The Legend of Jammin' Raku

I have wanted to publicly share the story of Jammin' Raku going on a solid fifteen years - waiting semi-patiently for just the right time and place. And I've found it with my first Fathers' Day back home with my dad. So he can berate me in person once he reads it.

This story began back in the mid-nineties - an era where I primarily listened to and consumed all things hip hop. I was living in Atlanta at the time, and vividly remember the phone call from Dad asking, rather excitedly, if I had heard “the new, hip rapper, Jammin' Raku.”

As my eyes rolled out of my head and down the block, I replied that I had not.

“Well, you would love him,” he told me. I was dubious to say the least. I thought I was extremely cool – cutting edge, even, with my musical tastes. Considering I was listening to Organized Konfusion and my dad, Alison Krauss, well, that kind of nailed it for me. Let's just say I didn't exactly follow up on the Jammin' Raku tip.

Some time passed, a few months or so, and Dad came to visit in Atlanta. “So did you ever find that Jammin' Raku I was telling you about? No? Well, I'm really surprised. He's really hip right now and I know you'd love him.” During his visit he would ask my various friends if they had heard of the hip, new rapper, Jammin' Raku to no avail. Then, much to my horror, he wanted to go to the local record store to get to the bottom of the mystery. I'm sure you've read or seen High Fidelity? Criminal Records was like that. I never went in not knowing what I was looking for and I certainly never went in if I was going to buy anything less than cooler than cool.

I hustled Dad straight to the hip hop section to look under the Js. Nothing. Then the Rs nothing. Then that sinking feeling when I heard him say, “Well, let's just ask someone who works here.” After my dad, quite audibly (and, in my opinion, shamelessly) asked a staff member behind the counter (the back of the counter was elevated about two or three feet so that the staff literally looked down at you) about the new, hip rapper, Jammin' Raku. With no results, we moved on. But not before I bought an actual new, 'hip' album that I thought would redeem me from that excruciatingly uncool moment.

I thought the matter was dropped.

About a year later, I was visiting Richmond and having lunch with my dad when I heard those words again: “So did you ever find anything out about that rapper, Jammin' Raku?” If only the three little letters existed together then – OMG.

“No, Dad,” I said, and tried desperately to change the subject. “Well, let's just drop into the record store here and try one last time. I swear you'll thank me. This guy is right up your alley.” So, of course the record store he was referring to was essentially right up there with the one in Atlanta on the High Fidelity cooler-than-thou scale. Christ, I had spent my entire youth trying to establish my coolness with the staff there, going as far as wearing my Gwar-blood-covered white v-neck tee shirts whilst perusing Fishbone vinyl throughout high school. I still had a crush on a boy that worked there!

Do I even need to tell you that it was the exact same story as in Atlanta the year before? I was even more mortified that even IF there was a new, hip rapper, Jammin' Raku, he couldn't possibly still be new or hip an entire year later.

Once again, I thought the matter was dropped.

Back in Atlanta, another six months or so passed when I received a care package from Dad. With a CD in it. There was also a note: “This is the guy I've been trying to tell you about!”

I looked down at the stark white CD with a silhouette of a cartoonish figure of a man in the familiar large, fuzzy hat with horns. No, not new, not hip (sorry Dad), and certainly not a rapper. Jammin' Raku?

It was Jamiroquai.

That's my dad. And that's the story of Jammin' Raku.

And today is Father's Day. The first Father's Day I have been able to actually spend with my dad since before the Legend of Jammin' Raku. So we are going to do lots of stuff together. With Fred, too. One of the events is, of course, cooking.

From left: Dad, Janie & Uncle Doug

For a long time now I have been hearing about my dad's favorite meal that his mother, Janie, used to prepare. She made it for the whole family often, but when Dad first came back come from the Navy to visit and she served it, he told her it was his favorite of all meals. She then made it for him every single time he came home.

It's pretty weird sounding and has a host of seemingly disparate layers together on a plate: green beans (snap beans) with pinto beans cooked forever with ham hocks, fresh creamed sweet corn, cucumber and green onion salad in iced vinegar, thick slices of ripe tomatoes and cornbread. Oddly, I have never been served this meal. I sort of thought it was a myth, actually. It's verysouthern and very summer.

Over lunch with my dad and his brother, my Uncle Pat, recently, the two of them chatted about this meal. Pat remembers it well. He ate his with all of the components on the plate together but separated. My dad liked to pile everything on top of everything, in his own special order, in the form of a gloppy strata. This meal was always served with the sweetest of iced tea.

So, tonight, on this momentous Father's Day reunited with my dad, back in the south and knocking on summer's door, we will have his Favorite Meal. I will get to hear wonderful stories of his childhood, family and Janie while we chop and stir and eat.

And maybe we will listen to some of that new, hip rapper, Jammin' Raku's music, too.

~~~~~~~~~~

I love you so much Dad. You have always been and still are my hero. I couldn't be happier to be spending this day with you again. Happy Father's Day.

Janie's Summer Harvest

This meal was probably so frequently seen on the dinner table in the summer months because Janie, and I imagine many southern cooks, could harvest nearly all of the ingredients in her backyard garden. The entire meal is compiled essentially of five side dishes. Serve them family style and plate them separately or, like my dad, all piled on top of one another (from bottom: green beans, creamed corn, cucumber salad, tomatoes and then cornbread).

Let me add that all dishes are heavily salted and peppered.

Everything serves 4

Green Beans with Ham

Ingredients

1 pound fresh green beans, trimmed & rinsed

1/2 pound of pinto or cranberry beans soaked

4 cups water

1/4 pound diced salt pork or 1 ham hock

Salt & pepper to taste

Directions

Put water in a 2-quart saucepan; add pintos and diced salt pork. Cover and cook for 5 minutes. Add green beans, salt, and pepper; cover and cook green beans over medium heat for about 45 minutes, or until green beans are tender.

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Creamed Corn

Ingredients

8 ears of corn

1 1/2 cup of whole milk

2 tablespoons butter

Salt & pepper to taste

Directions

In a large saucepan, melt butter on medium heat.

Remove the kernels from the corn. Stand a corn cob vertically on a cutting board. Using a sharp knife, use long, downward strokes of the knife to remove the kernels from the cob. Add corn to saucepan. Use the edge of a spoon to scrape the sides of the cob to remove any remaining pulp into saucepan.

Add milk and bring to a low simmer, reduce heat and cover. Cook for 30 minutes until the corn is tender.

Salt & pepper to taste.

~~~~~~~~~~

Cucumber & Spring Onion Salad

Ingredients

1-1 ½ cucumber, peeled and sliced

1 bunch spring onions, trimmed and cut in half width-wise

1 cup apple cider vinegar

1 cup of ice cubes

Salt & pepper to taste

Directions

Toss cucumber, onion, vinegar and ice cubes in a bowl and let sit until well chilled. Salt and pepper to taste.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thick Sliced Ripe Tomatoes with Salt and Pepper

Ingredients

3 large, ripe tomatoes

Salt & pepper taste

Directions

Slice tomatoes about 1/4” thick

Arrange on plate and salt & pepper to taste.

~~~~~~~~~~

Classic Skillet Cornbread

(recipe adapted from Deep South Dish)

Ingredients

1/4 cup of oil, shortening or bacon fat

1-1/2 cups of all purpose white or yellow cornmeal

3 tablespoons of all purpose flour

1 teaspoon of baking soda

1 teaspoon of baking powder

1 teaspoon of kosher salt

2 cups of buttermilk, more or less

1 large egg, lightly beaten

Directions

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Add the fat to a well seasoned 10-inch cast iron skillet and place the skillet into the oven to melt the fat and heat the skillet. In a bowl, whisk together the cornmeal, flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Remove the skillet from the oven and swirl the hot fat around to coat the skillet.

Pour the fat from the skillet into the cornmeal mixture; stir. Stir in half of the buttermilk and add the egg; add more buttermilk as needed to make a thick but pourable batter. Depending on the grind of your cornmeal and the type of buttermilk you use, you may not need it all. Fold ingredients and don't beat the batter. Pour the cornmeal mixture into the hot skillet. Place directly into the oven and bake at 450 degrees for about 20 to 25 minutes. Remove the skillet from the oven, let rest for 5 minutes, then very carefully turn the cornbread out onto a plate or platter to preserve the crust.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Double-Dipped Buttermilk & Chile Vinegar Fried Chicken

One year ago: Fresh Mint & Chip Ice Cream

Two years ago: An Evening in Gruissan.

Three years ago: Shiso Leaf Butter

Emancipate & Resurrect the Kitchen.

This week means a lot of different things to a a lot of different people. This is the week of both Passover and Easter. And whether you are commemorating an enormous emancipation, celebrating a significant resurrection, really excited about warm weather, flowers and sunshine, or need an excuse to watch The Long Good Fridayagain, it's a pretty big stretch of celebration with lots of food involved.

Me, I fall into either of the latter two. But I do love a holiday. Fortunately, timing is really in my corner with this observing and reveling happening right when all of the new, beautiful food stuffs are literally popping up, out of the ground and into our markets to grab up and play with in my kitchen, to serve and share with my friends and family.

Peas, rhubarb, arugula, asparagus, strawberries, mint, Spring onions, tatsoi greens, radishes, fresh horseradish, fennel, ham and, of course, farm fresh eggs, milk and cheese, are just a few of the things I want, and crave, this time of year – holidays or no. To tell you the truth, I really wanted to make a rhubarb ice cream or a rhubarb lemon pound cake for Easter. But after talking to Paz, whose parents are hosting Easter brunch, I hear there is already an over abundance of sweets. One person in particular has apparently already dropped off five cakes for the occasion (*show off*).

So I guess I'm going savory. 

Paz has been needling me because I've never made an actual quiche before – that I can recall. I've made loads of frittatas and plenty of pies, but I guess I've never put the egg stuff into the pie crust. So I scurried off to my favorite, local green grocer and got to hunting for inspirato. And found it. I have to say, however, their eggs are quite difficult to crack open – because they are so, so beautiful. But crack I did. And what resulted was a stunning Spring dish, that would befit a brunch, lunch or dinner, to delight and impress using a lot of those different things for a lot of us different people. Especially the dude that brought five cakes.

Happy Easter!

Spring Vegetable Tart with Chévre & Ham

Makes 1 10” tart

Ingredients

pie crust

All-purpose flour (for surface)

1 medium bulb fennel

5 spring onions or 12 scallions

16 medium cremini mushrooms (about 1 pound)

10 ounces cubed ham

3 tablespoons olive oil, divided

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 Tbsp unsalted butter

8 ounces soft fresh goat cheese

1/4 cup plain yogurt

1/4 cup heavy cream

1 tablespoon minced flat-leaf parsley

1 tablespoon minced fresh chives

4 eggs

Directions

Preheat oven to 350° F. Roll out pie crust on a lightly floured surface to a 12" round. Transfer to 10" tart pan with removable bottom and press onto bottom and up sides. Line the chilled crust with a piece of foil, leaving a little overhang all around. Fill with pie weights of some kind and bake for about 20 minutes. Remove the weights and foil. Bake until dry and set, 5 to 8 minutes more. Let the crust cool completely before filling.

Raise oven temperature to 425°F.  Trim fennel top and root end, reserving fronds, and cut into quarters from top to bottom, then cut fennel into paper-thin slices.

Trim green onions. Toss fennel and onions in a small bowl with 2 tablespoons oil; season with salt and pepper. Place in a single layer on prepared sheet; roast, turning once, until onions begin to brown and fennel is tender, 12-15 minutes. Transfer to a small bowl. Reduce oven temperature to 375°F.

Meanwhile, clean and slice mushrooms. Heat remaining 1 tablespoon oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add ham. Cook, stirring often, until ham is browned and slightly crisped, 6-8 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and set aside. Heat remaining butter in skillet over medium-high heat; add mushrooms and sauté until they release all their liquid and most of it boils away, about 5 minutes.

Let cool slightly before spreading ham and mushrooms evenly over bottom of tart crust.

Whisk cheese and next 4 ingredients in a medium bowl. Season with salt and pepper. Whisk in eggs. Pour over vegetables. Scatter fennel and onion over.

Bake tart until edges of crust are golden brown and filling is set, 20-22 minutes. Let cool in pan for 20 minutes or up to 4 hours.

Remove sides of pan. Serve tart warm or at room temperature.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Roasted Purple Asparagus, Red Wine Vinaigrette, 62 Degree Egg

Two years ago: The Pikey

Three years ago: Lamb Chops with Cardamom, Cumin & Lime

Four years ago: Let's Talk About Text, Baby

The Road Taken

I started writing this post over a month ago. Since then I have started and stopped quite a few times. Then I just stopped. And stared. Nothing. Then I started again, but didn't know where to take it. I wasn't sure why. Normally once I start something, anything, I stay right with it until I finish. But this one is different. Change is afoot.

Like many writers, I often grapple with how much, or how little, to expose about myself here. To you. I like to talk, I like to tell stories, I like to share. It helps me process. It helps me see. I used to be religious about writing in my journals, almost excessively some days. In a sense, this has become my journal. The big difference is there is now an audience. An audience with reactions I cannot gauge while I 'talk'. For the most part I keep things on the lighter side, but I assure you that this voice is mine and mine alone. If you met me, that would be clear within moments. This voice is more disciplined, however, and part of an identity I am able to control.

Here I tell you about me, but within the framework of food and within the realm of my kitchen, or, perhaps, someone else's kitchen. I will tell you about Fred, or Besito, or anecdotes about any number of members of my family and certainly friends that come in and out of the spotlight at any particular time. And from all of that, and the years we've known one another, I can imagine you have gleaned quite a bit about me.

I have been hinting about some big news and I'm finally ready to tell you about it. At the end of September, after twelve years in the City of Angels I will be moving back home. And by home I mean Richmond, Virginia. I will not be alone, however. My love, Fred and our pups, Besito, Eduardo and our newest addition, Byron, will all be moving together. Our little family is going to join my Richmond family and the horizon is enormous.

I am not sure if you knew this, because I know I've never told you, but I have owned a dog walking businessfor the past decade. It has been quite successful and very good to me. This business has been the most solid, consistent, dependable and reliable thing I have known during my life in Los Angeles.

So, at almost forty years old, I am selling my business and am moving clear across the country. To do what? I'm not entirely certain, but the idea is a lot more of this. Writing. Cooking. Eating. Food. Recipes. Pictures. With Fred.

And there you have it.

I feel a little bit naked now. But good naked.

And relieved.

One very, very fun and exciting part of all of this is the actual journey. We will be driving and taking our time. Specifically, this will be a culinary journey from California to Virginia with a huge focus on the South. In the cities where we don't know people, we hope to rely on folks we know via social media to assist us in finding our next meal, or interview, or as Fred wants to do, a place for us to cook with locals; both home and professional chefs, and in both homes and restaurants. Part of the thrill of our cross country trip is the serendipity involved. We know that we will have food adventure and discovery that we are not even aware of at this moment. The best part is that we will be documenting everything as we go along.

I hope all of you get involved. Tell us where to go and what to eat. Better yet, if our paths cross, let us meet! And cook! And eat! Let's all do this together, shall we?

And, OMG, what should our hashtag be?!

In honor of this post I thought long and hard about what dish to share with y'all. Fred suggested I make something I've never made before, in the spirit of the unknown road ahead (very Robert Frost of him). I wanted to do something that represents what is happening with food here in LA then and now, so to speak, and food that signifies where I'm from and where I'm going: The South.

I settled on what I will call a Low Country Benedict: fried green tomatoes with Smithfield ham, poached eggs and a pimiento cheese hollandaise. Oddly, I have never made fried green tomatoes. And this summer my fecund garden is bursting with tomatoes – red, yellow, orange and green. When I think of eggs Benedict I think of the LA from the eighties, think LA Story and people lingering over coffee, mimosas and bloody marys and fancy, bougie French fare wearing sunglasses, white linen and big hats. That said, southern food is so, so, very, very en vogue here in LA (and everywhere) right now. Think Willie Jane and The Hart and the Hunter's entire menu, , A-Frame's fried chicken picnic, Son of a Gun's pimiento cheese with Ritz crackers, Lucques' annual rib-fest, everyone's deviled eggs, and so on. And perhaps most obviously, fried green tomatoes are, and have been for quite some time, very prominent in the south.

And so without further ado...

Fried Green Tomato Benedict with Smithfield Ham & Pimiento Cheese Hollandaise

Makes 4 servings

Ingredients

4 thin slices of Smithfield ham

2 tablespoons chopped chives, for garnish

4 eggs

2 teaspoons white or rice vinegar

4 large slices of fried green tomatoes

Salt & freshly cracked pepper

Pimiento Cheese Hollandaise

8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter

4 egg yolks

1 tablespoon lemon juice

4 teaspoons powdered cheddar cheese (found in your standard mac n' cheese package)

1 4 ounce jar of pimientos, chopped

Dash of cayenne or tabasco

Dash of Worcestershire sauce

Salt to taste

Directions

Start with the fried green tomatoes. Recipe below. Once they're cooked, keep them in the oven on warm until you're ready to assemble the dish.

Next bring a large saucepan two-thirds-filled with water to a boil, then add the vinegar. Bring the water to a boil again, then lower the heat to a bare simmer.

Make the pimiento cheese hollandaise. Vigorously whisk together egg yolks and lemon juice in a stainless steel bowl until the mixture is thickened and doubled in volume. Place the bowl over a saucepan containing barely simmering water (or use a double boiler); the water should not touch the bottom of the bowl. Continue to whisk rapidly. Be careful not to let the eggs get too hot or they will scramble. Slowly drizzle in the melted butter and continue to whisk until the sauce is thickened and doubled in volume. Remove from heat, whisk in powdered cheese a teaspoon at a time, Worcestershire sauce and cayenne. Stir in the pimientos. Cover and place in a warm spot until ready to use for the eggs Benedict. If the sauce gets too thick, whisk in a few drops of warm water before serving. Salt to taste

Poach the eggs. Here is  an easy method for poaching eggs. Essentially, working one egg at a time, crack an egg into a small bowl and slip into the barely simmering water. Once it begins to solidify, slip in another egg, until you have all four cooking. Turn off the heat, cover the pan, and let sit for 4 minutes. (Remember which egg went in first, you'll want to take it out first.) When it comes time to remove the eggs, gently lift out with a slotted spoon. Note that the timing is a little variable on the eggs, depending on the size of your pan, how much water, how many eggs, and how runny you like them. You might have to experiment a little with your set-up to figure out what you need to do to get the eggs exactly the way you like them.

Gently remove the eggs from the poaching water and set in a bowl. 

To assemble the eggs Benedict, put two fried green tomatoes on each plate and top each with a thin slice of Smithfield ham. You can trim the ham to fit the tomato if you’d like. Put a poached egg on top of the ham, pour hollandaise over. Top with sprinkles of chives and fresh cracked black pepper. Serve at once.

Fried Green Tomatoes

Ingredients

1  large egg, lightly beaten  

1/2 cup  buttermilk

1/2 cup  all-purpose flour, divided

1/2 cup  cornmeal

1 teaspoon  salt

1/2 teaspoon  pepper

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

3  medium-size green tomatoes, cut into 1/3-inch slices

Vegetable oil

Bacon drippings

Salt to taste

Directions

Combine egg and buttermilk; set aside.

Combine 1/4 cup all-purpose flour, cornmeal, 1 teaspoon salt, red pepper flakes, and pepper in a shallow bowl or pan.

Dredge tomato slices in remaining 1/4 cup flour; dip in egg mixture, and dredge in cornmeal mixture.

Pour oil/bacon dripping to a depth of 1/4 to 1/2 inch in a large cast-iron skillet; heat to 375°. Drop tomatoes, in batches, into hot oil, and cook 2 minutes on each side or until golden. Drain on paper towels or a rack. Sprinkle hot tomatoes with salt.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Anuradha Rice

Two years ago: Yerp: Part 7 - The End.

Three years ago: Great Balls on Tires

Four years ago: For the love of TOMATOES!

Leftovers

Christmas has come and gone. The gifts have been thought out, purchased, wrapped, received, unwrapped and put away. The guests have come and gone. What remains, however, is a lot of leftovers. Fred and I have done all sorts of things imaginable with all of the leftovers in the fridge - the most creative being a shepherd pie of sorts. We took the leftover prime rib, chopped it up with some carrots, celery and red wine and turned it into a boeuf bourguignon. Then we took the scraps leftover from the domino potatoes, boiled them and made a mash. We put the remains of the winter greens gratin in the mash and stirred it all together. Then we put the bourguignon in a casserole, topped it with the mash and baked it. That was dinner one night. And a snack the next day. The funny thing is that now we have that leftover in the fridge.


I feel like Sisyphus, but my rock is leftover food. Actually, my rock is the ham. We weren’t entirely certain we would have enough food to feed our seven, possibly eight, guests for Christmas dinner (a thought, that in hindsight, was absurd) so we asked Fred’s mom’s boyfriend to bring a ham (he had offered). Needless to say, the ham never even saw the dinner table on Christmas as we had an over abundance of food.


So I sent everyone home with some ham that night. And the next day there were ham sandwiches. And some ham biscuits the day after that. We even had ham and eggs for breakfast the next morning.


But even yesterday, when I opened the fridge, the ham was still there. And a lot of it. I wanted to get the hock to make ham and beans, but there was still so much ham left to use. So, I did what I often do in these situations; I called Mom. You see, my mom makes a killer ham salad.


My mom is also moving back to Virginia in less than two weeks. So right now, any excuse to see, or talk to her is welcomed. In fact, lately, we’ve been talking about five or six times a day. Yesterday it was about ham salad. She told me her recipe and her technique, and while Fred watched football in the den, I took every last shred of meat on that ham, got two chefs knives, and went cray cray on some ham salad. My mom told me Uncle Dougerton especially loves her ham salad, so I delivered some to him today. I also took some to my girls at Lindy & Grundy, since they love anything my mom makes.


Today is New Year’s Eve, and I’m sitting on the sofa, writing this, completely swaddled in the blanket my mom knitted me for this Christmas. She has been working on it for well over a year and it shows. It’s huge. It’s like twenty feet long huge. It’s bright and colorful and filled with different textures and shapes. I know it will be in my life forever. My kids and grandkids will love this blanket. I look at the blanket and I know she touched, and thought about, and poured love into every thread, every millimeter of it. Did she know what she was giving me right before she is moving away? My favorite leftover of them all. An heirloom.


And this recipe for ham salad.

Kathy's Deviled Ham Salad

Ingredients:
2 cups ham, really finely chopped
1/4 cup sweet onion, finely diced
1/4 cup celery, finely diced
1 large dill pickle, diced
3 tablespoons mayo
1 teaspoon dijon mustard
Dash of sherry vinegar
Salt and black pepper to taste


Directions:
Mix all the ingredients together until blended but not too smooth as you want a bit of texture. Taste and adjust any seasoning or add more mayonnaise if you like. A little drizzle of pickle juice is excellent as well.


Yield: About 3 cups. Keeps in the refrigerator for a few days.

Printable recipe.


One year ago: Domino potatoes
Two years ago: Linguine with pancetta mushroom cream sauce
Three years ago: 2009: The Year of the Food Truck

To Everything, There Is A Season.

According to my calendar it is officially Fall. But according to the thermometer, leveling at a tranquil 90 degrees today (or, it was when I started writing this), it is still very much Summer. Most people don’t think LA really has seasons, but we do. The changes are subtle and nuanced for the most part: June Gloom and the ocean layer, the smell of Night Blooming Jasmine, a shift in the quality of light, the Santa Ana winds (and the wildfires fires that follow), and perhaps most obviously, the produce at the markets. The Halloween (and some Thanksgiving) decorations are in the stores and all my magazines are showing up in my mailbox with pumpkins, fall leaves and all manner of oranges and browns on their covers. Except Vogue.  You can always tell it’s the beginning of Fall when you get the tome that is the Fall Fashion issue of Vogue. Tolstoy, step aside.

This is my favorite time of year. I never liked back to school (except the movie), but I always loved back to school shopping. Trapper Keepers, pens, notebooks, rulers, I coveted them all. Argyle, wool, jaunty hats, layers, scarves - who doesn’t get excited for all that? And, though we don’t exactly get vibrant yellow, orange, and red leaves falling from trees here in LA, we do have little pockets, stretches of streets that give us but a glimpse of that. Most of Halloween was filmed less than a mile from my house. And that’s certainly all Fall-y looking. But I can’t lie, I miss the East Coast this time of year. I would love to feel that clean, crisp bite of cool air on the tip of my nose as I walk down the street on my way to meet friends for a welcoming glass of red wine and perhaps a cheese plate. Wearing some cute, little layered number. With my Trapper Keeper.

This always seemed like it would be the best time of year to fall in love. Actually, I suppose it was this time last year that I did just that.

This year, ushering in Fall, has been a bit wonky. Which is why, perhaps, I have been seriously absent here in my blogland. Beso, my dog, my baby boy, my mascot, and my constant companion for the past twelve years, is sick. Again. He has had the worst luck in the huge-things-that-can-go-wrong-in-the-health department. And he is one tough nut. This sick is a bad one and one that will always be with us from here on out. Poor little guy just has too big of a heart. Literally. Anyway, he’s standing strong and getting even more mountains of love than usual, so we won’t dwell on that anymore here.

As an adult, the thing that I geek out about the most with that which is Fall is that it lends itself perfectly to my kind of cooking. I like to cook big. And not just quantity, I like to cook big, comfortable, classy, confident and strong food. I’ve said it before, food that loves. Food that hugs. And even though the past week has been hotter than the devil’s oven, I just couldn’t help myself - I made lasagne and then I slow roasted a chicken for five hours. Additionally, I’ve got all the fixins to make another lasagne with butternut squash and rapini. In the lineup this week I will also be making a chili and the most exciting thing, a Lima bean and ham hock pot, with a real, Southern Smithfield ham. I see lots and lots of brown butter and sage on my horizon. And pasta. And red, red wine. And snuggling with my Autumn love, Fred, my spunky, firecracker of a pup, Eduardo, and my sweet, little Beso - who, I suppose is in the Autumn of his years. And sort of looks like a Lima bean. 

Ham Hock & Lima Beans

Serves 8-10 (12?)

1 Large, meaty ham hock

3 Cloves garlic, minced

2 Medium onions, chopped

2 Lbs. dried large Lima beans

3-4 Stalks celery, cut into pieces

4-5 Carrots, cut into pieces

2 Bay leaves

Celery salt to taste

Kosher salt & fresh , black pepper to taste

Clean and soak Limas. Drain and rinse beans.

Cover beans and ham hock with water, add onion, bay leaves and garlic and simmer until tender (about 2 hours). Add celery, celery salt and carrots for last hour of cooking. When ham is done, and falling off the bone, remove from pot and cool. Remove skin and bone and cut into bite-size pieces. Return to pot and continue cooking until beans are done.

Salt and pepper to taste.

Serve with a crust of bread and a big glass of big, red wine. Or a hearty stout. Enjoy!

Printable recipe.


One year ago: Cousin Flonnie's Spoon Bread
Two years ago: Spaghetti & Meatballs
Three years ago: Roasted Cauliflower Soup with Saffron & Asiago Cheese Crisps

Back to the Basics. Holding on. Letting go.

Over a girls' night out with Maggie last week I lamented the recent loss of a t-shirt that had significant sentimental value to me (and was super cool). A boy I once cared for deeply had sort of permanently loaned it to me and I, of course, kept it forever, until I just lost it a short time ago. I suppose it is one of the only things I had left of him, besides my memories. That whole thing was years ago, now.

Maggie just blinked at me and flatly told me to forget about it. She said I keep too much stuff. I don’t need all of the stuff. It doesn’t necessarily need to have the gravity I have assigned to it. 

It’s a shirt.

Admittedly, that smarted a bit. But she’s right. As tidy as I am and as often as I clean out my closet of clothes, shoes and accessories that I don’t want, or no longer fit, I have a ton of stuff. In addition to that signature t-shirt left behind from most of the boys that have meant something to me. I have a Steeler’s glass that was Sam’s. I’ve carried it with me for a decade. When it was broken last year so was I. I have cards Paz made for me from twenty years ago, a matchbook with a joke written in it from Michael Fancini from fifteen years ago, I have kept every journal I’ve ever written, have busted up furniture from my grandparents, and even have a hat pin, all bent and rusty, that was found in a jewelry box my dad gave to my mom long before I was born. Let’s not even mention the decrepit strainer, shaped like a triangle, with rust, from my dad’s house from way before my time, that sits on a chest in my dining room, never used, yet has no real, actual, sentimental value to me that I’m aware of. But I love it.

What you own eventually owns you, right?

I’ve never actually shed all of my stuff before. And as a result, perhaps I find myself trapped in the past a bit. “I used to do this with that person”, “I used to do that this way and this that way back in the day.” You know?

We can’t completely shed everything really. Actually, even if we get rid of it, we still have all of our stuff anyway, tangible or not. Everything is part of the mosaic that makes all of us who we were, are and will be.

These thoughts coupled with this time of year have harkened me back to thoughts of my family, my roots, my parents, the James River, youth, spirit, innocence, thunderstorms, cicadas, Yo! MTV Raps, Ca-Ca the Clown, The Magic Pumpkin, lighting bugs at dusk, Dinosaur Jr., my back deck; Richmond and Grove Ave. Where I became me.

Those of you that read me on the regular probably know all of this about me already. This is what I do periodically (maybe this is my new stuff).

But man alive, I also miss that food.

Where is it here, dear City of Angels? Where can I find brilliant (and unabashedly Crisco’ed) fried chicken, meatloaf, roast beef, fried catfish, chicken pot pie, chicken livers, collard greens, green beans, fried green tomatoes, pimiento cheese, deviled eggs, mashed potatoes (with mountains upon mountains of butter), corn on the cob, parker house rolls, tomato aspic, corn bread and sweet tea under the same roof? With a twist. In the right place. And wine, too, please. WHERE?

Because I want it. And I’m pretty sure I’m not alone. Sometimes tried and true, and sometimes with a twist. In the right place.

 

I’ve mentioned this previously - but I’m redundant and you all know it – the South actually created the only cuisine that is indigenous to this country. Yes, it’s true. Look it up.

So last week Doug, Maggie and I had a Southern feast: fried chicken (cooked with Crisco AND butter, mind you), buttermilk biscuits, slow cooked collards, and sliced heirloom tomatoes with a dollop of Duke’s Mayonnaise, sun tea and, of course, wine. For dessert we had buttermilk pie (recipe coming soon).

I want more. I’m going home in October. I want my emotional Snuggie. I want to talk to Aunt Babe. I’m going to ask her everything about everything. And I’m going to talk about her food. And I’m going to hug her.

And then I’m coming back here to you, my City of Angels. And I’m going to make you some food.

Shirt? What shirt? I’ve got cooking to do.

Classic Southern Fried Chicken

Serves 6 

 

2 small chickens, broken down
2 large eggs
1 cup buttermilk
2 cups all-purpose flour  

2 tablespoons seasoned salt, such as Lawry's
1 tablespoon fresh cracked black pepper
24 ounces Crisco 

1 stick of unsalted butter

Pat the chicken pieces dry and line a baking sheet with wax paper. In a large bowl, whisk the eggs with the milk. Add the chicken. In another bowl, whisk the flour with the seasoned salt and seasoned pepper. Dredge the chicken in the seasoned flour.

Dunk chicken back in buttermilk mixture and back into flour mixture.

Transfer to the baking sheet.

In a 12-inch, cast-iron skillet, heat the Crisco and butter to 365°. Add all of the chicken and fry over moderate heat, turning occasionally, until deeply golden brown and an instant-read thermometer inserted nearest the bone registers 170°, 20 to 24 minutes. Drain the chicken on paper towels and serve right away.

Printable Recipe

Yerp: Part 6. Barthelona (Part 2), THE HAMOVER.

May 19

That was a lot of ham yesterday. There was a lot of everything yesterday. We were not deterred, however. Actually, I think we were. We were supposed to meet up with Sal and the gang for lunch, but we didn’t get up and moving until pretty close to lunch time anyway, and we desperately needed to be free of time constraints and meeting up with people for just one meal. And both Chris and I really had our hearts set on one meal in particular.

Three years ago, on that original vacation with Chris, he took me to La Boqueria. La Boqueria is a huge, covered, market and an impressive landmark with an entrance from La Rambla. The smells, colors, sounds and activity easily throw one’s senses into overdrive, not to mention the wild and crazy items sold in the market. It is truly a small village inside of a big city.

 

 

La Boqueria also offers up a few counters serving food. One in particular, my favorite and the focus of this post, is El Quim. Prior to that first visit Chris had excitedly described their, perhaps most lauded dish, baby squid and fried eggs. That day he ordered that and I ordered the sardinas a la plancha. That meal has stayed in my memory since. Such fresh ingredients, such delicately nuanced flavors and textures. A couple of glasses of cava. Delicious perfection.

 

And this brings us to about Noon on that Thursday, with Emma and Chris. Yes, we may have, in our er, exaltation the night before, told our new posse of friends that we would meet them the next day for lunch. But in the light of day, come Hell or high water (or being lame to our new friends), we knew we were headed straight for El Quim.

And there, in the middle of the bustling Boqueria stood the stall we sought. All eighteen of its stools occupied and a crowd of people waiting two-deep to scurry into any newly freed spots. Somehow, silently, we had a plan: Emma stalked one side of the stall and Chris the other. I was the liaison between the two to be able facilitate getting all three of us to the opening of seat(s) as quickly as possible. This all took great concentration.

 

Emma's view from her side:

 Quim in the foreground and Chris, stalking stools, in the background.

 

Chris scored. I grabbed Emma and we raced over to his side. He got us two stools with the promise of a third opening up any minute as the person occupying it was paying their bill. Emma and Chris sat while I opted to hover until stool number three opened up. We immediately ordered the white anchovies, garlic, caper berries and green olives in olive oil and balsamic vinegar, some bread and a few glasses of cava. 

 

 

I was over the moon. I was literally clapping when the first bite was in my mouth. The anchovies were fresh, meaty, firm and elegant in their simple marinade. With a few bites of that dish and a few bites of the bread swabbed around in the oily goodness I took my newly vacated stool and stole a moment to soak up my surroundings.

Mouth full. Clapping...

 

El Quim is cluttered and chaotic. The counter crowds with dishes – frittatas, paellas, and fresh seafood.  Sausages, dried chiles, produce, garlic and pots and pans hang from the eves. Orbited by a swirling mass of entropy, the tiny kitchen gets along amazingly well. The menu is chalked up above the stove, although paper menus are available as well. You’ll find yourself seated next to travelers from all over the world, locals, foodies and chefs alike. Quim is always behind the counter and is also always surprisingly friendly in the midst of the frenzy. He also manages to squeeze his three or four chefs/co-workers back in that little nook of a kitchen as well. Size-wise, think food truck. Cut in half. I don’t know how they do it.

Second glass of cava and time to order the big stuff. First off, El Quim is most famous for his fried eggs. Period. He puts them either over or under pretty much everything on the menu. As mentioned above, Chris orders one thing and one thing only: the fried eggs smothered under a mosaic of tender, baby squid sautéed in a pan sauce of oil and a touch of chile heat. This dish is also Quim’s calling card. It is ubiquitous with the restaurant’s name. When the eggs are cut up and the yolk runs into the squid the dish becomes complete, thickening and marrying all textures and flavors that hop, skip and jump across one’s tongue.

Emma, in the spirit of not having tangential dishes at the “table”, opted for the fried eggs with jamon iberico (Iberian ham). This ham is from free-range pigs that roam oak forests and eat only acorns. This ham is also called Jamón Iberico de Montanera. The ham is cured 36 months. Bellota jamones are prized both for their smooth texture and rich savory taste. You really just can’t go wrong with this dish.

I went in an odd direction. I ordered the Catalan sausage over white beans with aioli. This was a simple and savory answer to my fairly prominent hangover. The presentation left room for some humor for obvious reasons, but don’t be fooled – it was rich and robust with clean succinct flavors. The slightly crisped skin of the sausage gave way to a tender, succulent, meaty inside. The beans underneath provided the perfect texture to round out the variations in the sausage. 

We also got and order of asparagus wrapped in bacon. For our vegetable quotient. Hey, what can I say? It’s asparagus wrapped in bacon!

As we were saddling up to head out to our second lunch to meet Chris’ friends Quim gave us a little dessert on the house. I was a little scared of it as it looked as though it fell into the gelatinous-gooey-fruit department. Emma assured me it would be alright for me as it fell into the coconut department. That is usually okay. I still don’t know what it was but I ate it. 

It’s understandable why chefs flock to eat here. The quality of the ingredients is unparalleled – everything is fresh from the market. Quim’s execution is simple and solid. And the flavors are confident and honest and all cooked to order. Straightforward and comforting, this is the type of food that you love to eat and want to crave.

And this was just our first meal of the day. 

We then went on to meet up with the boys at a restaurant called Joséphine, but we were so late that they were basically out of everything. So we migrated to a rooftop restaurant and bar called La Isabela. There we camped out for hours, drinking and eating more ham. The photograph at the top of this post was taken at this spot. It had a terrific view.

We then moved on to the home of Paul, where we had some more wine and snacks and lost Emma and Engel for a little too long for my comfort. But they appeared eventually. Wearing pirate hats and swords. And carrying the largest lollipop anyone has ever seen. Then we ended up, briefly, at a small café. I mostly threw a tennis ball for Paul’s dogs during this stretch.

This is what showed up at Paul's a million years late with Emma, who was dressed similarly.

And then Engel, Chris, Emma and I ended up at a restaurant, apparently heralded for their – wait for it – ham, Recasens. I wish I could share more about this part of the evening but we were not only dead on our feet tired. But we were drunk on ham and libations. Poor Chris was the worst off. His eyes were closing while we were standing outside waiting for our table and the only thing he could put together to utter was, “No more ham. Please?”

We waited about thirty minutes outside for a table to open up. It was about 1:00am. They did bring us a small wicker basket of ham to keep us at bay while we waited. We finally got our table. The place was tiny and adorable. Turns out they specialize in ham! So we had three or four plates of different kinds of hams and some cheese.

A basket of ham while you wait. For more ham. Ham dangling from my mouth.

Chris was green.

Our trifecta somehow made it back to our apartment building. Wearing the pirate hats. When we arrived at the door of the building we ran into two Canadian women who were staying across the hall from us. We started chatting. Well, Emma and I started chatting. Chris made a bee-line into the building and up to our apartment to face plant on his bed. Emma and I ended up hanging out with the Canadians, drinking wine and laughing until almost dawn. But not before Emma broke a glass filled with red wine in their apartment and said something mildly offensive about Canadians.

Me and the Canadians. I don't know, so don't ask.

I do believe this was the first night of the trip that Emma, Chris and I did NOT cap off the evening with a bottle or two more bottles of wine while lounging in our apartment, sighing, giggling, and taking stock of the last days (who's even counting, now?) week plus, the whirlwind, of our adventure. At least, if we did, I don’t remember it.