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A Birthday Brunch


racheld

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oh, rachel, what a wonderful time. belated happy to chris, too!!

but i am surprised. on that nibbles table - NO pimento cheese!?!

Nothing is better than frying in lard.

Nothing.  Do not quote me on this.

 

Linda Ellerbee

Take Big Bites

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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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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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  • 2 weeks later...
And my own black-skillet contribution:

gallery_23100_5647_38283.jpg

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:

My sweet dear Rachel....

Those lovely biscuits have been haunting me...they look exquisite :wub:

Edited by spaghetttti (log)

Yetty CintaS

I am spaghetttti

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Thank YOU, Dear Yetty-getttti!

It's all in the black skillet. Recipe is over on the Southern Traditions thread on the Southern Food Culture forum. Lots of far-away-from-biscuits folks craving them lately.

http://forums.egullet.org/index.php?showtopic=5637&st=180

post 193

I just gave two frozen ones out of the bag in the freezer to next-door neighbor. She lives alone, and was pondering on the phone what to have for dinner. I said "Come over and see what's in my freezer."

She came over for coffee, we talked about two hours, then we looked in, got out the Zip-loks, and she bagged up: A wedge of the Christmas Pannettone, a cranberry bagel, two frozen biscuits, an Emeril Chicken/Apple sausage, a little pack of blueberry mini-muffins, several eclairs, about two dozen meatballs, the leftover mac-n-cheese from brunch, and a Glad-box of chicken casserole, ready for the oven.

Looking in the freezers and pantry is looking at riches, to me. It's not quite the same as when we canned several hundred jars every Summer and filled three freezers, but for our little garden and reduced family size, it's wealth, indeed.

Neighbor went home and came back with a hand-knit bag and dumped the contents on the table---"Choose whichever one you like," she said.

So we tried tea cozies on several of the teapots for size, and my big old eggplant Aladdin pot has a beautiful variegated cover, spout and handle out the little armholes, and lid-button shining out the skylight. Sharing's wonderful :wub:

Edited by racheld (log)
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I was just reminded by a post by prasantrin in this week's Ashkelon blog---The Journey, the seafood restaurant where the whole family went the week before the birthday itself had a takoyaki station, where a chef gracefully flipped and turned those magical little rolls of dough.

It's been interesting to me since the posts and pictures about it last year, and we also saw Bourdain eating them in one of his travels.

It was just fascinating to watch, seeing the flat panful brimming with a single little lake, then being divided into sections by his busy sticks, and then into perfect little golden balls of savory octopus and other seafood (and some sweet flavors---is that in any way authentic---wouldn't be tako by name any more?).

Chris loved it, and I liked watching all that batter ballet, with such a beautiful and tasty ending. I try to imagine how just the right shape and conformation of pan came about, and how it was ever imagined that you could take a puddle of floury paste, smudge it around with chopsticks over heat for a bit, and end up with perfect spheres, all the same size, every time.

Maybe it's the idea of Gucci hushpuppies that I find so charming.

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