Shellin' and Snappin': A Summer Meal

Lately I’ve been feeling like a little fish in a big sea. There are SO many food bloggers out there and SO many great sites. I’m like an infant in “blogland,” yet I want to be a grown-up. I want beautiful photos, slick design, engaging copy, inspiring recipes, lots of subscribers and recognition for my work. But, of course, I’ve only been doing this for six months and it is not my full-time job. I need to be patient and there is a lot I need to learn. I also need to find my voice and figure out who I am as a writer and blogger. What got me started writing this blog is a curiosity about black-eyed peas and Southern tradition – and here I am again writing about peas. For me, this is really an online journal – where I am, what I’m eating, what I’m thinking about and the recognizing the many people, places and traditions that have made me who I am today. I’m working on my photography, but for now I will post my crappy photos and hope you forgive me. :)

When I received a big “mess” (that’s the Southern word for a bunch) of Dixie Lee field peas in my CSA box, I was a bit taken a back. At first I thought they were really long green beans – it had been so long since I had encountered a field pea in its shell. Handling them took me back to hot summer days sitting on my grandmothers’ screened-in porches with several bowls and buckets before us: one for the whole peas, one for the shelled peas and one for the scraps. With my series of bowls, I sat on the couch and shelled while my three-year-old “helped” but stirring the peas with a whisk. He was fascinated with the process – “what do you do with the crusts?” he asked – referring to the shells. He smelled the peas and sampled them raw. I shelled for what seemed like forever, boiled the peas with a little onion, chicken broth and water and this is all I got:


Peas - Can't do much to make these suckers pretty!


Was it worth it? Yes! For the connection I felt with my grandmothers – one who is gone and one who is still here but whose mind is slipping away. And for the connection I felt with my son who will hopefully one day have fond memories of shelling peas with his mama.

A few days later, I had a “mess” of green beans. My almost six-year-old son was my helpmate this time. Again, I recall hot summer days in the garden dodging yellow jackets picking green and filling our buckets with white half runners – the green bean variety of choice in both my grandparents’ gardens. We would then sit on the screen porch stringing and snapping. Sometimes, Granny would be working the peas and Mama and I would be stringing the green beans. It was an operation. The green beans were so abundant that there would always be plenty for canning. I remember standing in steamy kitchen filling Mason jars with hot green beans. What a treat to pull those green beans out in the middle of the winter and enjoy the summer’s bounty!

I can’t say that my son really “got” how to properly string the green beans, and it would have been a whole lot easier to do it myself, but watching him enjoy it and feel like he was contributing to the family meal was worth the extra strings. I have a hard time getting him to eat his vegetables, but last night, he ate every bit of the green beans he helped to prepare. I had never thought of it before, but I’m sure my mother quietly forgave the extra strings and stems that made it into our green beans due to my efforts. And for that, I’m grateful. Whether sitting on the porch or in front of the TV watching “stories” with our hands in beans, it was the camaraderie that really mattered – not the imperfect pieces that came from a child’s hands.

And here I am with my imperfect blog, feeling like a child again trying to emulate the grown-ups. We all have to start somewhere! For me, it’s at the dinner table with my family. And here’s what we had for dinner.

The only thing missing -- a tall glass of sweet tea.

Turkey Meatloaf - Based on this recipe:
http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/chriss-incredible-italian-turkey-meatloaf/detail.aspx

Note: I used plain spaghetti sauce (no extra stuff in it) on the top and I cut back the oatmeal a bit and added a little bread crumbs. I probably cut back on the onion, too.

Mashed Potatoes – I never follow a recipe for these. I just cook some potatoes, drain the water and mash with a little butter, cheese, sour cream (in this case I used fat-free Greek yogurt which I wouldn’t really recommend because it gave them more of a tartness than I would have liked) and season with salt and pepper to taste.

Green Beans – Simply cooked in water, a little chicken broth, a little vegetable oil and lots of salt. If you want to be old-school, cook with a little fatback or bacon!

Field Peas – Cooked to death (the Southern way) with chicken broth, onion, salt, pepper. Again, use bacon or fatback for even more deliciousness if that’s your thing.

Tomato – For some reason, Southerners like to eat a wedge of tomato with everything in the summer. Maybe because there is always an abundance of tomatoes sitting around? I don’t know, but you have to have a little tomato to go with your peas and green beans. It’s especially good with creamed corn and fried okra!

So, I hope my post brings back food memories for you or encourages you to do some shellin’ and snappin’ of your own. Also, I’m on the search for the best squash casserole ever. I have some squash I need to do something with and am thinking of giving squash casserole another try. I’ve never been a fan, but maybe I’ve just never met the right casserole! If you have the recipe to end all recipes and don’t mind sharing it, I’d love to make it and give you a shout out here. If you’re a blogger, I’ll definitely provide a link and promote it on Facebook and Twitter. Stay tuned for more Southern veggies soon – ‘tis the season!

Cookies and Community

   

One of my mom’s treasured keepsakes that she gave to my aunt as a Christmas gift one year was their grandmother, Granny Heard’s, casserole dish. It was nothing fancy, but on the bottom was a faded label with her name on it – written in her own handwriting. I love to think about how this dish traveled from church potluck to family get-togethers and at some point, was no doubt filled with something delicious and left with someone in their time of need. I love the tradition of carrying food to people when they are sick, hospitalized, dealing the death of a family member, have a new baby or are just having a tough time. Food truly is an expression of love.

I know people around the world prepare and share food with others in difficult times, but I’d like to think that Southerners are especially good at the practice. I remember as a child the minute my mama would get bad news about someone or some situation, she would hit the kitchen. The smell of pound cake would fill the house as we’d excitedly run into the kitchen asking for a taste only to be turned away. “This isn’t for us. It’s for (insert name) whose (insert family member) is (insert calamity),” she would say. Oh, how torturous it was to watch a warm golden pound cake get wrapped in aluminum foil and shuttled away without even having a tiny sliver. However, she did often make two cakes so we weren’t completely deprived. And it wasn’t just cakes – there was vegetable soup, cornbread, casseroles, cookies – comfort foods that travel well and warm the soul. There is no doubt she learned this practice from her mother, grandmothers and neighbors in Coal Mountain. It’s just what people did, and thankfully still do. Although we may drop off a store-bought cake these days, it’s the thought that counts.

When her time of need came years later, the love that she had once cooked for others was returned in spades. My dad was fed and cared for by family and friends well after her passing. Every time we turned around, a HoneyBaked ham would show up on the doorstep. People were so kind and generous. It’s kind of funny how the death of a loved one brings about a feast – a time of gathering and eating food that others have lovingly prepared and donated. Really, I guess it is fitting. Food brings people together and provides sustenance when you need it most.

So, cooking and “rallying” (as my family would say) in the kitchen is just in my blood. On Friday, I found myself making my go-to chocolate chip cookies to take to a friend who just had a baby and a friend whose little boy just underwent a kidney transplant. I suppose I could have taken flowers, a balloon or some other non-edible gift, but being food-obsessed (and Southern), food is just the first thing that comes to mind. I am sharing this not to brag on myself, but rather just to point out how much of it is almost instinctual. I’m just following the traditions I’ve seen demonstrated in the past, that I have been the beneficiary of, and so greatly appreciate. I’ve seen amazing examples of generosity not only in the community I grew up in, but also in my present community. I live amongst good people, and for that I am so thankful.

And now, I want to share a little bit about Hyde – the little boy I visited. (I promise I’ll get to the recipe!) Hyde’s mom, Phyllis, is a childhood friend and distant cousin of mine like most people from Coal Mountain, Oak Grove or Silver City – communities within the northern part of Forsyth County. I remember going over to her house, making cookies and eating so much dough that we got sick. Her four-year-old son, Hyde, suffers from a very rare genetic blood disorder called atypical hemolytic–uremic syndrome (aHUS). The disease is a genetic blood disorder that causes the immune system to attack red blood cells. It eventually destroys the kidneys, renal system, and immune system. For the past two years, Hyde has endured numerous hospital stays and 10 hours of dialysis every night to do the work kidneys would normally do.

Because of the generosity of others and the hard work and dedication of doctors, researchers and other aHUS families, Hyde is the youngest and only the third patient in the U.S. to undergo a kidney transplant combined with drug therapy with an experimental new drug, Soliris. This treatment wouldn’t have possible a year ago – perhaps even six months ago. The research is that new. So far, Hyde is doing well and the hope is that his new kidney (graciously provided by his uncle) and drug therapy will stop the disease and allow him to live a long and "normal" life.

When we arrived at the hospital on Friday, Hyde was happily slurping milk out of a spiral straw. In the picture above, he is enjoying a popsicle and banana just three days after surgery! When he saw us bringing in cookies and muffins (the muffins were store-bought, I confess), he asked with great interest, “Ooh, what’s that?” He inspected them and seemed very pleased to have some goodies to munch on later. Cookies make everything better, right?

These cookies always draw rave reviews. The recipe comes from Mildred Council's Mama Dip's Kitchen cookbook that my friend who used to live in North Carolina gave to me. If you aren’t familiar with Mama Dip, she is a local legend in the Chapel Hill/Durham area for her soulful Southern cooking. Her cookies are super easy and always turn out divine (provided you don’t overbake them).

Chocolate Chip Cookies
1 stick butter (softened)
1/2 cup dark brown sugar (I think the dark sugar is the key in making these so delicious so don't sub with light if you can help it)
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 egg
1 tsp. vanilla
1 1/2 c. all purpose flour
2 tbsp. cocoa (I usually add a little extra)
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips (I used white chocolate chips in this recipe because I was out of semi-sweet)
1/2 cup chopped pecans (optional)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In a bowl, beat together the butter and both kinds of sugar until light and fluffy. Add egg and vanilla and mix well. Sift the flour cocao, baking soda and salt together in a bowl. Add to the wet ingredients and mix well. Stir in the chocolate chips and pecans. Using a spoon or scoop, drop batter onto a greased cookie sheet, forming cookies of whatever size you prefer, leaving the cookies about 2 inches apart. bake for 8 to 10 minutes, just until firm. Makes 4 dozen 2-inch cookies. (Note: I often double for a bigger batch.)

Finally, I want to put in a plug for an upcoming fundraiser that will help raise funds to support the Foundation for Children with Atypical HUS and Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta. The third annual Hike4Hyde will take place on April 16 at the Sawnee Mountain Nature Preserve in Cumming. For more information and to register, visit the website. Also, if you can’t attend the hike or just want to make a donation, there is a link to do so through Paypal. Only about 300-600 people in the United States (mostly children) suffer from aHUS. Your dollars can have a big impact.

Thanks for reading and thanks for being a part of my community (real or virtual). The next time someone you know is having a hard time or dealing with a major life event – whether sad, scary or joyful – take them something to eat. We’ve got to keep this tradition going – it’s definitely one worth keeping.

Low Fat Gravy and Other Mishaps

I love sharing stories about all the fabulous food I had growing up, but feel like I need to add a giant disclaimer: we did not have fried chicken, green beans and piping hot biscuits for dinner every night. Some nights, yes, but we had plenty of non-Southern fare and a few meals I was not fond of at all. For instance, there was fish stick night. Pair that with canned English peas, and I was holding my nose to gulp everything down and win the “Clean Plate Award.” That was how my parents got my brothers and me to at least try everything on our plate. (Surprisingly, none of us ended up competitive eaters.) I’m sure that my mom was harried like I am now – trying to get something to eat on the table while wrestling, loud crashes and general chaos ensues in the other room.

What was so amazing about my mom, though, is how she could salvage kitchen failures and make them taste decent. Add a little sauce or cover with cheese – waa laa! Also, she could look in a barren pantry and come up with something – most often something really delicious. The biggest things I learned from her (in the kitchen and in life) are creativity and determination. Her process was simple: think and do. She rarely followed a recipe. Like a whirlwind, she would spin around the kitchen throwing ingredients together -- and most of the time it worked out quite well.

In that spirit, I set out to make dinner last night with no set plan and with two restless boys in during the “witching hour.” What was I thinking??!! I had some ground chicken that I planned to use for chili, but given the copious amounts of soup we’ve eaten lately with all the cold weather, I felt like doing something different. So, I did a pan fried chicken patty with scallions, garlic and fresh parsley and served it over wild rice. It was actually quite tasty – though not much to look at. Then, I thought, how about some gravy? Given the low-fat nature of the chicken, I really didn’t have the proper amount of grease to make “real” gravy. I wondered what would happen if I added chicken broth to the miniscule amount of grease left in the frying plan and then thicken it up with some flour, corn starch and a touch of milk. Well, I’m here to tell you that it will make a gravy-like substance, but it won’t taste anything like gravy should. It really didn’t taste like anything, despite seasoning the crap out of it. Plus, it had a bitter taste. I blew the cobwebs out of my gravy boat (quite literally) and poured it in nonetheless. Then I steamed some broccoli. The meal was almost complete.

Given one catastrophe or another that required me chasing or scolding a boy, I ended up burning the rice – in addition to the gravy failure. The husband was running late, but I decided to go ahead and plate it up anyway and get the kids started eating. Of course, after I ran around in circles 10 more times and dealt with my two-year-old’s potty incident, I sat down to a plate of cold food and cries of “Oooohhh, I don’t like this!” Now I know why mom went ballistic if we ever DARED to criticize anything she made! “This is what we are having for dinner and you will try it,” is our mantra. We also all sit down together and eat – a tradition I carry from my childhood and plan to enforce as long as humanly possible.

Finally, after taking some pictures (which I now feel compelled to do obsessively) and reheating my cold food, I sat down to eat. My husband came home to a pile of dirty pots and pans and a frazzled wife. Being the awesome man that he is, he washed all the dishes – even the burnt rice one – and didn’t complain a bit (well, not too much). I struggle with us appearing to have typical, traditional gender roles in our family as I don’t want my boys to think that cooking and cleaning is “women’s work.” We sort of fell into these roles – he as the breadwinner, me as the “work from home mom” because they made the most sense financially – not because we think it is the way things should be. I often joke that I’m a terrible housewife. I love spending time with my boys but I do not relish the domestic chores that come along with being at home. I am learning to love cooking again, though, and this blog is helping me to work through my “issues.”

The moral of this long and winding story is that we had food on the table, it was pretty good (gravy optional), pretty healthy, and we ate together as a family. Will I plan better next time? Yes, I will try. Will I attempt low fat gravy again? I don’t know. You tell me, is there a way? Oh, and also on the plate is a whole wheat biscuit that I had made the day before. (There will be more to come on that little experiment. Another mishap, perhaps?) I think family dinner time, especially when you have small children, will always be a bit chaotic and hardly ever perfect, but it is always memorable – even if the food is somewhat forgettable.

Kinship in the Kitchen

Yesterday at my dad’s house I found myself looking through a box labeled “Memory Box” in my mom’s neat and distinct handwriting. In it were old report cards, high school diplomas, birth certificates, pictures we had drawn as kids, letters my dad had written home when he was in the National Guard during Vietnam, newspaper clippings – all manner of things from different eras. I could have spent all day looking at everything, reading it and soaking it all in.

As much as I love going through old things, this time it left me a bit melancholy. Going home to my parents’ house is always bittersweet. Most of you know me, and know that I lost my mom to ovarian cancer 4 ½ years ago. The house is in many ways as she left it – her artwork adorns the walls, the “art room” is still stocked with supplies, the piano sits unplayed, and some of her cookbooks still neatly line a shelf in the kitchen next to her teapot collection. I love feeling close to her by being close to her “things,” but at the same time their presence reminds me of the giant void her absence has left in my life.

I’ve come to realize, though, that writing this blog is one way that I am connecting with her even still. Food was, and continues to be, such an important part of my family life. I find that the times I feel closest to her are when I’m in the kitchen making biscuits, chicken and dumplings and other dishes she taught me to make – the same dishes her mama taught her to make. The kitchen was the place we spent the most time together – her cooking away with frenzied efficiency; me watching or begging to help. Later in life, we’d cook together or I would simply hang out and chat while she worked her magic. The only time I didn’t enjoy spending in the kitchen was cleaning up. Some things never change!

Now I have a five-year-old tugging on my apron strings asking to “help,” and I’m reminded of the importance of passing on family and cultural food traditions. When I make special things that I remember having as a child, I’m always sure to tell him, “My mommy cooked these things for me when I was little.” And he feels a connection, too.

Six years ago, as part of my graduate studies, I had the opportunity to document the women in my family – my mom, granny, aunt and me - making biscuits. My goal was to examine Southern biscuit making as a folk craft – a skill featuring traditional materials and “construction” passed down from generation to generation. This experience really had an impact on me as I witnessed the ways that we all learned from one another and the importance of kitchen and kinship. You’ll definitely be hearing more about it in posts to come.

Inspired by telling these stories, I dug around my mom’s kitchen and brought back with me some of her cookbooks and hand-written recipes. Since I had just experimented with tea cakes in my last post, I was thrilled to find her recipe neatly written on one of her recipe cards. If you want a more traditional Southern tea cake, these are sure to please. I also want to thank you for your kind words and the great response I’ve been getting to my blog so far. I really want this to be a labor of love, a place for inspiration and a place for you to dig from your “memory box” and share, too. It would be a whole lot easier to cook out of a box, but as my mama would say, “That’s not fit to eat!” Food is central to who we are, where we’ve been and what we are to become. Let’s enjoy!

Tea Cakes (recipe by Joyce Corn Roberts)
1 stick of butter
½ c. shortening
1 ½ c. sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
6+ cups self-rising flour

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Beat with electric mixer until fluffy. Add about 3 cups of flour mixing well. Add more flour until very stiff dough is formed. Form 1-inch balls in palms of hands. Place about two inches apart on ungreased cookie sheet. Flatten with bottom of smooth drinking glass dipped in sugar. Bake about 8-10 minutes until very light brown. Makes about 6 dozen.