Vegetables: Boil Until They're Dead

I know it's not at all fashionable to say so, but I actually do like vegetables boiled until they're good and dead sometimes. Mmm, greens cooked until they're sort of green grey, and then doused with capsful of vinegar! I have been known to eat and enjoy canned green beans, right out of the can. A little mushiness on occasion is okay by me.

I come by this honestly. First off, I was a child in the 70s, and cuisine was not yet haute. Secondly, I come from my family. For your approval, one of my aunt's recipes in
Favorite Recipes from Caldwell, Idaho:

Vegetables
Robbie Busse

Green beans (fresh)
Tomatoes (fresh)
1 onion, diced
3 strips bacon
Salt

Clean beans and tomatoes; cut into bite sized pieces. Place in saucepan over medium heat. Add onion and dash of salt. Fry and crumble bacon. Add to vegetables. Let boil together until beans are tender (about 20 minutes).

Canned vegetables can be substituted for fresh.

Before we start getting all appalled at the idea of cooking green beans for 20 minutes at a boil (honestly, either cook 'em for 10 minutes, or for over 40 minutes -- half measures aren't doing you a kindness in most cases), let's embrace the surprising goodness of this recipe: Yes, it's from the 1970s, but it explicitly calls for fresh veg.

I've not been to Caldwell in decades, but when I did go out that way, I remember lots and lots of farmland outside of town. My first real exposure to asparagus was seeing it grow like a weed in irrigation ditches. So, when my aunt specifies fresh veg, you can trust that they are fresh fresh veg.

About the only ingredient I really question in this recipe is the salt. I'd think that the bacon would bring enough salt to the party, and, if it didn't, that the correct way to fix it would be to add more bacon. This surprises no one. There's always room for more bacon in my pots.

I will have to ask Aunt Robbi why this recipe isn't called "Green Beans" or "Green Beans & Tomatoes." Is it "Vegetables" because the method is to be used with any fresh (or canned) veg you have on hand? Is it "Vegetables" because that was the easiest shorthand when it came to saying "eat your vegetables"? My Idaho cousins were too young or too not born yet to be veg eaters when this cookbook came out, so...it's a bit of a mystery. I don't recall having this dish at my dad's table, nor my grandma's, so I'm guessing Aunt Robbi picked it up once she left the nest.

A Different Green Bean Dish: Judías Verdes Rehogadas con Jamón

I'm nuts about Christmas. I blame it in part on the fact that my dad's a Christmas tree farmer. Whatever the reason, I know this for sure: I'm just giddy with excitement because Christmas Eve is just two days away!!!

If you're looking to change up your holiday side dishes, ditch the green bean casserole with the can of fried onion whatnots on top. Try instead this recipe from Delicioso! The Regional Cooking of Spain :

Judías Verdes Rehogadas con Jamón
(Green Beans Sautéed with Cured Ham)

Whenever we stay in Niserias in Asturias (as we often do, since my husband loves to trout-fish in the cares River) we dine at Casa Julián (see p. 113), where co-owner and cook Vincentina produces simple Asturian fare with an expert hand. My favorite first course is her sautéed green beans, seasoned with garlic and generously sprinkled with mountain ham.

Serves 4

Salt
1/2 small onion
1 1/2 pounds broad green beans, ends snapped off
2 tablespoons olive oil
4 cloves garlic, lightly smashed and peeled
2 ounces Spanish mountain cured ham or prosciutto, in small cubes or thin squares (about 1/4 cup)
Freshly ground pepper

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil, add the onion and green beans, return to a boil, then cook uncovered at a slow boil for about 20 minutes, or until cooked as desired. Discard the onion and drain the green beans in a colander. Refresh with cold water.

In a skillet, heat the oil with the garlic, pressing the garlic with the back of a wooden spoon to release its flavor, until the garlic is golden on both sides. Add the beans and the ham, season with salt and pepper, and sautée, stirring, over a medium flame, until the beans are hot.

If I read this recipe for the first time, I would say "Hell, no!" Then, I'd walk away, shaking my head. "Cook beans for more than 20 minutes? They'll be mush!" I'd laugh, disbelieving. "Boil the onion?!?!?! That onion should be diced and fried with the garlic!"

I'd have a wealth of culinary tradition and experience behind me.

I'd also be wrong.



This was the first course in our last meal in Spain. We'd made it to Santiago, we'd been to Mass, we'd waited in line for hours to get our credentials, and we had a celebratory meal and final communion for our pilgrimage group.

And this was damned tasty.

I'm not a cook-it-'til-it's-dead girl when it comes to vegetables. I'm really not. But, dang, these beans taste good after a long slow simmer with ham.

Need I say everything was local? Everything? Was local.

People grow their own everything.



Their own beans.



Their own ham.

I know the pig's out of focus (and that it's not ham ... yet); I heard it grunting on the other side of a garden wall, held my camera up high, and sort of just hoped I'd get a picture of whatever was making the sound. So, out of focus or no, I love this picture of the ham-to-be.

But I digress!

I rather thought I might.

Point being: think outside the can of cream of whatever and tinned questionable crispy onionesque casserole topping, and bring a bit northern Spain to Christmas this year.

Super Easy Preserving: Pickled Cherries

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm glad that I posted Hot Spicy Candy, but I just can't stop thinking about these cherries... The County Fair Cookbook doesn't specifically link them to a county fair (ooo, the scandal!), but the nearest one it does talk about is the Long Island Fair in Old Bethpage, New York. According to the Fair's website, the fair's got a good blend of history and activities:

The Long Island Fair is the oldest continuously operated fair in the country having begun in 1842, first in farmers’ fields or empty lots, then in Mineola at the present site of the County Court House complex, and finally moving to Old Bethpage Village in 1970 (History). The Fair features rides, amusements, entertainment for young and old, and agricultural and horticultural competition for cash prizes common to Long Island a century ago and is the only New York State sanctioned agricultural and horticultural fair for Long Island. Prize competition is open to anyone not only in vegetables, fruits and flowers but also for baking, crafts, hobbies and agricultural skills – cross cut sawing and corn husking.

Rock on, Long Island agriculture! The fair runs for eight days in mid-October, so you've got time to plan your trip up to (or down to, or over to, I suppose) Old Bethpage. Old Bethpage: It's closer to civilization than Smithtown. Okay, so odds are the Chamber of Commerce isn't going to hire me to write their new tagline...and really, you have to go even further out on the island to get to the heritage of the next recipe.

Wickham's Fruit Farm is over 200 acres of farmy goodness next to Peconic Bay in Cutchogue. The Wickham family has been farming those acres for about three hundred years. This feels like a good time to say that the first time I came to the East Coast, I was in a cab in Boston, and said to the cabbie, "Today, I saw things that are older than my state!" The cabbie replied, "Honey, in Boston, there are things older than dirt." That's how I feel about saying one family's been doing anything for 300 years in one spot in this country, especially when that family has a very non-native last name. Anyway. The Wickham story is pretty darned compelling, but what you really need to know is this: they make cider, and they make donuts, and I'm betting that means they make...

...cider donuts...

Cider donuts are one of the best things in this crazy world of ours, and it's fall now, so I suggest you hightail it to the nearest place you can, and get yourself some.

But this is a blog about cookbooks and recipes, so let's look at one of the Wickham family recipes.

Wickham Family Pickled Cherries
"No need to process these cherries in a water bath," says Mrs. Wickham. "They'll keep all winter on the shelf. We serve them as an accompaniment to poultry or meat."

Sour cherries (any amount)
Cider vinegar to cover
Sugar

1. Wash, stem and pit the cherries. Place them in a bowl and cover with cider vinegar. Let stand overnight.
2. Pour off and discard the vinegar. Measure the cherries and add an equal amount of sugar to them. Let stand until the sugar dissolves, stirring occasionally. Put the cherries in very clean jars and cover. Store in a cool dark place.

Look at that... preserving without processing! Putting up fruit doesn't get much easier than this, folks.

In step one, I'd suggest covering the bowl with cheesecloth or cling film, and leaving the bowl out on the counter -- not in the fridge. If you're wondering how to get "very clean jars," I'd say that those of you with dishwashers are going to need to run the washer on hot, and let the washer do the drying, too -- don't let 'em drip dry. Heat is your friend for sanitation purposes. For those of you more like, well, me, with only a sink and a dish drainer to help you out, wash the jars well in hot, soapy water. Let dry. Then, sanitize the buggers. I know, I know, part of the charm of this recipe is that you're not processing the jar in a water bath, but sanitizing is your friend, and a big ol' pot of boiling water goes a long way towards ensuring food safety. If you just can't bring yourself to do it with boiling water, or you have any inklings that your jar can't take the heat, use bleach -- 1 tablespoon per gallon of water. Soak for 20 minutes, drain. Let air dry. If you want to rinse the jar after that, do so only with boiled water.

Yes, I'm the sister of an Extension employee. Food safety is important. Don't muck about with bacteria.

And, it's STILL the easiest darned preserving method I've seen, other than "put fruit and booze in a jar, let sit for months, then drink." This one even has the benefit of creating food, not, well, booze, so it's ... at least different.

Sour cherries can be hard to find; you can use frozen, I guess, but better to find an orchard and pick your own when you can. When measuring the cherries and sugar, measure by weight, not volume, if at all possible. As it's not baking, I won't yell at you if you don't have a scale, and have to go the volume route.

Cooking the Books: Tangy Cucumbers

Some things in life seem so basic, so natural that to discover them writen down can come as a shock. "Wait, there's a recipe for that?" I cried, when I came across the basic natural it's-always-that-way cucumber dish in the Spratt/Bachman & Mellberg/McKenzie Family Cookbook 2008:

Tangy Cucumbers
Betty Mellberg McKenzie

1/2 cup white vinegar
1/2 tsp salt
1/8 tsp pepper
Water

Slice cucumbers into a bowl. Add above and then put enough water to just cover the cucumbers. Keep in fridge. They get better the longer they sit.

"Seriously, a recipe?"

But then, if this isn't the only way you were ever served cucumbers as a child, this is just the sort of thing you need. (No hyperbole there; it seems we always had a jar of these in the fridge, which is a neat trick, because I could eat all the cukes in one sitting without trying.) It is, indeed, tangy, as the title (and the vinegar) suggest. You could fancy it up by adding dried hot pepper flakes, or thinly sliced onions. I do not. You could use a food processor or mandoline to ensure uniform, nearly-transparent thin slices. I do not. And yesterday, Washington's Green Grocer brought me two cucumbers...

I scrubbed them, and realized they were still very waxy. Out came my trusty Oxo vegetable peeler, and in a trice, off came the waxy peel. A bit of casual knife work, and I had a bowl full of uneven but beautiful slices. I ground a good healthy amount of black pepper on top, and sprinkled a hefty pinch of salt over. Then, I poured 3/4 a cup of vinegar over, slowly, to wash the spices into solution. Yes, 3/4 cup. I love vinegar. And, yes, white vinegar. Other than Easter egg dying, this is the only food application for white vinegar in my life; otherwise, I use it mostly for cleaning. I topped off the cukes with one scant cup of cold water...



...and then I ate the top layer, with my fingers. Yes, it tastes better after it sits. But, yes, I could eat it right away. It took all my willpower to not tuck in with a fork, but... there's always tomorrow.

Seven Similar Salads: Jell-O and Dairy

Memorial Day is fast upon us, and it's time to think about salads and sides to take to barbeques, picnics, and potlucks. I've always been a fan of Jell-O based salads, be they molded or unstructured. Thankfully, as my friend Heather pointed out, The Fruit of the Spirit: 100th Anniversary of Bittinger Lutheran Parish offers up seven (seven!) similar salads, so we can take our pick of those that fit our needs/desires/fears/etc.

I'm In A Hurry Salad
Linda Buckel

1 (8-oz.) pkg. cottage cheese
1 sm. box orange Jello
1 sm. ctn. Cool Whip
1 can mandarin oranges
1 can pineapple

Mix all ingredients together and refrigerate.

I assume we're draining the liquid on the fruits here. If you're making this for a party that will have rum-fueled punch, I suggest reserving the liquid to throw in your punch bucket.

What?

Yes, I said "bucket." At my last (okay, "only") tiki party, I mixed up my rum punch in a big paint bucket. Worked great.

I'd be tempted to throw shredded coconut and bananas in here, too, but that might just be because I'm fondly remembering the tiki party. On to salad #2!

Jello Salad
Ruth Ann Beckman

1 (3-oz.) pkg. Jello (flavor of choice)
1 (3-oz.) pkg. cream cheese, softened
1 can crushed pineapple
1/3 c. sugar
Dash salt
1 pkg. Dream Whip, whipped

Combine Jello, pineapple, sugar and salt in a saucepan. Heat until Jello is dissolved; cool. Whip Dream Whip. Mix in cream cheese. Add pineapple mixture. Pour into mold.

And here, let's assume we're not draining the pineapple. I know, I'm being all sorts of guess-y about it, but I think the Jell-O needs some liquid to dissolve. Since this involves both cooking and setting, it doesn't get a pithy title like "I'm In A Hurry Salad," above. No, it's more of a "I Knew About This Potluck A Day In Advance, So Actually Did Something Requiring Some Planning" Salad. But what about when you're looking for something a little more festive?

Lutheran Recipe for Holiday Jello
Marvin Beckman
1 sm. pkg. green Jello
1 c. boiling water
1 sm. pkg. cream cheese

Mix these three ingredients together and let Jello set until fold stage. Whip 1 small carton of whipping cream. Add to Jello, along with 1 small can of crushed pineapple and just enough chopped walnuts. Chill and serve.

Hint: Do not use red Jello for this recipe!

...I wonder what happens when you use red Jell-O for this recipe? I also wonder if Marvin is husband, son, cousin, or some other relation to Ruth Ann, whose Jello salad looks to be a bit better documented. Why did Marvin leave out the whipping cream in his list of ingredients?

And what happens if you use red Jell-O?

Orange Jello Salad Dessert
Ethel Buckel

2 (3-oz.) pkgs. orange Jello
2 c. boiling water
1 sm. can frozen orange juice
1 sm. can mandarin oranges
1 med. can crushed pineapple
1 pkg. lemon pudding mix
1 c. milk
8 oz. Cool Whip
Chopped nuts

Dissolve Jello in boiling water. Add orange juice. When jelled, add one small can mandarin oranges, drained. Add pineapple, juice and all. When set, top with one package lemon pudding mix, made with one cup milk. Mix with 8 ounces Cool Whip. Top with chopped nuts. Makes 9 x 13-inch pan.

Blame it on my upbringing, but I automatically think "good food here" when I see something served up in a 9 x 13-inch pan. Salads. Cakes. Casseroles. Lasagnes. If you do it in a 9 x 13-incher, you are clearly thinking of feeding a crowd.

The pudding mix in the recipe is pretty clearly supposed to be instant pudding mix, which makes this a natural for using more than one Jell-O brand product in one recipe. Personally, I'd not be putting nuts on top -- too many of my friends are nut-allergic. I'm thinking crushed Nilla Wafers or graham crackers would add a crunchy component if you think one is missing from the toothless joy of this dessert.

I think the Buckels are orange Jell-O loyalists. I can get behind that. But, let's get back to that maligned red Jell-O...

Star Cranberry Salad
Lois Watson

2 c. ground raw cranberries
2 c. sugar
2 boxes red Jello
2 c. hot water
2 c. pineapple, drained and juice reserved
2 c. celery, cut fine
1 c. chopped walnuts

Mix the cranberries and sugar. Set aside. Mix the Jello into the hot water and pineapple juice until dissolved. Add cranberries. Mix in celery and walnuts. Refrigerate until thick. Best if made a day ahead.

Jell-O and celery, folks. Celery. In your Jell-O.

Maybe that's what happens when you start using red Jell-O. Unexpected vegetables start sneaking in and trying to come to the party. (Okay, actually, I suspect one shouldn't use red Jell-O in the previous recipe because the salad has no cranberries in it, and a holiday table with a red gelatinous salad should have cranberries...)

Not sure why this is "star" cranberry salad. Should one use a star-shaped mold? Is it the star of any buffet table it graces?

We'll close out the Jell-O parade with a salad that seems a lot like our first option at first glance.

That's It Salad
Opal Fazenbaker

1 pkg. Jello (any flavor)
1 sm. can crushed pineapple
1 sm. ctn. cottage cheese
1 sm. ctn. non-dairy whipped topping

Transfer pineapple to microwave-safe container and heat in microwave, about 90 seconds. Dissolve the Jello mix in the hot pineapple; let cool to room temperature. Add cottage cheese and mix well. Add the whipped topping and mix well again and that's it!

How's it different from "I'm In A Hurry"? Well, there's no mandarin oranges (I'm sure the recipe could take 'em, though, if stirred in at the same time as one of the white and creamy elements -- just drain first). Also, the heating and dissolving is going to give a different texture. As for me, I'll admit it -- I really do like salads that have Cool Whip and undissolved Jell-O powder. They remind me of my childhood, and they make me smile. If the idea of seeing grains of fake coloring and gelatin in your salad makes you a little squeamish, try "That's It," instead.

Cranberry Sauce With Port

I searched through my journal to find a copy of my cranberry sauce recipe. Evidently, I've never tried to write it down. I do have several process-y entries about it, including these snippets from Thanksgiving 2004:

Used food processor, because, well, have food processor, and shredded my Brussels sprouts and grated my Gruyere. Will also use food processor, because, well, have food processor, to slice potatoes for gratin. Will not use food processor for onions, because, well, have pride. ...

Have also made cranberry sauce. Told Mom about it. "Is it good?" she asked. It's cranberries, an orange, port, and honey. What could be bad about it? Also zested the orange, for use in the parsnips. ...

It's 3:19 now, and there's a glass of port in the living room calling to me in a quiet and syrupy way. "Wendy!" it calls. "Wendy! Time to relax for five minutes."

3:20 PM, and still no bra. ...

My cranberry sauce is too tart on its own, but is lovely in company with everything else, and a gravy packet is heresy, but if you use 1 cup water and 1/4 cup port instead of 1 1/4 cup water? The heresy tastes like heaven.

It's cranberries, an orange, port, and honey. Let's write it up a bit more, then.

Cranberry Sauce With Port

1 bag fresh cranberries
1 orange (zested, with zest removed for other side dish use)
1 cup tawny port
several tablespoons honey, to taste

Open cranberries, and wash in a colander. Get rid of any unsavory berries. In all my years of doing this, I've never had a truly unsavory berry pop up, but better safe than sorry. Peel and chop the orange. You can supreme it if you want, or if you have a chefly husband about who needs something to do with his hands and knives and time. Put fruit into a heavy sauce pan, add port and two tablespoons honey, and bring to a simmer. Simmer, uncovered, until most of the berries have burst and the sauce is starting to thicken. Dip a tasting spoon in the sauce, take out, let cool, and then taste to see if the sauce needs more sugar. Seriously, let the sauce on the tasting spoon cool. You don't need a burnt tongue to make Thanksgiving happy. Add more honey if you want, or don't. Take off heat, pour into the dish you'll serve the sauce from, cover with cling film, and pop it in the fridge to cool and set up some.

Great on Thanksgiving. Great on sandwiches (turkey, or peanut butter, or ham, or cheese...). Tasty tasty stuff.

This year's berries may well have ginger in them, too, because the ginger looked nice at the grocery store last night.

Happy Thanksgiving, folks.

Roasted Brussels Sprouts and Shallots with Bacon

It's Thanksgiving today in the U.S., and I'm going to be off at a good friend's house all day, cooking, drinking, eating, and being merry. Before that, though, I thought I'd share some of my favorite Thanksgiving (and other feast) dishes.

This first one should be prefaced with the statement "I Hated Brussels Sprouts When I Was Younger And These Sprouts Can Convert You To Brussels Sprouts Love, Too."

Roasted Brussels Sprouts and Shallots with Bacon

2 lbs Brussels sprouts
1 shallot
6 strips high-quality thick-cut bacon

Preheat oven to 400°F. Take a 9x13 pan and lay out the bacon; nothing should overlap (trim if you need to to make sure of this), and put it in the oven (center-ish rack) for 10-15 minutes. While the bacon renders its fat and starts to crisp up, prepare your sprouts. To do this, peel off the loose and dark outer leaves, cut off the stem, and cut each sprout into quarters. Then, chop up your shallot.

When the bacon has gotten crispy (or, as crispy as you want to let it...I go for "cooked but still pliable"), remove it to a paper towel-lined plate. Toss the sprouts and shallots in the rendered fat in the 9x13 pan, and choose which way you're going with your bacon. You have two options:

1. Reserve the bacon until right before serving, crumbling it on top of the dish at the last minute.
   
2. Cut the bacon into lardons, and toss it back into the dish with the sprouts and shallots before roasting.

I tend to go with option #2.

Put the pan back in the oven, and let roast for 40-60 minutes, stirring once or twice during the process. They should be getting caramelized and yummy-smelling near the end, and a fork should go through them with little resistance.

Easy-peasy, and dirties very few dishes. A great go-to side dish for holiday meals.

Roasted Corn and Wild Mushroom Salsa

I'm known to be salsa-intensive. Chefly Husband might be able to get through a meal at a TexMex restaurant with just one small bowl of salsa to go with his chips, but if I'm with him, we need at least three. I like it. A lot. Sometimes, I'll admit, my strategy to get even more salsa is to select a salsa that Chefly Husband won't eat...say, one based on large amounts of corn, like this one, from The Great Salsa Book:

Roasted Corn and Wild Mushroom Salsa

4 ears fresh corn
1/3 cup cleaned and diced morels or other wild mushrooms
3 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 cup sun-dried tomatoes (in oil), finely diced, with 1 teaspoon of their oil
2 poblano chiles, roasted, peeled, seeded, and diced
2 teaspoons minced fresh marjoram
1 clove roasted garlic, minced
1 teaspoon adobo sauce
1 teaspoon fresh lime juice
1/2 teaspoon sherry vinegar
1/2 teaspoon salt

Cut the corn kernels from the cobs with a sharp knife (about 3 cups). Heat a large, heavy-bottomed sauté pan or skillet over high heat until almost smoking. Place no more than two layers of the corn kernels in the pan at a time, and dry-roast for 4 to 5 minutes until smoky and dark, tossing continuously.

Sauté the mushrooms in 1/2 teaspoon of the olive oil until they are cooked well, about 10 minutes. Transfer to a mixing bowl, add the corn, remaining olive oil, and the rest of the ingredients, and thoroughly combine.

Note: If fresh wild mushrooms aren't available, use a combination of dried wild and fresh domestic mushrooms.
Serving suggestions: This is a very versatile salsa; especially good with chicken, grilled steak, or as a side dish.
Yield: About 3 cups.
Heat: 4-5

Fresh corn and fresh morels? This recipe isn't too slavish about seasonal availability, is it?

The side dish suggestion is a good one; I could see eating this with a spoon, and it would be nice not to be viewed as a freak because of that. Not that I eat salsa out of the jar with a spoon. Not often. Not again. Oh, God...

Anyway.

This would also be great loaded up on a tortilla chip or five.

Basic Polenta

Rehearsal ran until 10 last night, so I didn't get a post in; you get two today from Eat This...It'll Make You Feel Better! to make up for it. Not just two; two that go together!

Basic Polenta

Polenta is very popular in Italy, and leftovers, which have a very firm consistency, can be fried like grits. Very few people know this, but polenta can be used to repair broken stucco and any cracks in your home! The nice part is, when you're hungry, all you've got to do is lick the walls. Seriously, though, the real trick here is to keep stirring it slowly...and keep believing.

6 cups water
2 cups polenta, or coarse-grained cornmeal

Bring water to a boil in a heavy saucepan. Reduce heat so water is just simmering and gradually add the polenta in a steady stream. Stir constantly.

Continue to stir until polenta is thickened. Polenta should come away from the sides of the pan and be able to support a spoon. Pour thickened polenta onto a wooden board and let stand for a few minutes before turning out onto a serving platter.

Polenta can be served in a variety of ways: as a bed for chicken, sausages, or rabbit stew. As a first course, it can be topped with grated cheese. Polenta is delicious served with marinara sauce too... just make indentations and fill the wells with your favorite spaghetti sauce. Have fun serving your polenta by cutting it the "old-fashioned" way: hold a string tautly and slice right through.

Serves 5-6.

Aaaah, Mr. DeLuise. Now is when we remember that you're a schlocky comedian. Note to blog readers: don't use polenta to repair your home. Also, lentil soup is not improved by adding in a piece of ceiling or sky.

It may seem strange that this recipe doesn't include any fat. Where is the butter? Where is the cheese? Regardless, this is a purist approach, and just like cooking up a pot of rice, you should know how to get the starch perfect perfectly plain before you do improvisational riffs on the theme.

Truth be told, I usually buy my polenta pre-cooked, in tubes, and then fry it up in rounds, or smoosh it into a casserole and top off with Tex-Mex ingredients. I don't know that I've ever gone a polenta route with Italian food. I'm willing to give it a try, though -- starch + tomatoes + cheese = perfection, in my book.

Soft squoodgy warm starch sounds very soothing to me.

Sketchy Salads of Yore: Harlequin Salad

Not all sketchy salads of yore involve gelatin and molds. Exhibit A: This entry from Depression Era Recipes:

Harlequin Salad

1 c. red cabbage
1 c. reg. cabbage
1 c. peas
1/2 c. beets
1 onion, diced
1/2 c. carrot, diced
Salt & pepper
French dressing

Shave cabbage thin. Cook peas, beets and carrots till tender; drain and chill. Mix all vegetables, or arrange them in layers or heaps. The effect is better if they are mixed and they are also easier to season and to arrange. Pour on French dressing an hour before serving, keep cold. Pass more French dressing at the table.

It's Best Guess Translation Time! "Reg. cabbage" has got to be green cabbage, so that we can get a harlequin effect between red and green vegetables. "French dressing," as in Casserole Cookery, means a vinaigrette. I'd also make sure that you cook your veg separately; otherwise, your carrots and peas are going to be beet red, quite literally.

I don't think the "heaps" approach sounds very appealing, but layers might work. I suspect that tossing the salad would make the greens turn red, what with the cabbage and the beets all mingled in.

This is another one of those recipes where every single ingredient that goes into it sounds good, but the overall effect just sounds a little hinky.

Tomatoes Need Not Apply: Three Catsups, No Tomatoes

You say "ketchup," I say "catsup." Okay, I used to. Again, regionality... We used both words in our family, but my dad was more likely to say "catsup." (Sadly, like saying "pop" instead of "soda," the homogenization of US culture has spread into my dad's lingo, and he's more... standard... now; he asks for a soda, he uses ketchup.) Other sites can tell you about the change of the words and the contents, but I'll go for a one - two - three punch: a variety of catsups, from The Portland Woman's Exchange Cook Book:

Cucumber Catsup (Uncooked).

Peel and chop 6 green cucumbers (table size), add 1 green pepper and 2 small onions, minced; drain this and add salt, pepper and vinegar to tasted and turn it into glass jars. Use for sandwiches or with cold meats.

Mrs. F. B. Waite

Take away the green pepper, and this pretty much sounds like what my dad would make anytime there were cucumbers to be had. Cucumbers and vinegar, uncooked, and enjoyed cold with sammiches, or even plain. Not quite sure what Mrs. Waite means by "table size," but I'm choosing to believe that she just means you shouldn't let them get ginormous on the vine. Harvest 'em young, folks!

Mushroom Catsup.

Wipe freshly gathered mushrooms, put in layers in earthen vessels, sprinkling salt between each layer. Cover with damp cloth and stand in a warm place 36 hours; then wash and strain. To each quart of liquid add 1 ounce pepper corns, boil 30 minutes, then add 1 ounce each whole cloves and allspice, 1/2 ounce ginger root, 1 blade mace; simmer 20 minutes. When cold, strain and bottle.

L. C. C. B.

The I-grew-up-Catholic-in-the-70s part of me is now singing "Earthen Vessels," and I fear it'll be with me for a few days, at least. ("We hold a treasure, not made of gold. In earthen vessels, wealth untold.")

Okay, back to the recipe! This sounds more like a ketchup... at least it sounds like it'd be liquid, thick and savory, instead of chunky, fresh, and tangy. The first catsups were usually mushroom or walnut based, so this is more "authentic" than the Heinz we know and love. No clue about the contributor, though she also gave a recipe for mustard pickles which looks yummy (cauliflower, onions, green tomatoes, cukes, and both red and green peppers). She also contributed the next old-school catsup:

Walnut Castup.

Use soft green walnuts; grind or pound in earthen mortar, then turn into stone jar, sprinkle with salt, and cover with vinegar; stand 1 week, stirring well each day. Strain through a coarse cloth. To each gallon of liquid add 1 ounce each of whole cloves, peppercorns, ginger, mace and celery seed, 1/2 a crushed nutmeg, 1 clove of garlic, 1/2 teaspoon cayenne. Boil slowly.

L. C. C. B.

I can't imagine what this tastes like. I've never had unripe walnuts, and I'm curious as to what they taste like. There's an Italian liquor made from unripe walnuts, there's all sorts of things one can do with them... I need to find someone with a green walnut tree!

The Kitchen Survival Guide, by Lora Brody; Applesauce

If you've never cooked much before, and want to start, or if you're sending someone off to school, away from home for the first time, you should pick up a copy (or three) of The Kitchen Survival Guide, by Lora Brody, published in 1992. Brody decided to write a kitchen guide and cookbook when she had a small pan fire, and her kids freaked out trying to figure out how to put the fire out. (Baking soda smothered it nicely.) The book will help you outfit a kitchen, stock your cabinets, make substitutions, and feed yourself (and your friends) well. Chefly Husband was given a copy by his mother when he went off to college (where we met... :swoon:), and we give copies to people whenever possible -- it's a great reference.

The first recipe in the book doesn't come along until page 77. Yes, 77. And then, it's a very basic recipe, following a page on how to read a recipe. Let's hop to it:

Applesauce

Preparation Time: about 40 minutes
Cooking time: 20 to 30 minutes
Yield: 8 to 10 servings, about 5 cups
Can be made ahead? Yes. Up to 1 week. Keep refrigerated.
Can be frozen? Yes. Up to 6 months.
Can be doubled and tripled? Yes.
Good for leftovers? Yes. Applesauce will keep for 1 week refrigerated in a sealed container.

8 to 10 large Cortland or McIntosh apples
1 1/2 cups water or apple cider
3/4 to 1 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
Lemon juice to taste

Quarter the apples and remove the cores and seeds (leave the skins on). Place the apples and cider or water in a deep, heavy-bottomed pot. Cover, and cook over low heat until the apples are very tender, about 20 to 30 minutes.

Use a slotted spoon to remove the apples from the pan and reserve the cooking liquid. Purée the apples in a food processor or blender (if you use a blender, put in only a very small amount of the apples at a time, adding liquid to the blender as necessary to make a purée). Add the remaining ingredients, including about 1/2 to 2/3 of the cooking liquid. Purée until smooth. Add more lemon juice, if desired.

Brody writes recipes like I write recipes -- that is, she's pretty darned chatty. If you can say it two different ways to get your point across, it's more likely that someone can get the recipe to turn out.

Chefly Husband's mother also sent him off to school with a few treasured cans of homemade applesauce. He rationed them like they were the rarest treasure, and rightly so. My mother-in-law makes perfect applesauce.

It's the start of apple picking season here in the DC area. Homestead Farms in Poolesville reports that picking for Gala apples is great right now, and if you didn't know it already, Gala apples are fabulous for saucing. It's nearly autumn...it's time to comfort ourselves with apples.

It Had To Happen: Tart Burgundy Gelatin Salad

I hail with joy -- for I am a temperance man and a friend of temperance -- I hail with joy the efforts that are being made to raise wine in this country. I believe that when you have everywhere cheap, pure unadulterated wine, you will no longer have need for either prohibitory or license laws.
-- Louis Agassiz, American naturalist

I'm not quite sure why more wine would be a good thing for a temperance movement, but I'm all for cheap, pure unadulterated wine bring tidings of joy. Adventures in Wine Cookery has two pages of nothing but toasts and wine quotations, which is why every post this week has started off with a quote of the day.

Take One Cookbook... has been going for over a month now, and there hasn't yet been a recipe for the cornerstone of any 1920s-1970s community cookbook. It had to happen some day; that day is today. Today, I give you: a gelatin salad.

Tart Burgundy Gelatin Salad

(6-8 servings)
Mrs. William V. Cruess, University of California, Department of Food Science & Technology, Berkeley

1 (No. 1) can shredded beets
1/2 cup California Burgundy, Claret, or other red table wine
1 (3-oz.) package lemon-flavored gelatin
1 cup grapefruit juice
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 teaspoon horseradish
1/4 teaspoon salt

Drain beets, reserving 1/2 cup liquid. Combine beet liquid and wine; heat to boiling. Add gelatin; stir until dissolved. Add grapefruit juice, garlic, horseradish and salt. Chill until slightly set; fold in beets. Chill until set.

Wine Dressing: Combine 1 cup bottled mayonnaise dressing with 1/2 cup California Burgundy or Claret. Makes about 1 1/2 cups.

Note: This refreshing and easy salad would be very attractive made in individual molds, with a topping of the Wine Dressing, though plain mayonnaise or sour cream might be used if desired. Any left-over Wine Dressing would be delicious over a plain fruit salad. Wine accompanying the menu would depend on the main course -- probably a red table wine, if a hearty meat dish is served.

Yes. It's a Jell-O salad. Like I said, it had to happen. There will be more to come, oh, yes, mostly because I'm utterly fascinated by the molded salads of yore.

What's a No. 1 can mean? Think "Campbell's Condensed Soup" size. And, though it doesn't specify, I'd say you're safest using grated horseradish, not creamed. If you're looking for a specific grape for your red table wine, try a light/cheap Pinot Noir.

I did a little research on Mrs. William V. Cruess. Of course, the first rush of information was all about her husband, Mr. William V. Cruess. He was a leading food scientist whose accomplishments include promoting flash freezing to preserve fruits, and, yes, inventing the fruit cocktail. (I've never put Wine Dressing or plain mayonnaise on fruit cocktail, but I have to bet that Mrs. Cruess at least tried it.)

But what of his wife? His obituary mentions her warmly: "In 1917 he married his charming and devoted wife Marie Gleason Cruess, his constant companion and true helpmate for the rest of his life."

Okay, that melts me more than a little. "Constant companion and true helpmate."

Turns out that Marie Gleason Cruess was an artist. She painted landscapes, and had a few exhibitions. She and her husband were married for over fifty years.

I'd have thought a beet/pinot/grapefruit/lemon/horseradish/gelatin/mayo salad wouldn't contribute to marital harmony. I'm glad to be wrong. ... though part of me feels like writing a story wherein they thrive in spite of such dishes.

Alaska Sweet Sea Pickles; Pickled Kelp, That Is

I'm a fan of almost anything pickled or preserved (I draw the line at pickled fish products -- I may have Icelandic blood in me, but I can't get behind the pickled fish...). My maternal grandfather (the handsome devil in the picture here) had an incredible garden, and my paternal grandmother had next to no room for a garden but still managed to grow cucumbers and dill sufficient enough to keep the family in pickles for years and years. Pickling is frugal and sensible -- put away tasty, healthy fruits and veg to be used when there's nothing fresh to be had. No surprise, then, to find pickle recipes in Alaska "Sourdough" Cookin'.

Alaska Sweet Sea Pickles

4 lbs. bulb kelp
1 cup salt
2 gallons water
1/2 tsp. alum
3 1/2 cup sugar
1 pint white vinegar
1/2 tsp. oil of cloves*
1/2 tsp. oil of cinnamon*
2 quarts water

Cut kelp in 12-in. lengths and split bulbs. Remove dark surface layer with a vegetable parer. Soak kelp in a brine solution (1 cup salt to 2 gallons water) for 2 hours. Care must be taken to keep kelp covered with brine. Remove kelp from brine and wash thoroughly with cold water. Cut kelp into 1-in. cubes and soak in alum solution (1/2 tsp. alum to 2 qts. cold water) for 15 minutes. Drain and wash in cold water: drain again. Place kelp in enamel kettle and cover with boiling water. Cook only until kelp can be pierced with a fork. Drain.

Combine sugar, vinegar, and oils; boil 2 minutes; pour over cooked kelp. Let stand overnight in the enamel kettle or a crock. In the morning, drain off and save the syrup; reheat kelp to boiling point. Pour syrup back over the kelp and allow to stand 24 hours. The third morning, heat both kelp and syrup to the boiling point; seal immediately in hot sterilized jars. Makes 3 pints.

* When oil of cinnamon or cloves are used, kelp cubes remain clear and almost transparent. A small amount of green food coloring may be used to make a brighter product. If whole spices are used, tie them in a small bag.

This sounds interesting, and, yes, even tasty. I don't think I'd use it for my favorite pickle dish (peanut butter and pickle sandwiches ... yum!), but can see having it with grilled fish or chicken. Methow Valley Herbs has more direct experience with using kelp pickles, and also has tips on how to harvest it.

Chefly Husband expressed some surprise over pickled kelp; I told him it was the bulbs, and then I remembered that I'm an Oregon Coast transplant, whereas he's a Lake Michigan transplant -- his childhood didn't involve kelp washed up on shore.

Most pickle recipes these days won't include alum; it was used to crisp up less-than-perfect vegetables. In my household, growing up, alum served an entirely different purpose: Momma put it in our homemade play dough to make sure we wouldn't eat it. Generally speaking, I'd say "skip the alum, if you like;" however, I think of kelp as not-exactly-crisp, so if you have access to alum, I'd use it. The folks at Methow Valley Herbs suggest that you can use grape leaves instead, which sounds like a worthy substitute.

Beets Braised in Sour Cream

There was a time when I didn't like sour cream. It's hard to imagine it now, really, but I was highly suspicious of the white, smooth, gloopy substance. If it was mixed with something else, if it was part of a sauce, well, fine. But sour cream on its own? Ick! Yogurt? Ick! They weren't a part of my growing up, and I resisted them mightily (until I grew some sense, or went to college, or both -- sour cream on everything in the dining hall made the dining hall palatable).

I was sure I hated sour cream. I also was sure I hated beets.

Nothing Beets Borscht would have scared the heck out of me back then, especially with this recipe.

Beets Braised in Sour Cream
(Svyokla so Smyetanoy)

This recipe should satisfy all those people who thought Russian cooking was synonymous with sour cream and beets. It will also surprise them, because this doesn't have any of the ghastly connotations that sour cream has for many Americans. The beets color the sour cream, and the dish is a bright magenta. It's such an incredibly brilliant color that even if you hat beets, and despise sour cream, try this just to see that fantastic color!

1 pound raw beets
1 tablespoon butter
1 teaspoon lemon juice
A little bit of water
Salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 cup sour cream

Peel the beets and slice them thinly.

Melt the butter in a frying pan that has a cover. Add the beets, lemon juice, and enough water to keep the beets from burning (a few tablespoons).

Cover and simmer for about 40 minutes, or until beets are tender. Remove from heat.

Add the salt and sugar, and mix. Add the sour cream and heat the pan, but do not let the sour cream come to a boil, or it will curdle. When the cream is warm, serve.

Make sure the dish you serve it in shows off the beets' color. Black is very nice; so is white.

Evidently, my 1970s self was not alone in being highly suspicious of beets and sour cream. What was it, I wonder, about sour cream that seemed scary back then, but now seems so completely normal?

I would probably not call these "braised in sour cream" as it seems they are cooked in water, and then served in cream, but that's just me. I'd use the highest-fat sour cream you can allow yourself to buy, because the higher fat will stand the heat longer without breaking.

I haven't tried this yet, but I'd bet you can do this more quickly and with less mess by turning it into a pantry cooking sort of thing: a can of sliced beets (not pickled! not sweetened!), drained, with a few tablespoons of the liquid reserved (to stand in for the few tablespoons of water). Warm that up in a pan with the lemon juice, and then proceed with the recipe. No peeling raw beets, no slicing raw beets, no waiting for the raw beets to be cooked through. Might be a nice thing on a hot August night when you've been away at work and just want something easy, fast, and relatively healthy.

Foundation In Fact, and Sweet Potato Pone

I've just finished up a plate of leftover Mulatto Rice, which tastes great, cold, right from the fridge. So far, out of The Savannah Cook Book, we've had a punch, a stew, a meat dish, and a side dish (though Mulatto Rice could stand as a main course). Must be time for a vegetable dish or two.

A newcomer to our shores is often a little surprised at the names to which some of our old vegetables answer. For instance, when we say "Guinea squash," egg plant makes its appearance, and squashes are apt to be listed at "Cimlins." When we say artichokes, we mean, of course, the Jerusalem variety -- unless it be a party -- then we have "Burr artichokes," meaning the other and more stylish branch of the family, though I have never seen that name in any of the cook books. The colored people are apt to call butter beans "see-wee" or "civvy" beans, but this seems to have a foundation in fact, since the dictionary opines that a lima bean (which is a large variety of our butter bean) is also known as the Siveau or Civet Bean.

Aaaah, Ms. Colquitt! We share a love of language, it seems. (Some might say we both also take too much pleasure in the describing "naive" and "quaint" lives and thoughts of our subjects.) I wonder if eggplant (now one word) is still called Guinea squash in regular use; any readers have it in their normal lexicon? I also wonder if Georgians today would still consider a sunchoke the default when hearing "artichoke."

The "foundation in fact" bit gets me all cranky again -- seems I can dish out the superior cultured tone, but rankle at the same in the text. Something to work on another day. Back to the fun stuff.

There's a large collection of potato and sweet potato recipes in The Savannah Cook Book. You have to be careful and read closely, though, because there are several sweet potato recipes that are really sweet recipes using potatoes.

Sweet Potato Pone

1 quart grated potato
3/4 pound butter
3/4 pound sugar
1/2 pint milk
1 tablespoon powdered ginger
grated peel of one sweet orange

Rub ingredients well together and bake in a shallow plate in a slow over. A little molasses may be added.

In the northern part of the state, where the frost sweetens the persimmons in the fall, a delicious touch is given the potato pone by adding a cup or more of persimmons before cooking.

I've never used white potatoes in a sweet dish, and I'll admit, it intrigues me. Another recipe in the book calls for wrapping marshmallows in mashed potatoes, rolling the resulting balls in coconut ("cocoanut," if you want to be book-accurate), and then baking them to get Sweet Potato Snow Balls. I'm entranced!

Fair warning: the part of me that thinks that mashed potatoes, marshmallows, and coconut all together sounds like a good idea is the same part of me that will be bringing you gelatin salads of all varieties.

Mulatto Rice

One of the recipes The Savannah Cook Book is known for is Mulatto Rice. Evidently, it plays a big part in "Their Eyes Were Watching God," and people who want to know more about the dish end up finding Ms. Colquitt's tome. If the dish name makes you a little uncomfortable, well, wait 'til you read the introductory sentence.

Mulatto Rice

This is the very chic name given to rice with a touch of the tarbrush.

Fry squares of breakfast bacon and remove from the pan. Then brown some minced onion (one small one) in this grease, and add one pint can of tomatoes. When thoroughly hot, add a pint of rice to this mixture, and cook very slowly until the rice is done. Or, if you are in a hurry, cold rice may be substituted, and all warmed thoroughly together.

Originally when I decided on posting this recipe, I thought I'd lead into it with a bit of an excerpt about Pilaus, because it, again, speaks indulgently and patronizingly about "the old cooks" and "our admiring imitators," but I think there's plenty to wrestle with with Mulatto Rice.

Before reading this recipe, I don't think I'd ever heard or read the phrase "a touch of the tarbrush." It sent off alarms -- there's something going on here, surely. But it couldn't mean what I think it means...right? Perhaps it just means that the onions and the rice get dark from the frying...?

Yeah, no. It's as unappealing as can be. Really, the lead in to the next recipe, Mexican Rice," should have made it clear without me doing more web research. ("This seems to be a sort of first cousin to the dark horse above.")

And I still can't get past the idea that "Mulatto Rice" is somehow a "chic" name; what the hell were they calling it before they called it this? No, wait; don't tell me. I doubt I'll like it.

Stepping away from the socio-linguistic meltdown going on in my head, let's look at the recipe itself...

...this looks good. It looks easy. It looks like a pantry dinner -- using staples to quickly feed the household. And, really, bacon fat is always a good thing.

My husband, Nick, and friend, Mab, both asked if I was going to cook anything to go along with these blog posts; I've decided to cook one of the recipes a week. This week, I'm going to make Mulatto Rice (only in part because I don't really have a social occasion on the books that would call for gallons of Chatham Artillery Punch). I'll share the results here.

Is it wrong that I want to throw shrimp in this?