Dave the Cook

Summer Squash Casserole Another one from my vacation. Click on the link; there are photos. 4 Summer (yellow crookneck) Squash 4 small onions 1-1/2 c heavy cream 3 eggs 3 oz sharp cheddar, shredded 1/2 tsp tabasco 2 tsp olive oil 2/3 c fresh bread crumbs 1 oz parmesan, grated 1/2 tsp dried thyme 1/2 tsp dried rosemary salt and pepper to taste Trim the squash and then slice into 1/2 inch rounds. Cover with water and bring to a boil, then simmer until tender (about 15 minutes). Drain and shock with cold water. Meanwhile, peel and trim onions. Cut them in half, then into 1/3 in. semi-circles. Saute in olive oil until rings seperate. Combine with cold squash. Stir eggs and cream together with tabasco. Put onions and squash into a buttered casserole dish. Sprinkle with thyme, rosemary, salt and pepper. Pour egg mixture over. Bake at 275 degrees for 1 hour or until golden and puffy: While baking, combine bread crumbs, parmesan, and olive oil. Sprinkle bread crumb mixture over concoction. Then return to oven for 10 minutes at 400 degrees to brown toppings. Keywords: Vegetarian, Easy, Side ( RG1369 )

Summer Squash Casserole Another one from my vacation. Click on the link; there are photos. 4 Summer (yellow crookneck) Squash 4 small onions 1-1/2 c heavy cream 3 eggs 3 oz sharp cheddar, shredded 1/2 tsp tabasco 2 tsp olive oil 2/3 c fresh bread crumbs 1 oz parmesan, grated 1/2 tsp dried thyme 1/2 tsp dried rosemary salt and pepper to taste Trim the squash and then slice into 1/2 inch rounds. Cover with water and bring to a boil, then simmer until tender (about 15 minutes). Drain and shock with cold water. Meanwhile, peel and trim onions. Cut them in half, then into 1/3 in. semi-circles. Saute in olive oil until rings seperate. Combine with cold squash. Stir eggs and cream together with tabasco. Put onions and squash into a buttered casserole dish. Sprinkle with thyme, rosemary, salt and pepper. Pour egg mixture over. Bake at 275 degrees for 1 hour or until golden and puffy: While baking, combine bread crumbs, parmesan, and olive oil. Sprinkle bread crumb mixture over concoction. Then return to oven for 10 minutes at 400 degrees to brown toppings. Keywords: Vegetarian, Easy, Side ( RG1369 )

Crab Remoulade This was based on a shrimp remoulade made by Chef Folse. We fixed it while we were on vacation. We served it with fried green tomatoes. 1/2 c Mayo 3 T Creole mustard 1 tsp Worcestarshire 1/3 tsp Tabasco 3 T green onions, fine 2 tsp garlic, minced 4 tsp parsely, fine 1/2 tsp lemon juice 1/2 c chopped crab 4 tsp onion Mix together and voila, you have yourself a tangy remoulade. Keywords: Easy, Crab, Condiment, Dip ( RG1368 )

Crab Remoulade This was based on a shrimp remoulade made by Chef Folse. We fixed it while we were on vacation. We served it with fried green tomatoes. 1/2 c Mayo 3 T Creole mustard 1 tsp Worcestarshire 1/3 tsp Tabasco 3 T green onions, fine 2 tsp garlic, minced 4 tsp parsely, fine 1/2 tsp lemon juice 1/2 c chopped crab 4 tsp onion Mix together and voila, you have yourself a tangy remoulade. Keywords: Easy, Crab, Condiment, Dip ( RG1368 )

Fried green tomatoes taste more like squash than they do ripe tomatoes. ← Squash isn't too far off. Green tomatoes are acidic and have a granular texture that's reminiscent of apples (the sound when you cut into them is the same). I'd say that they most closely approximate tomatillos in taste and color.

Are you offering to share your hush-puppy real estate?

We're off to check out the fishing docks in Destin. It's Sunday, it's a little late in the day, and it rained all morning, but we should be able to check out the catch from the afternoon deep-sea fishing trips, and we'll peek inside Sexton's, where a huge proportion of the area's commercial and recreational fishing and shrimping catch gets processed and sold. As Brooks said, it's a Mecca.

El Diablo. ← Now I have to get cassis? Do you cocktail peeps have any idea what you've done to me? Here's an accurate approximation of my liquor cabinet, circa May 2005: Today's bar: (By the way, I spent a few minutes with the owner of the liquor store in Watercolor, a nearby planned community. Maraschino is not available in the panhandle.)

Monica asked about the crab fingers. We've been making these for as long as I can remember. On those trips when we arrive in the afternoon, we make a quick run to Goatfeathers for crab fingers. Then part of the group will hit the pool, another contingent heads for the beach, and the one or two remaining open up the house, take in the view from the balcony, and make the first beach meal: start with fresh crab fingers: This is the upper "jaw" of the blue crab claw, detached from the arm so that the meat inside the first joint stays on. These were trucked in from Louisiana, as they often are, but depending on the time of year, they might come from very local souces like Appalachicola, or from as far away as Savannah or Charleston. Prep is simple. Heat oil to 350F: (The oil we start with isn't that dirty. Caitie didn't get the picture until after we'd a few handfuls.) Roll in seasoned fine cornmeal: Drop in one or two at a time: Fry for just a couple of minutes. The crab has already been injected with steam, so all you're trying to do is crisp up the corn meal: (Erm. Do not leave paper towels next to the burner.) Skim them into a bowl lined with paper towels. They will be gone before you can get a picture of them. Cocktail sauce is the traditional accompaniment, but lemon juice, remoulade, tartar sauce or nothing are all acceptable. If you use cocktail sauce, please respect the cultural imperative to modify it in some way: add more horseradish, pepper sauce, lemon juice, black pepper. It doesn't really matter what you do, as long as you recognize that sauce straight out of the bottle must be altered. (The same goes for bottled barbecue sauces. Now that I think about this, only men seem compelled to do it. Hmm.)

While I was making vegetable stock, because Caitie wants biscuits and gravy (no sausage, of course), Caitie wrote up last night's dinner: While I processed the photos, Caitie made a cake (her first):

For breakfast, we finished off the donuts, and broke into the Peet's Major Dickason Blend that I brought from home. I tried "grilling" a glazed donut, but without a panini press or grill pan, the sugar just sort of floated away. What was left was tasty, but my dining partners weren't interested in being patient about perfecting the procedure. (Does that answer your question, Melissa?) Everyone's out at the pool now, so I'm not sure what's up for lunch, if anything. Depending on when they show back up, I might ply them with deep-fried crab fingers and thin slices of watermelon. For dinner, I've got two racks of pork back ribs brining in sugar and salt. The semi-vegetarian won't touch these, of course -- she didn't even want to put the packages in the refrigerator when we got home from the grocery -- so I need some substantial sides. Luckily, the southern table includes some great vegetable dishes, and I'll do two tonight: a summer squash/onion/cheese casserole and fried green tomatoes (can someone point me to a good remoulade?)

This sounds wonderfu. No ice cream maker, though. If the tequila survives the trip, I'll try it. If you can find a bottle of citric acid ("sour salt"), you can add a grain or two per drink to increase the acid level. I don't know what kind of luck you'll have finding it, though. Absent citric acid, all I can suggest is cutting back on the sweet ingredients to compensate (which I'm sure is what you did for the second batch). For the tequila: you can make a pretty good marinade for chicken or fish with tequila, orange and lime juice, garlic, cumin and ancho. ← I thought about the citric acid, and I've put it on the shopping list, for whatever good it might do me. Failing that, and the rebalancing (which I tried, with somewhat disappointing results), I might give *Deborah*'s idea a shot. The marinade is a great idea. I'm not generally a believer in marinades, but I do have a substantial amount of chicken to deal with, and marinating can't hurt.

Are those fruits being grown locally in Walton County, you think, or are they being shipped in from elsewhere in Florida (or possibly even Texas)? I'd tend to think that Atlanta, in comparison, would definitely be getting mostly non-local citrus--stuff from Florida, of course. The question really is does Walton County have access to locally grown goods--the assumption being that local stores frequently get the pick of any crop and the lesser stuff is shipped off to some central processing facility to be split up between everyone else in the country, including of course Atlanta. ← Walton County is pretty far north for anything other than recreational citrus production. If you look at this map and draw a mental line across the state east from Citrus County, you've more or less identifed the citrus production area -- south of that line; other crops grow in pockets all over the state. From the Florida Agricultural Statisical Service: Like you, I thought the lemons and limes might have come from Arizona, Texas, or maybe California, but in fact, they didn't even come from this country: We're planning a trip to the Bay County (aka Panama City) Farmers' Market on Monday. We should get a better idea of the local situation then.

I did pack a pair of nylon-encrusted tongs, and we found some non-stick implements in the back of a low drawer. But the fact of the matter is, most of the cookware is so far gone that using appropriate untensils is more a matter of respect than of really trying to protect the pans. I'll post some pots-and-pans pictures tomorrow, when I go through the all-important vacation kitchen review.

We took a trip to the grocery store. For many years, the only option was to drive almost all the way to Destin for staples, but last year, Publix finally opened a store next to the recently developed Watercolor. (For those familiar with the area, it's about a mile north of C-30A, on route 395, between Seaside and Seagrove.) On the way back, we stopped at Goatfeathers in Blue Mountain Beach. We've been patronizing this place for at least 20 years. It started as a fish market, selling fresh sea catch to the wavering trade along C-30A. Eventually, it sprouted a restaurant, but the market has stayed, and it still sells a limited, but excellent, array of fresh (whatever is available at the docks) and frozen or fresh-chilled seafood (Maine lobster tails, Atlantic salmon). We hit the place just as they were about to close, so I didn't have a chance to collect the savory details about how it operates these days. All we could do was check out the offering, and ask what was good. "Everything's good," the woman replied. "I know it sounds dull, but really. Everything is good." "It's not dull," I said, "But it's not very helplful." "Well, if you really want to know, ask Gary," she proposes. (I have to admit that we don't know if his name was really Gary. All we remember is a hard "G." He might have been Gertrude, for all our collective faulty memories can tell.) Gary (Gertrude) flicks a finger downward, to his right. "Scamp," he intones. I ask to give it a sniff, and he complies. It smells like nothing except a mild ocean. I ask when it was caught. "This mornin'," he says. "By me." We take 2-1/2 pounds: I floured it lightly and fried it in peanut oil, about five minutes per side. If you like fish, this is really as good as it gets. Although it really wasn't necessary, I made a lemon-scallion beurre blanc (which turned out pink because I forgot to get white wine at the grocery store; hence, the presentation beneath the fish, rather than a top napping). The sauce was good -- one of those that isn't great by itself, because it seems overly acidic and a little too salty. When applied to the target protein, however, it comes into perfect balance. I also baked some parsleyed rice, and steamed a gaggle of artichokes, which have been beautiful this year:

Emeril's are much closer to what we used than these, though both are appetizers, of a sort. Between this and the hemostat/roach clips, I'm really showing my age. Let's get back to less flamboyant forms of intoxication. Here's tonight's cocktail, the Saicar: It's from Dave Wondrich's book Killer Cocktails. It's a cross between a sidecar and a margarita (hence the name, which Dave both claims and denies is Spanish for "sidecar"). Maybe it's a trick drink, but I like it in and of itself. For the cocktail neophyte, it's a great lesson in balance between the sour component and the base liquor(s), and the importance of quality ingredients. The lemons and limes I've gotten here are incredibly juicy -- almost twice the juice from the same-sized fruit I get in Atlanta. (I'll see if I can determine the sourcing later in the week.) But, like a rookie, I just made the cocktails and poured them out without that (I now realize) essential pre-taste. The drink was wimpy. At first, I thought that I had mismeasured (usually, I make two at a time, and this time I was making four), but that didn't seem likely -- my older and much more meticulous brother was watching, and confirmed each step; this really doesn't bother me. In the least. At that moment, Zak came through on his way to the pool. He (and his older brother) have always had a penchant for straight lemon and lime juice. He saw the cut lime on the counter and asked for a taste. I squeezed him out an ounce. He took a test dip with his tongue, then tossed it back like a butterscotch shooter. A follow-up taste of lemon confirmed it: clearly, I'm dealing with low-acid citrus. I used more juice on the second round, but they were watery. I'm not experienced enough to know how to handle this, and I'd appreciate tips. But I think there's another reason that the drinks seemed lackluster, and that's the tequila itself. So far, I've been sticking with 100% agave, but posts here have led me to understand that, in mixed drinks, it's not quite so important. (Yes, Wondrich specifies not only 100% agave, but also reposado, but I've made this drink before with silver tequila, and loved it.) As I sipped the second, better-balanced round, I realized that it was missing that sort of left-handed roundness that tequila adds to the drink. So now I need not only a solution for low-acid citrus, but a use for less-than-optimal tequila.

Caitie and Zak woke up with a donut jones, so I sent them out while I caught up here. The Donut Hole is a long-time Destin establishment. About ten years ago, they set up a branch in Santa Rosa beach, which is 15 miles closer to us than their downtown (such as it is) headquaters. We didn't hold out much hope of getting any because it was late, but we crossed our fingers that the holy grail of baked goods in these parts -- the Key Lime Donut -- might still be available (they make one batch in the morning, and when they're gone, they're gone until the next day). When C and Z came through the door, there were still two in the rack, but they had vanished by the time the counter was attained. Here's what they came back with: I'm starting to feel a need for a fresh vegetable.

Dude! That's our church, too!

We were all beat when we arrived, and though I'd planned a trip to the grocery store for staples, we didn't have the energy. So we had to play convenience-store roulette -- a game that requires you do the best with whatever you can find at the local version of 7-11 (here, it's Tom Thumb). The only fresh fruits and vegetables available were lemons, limes and heavily brusied russets. I got a few of the former for cocktails, and passed on the latter. There was a dozen eggs in the cooler, once I scavenged three cartons for unbroken specimens (according to the cashier, the damage was the result of a careless Budweiser delivery). On to the frozen section, which was entirely given over to snack foods and ice cream. I did find something green, though, and brought it back to the kitchen, where we made a: Jalapeno Popper Frittata 10 eggs 2 scant T water 2 t ground ancho 1/2 t dried thyme 1/4 t cayenne (I would have used pepper sauce, but I didn't bring any -- places like this always have Tabasco, except this time.) 1 package frozen cheddar-cheese jalapeno poppers 1 T butter Lemon juice (0ptional) 1. Bake poppers according to package directions and set aside. Reset oven heat to 350F, if necessary. 2. Add butter to an 8-inch, warped, non-stick skillet. Set it over medium heat. Meanwhile, whisk eggs, water an seasonings to combine, but don't overdo it. 3. When the butter stops foaming, add the eggs to the pan and swirl to redistribute seasonings. Search in vain for a nylon spatula. 4. Lift the edges of the omelette with whatever utensil you can find, and let the uncooked eggs droll under it. 5. When the eggs are about half set, arrange the poppers artfully, nestling them in the goo. 6. Put pan in the oven, and check it in five minutes, both for doneness and handle meltage. Remove when one or the other occurs. The eggs should be cooked through, but not dry. 7. Slide the fritatta onto a plate, sprinkle with lemon juice, and let sit for a few minutes to firm up. 8. Cut into wedges and serve. I'm sorry that I didn't get a picture of it. It was good enough that we might repeat it, next time with a salad of some sort. (I'm also liking the idea of a rolled omelette in which a couple of poppers could be enfolded), and I'll remember then -- or Caitie, my designated assistant for this blog -- will. (Yes, Marlene, I will transfer this to RecipeGullet.)

I send people to head shops (are they still called head shops?) for them. It's easier than finding a medical supply place. I had a naked gimlet. After the drive, I needed something pretty straightforward, for relaxation purposes. I would have preferred a daiquiri or margarita, but I forgot to bring any citrus fruit with me. The good news is that glassware-wise, the place is decently equipped (pictures to come). I do, and I will. My formula is 1/2 C Diamond Kosher salt and 3T white sugar to one quart of water. Thirty minutes works for anything between 36-40 and 16-20 shrimps. I don't usually mess with smaller crustaceans (a long story involving Scandinavians and new potatoes); larger shrimp just require a little more time. Shrimp should be plentiful in the markets, and as Caitie doesn't eat any animal protein except that which comes from the sea, there will be quite a bit, along with blue crab and the local finfish catch. Indeed I will. I've been wondering what that was inside of that fried batter. Thanks for the info! ← You got a problem with fried batter?

I almost forgot about the eating part of blogging. Breakfast yesterday: The coffee is a blend that Grandma gets as part of a deal for subscribing to Sojourners magazine. It's fair trade coffee from Central America, which is nice, but not as important as taste. Luckily, it's pretty decent. The banana was slightly green and, for my taste, lacking in flavor. I prefer a slightly spotted yellow for eating out of hand, but in this case, the alternatives were throwing it out or coming home to an icky brown puddle. The drive from Atlanta to south Walton County, Florida is usually about 6-1/2 hours. Thanks to 1) a balky car-top carrier, and 2) a cold front, it took eight this time. (I've done it in five; please don't tell the Alabama State Patrol.) There are a bunch of routes; ours takes I-85 to Montgomery, then down US 331 to US 98. This is relevant only in that Montgomery is halfway through the trip -- an opportunity for both automobile and people fuel. No dummies in Montgomery. There are plenty of opportunites for both on the short strip between I-65 and US 331. Looking east: and west: Two things of note: 1) you can't see the other side of the expressway from these pictures, and it's just as congested; 2) if you compare the skies in the two photographs, you get an idea of why the weather was a problem: we rode down right on the edge of a cold front. Oh, what did we eat? We were all suffering from pre-beach tastebuds. We wanted fish, so Captain D's it was.

I'm guessing they're for pulling pesky little bones from fresh fish. Here's hoping for really nice weather, Dave. Looking forward to the blog. ← Therese is right. Perhaps I could mark a milestone in my emerging food obsession at the point when I decided that they were more interesting as a pinbone remover than as a roach clip. I have another pair with curved jaws, but I can't find them. (Are they really forceps? I thought they were hemostats.) At the moment, there's four of us: me; my 74-year-old Mom(who I will try to remember to call Grandma for blogging purposes); my daughter Caitie, 17; and son Zak, 14. Late tonight, my older brother Alan and his wife Peggy arrive; on Sunday night, younger brother Andy blows in with his three: Kelsey, 15; Danny, 12; and Allene, 10. So at peak attendance, which will run from late Sunday until early Wednesday, we're talking 10 peeps. Mostly we're omnivores, though my brothers and I grew up with a strong English-midwestern affection for big hunks of meat as dinnertime centerpieces. This has changed over the years, thanks to influences that I think will become evident over the course of the blog. Foreground pouches: bay and ground ancho; left to right jars: granulated garlic, smoked paprika, ground cumin, smoked salt, worcestershire, thyme and Greek oregano. Back row: kosher salt, cayenne, rosemary (behind the worcestershire) and grenadine. The worcestershire and grenadine are homemade, and I grind my own ancho. The rest of the seasonings come from The Spice House, whom I highly recommend. I'm already wishing I'd remembered a few other things, but we'll get to that when I do the kitchen survey and setup. Yes those are Chicago Cutlery -- like twelve bucks for two pair at Target (though they don't seem to be on the web site). They're cheap enough to toss when they get dull, but so far they're still doing fine. I had a pair of Wusthofs, too, but I no longer lament thier loss. Um. I don't know how to tell you this, but I've come around on beets. I'll try not to get all evangelical on you, though.

I'm packing up to hit the road for our summer family reunion. My mother, daughter, and younger son will be driving from Atlanta to Dune Allen Beach in south Walton County, Florida -- one of the string of communities between Destin and Panama City along highway C-30A that comprises some of the most beautiful beaches in the country. Tomorrow, we will meet up with my older brother and sister-in-law, and a couple of days after that, my younger brother will show up with his three kids. Because I'm in a hurry at the moment (it seems that the last few hours leading up to a vacation are the most stressful), I'll cut to the chase, and we can get more into the area and the setup details later. When I take a trip like this, where I'll be doing a lot of cooking, I like to pack a few things to make prep a little easier. There's the tools: and the bar equipment: a few spices, because what you usually find in rental units is old and limited: Like I said, just a few items. The thing is, the trouble that it is to get this batterie together is repaid in convenience and currency saved at the destination. And anyway, everything but the very biggest stuff gets tucked away in this: I apologize for cutting this off quickly, and not rhapsodizing about where we're going, who we're meeting, and all the great things we're going to eat and drink when we get there, but like I said, I'm in a bit of a hurry. I need to duck out for about nine hours; I'll go on to the point of boredom on all of those subjects when we've arrived and I've gotten back on line. In the meantime, there's some background on the area in Steven Shaw's Daily Gullet piece on Sandor Zombori (whose restaurant, alas, is now closed), and you can catch me picking the brains of our cocktail peeps in the Beverages forum thread, Vacation Bar. Happy reading. Thanks for stopping by, and I'll see you tonight.

This part is correct. No one in the supply chain likes stickers. A company is Georgia is working on a laser "tattoo" to replace them. There's a thread here.

It's an "8." A pretty good reference for PLU codes is at the International Federation for Produce Coding. The site is a little rough to negotiate, but most of the codes are there.