small-town, and perhaps the red-carpet crowd is different from most folks, but I would NEVER have gotten over making that terrible an impression on guests. No matter WHAT they were waiting FOR, they had to wait, over and over, and that's what they will remember.
And whoever was responsible for the wait should be the one lugging the knifepack home.
Actually, I'm pretty sure he said he was "soignee." In this case, refined and elegant.My gf thought this was hysterical, like Marcel was trying to be all high-end.
Personally, I've heard this term used many times over, especially related to cooking -- it almost seemed like more of an inside joke than Marcel trying to be highbrow.
"Soignée" is a little more intensive than refined/elegant. A better translation (IMPO) is "impeccable, verging on perfection".
Still, It is chuckle ammunition!
~C
And you just KNOW he writes it SWANN-YAY everytime he mentions it in his diary.
And chews the syllables delicately as he drifts off to sleep.
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By the way - the one thing you didn't mention you owned was a bush hog
. RobynGuilty. At least we DID for years, and I imagine (it took YEARS not to say "expect"---still DO when I'm reverse-thinking someone bent on mind-topping the redneck---sweet drawl and a metaphorical hanky-drop gets 'em every time) that the boys still have one kicking around somewhere on the place. Can't mow first mowing (of the lawn) without one, some years, and they are just the thing for getting that pesky brush out of the way to get to the blackberry brambles, which are little Death Engines themselves.
We also had countless cotton-trailers, combines, beehives, egg-barns (I can still see my Dear Mother-in-Law's fridge now, laden with Mason jars glinting golden in the light---when you have eggs to spare and it's Angel-Food cake baking---the yolks mount up by the hundreds. Chess pie, egg custard, coconut pie and pudding, and lemon icebox pie are where orphaned yolks go to live), coon dogs, a whole mess of Beagles, eighty-four Mallards raised on the little pump-pond, Mr. Preston's rice ditches to swim in (the unholy red which Son #1's platinum hair turned one summer from the minerals in the water, and my resulting efforts with Clairol Ash Blonde shades to neutralize the glare, are family legend), and someone home to Sunday Dinner EVERY Sunday.
Dinner went into the oven just before Sunday School, with salads made the night before resting in the fridge. We walked in, put the ice in the tea glasses, and sat down to a nicely-set table.
I'm lightheaded from a viciously-quick onset of a cold, and so am rambling---as a dear elderly friend whose correspondence to her children I transcribed would say:
Take all mistake for Love.
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I cook Southern, but have been known to throw foie gras and caviar onto a table with crawfish, catfish, mallard, mountain oysters, rooster fries, buffalo and wild hog.
The ladylike rosy shade of my own nape was earned honestly, bending over the beanrows, peavines, cornstalks and squash hills in that extremely HOT Delta sun.
I own white gloves, lacy hankies, opera glasses, a well-sharpened hoe, a TALL ladder and a Troy-Bilt. A lifetime of food raising, hoeing, picking, canning, pickling, freezing and preserving has given me a deep appreciation for all methods of hunting and gathering. Deer, duck, crappie, barbecue and gumbo appear as often on our table as do prime rib, hamburgers or mapo tofu.
I cook whatever we feel like at the moment, whatever is freshest from the garden or the Farmers' Market, or whatever was just brought back from a trip South.
Food and cooking and the cultivation of both have been a greater part of the
Southern perspective for time beyond memory, and the dedication and methods from the old ways have hung on longer in the South, it seems.
Redneck is as redneck does, I reckon. I just wish I didn't have to spend so much time dispelling the notion that the lowest IQ in the room belongs to the person with the Southern accent.
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Good Morning Donbert!!!
I'm the only un-young, un-hip member to check in so far, but I'm looking forward to this busy, bustly week. Breath of fresh NY air to our soft-moving days, and we're anticipating some shaker-stirrer action.
I have at least one little plate of your dishes, and the mural on your kitchen tile is SO familiar---a painting in our den would fit in right there on the left end.
PS What's rising under the sheet pan?
That Sweet Enemy
in The Daily Gullet
Posted
Yes.