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

Bat Out of Hell

Mercury just got out of Retrograde the other day. Although it’s not like me to know or care about such things, this time I am truly relieved. Things have been all manner of wonky.

Let’s see, a week or two ago I got a basketball beamed at the side of my head for attempting to pet another person’s dog. Scary. A few days later my next-door neighbor’s house was broken into. Creepy. Then, less than a week ago, both Maggie and I had our cell phones stolen from right under our noses. Lame and sad. I’ve also had some unusual interactions with various players in my life that have been anywhere from curious to surprising to unsettling. Confusing.

So I’d like to chalk it up to good old Mercury and whatnot.

One great thing that all this strangitude has generated is my sudden re-appearance in the kitchen. This has been a Summer of eating out far more than in and it’s time to rein it in. So I’ve been hitting the Sunday market with much more regularity and getting all stirred up for Fall foods.

Hell, some people get geeked about Fall fashion and the September issue of Vogue. Me? I get geeked about Brussels sprouts, sage, mustard greens and Winter squash. Oooh, and brown butter. My brain starts swirling with thoughts of wild boar lasagna, braised short ribs, hearty stews and the like.

And I do enjoy playful scarves and layering with my wardrobe. So this time of year is really a win win for me.

Last year around this time I was sort of obsessed with meatloaf. I’ve not really had much of it in my life and became curious about it. I particularly became fixated with the meatloaf at Ammo. I was eating there a lot at the time with Uncle Dougertons and ordered the meatloaf quite often. Ammo seemed to be lauded for their turkey meatloaf for quite sometime. Their meatloaf was said to be Al Pacino’s favorite.

Although they have a new chef now, with a beautiful menu that changes almost daily, I haven’t yet seen meatloaf on the menu. I can only imagine it will pop up at some point. Until then my mission prevails.

The only solid thing I was ever able to extract from the prior chef is that he did not use breadcrumbs in his recipe. Well, hells bells. Almost EVERY SINGLE recipe in the world for meatloaf calls for breadcrumbs. The ones that don’t use breadcrumbs mention substituting granola. Gross. So I figured eggs would work as a good adhesive - particularly as turkey has so little fat to glue the elements, and it self, together. I also used a TON of veggies. Why not? 

Meatloaf: Version 1

Meatloaf: Version 2

Both recipes I tested were pretty tasty, Chris and I agreed. The first one had no breadcrumbs and the second did. Otherwise they were pretty similar save for a few tweaks here and there. I used heirloom tomatoes for the sauce, which was rich and really very wonderful. Ultimately, we agreed that the softer, breadcrumb-free version was much tastier. All of the flavors and textures of the vegetables made for a creative and inspired meatloaf experience.

I was recently telling a friend about my meatloaf adventures and he came up with a very good idea. He was lamenting that turkey meatloaf is no fun as turkey is such a mild, lean protein. He suggested that, rather than buying ground turkey from the store, get a whole turkey ground to order from the butcher. Clever. And I actually added some mild-Italian sausage to my recipe to aid in the flavor boost department.

So, as I sit in my big, brown chair, in my bathrobe, with my replacement cell phone nearby, thinking (and writing) about foods that envelop one in warmth, comfort and security, I can see everything calming as we move into Fall.

I’m reining it in.

Bat Out of Hell Turkey Meatloaf

Serves 6-8

1 tbsp unsalted butter

¾ cup minced green onions

1 ½ cup minced white onions

½ cup minced carrot

¼ cup minced garlic

¾ cup minced crimini mushrooms

1 tsp Kosher salt

1 tsp fresh cracked pepper

½ tsp cayenne pepper

1 tsp cumin

dash of nutmeg

2 bay leaves

2 eggs, beaten

¾ cup ketchup

½ lb mild-Italian sausage

1 1/4 lb ground turkey meat

Combine first six ingredients and sauté until moisture has evaporated, then cool. In a large bowl mix salt, pepper, spices and eggs. Add ketchup, blend thoroughly and add turkey, sausage and vegeatable mixture. Mix with your hands and form loaf. Put in greased loaf pan and bake at 350 degrees for 45-60 minutes.

Sauce

2 tbsp unsalted butter

4 shallots

½ cup minced red peppers

1 cup ketchup

1 sprig of thyme

1 tsp fresh cracked pepper

2 tsp minced garlic

2 cups chicken stock

2 heirloom tomatoes, peeled, seeded and diced

In a heavy pan, melt 1 tbsp butter and sauté shallots, red peppers, thyme, salt and pepper over medium heat until soft. Add chicken stock and simmer, uncovered, until reduced. Add tomatoes and ketchup and bring to a slow simmer. Cook covered for 20 minutes. Stir in remaining butter and season with thyme.