racheld
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Posts posted by racheld
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Gorgeous!! I've always wondered why some artistic couple didn't sport a Gug cake for their wedding reception.
Graceful and tasteful and SMOOOOTH.
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Oh, Annie!!! I heart you BIGTIME!!!
I followed the "confessions" link to the unfortunate cakes, and just couldn't stop laughing. I hope Chris' computer chair dries before morning.
rachel
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We have this. Chris loves it; he uses it to make sandwiches and burgers, even when the mayo jar is full to the brim. If he doesn't see it in the utensil drawer immediately, he grabs one of my wood-handled spreading spatulas and mookeys up the handle past bearing.
So when it's time to spread mayo, and he wants to spread his own, I lay it out, along with the condiments and sandwich makings. Thus it gets used, ad infinitum.
So I CAN'T throw it out.
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Mine still is. Sometimes I wisht I was There, but not in Summertime.
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AWWWWW, Brooks.
You just made my cloudy, too-cold-and-wet for the parade this morning, I-HOPE-it-doesn't-rain-out-the-fireworks day!!
I knew, when I reached for the little light blanket to throw over my feet as we watched TV last night, that sump'n just wasn't RIGHT about doing that the night before the Fourth of July.
And so, paradeless and chilly and finishing the percolator all by myself, I took nostalgic comfort in scanning back over threads with Summery parties and shady lawns and pretty food. And this was one of the most memorable in all the history of eG.
I hope that graceful old house is all right---ladies of a certain age need a little cosmetic help on occasion, and that one was a beaut.
Thanks for the update, and I hope your upcoming entertainments are as wonderful as this one was. And I'd STILL like to know how you got that pate' with aspic and all, out of the pan and onto that decorated platter, without smicking up the sides or getting fingerprints into the glaze.
ETA: I meant to add: I hope you'll soon part with WHERE and WHAT in the Delta---my old homeplace is still there, right near Memphis, and I hope whatever you're doing will be wonderful and successful and BRIGHT for you in every sense of the word.
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Thanksgiving Day, I burnt the bread pudding.
SMARRRRT Girl!!! You did that on purpose, of course. Good save.
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Is there any possibility that you've had another party in recent memory? I just keep going back to this one from time to time, great hankerings for a lawn tea of my own urging me to at least get out there and snip some of the wild limbs from the arbor. That would be a start.
I just loved this party, and it brought back some lovely memories.
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I think there's a jar in my coffee/tea cabinet somewhere. Chris is forever mentioning some taste-memory from his childhood---what Pammaw drank or what his Dad used as a never-fail health remedy for about six months at a time.
There's also Ovaltine and all sorts of powdered somethings. What I'd REALLY like to find is a coffee syrup like that used to make the regular pots at our local Dinner Theater. It's heavenly coffee, and I let them fill my cup every time they make the circuit during the performances.
The waiters say that they just measure in the syrup and let the pot drip as usual. It's addictive.
Anybody know what that is? We have several food service businesses as our clients, but they don't recognize the item.
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Miss Millie's Squash Casserole
(Which was MY squash casserole, but by the time my Mother made it twice, it, like all dishes she liked, was HERS)
Serves eight to ten, depending on how many more dishes there are on the table
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Slice about ten nice-sized crooknecks or zucchini. Saute a chopped onion in a
little oil, then throw in the squash and a minced clove of garlic, with a good dash of salt and pepper. Stir now and then, til it's fairly tender. I like to toss in a chopped, roasted red pepper right at the end, just for the pretty of it. Or just a little pimiento.
Smash a sleeve of Ritz crackers; melt a stick of butter in a small heavy skillet; stir in the crumbs, and stir with a flat wooden paddle as they brown to a nice nutty color. The scent will tell you when they're ready.
While the squash is sizzling, make two cups of medium bechamel---every Southern cook knows it as "white sauce," in three textures: thick, medium, and thin, the only difference being the amount of milk used. While it's still very hot, stir in a cup or two of grated cheese, any kind, especially a sharp or medium cheddar, and a couple of spoon-clops of mayo right out of the jar, along with a small squirt of French's, right out of the yellow squeezie, and about 1/2 tsp. salt.
Butter a 2-quart flat Corning Ware. Stir white sauce into squash, gently so as not to break them up. Cover the top with the buttery crumbs and bake at 350 for 20 minutes, til the proverbial.
If you're making it the night before, Saran the dish sans crumbs and refrigerate; about 30 minutes before serving, microwave, still wrapped, til steam forms on the wrap and dish feels fairly hot. Unwrap, crumb, put into oven---same temp and time.
This is Church Supper fare, or Feed-the-Preacher fare, or even send-to-your-husband's-office-potluck fare. Not that husbands need anyone else to do their cooking for them.
I just love technical cooking terms, like spoon-clops!
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Your Asparagus Dinners (I always think of them as capitalized, to agree with their importance) are things of inestimable beauty and glorious fulfillment. I can think of no better dish to set before King, friend, anyone---all that rich bounty, warm and soft, just a wonderful PILLOW of a meal.
The soft whiteness of taking up those delicate wands in your fingers and lifting them in voluptuous mouthfuls, the cushiony translucence of just-right golden egg yolk, the thin, rosy leaves of rich ham, the steaming little baby potatoes, with the runnels melty-warm butter laved over all.
Perhaps a lemony vinaigrette on tiny Spring lettuces, with a scattering of paper-thin sweet onion, supremed orange segments, and crisp, nutty sunflower seeds or pistachios.
And there's no more exquisitely-elegant dessert than the one you serve in the clear trifle bowl: The layers of custard, poached pears, advocaat and whirls of whipped cream.
Or perhaps your own perfectly-poached rosy quinces with a slice of your incomparable butter-cake---the first recipe from the Dutch Cooking thread.
And that asparagus quiche last month was a Thing of Beauty and a Joy Forever.
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That was FUN looking at that again!!
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I can't fathom tuning in to catch RomuLisa
I'm glad i wasn't the only one with that connection---I felt bad that I'd said something snarky, and it was too late to edit.
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HI,
I'd slip a curved sheet of flexible plastic into the drawer slot. A flexible chopping mat or silpat sheet or small oven liner should work. If it will curve above the edge of the knife, then you can slip in something a little stiffer.
Good luck,
Tim
Exactly---works every time. And now KNIVES are at stake.
This has been our mainstay forever, even in THE DRAWER---we all have one, in kitchen or pantry or bathroom, in which resides a collection of unrelated, unwieldy stuff to stock a scavenger hunt.
Even a manila file folder or flat binder will serve in a pinch.
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...bump heads with my sous, ram style, while wearing stock pots on our heads, after consuming a few too many cocktails during kitchen cleaning.
(the first 3 hits went fine, but on the fourth, my elbows buckled and the edge of the pot came down on the bridge of my nose. I have two black eyes and a very sore head this AM...)
I'm SAD, and I don't even KNOW you yet!!!
Welcome, and fade soon . . .
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We went to a family reunion last weekend, way up in the state, and it was not even our family---our houseguests stay with us for a few days on the way up and back, and have asked Chris to photograph the festivities for the last couple of years.
It's like stepping into the park pavilion at any reunion in any Southern state, despite the location's being up pert nigh to Michigan. The ladies all did themselves proud with all sorts of homemade goodies, potato salads and Summer salads and many a Corning Ware of baked beans and of Corn Souffle---that new standby that calls for an artery-clogging ingredients list of canned cream corn, cornbread mix, a cup of sour cream, a stick of butter, eggs, an addiitonal can, drained, of Mexicorn or whole kernel, and whatever little extras are usual to the cook---jalapenos or green onions or pimiento.
But one lady---Bless her Heart in the BEST way. She came in bearing a gallon jug clutched to her bosom, and indeed I'd have hugged it, too. I almost did, when I saw that it was at least a peck of cucumbers, sliced into a golden brine. I like that stuff every way it's made, so I lined up---I don't care if it's straight vinegar and salt, or a sugar-vinegar concoction, or some and all of both, with additions of most anything that will complement.
These were most likely LAST YEAR'S cucumbers, because it seemed like a LOT to make for one lunch if they were "bought" cucumbers, and they were appreciably slumpy, though not limp. They still had a lot of crisp left in them, and had been peeled so that they all had eight or ten little flat edges, like pale octagonal cogs in the jug. I could just see my Mammaw and me, sitting in the shade of her front porch, dishpans in our laps, peeling and slicing those same flat-sided little slices.
And that's a paring-knife slice, the old way; no laying the cucumber on the board for a neat, quick chef's flurry. These were sliced with the same knife that pared the cucumber so flat, cutting from side to side of a cucumber held in the other hand, as the blade slid to a perilous stop a hairsbreadth short of the vulnerable thumb. The knife was always a paring knife or the long-blade, multi-purpose beauty that serves to cut the Easter ham, the cornbread, or a sweating, chilled watermelon ready to thunk open and yield its heart.
And the pickles were wonderful. We'd all been asked to bring a serving spoon for whatever we brought to the lunch, and her odd choice was a gray plastic, bulbously-unwieldy soup ladle, which made getting into the jug a breeze, but difficult getting OUT with a scoopful of bounty without sloshing the accompanying ladle of juice---the red plastic tablecloth sported a tidy little moat, all round the container, and little fruitflies were happily spending their lifespan drowning themselves in an ecstasy of sugary brine.
I'd brought little plastic bowls to set alongside the big banana pudding I made, and so I took the greedy approach: I scooped two ladles of the delicious stuff into my bowl, all the better to share with my tablemates, of course.
They were the perfect counterpoint to all that rich, starch-is-all food.
And you don't eat them by the bite, taking dainty nibbles from the edges; you open wide and encompass that whole cool slice, getting sugary vinegary watery juices all down your chin, but the resulting mouthful of crisp and sweet and tangy is just too much to eat dainty.
Kim, I agree: It IS Summer in a mouthful. And should last all year.
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Just one, right now, an eight-foot little appletree planted in the back garden inside the foot-high half-trunk shell of the old one that came with the house. She swayed, she valiantly put out those tart little green fruits, and for three years, we watched her decline, her trunk hollowing out from the back, until the only thing holding her upright was the great mass of wild grapevine that tentacled out from the fence and supported her.
We went out one fall day and looked at what little there was left---she had perhaps four small limbs in leaf, and the entire trunk was as hollow as a reed. The guys made her a soft place to fall, with a couple easing her way as the rest clipped at the shriveling vines til she fell. We had a small moment in memory of Summer days, then all the pieces were stacked into the little woodpile of mesquite, hickory and applewood, for scenting all those Summer Suppers from the grills.
Back home on the farm down South, there were fruit trees everywhere---apples and plums and the smallest of cherries---I was known for being the one who cooked pits into the cobbler. I'm sure the Good Church Ladies of our area talked about my trashy ways and assumed that I didn't iron the damask and put dark meat in the chicken salad.
The cherries were delicious, but be warned---every juicy slumpy bit of fruit had to be mined for seeds before swallowing. You just could NOT pit those tiny things.
Then there were the peaches, mostly Elbertas, but some trees bore the most delicate "white" peaches, new to my experience. They were almost sweet enough to make a pie without sugar, and like a mouthful of peached perfume. I prefer the yellows for pies and cobblers, but the white ones for ice cream and for just eating warm out of hand, straight off the tree, having to bend forward to keep the chin-juice from hitting your shirt on the way to the grass.
I also prefer clings---I've never had a fondness for that bittery burgundy web woven round the seed---when a peach splits and the seed pops and that great interlacing of colors emerges---I cut right around that part because I can't stand that strong taste.
And if you include nut trees, the checkerboard pecan orchard planted by my two sons and their Great-Grandfather is still standing, still showering down those Stewarts every fall, despite great damage and tragic tonsures by at least five ice storms in their tenure. We have several bags in the freezer, good pie nuts, with the deep hummy butter-flavor of a heat-and-gumbo-raised pecan.
But I think my favorite of all the crops is the sand pears, gritty and tart and hard as rocks showering down to sag gently into the grass for the wasp's pleasure. They are not a good eating pear, don't peel easily, are harder to hack into bite-size pieces than a rutabaga, but when that's accomplished, that big panful of blushy off-white crispness spends a night under its weight in sugar, with all that muddling and melding going on under the tea towel, and is cooked off and canned in the morning. The jars and jars of rosy pear preserves with their thick, clear syrup---now THAT'S a worthwhile task. Only one pint left in the pantry, and it's a long time til September.
And my persimmon tree, of the golden lanterns---I've written of her already.
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And what was the name of that movie in which she made that follow-me-anywhere coffee with herbs and spices in what looked like the Eiffel tower rigged with old pantyhose? She made it so matter-of-factly and with such crisp, sure motions, that she seemed a master of her kitchen AND her life.
That contrapton looked disgusting and in need of a wash and I could just SMELL that perfect coffee aroma coming off the screen, with undertones of cinnamon and anise and mint. I think even I might have been in that gaggle of men following her around town, just for a taste of that magically delicious brew.
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I made little mini strawberry and rambutan tartlets. They were going to be strawberry and lychee, but the lychees didn't look very good and it's basically the same thing
Kate---these are just enchanting---I read the word "rambutan" in a novel many years ago, and repeated it to myself at the oddest moments, like a mantra, for ages. It stood for the exotic ne plus of all fruits. I still do not know the taste---is it similar in taste and texture to a lichee?
And what is the pastry? Are the strawberries baked in, or added after? They still look plump and shiny and perfect.
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These are all just astounding!!! All the colors and flavors, and the SHINE!!!
I just cannot tell you.
I think I'd like to crunch one of the teensy puff sandwiches right now, and I do hope that I someday get to taste a chocolate tart hushed with apricot . . .
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I'm a sucker for anything served on a teastand!!! And, of course, who ever outgrows any kind of "Krispie Treats?" Even Miss Martha made them once on her show---I think she put about four boxes of assorted cereals into a 10" square pan. She kept pressing it with her hands, trying to get all that mass into the container, and all but had to sit on it like a suitcase, just to make it all fit.
Then she cut it into NINE pieces for serving. I tried to tote up the cereal, butter, and marshmallow/sugar contained in whatever would moisten four boxes of cereal, then divide it into nine pieces---Hope it WAS for adults---they'd STILL be prying kids off the chandeliers.
The cake is, of course, perfection on a plate---kudos to you AND to DC for the recipe!!
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Oh, cathryn!!!
I'd love to have been there when your Mom passed THAT one around under the hair-dryer!!
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This is an absolute FEAST!!!
Just lovely. More, please.
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-and today I followed their suggestion to pour the milk into the metal mixing bowl, add the beaters, and put the whole thing into the freezer until ice started to form around the edges.
Yep. Ladies of the days of metal-ice-tray refrigerators knew how, all right. You took out one of your ice trays, pulled that tough little handle while the cubes CRRRRACKED their way free, and rinsed the tray in cold water to rid it of any stray ice shards, which might melt and dilute the essential balance of the ingredients. A good drying with a cup towel, and you were set.
Then, you popped two little triangles in the Pet can lid with a church key, poured the off-white stream into the tray, and inserted it back into its freezer slot to chill.
Our original recipe reads: "Chill til slush.".
Lots of the mixers of the era had glass bowls, which needed to be put into the freezer, with the beaters, at least half an hour before commencing with the pie.
Actually, our recipe just like yours was called "Lemon Bisque," and since none of us had ever called a thickened soup anything but soup, our knowledge of bisque rated the word to be exotic and daring, especially when appellated to a dessert.
And the crust was mixed (graham cracker crumbs, sugar, butter) and pressed into the pan in the interim while everything was chilling. A teensy handful of unpressed crumbs were left to scatter daringly atop the finished creation, lending an air of creativity and elan whenever it was presented for serving.
To preserve the mystique, it was also necessary to cut squares and transfer them to the serving plates, since my Mom made the entire thing in the ice-trays' counterpart, a handy aluminum pan about 8x10, which also came as a part of the new Kelvinator's trousseau.
What Exactly is This Thing You People Call Brunch?
in Food Traditions & Culture
Posted · Edited by racheld (log)
Breathes there the man with soul so dead, he never to himself hath said, "Let's go to Sunday Brunch at the Peabody!!!!"
It is and was the epitome of luxurious charm in all my youth and dating days, and is still the grand old Octogenarian mainstay of Memphis' Sunday brunchers.
It's in the Skyway, gorgeous in the daytime, and set up with enough ice sculptures and towering croquembouche creations and platters of glistening salmon roses to grace the Cunard line. The room is lovely for brunch, but I best remember it at night, when we'd all wear cocktail dresses and a teensy whimsy of a hat, dancing to the orchestra under the ceiling of stars.
You dance til they close, go upstairs for a good sleep (they get their beds from the same place as Four Seasons), then come down at noon or so for Brunch, where a crowd of magicians has transformed last night's supper-club into a silver-platter Wonderland. I say noon, because that's when they start circulating with the magnums of Champagne---some old Southern thing about not breaking out the booze while Good Folks are still in Church, I think.
And if you're ambulatory by eleven, be sure to be in the lobby for the Duck March. It's the Law.
http://www.peabodymemphis.com/dining/sunda...unch_pop_up.cfm
This is what I could find---the clickety to enlarge won't work for me, but if this doesn't tempt you, come to my house. We do GREAT brunch and Killer Bloody Marys, especially the Dirty ones.
This is kinda what ours are like at home (among other stuff, but I couldn't edit out the dinners).
http://forums.egullet.org/index.php?showtopic=112517&hl=