A Re-Ordering, & Return to Original Purpose

Ya, ya, I know. Where's my focus gone? Why have the family recipes been supplanted by my own wanderings through the landscape of this food and that one, with only occasional, lame references to something that might, at least in my own fevered mind, qualify as a family connection? Why?

Son.

I don't know. But I'm going to fix it now. I'm unveiling a second food blog, Food, on which I'll do all the things foodyrandom that have ADDed me over here. And Smith Family Recipes and Stories will return to its purpose, Smith family recipes and stories. Now that's some rocket science for you.

Daughter.

Sidebar: Wonder how many meals it took to grow these kids to these sizes? Not only that, they were raised on a fairly high percentage of organic stuff and fresh produce. Just think. And on an adjunct instructor's salary, too. OK, so maybe they seem a little quirky. So what? They're cool! And they're good people.

I'll be posting my family recipes, even though, given the sad lack of "typing" my extended family appears willing to express ("Oh, we love the idea, Margaret, thank you so much for doing this! We'll be sending in lots of things, very soon! And by the way, how do you work those internets, again?" NOTE to family: no internets or googles skills required; you can put it in an envelope and mail it to me if you want! Or call me on the phone! Like I've said a million times! And anyway, if you're emailing me to tell me you don't know how to do it, you're already doing it! Just put the recipe in the email! mygaud)(OK, sorry. I weakened and allowed myself to feel the frustration there for a minute).

Most of recipes will come from our photocopied family cookbooks. But what's wrong with that? That's ok, right? Maybe I'll just have to call people when i can't remember a story for the recipe. So tune in. Maybe the new direction will cause my darling son to quit aspiring to look like he's from New Jersey, or my darling daughter to (finally) quit growling at me.

Put de Lime in de Coconut!

I'll tell you, I'm so enamoured with the lime and the coconut (and the various other Southeast Asian flavors), I can't stop putting things together randomly to see how they turn out. Here's one that's so simple, and works so well, is so refreshing and unexpected and comforting, you're just crazier than me if you don't try it.

This recipe will serve four. If you want to make it for one or two, just use fewer bananas and store the left over coconut milk in the fridge for later.

Banana Towers in Coconut Sauce

1 can coconut milk

2-4 bananas, depending on size

1/4 cup sugar

2 limes

Nut butter *-- tahini, cashew, or other favorite (optional)

• Heat the coconut milk over medium heat.


• Add the sugar, and wisk until disolved; set aside.


• Slice each banana.


• Pour about 1/3 cup of the coconut mixture into a bowl.


• Make two "towers" of the banana slices in the pool of coconut milk.


• Squeeze 1/4 slice of lime over the whole.


• Drizzle on about a tablespoon of nut butter, if using.


• Set a slice of lime on top.


• Serve immediately.
  
  * If your nut butter is too thick to drizzle, thin it down by blending in a little coconut milk or citrus juice. I like to use a runny tahini, myself.
  
  
  Note: You are putting de lime in de coconut here. It may in fact settle an upset tummy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

Dishy Italian

Remember back when I made the Unnamed Italian Dish for the STL Foodbloggers' potluck? Well, I made an extra pan of them and put it in the freezer. Last week I got it out, and had it now and then until Frank came over for the weekend and I fried an egg, warmed a serving of the IDICR, stacked and sprinkled the two with salt and pepper and Parmesan, drizzled on a little olive oil, and knocked his hungry socks off.

So now I'm wondering how many baked dishes and casseroles have the potential to become fabulous breakfast dishes is a flash, like this one. Seriously. "Add An Egg 101." Maybe we should do it.

How to Survive Baseball in 111 Degree Heat

Quick answer: walk over to J. Buck's and get a cold cocktail. Stay and enjoy the game on the big screen TV until your super-sweet fiance comes in after the game to share a nice dinner with you. I like to think this is what any reasonable person would do. I did stick it out until the top of the 9th inside the big concrete, heat-absorbing bowl of a stadium that turned the 99-degree outside air into a 111-degree killer. I really think that's plenty tough-dame of me, don't you? Time to chill!





I chose to indulge myself with the marvelous Island Blue Martini, pictured above. Isn't it lovely? And so very delicious. The waitress said the bartender said the recipe goes like this:

Equal parts Malibu Rum and Blue Coraco

A splash of pineapple juice

Shake, of course, then pour.

Coconut. Pineapple. Blueness. Sweet anticipation; ordering this little drink was a joy. Like running toward the sea. Drinking it was even better. I'd have loved it just as much alcohol free. As a matter of fact, if someone could figure out how to make exactly this flavor and color purely, without chemicals, I'd -- she'd -- make a million bucks.

Stretch toward family recipe/story connection? My family loves baseball (yes, Cardinals baseball). My family loves cocktails. So there you go.

I know, I'm veering off focus here from the family thing. My darling relatives are really not engaging as fully as I'd hoped, with the exception of Ms. Lisa, and she has been busy with a new job lately. Therefore, I'm going to take a new approach to getting our family recipes and stories blogged here properly, which I will unveil in the coming weeks. In the mean time, the stretching toward connections will continue.

Travelogue: Detroit Rocks -- and Eats!

Frank standing under one of the massive tigers at Detroit's Comerica Park

Home of Elmore Leonard and Kid Rock. Francis Ford Coppola and Toi Derricotte. Leonard still lives here. People are moving downtown. I thought I'd be cowering in my room waiting for the zombied homeless and cracked-up gangs to break the door down (sort of, really I had kind of an open mind, but I was ready for the worst given the press coverage and my boss's assertion that I should "take a firearm").

Comerica Park. Our hotel is the very narrow red brick building directly left of the upper tip of the left tower behind the scoreboard. You can see how gorgeous is the skyline. And that's Canada in the background.

What I found instead was that I was cool about walking around by myself (just like Mexico!), even at night, sort of (there's no where I really feel totally safe walking around at night -- that's just me). Tons of fun. Character. Don't forget the current Stanley Cup Champions; those pesky Tigers, who almost robbed our Cardinals of the MLB World Championship in 2006; and well, I think they have a football team, too.

Plenty of good food in Detroit. The best? A little snacking we did at Vincente's Cuban Cuisine. The best mojito I've ever had, no kidding (matching price at $8 -- I had one), and a small plate of Cuban sandwiches and omelets, compliments of the tour company with whom we finished our three hours of purposeful downtown Detroit walking at Vincetne's. In retrospect I wish I'd gone ahead and had dinner there, even if it isn't native (to Detroit) cuisine.

Detroit Beer Company. Yum. My favorite?
The one on the left: People Mover, named after their mass transit train.
Ya, which I rode.

From there I took off on my own (Frank went to the ballpark, of course) for further adventures. After walking the floridly post-apocalyptic city streets for a bit in the dusty light of the fading sun I settled on trying some local beers, rather than the small plates place next door to it (called Small Plates). You know, I've had a lot of small plates lately and the menu looked pretty standard. And at $12.95 on apparent average for a small plate, I thought my money'd be better used sampling several small beers! I was right, and really too full to want much more to eat right then, anyway. I think I'd gone a little farther with the Cubans than I'd first realized.

In the Detroit Beer Company I ordered a flight, though it wasn't on the menu. The bartender forgot, and after 15 minutes I reminded her. It was quite busy, and I think (hope) she was new. By then I'd met a gaggle of local business men who'd gone to high school together (one had come in from Chicago) all of whom reminded me of my brother, on their way to the Tigers game. They were every bit as polite and fun as every other Detroitite we met on the trip. Just really gentlemanly. The beers on the flight, once I got them, were delicious. The glasses were a little larger than the usual flight-sized jumbo shot glass size, and there wasn't a key (like I'm going to remember what the bartender told me as she set them in front of me). But that was ok, because I got help from up and down the bar -- everyone wanted to know what I thought of the stout (yum, Guiness-y) or the cloudy wheat (fruity, sharp, hops coming up as an after thought). So that was cool, too. I was there to dig the local color, after all, and this was it.

(Side bar: I have really been way more into good beer lately than wine. I'm just liking how it sits in my tummy and makes me feel nourished. Plus, there's something very fresh-born and living about a good beer, brewed right there where your drinking it. In the STL I'm constantly craving Square One Brewery's Spicy Blond, with its ginger and creamy foam.)

Comerica Park is just a couple of blocks from the hotel we stayed in -- a basic Hilton. It's a pleasant walk. Detroit has a definite Bladerunner feel about it, gritty and gorgeous. Major pre-Depression, Gilded Age, and Art Deco architecture from Gordon Llyod and Louis Kamper. But some of the most important buildings are vacant, the windows blown out, story after story of broken glass. How many vandals does it take to break out 33 floors of windows? Or was it some unnaturally strong wind that blew through, then was forgotten?

Of course, Detroit is a water town. The name comes from French Rivière du Détroit, i.e. "River of the Strait." Standing high inside the Book-Cadillac building on our architectural-of-sorts tour, Canada was clearly taunting from the other side, all health-carded up and non-violent. It's kind of like a reverse-Juarez/El Paso situation, only no one seems to realize it. On the other hand, the city dwellers I met were passionate about the revitalization of their downtown. There is a new central plaza at Campus Martius Park -- yes, that's Latin for Field of Mars. And yes, it was, in 1788, a military drill ground. There are restaurants and coffee shops and music at noon and festivals.

Lafayette's, Our Coney Dog Tasting Winner

And there are scads and scads of (oddly cheerful) homeless people, everywhere. One downtown business keeps it's doors locked -- has to let you in to eat -- to keep the homeless people out. A Coney dog stand. Not a swanky joint at all.

But the homeless people I encountered seemed somehow to be taking themselves with a grain of salt. They were sort of laughing as they asked for a dollar, and if you declined they'd just offer an optimistic sports prediction (like, after a losing Tigers game, "We'll get 'em next time!")

Back to the ball park, here are Coney dogs. Tons. As well there should be, and prominently, since they are THE native food of Detroit. Sure, there's fried ravioli in my home town's Busch stadium, but you can hardly find it. And when you do it's not the real thing! It's some sort of cross between a fried rav and a Fig Newton. But you can get a Coney dog lots of places in the Tiger's den.

And local ice cream. And local soda. Local microbrews! And freshly made elephant ears! These things were fantastic! I don't know if they're native, but they sure beat the pants off the frozen-then-fried funnel cake they feed you at Busch. An elephant ear is a lot like a funnel cake, in principle: both are made from a basic batter of flour and water, then dropped into a hot deep fat and fried until they're golden brown, then sprinkle them with powdered sugar so that it melts into the surface. But the key to tasty in both instances is that you eat them immediately after they come out of the frier. Frozen then fried, they're ok, but there is nothing sublime about them. And sublime is, after all, what we're going for, right? The fresh elephant ear -- a large misshapen disk of half-inch thick, hot fried dough, topped with sugar and cinnamon, is really, really sublime. Comerica also offers cherry and apple topping. But I opted for the sugar-cinnamon so I could eat it with my fingers. Yum!

Yip, that's it, the Coney Dog

*

Now, apparently the question of deep food related importance to Detroit dwellers and visitors is the relative merit of Coney Dog offerings. A true, traditional Coney has a hot dog on a bun covered in chili, onions, and mustard (the mustard goes on top of the chili). There are loyalists for both American and Lafayette's, the two oldest venders in town. The stores are neighbors and once were owned by the same family. Naturally we had a tasting, and Frank and I agreed, Lafayette's is the best, in spite of being the younger pretender. The dog itself had a more "homey" look, with its hand crimped ends, and a bit more bite-back. There was more chili, and the chili itself was just slightly spicier -- though beyond that feature it really did seem like the same recipe. Also, more plentiful onions and mustard. And maybe I dig the smaller, stranger space, too.

So why go to San Fran or Maui and blow your carbon footprint out of the water? Why, when there are undiscovered crazy-interesting places near-ish to home. Like Detroit. I feel a little bit like a maverick, having vacationed there. And that makes me happy.

I Heart The Missouri Botanical Garden!

My little bed in the Lafayette Square Community Garden won an award!

Clockwise from the lower right corner: sorrel, pansies, a little wildflower mix, a broccoli, a rhubarb (the tallest plant), beats, and finally the tall, orange poppies. There are carrots hidden behind the beets, and a couple of Cherokee Purple tomatoes that will have more room once I harvest the root vegetables in about a week.

Thank you, Missouri Botanical Garden and Gateway Greening, for recognizing so many community gardeners from around the city. And for the free one year membership to the MOBOT! I've been wanting to get one since I moved into the city! I'm so happy! The garden is less than four miles from my house.

It was totally fun and inspiring to get my little Outstanding Bed award, and to drive around on the bus with all the garden lovers and gardeners looking at other neighborhoods lovely gardens. My great friend Robin showed up at the bus, and we had a wonderful time on the tour and at the luncheon.

Dr. Raven's remarks about community gardening were wonderful. 270 pounds of produce from a typical individual bed in a season? I can believe it. Just think. Community gardening could be a real god-send, now that we've exited the Holocene (see Davis in The Nation). Growing our own food here in the urban jungle may not be just a pretty pastime, any more. As fuel gets more and more expensive, fresh food that doesn't have to be shipped? Well, it's obvious. And the dearth of grocery stores in most city neighborhoods has been a reality for some time, ensuring the poor have yet another hurdle to good health (fast and packaged, processed food is always available).

And ya, I come from a family of gardeners. It's second nature. It's my link to the earth, the seasons, what anchors me on the planet. Guess what? Good gardens, good food. It's the most perfect equation in the world.

A view of my bed, with my name tag visible. At this angle the sage is right up front, with winter savory behind it, and the carrots to the left, beets to the right, the rhubard looking all tall -- oh, ya, and the sunflower that volunterred, and a couple of poppies peaking out!

Me accepting the award from Dr. Peter Raven, Director of the Missouri Botanical Garden. What a really sweet, rather brilliant man. He was just glowing. I know, horrible photo of me.


A bed in the Monsanto YMCA Garden. East bed has a really cool personalized sign.


Ladies of Wells Community Garden won the First Place Ornamental Garden Award.
Notice the blown-out house behind it. This north St. Louis community garden is a true oasis for
the neighborhood.

Gorgeous, huge hydrangea in the Ladies of Wells Garden. This garden reminded my of my grandma Nonie's yard.

My Little Award. I'm know, I'm a real nerd for showing it off. But I'm so proud!

Thai for Molly and Me

Speaking of family. What do you do when your babygirl gets nauseous from your French cooking? Switch to Thai, of course. When she loves Thai and so do you. See, fats just do not agree with her, and she doesn't like eggs. I know, there is plenty of French cooking based on fresh foods. But she loves the flavors of the Thai, the sweet-salty of from the play of palm sugar and fish sauce, the tang of the wild lime. These flavors are unique to the far east, and a far cry in another direction from even the most perfectly roasted vegetable.

So off I went tonight to take cookbook author Naam Pruitt's Thai class at Kitchen Conservatory. It was my first class there. It was pretty fun. The food definitely rocked.

This is Naam Pruitt with her lovely cook book, in the also lovely Kitchen Conservatory kitchen.

She looks sweet, but you should see her swing a clever!

We began with a Green "Papaya" (som-tom) salad.

Since somehow the shopping before Naam arrived went astray, and several "wrong" ingredients were brought back, what would have been green papaya in the salad became cucumber, the long beans were left out (ickily aged), and there were no dried shrimp (when you go to get your own, be sure to get the little tiny unshelled ones, not large ones in the shell, which Naam sampled and pronounced to taste "like fossil"). Nonetheless, the little salad, now with cucumber and cherry tomato as the main veggies, and the flavors of palm sugar, fish sauce, garlic, fresh lime juice, and peanuts was in spite of all the grocery glitches, fantastic.

Northeastern (Essan) Beef Salad (nua-naam-tak)

This delicious collage of fesh mint, cilantro, shallots, green onions, garlic, fish sauce, lime juice, sugar, dried chilis, and grilled steak was quite yummy. Naam put the beef in a bowl to cool after taking it off the grill, then used the juices that bled out in the dressing. Anything that has so many fresh herbs in it is called by Thais a "salad." For us it would probably be a main course. In Thailand, though, meals tend to be lots of little dishes set out, eaten with the fingers together with sticky rice. I like it!

Grilled Chicken (Gai-yang)

This simple dish was fantastic. Whole chicken was marinated in a scant coating of sugar, light soy sauce, white pepper, and garlic, then flattened on a rack and broiled on both sides. Naam let it cool, then attacked it with the clever (see above). She served it with sticky rice. I was, really, juicy and perfect.

Sticky Rice and Mangos (kao-neow-mah-muang)

Coincidentally, I tried making this wonderful rice pudding at home over the weekend. I don't know for sure what my guests thought of it, but I feel hard in love. (I seem to have a thing for coconut, if you haven't noticed.) I used the black glutenous rice the other recipes I'd seen called for. Poor Naam was surprised by a Japanese sushi-style rice in the kitchen, but I have to say she managed to get it just right, just the same. It wasn't as dramatic looking as the black rice (which is purple and makes a purple broth), but it was every bit as flavorful. I mean, really, this is just about the most comforting thing I've ever eaten outside of my mother or grandmothers' kitchens.

No, I take that back. The most comforting outside of. I learned a trick or two of course watching Naam prepare it. The method is simple: cook four cups of sticky rice; boil a can of coconut milk and a half cup of sugar; set aside a little bit of the milk to pour over; add the rice to the rest of the coconut milk and let it cook until it thickens a bit. Now serve this in bowls, with chunks of mango and, if you want, some freshly toasted sesame seeds. In Thailand this is a summer dish (March and April; April and May? which did she say?). That's it. I have some in my fridge now. I'm going to have it for breakfast!

I want to get Naam's book. So should you. She's a sweetie, and I watched her overcome several obstacles, including a little bit of spaciness (just like mine!) to produce some fabulous, authentic Thai food. The bonus? She learned these recipes from her mother. Let your imagination take you to how many generations back those "recipes" might go. They weren't recipes until Naam wrote them down, of course. They were teachings. And now I will teach them to my daughter. And help her tummy. And her taste. And her understanding of how much I love her.

Go see Naam Pruitt's cookbook, Lemongrass & Limes.

Special Guest Column from Melissa Dommert: Mama’s Strawberry Jelly, In Loving Memory of Patsy Marie Paul

Many times the heart of a recipe is one of the most important ingredients included. The memories and the love are just as important as the sugar, flour and butter, etc. This is how I feel about Mama's Strawberry Jelly.

Mama

*

Mama passed away in 1995, leaving behind a husband, 6 children and their families to cherish her memory. She also had her first great-grandchild on the way. That little one is now 12 years old. Her name is Hannah Marie (the Marie is after my Mother) and I am her godmother. My goal has been to make my Mother as real to Hannah and the other grandchildren as possible by sharing recipes and memories.

Aunt Missy (Melissa) & Hannah

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Mama’s Strawberry Jelly

In Loving Memory of Patsy Marie Paul

by Melissa Dommert

Baytown, Texas

*

Please accept this special gift of Mama’s strawberry jelly recipe as a token of our love. For you see, it’s the result of group effort. First, God grew the ripe, fragrant berries and Mama loved them so much that she wanted to have enough to last through the winter months. So, she sent Daddy to the store to buy an ample supply. Next, we washed and sliced them and put them in the freezer. Mama enjoyed them until she was called away to Heaven. After she was gone, the berries waited patiently to be used, but I left them alone. I made the excuse that I was to busy to do anything with them. But, now I realize that I just wanted to keep something that Mama had touched and enjoyed. Preparing those berries was one of the last projects we did together.

*

Several years earlier, when I was a young bride, Mama had bought me my first canning equipment. She was always interested in what kind of jam, jelly or pickle I was trying out at the time. What could be more fitting than to make jelly out of Mama’s strawberries? While I made the jelly, my heart was happy and sad all at the same time. My heart ached because I missed her so much (it still does). My heart also sang because nothing would make Mama more happy than to share another gift with the ones she loved. She would be grateful to touch our everyday life in a way that we could see, smell and taste.

*

I shared the jelly with my family and I hoped that as they enjoyed it they would remember the light in Mama’s eyes and see her beautiful smile. I hoped they would feel the warmth of her hand close to their heart. Those little jars of jelly were packed with Mama’s love! She wanted to be remembered. She loved everyone so much and she would never want to be forgotten. She would want her memory to live on even as she is alive in her new life in Heaven. I couldn’t bring myself to open my jar of jelly. It was too precious. What could I do with it? It had to be something special. I decided to enter it in the fair we used to have here in town very fourth of July. For years I had entered lots of cakes, pies, jellies and preserves and Mama always insisted that I call as soon as I had found out where I had placed in each category. To my surprise, mine and Mama’s jelly won a third place ribbon! I know she was proud of us.

*

The strawberries are gone and the jelly is gone but Mama’s love is still shining brightly in my heart. The best way that I can honor her is by doing my best every day and by trying to uphold the values her and my Dad taught me. As long as I’m alive, her memory will live on and I’ll never look at a jar of strawberry jelly the same way again!

MAMA’S STRAWBERRY JELLY

3 quarts strawberries
3½ cups prepared juice
4½ cups sugar
1 box powdered pectin

Wash and remove caps from berries. Crush berries and simmer for 10 minutes or so, covered, stirring occasionally. Strain juice through several layers of cheesecloth. Measure sugar; set aside. Stir pectin into prepared juice in a medium size pan. Bring to a full boil over high heat. Add sugar, return to a full, rolling boil. Boil hard 1 minute., stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Carefully ladle into hot, sterilized jars and seal (process if desired). Store in a cool, dry place.

Yield: 6 to 8 small jars.

Poppies Among the Beets

Beet greens are the dark purple in the top left, and in the way top right of the photo. You can also see some tucked there near the pansies. To the right of the photo, out of the frame, is a huge field of them (at least three by three feet!). -- Photo by Molly

My little garden is so lush, it's amazing the birds can find the bugs in it. Babygirl and I took some more beet tops, cooked them with a little Thai fish sauce, garlic, and rice vinegar. Then served them over some, again, Thai Black Sticky Rice. Yum! Now that is some fabulous rice. It needs soaking before cooking, but it's worth it. (I want to get one of the steamers shown in that link a couple of sentences back.) Apparently, though, while the rice is eaten throughout Indonesia in many recipes, in Thailand it's made into a pudding, with coconut milk. Yes, I plan to make that! It would probably be very soothing to Babygirl's tummy. Wish I had a photo of the rice and beet greens... reds, but, well, the camera was temporarily borrowed by someone. And so, please, content yourselves with this gorgeous poppy, taken by, again, Babygirl, as it was growing in my garden just yesterday afternoon, there among the beet greens and fading pansies.

Love,

M

Mamaw's Strawberry Filled Angel Food Cake

The cake, as drawn by William "Shane" Smith, my uncle.


I remember my Mamaw's lemon-filled layer cake as my very, very favorite little girl aspiring-to-be-a-princess dessert, and I think it was frosted in whipped cream. Can anyone tell me for sure what exactly she did to summon that cake from Cakeland Nirvana? Was it lemon curd between all those layers? Was it really whipped cream? And what kind of cake was it? No way you could get prepared lemon curd in Salem in the '60s and '70s, so it had to be a fairly focus-centric recipe. You couldn't even get salsa in Salem until the '80s, for god's sake.


I do know that once I got cognisant I sensed that my requests for the cake, while not unwelcome or necessarily blown-off, were not met with an, "Oh, sure, that would be a snap!" response. So there must have been some work involved.


Does anyone out there have my grandma's lemon-filled cake recipe? I had always thought it was angel food, but I think I remember now being told that she didn't fill the angel food with lemon, that was some other kind of white or yellow cake. Whatever it was, it was sublime, and I'm pretty sure I got to eat it into my 30s.


Now comes her Strawberry Filled Angel Food Cake. This is extant in my Mamaw's own type-written hand in her booklet MY COOKIES, AND MORE, from 1993, which she put together to save us from the fate of losing her recipes when we lost her. Good grandma-ness. And as a side note, once I get the time I intend to scan the pages of that book, for two purposes: to have them in PDF electronic copy for archiving; and to get the really cool little hand drawn illustrations [see example above] into a form I can convert to jpeg and then use here to accompany the recipes as I post them. My mom says that Uncle Bill Smith did the drawings! There are very sweet.


A couple of note: This calls for frozen strawberries. There must be a reason for this. Because it's not like we weren't swimming in fresh strawberries from Grandpa Trout's garden! So it must be that Mamaw thought the frozen ones superior for this cake! This theory is further supported here by the absence of other short cuts -- real whipped cream, for instance. And unflavored gelatin. So I'd suggest hanging with the recipe at least the first time around. Brainstorm: she may very well have been using her own frozen strawberries that did in fact come from Grandpa Trout's garden. Also, I have made only one small edit to the recipe, in brackets below. The formatting is original.


Here is the recipe. It's perfect for spring. Enjoy.


STRAWBERRY FILLED ANGEL FOOD CAKE
from Wanda Lucile Smith

Split large angel food cake into 3 layers with sharp, long knife. Thaw 10 oz. package frozen strawberries. Drain juice, add enough water to make 1/4 cup and heat. Soak 2 packages plain (Knox) gelatin and dissolve in hot juice. Mix in strawberries which have been mashed with a fork. Do not cook berries. Cool. Whip 2 cups whipping cream. Add 1/4 cup sugar and mashed berries. Spread between layers and on top and sides of cake.

Chill whipped cream-strawberry mixture a while [or it will be] too soft to put on cake. Keep cake chilled.

Then the Beet Tops with Coconut Milk

I saved the beautiful beet tops (see the red leafy matter in the post before this one), chopped them up, and cooked them thusly:

I heated some olive in a large sauce pan, added coarsely chopped onions, put on the lid and sweated them. Then I added the "reds" (beet greens), a cup of red quinoa, a cup of red lentils, a nice chunk of peeled fresh ginger, two cups of water, a can of coconut milk, and salt and pepper, let that all come to a boil, then lowered the heat and simmered it, covered, for just under half an hour.

Once the quinoa had opened and become pretty tender, I added the zest of a lime, and the juice of two.

This is really, really yummy! It is full of wonderful textures, creamy lentils and the unmatchable comforting interest of the bursting quinoa, like vegetable caviar. The "reds" might be added later in the process though, as I think they could have been more prominent in the dish. I added some Thai hot sauce and a little more fresh lime juice at serving. And of course the dish is magnificently good for you. It's low in calories and very filling. I've taken it to lunch two days in a row, and it's kept my very low-tending blood sugar stable until well into the evening.

Mixed Blessings, Beautiful Tiny Harvest

The green side of the bouquet of Bull's Blood Beets and Dragon Blood Carrots.

Recipe: Quick and Crunchy Pickled Baby Beets and Carrots
(& Accidental Ruby Dressing for Salad Greens)
Slice your vegetables into nice even bits on put them in a heat-proof bowl. Boil some vinegar and turbino sugar, then pour it over the vegetables while it's still boiling, then cover the bowl with a plate and let the vegetables steam for at least an hour (I left mine overnight). I put them on my salad, and used the juice as dressing after adding a little almond oil!

*

Today I pulled the first of my precious Bull's Blood beets and Dragon's Blood carrots from the loose and most perfect soil of my little community garden plot. Tiny, so tiny, and now bathing in an Icelandic bath of vinegar and turbino sugar, overnight, to be added to the salad I'll take to work tomorrow, the salad of the dewicious wettuces I picked from thence as well. And a little savory. And the orange California poppies look hearty and lush and I hope they bloom, for they will remind me of my Mamaw, and the long driveway down the hill, and the poppies that grew there for so many years, along the southern side, on the slope, like something from Dorothy, seeding themselves almost into eternity, but not quite, and I couldn't understand Mamaw's calm when I asked her where the poppies were and she said, simply, "They're done."


I thought they were magic(al). In my mind they share a dreamscape with my other grandmother's (Nonie's) Giant Globe Alium, both tall, one orange, one purple, one related directly to the culinary (alium/onion), the other to vice and ecstasy and decline (poppy/opium). And both of them forbidden by either grandmother for picking.


Of course all this pointing to the last walk through the last house, the only house that ever was always there in our gypsy family. The walk I took yesterday through the empty and clean 1157 North Franklin after the estate sale was over, and one day before the closing of the sale of the house, walked through that center of the universe that was my mother's parents' house, now gone the way of the poppies, following them, another moment of "they're done," my grandparents' deaths a few years apart, the rapidity of the sale as my mother, who lived there with my grandfather at the end, reached to digest the death of her father whom she'd cared for every day for three years asking no thanks and getting little understanding of what she was so deeply taking responsibility for, even in her own feebleness. The burning off of karma. The giving. And it's alright. Because death is a release from the cycle that the garden justifies, and the karma needed burning off. And we all have more that is precious than we can ever count, of what they left us, what we are, what we pulled from the ground, the deeper bloodiness of the reaching toward character, just us, pulling out all that chickweed and Bermuda grass that would strangle that memory of goodness and trying to wrench from the natural goodness of our souls that which are grandfather wanted us to be -- which was what he was. And it was good.


Good bye old house. Good bye old grandparents. Hello bloody carrots and beets. I say good bye to you because you are my blood. And I plant you because someone named you: blood. May your rich and obscene dyes redden my mouth and drip down my chin and mark me forever as one who eats, well, from the earth, and knows it's good.

Bouquet of Bull's Blood Beets and Dragon Blood Carrots.

May Table of Contents

1. Margaret Makes Dolce de Leche Brownies for Cinco de Mayo
2. Cousin Lisa's May Memories
3. Cousin Cheryl's Cheesecake Memories of Mamaw
4. Mother May I -- May Introduction and Call for Stories

May is a Mexican Dessert?

Ya. Take a look at that sweet bambino of a dolce de leche brownie, baby.

I wanted to make some of these to take to my mom for Mother's Day, but the time, the time it just fizzled away. We moved her this weekend, though. And there was an IGA-bought chocolate cake involved (I know, sometimes you just have to do what you have to do).

My dad, though, was enamoured of all things Latino Americano. I don't think he knew about Cinco de Mayo, did he? Does anyone remember him throwing that particular party? it's hard to believe he wouldn't have if he were aware. Still it's impossible not to think of his bad boy party self. It doesn't matter any more, our differences, because he's gone to that great pontoon boat in the sky, and now I can love a more perfect version of him. Having gotten my mom initially installed in her little retirement apartment, here I introduce you to the best brownie in the world, made by Myself two weekends ago. Here is the secret ingredient, amigas y amigos:

Yes, dolce de leche. The nector of the milky caramel gods, up there skirting the cosmic lakes in their sparkly-lighted boats. Or something. For once in my life invited to a Cinco de Mayo dinner party (thanks, y'all! it was fun!), I made dolce de leche brownies from David Lebowitz's angelic recipe. Finally, a brownie I like that's not The Barefoot Contessa's boxed mix (ya, it's fantastic, when you want a mix -- the only one on earth that's worth buying). Ledowitz's brownie recipe rocks even without the dolce de leche. And with it, wow. Ultimato.

In the STL you can buy the Argentinian dolce de leche at Straub's, for $11. I'm betting it's in Mexican markets on Cherokee Street, too, for about a million dollars less, but I haven't made it over there yet. There is also a method I'm entirely curious about, wherein one covers a can of sweetened condensed milk with water and simmers it for three hours, then lets it cool in the water for another three hours. Easy enough. But I wanted a taste of the yummy stuff made by experts before I embarked on the expedition myself.

Of course this reinforces my recent feeling that I have some karma with Argentina emerging, given Natalia's cake and all.


David Lebowitz's Dulce de Leche Brownies

8 tablespoons (115 g) salted or unsalted butter, cut into pieces
6 ounces (170 g) bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, finely chopped
1/4 cup (25 g) unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder
3 large eggs
1 cup (200 g) sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup (140 g) flour
optional: 1 cup (100 g) toasted pecans or walnuts, coarsely chopped
1 cup Dulce de Leche (or Cajeta)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees (175 C).

Line a 8-inch (20 cm) square pan with a long sheet of aluminum foil that covers the bottom and reaches up the sides. If it doesn't reach all the way up and over all four sides, cross another sheet of foil over it, making a large cross with edges that overhang the sides. Grease the bottom and sides of the foil with a bit of butter or non-stick spray.


Melt the butter in a medium saucepan. Add the chocolate pieces and stir constantly over very low heat until the chocolate is melted. Remove from heat and whisk in the cocoa powder until smooth. Add in the eggs one at a time, then stir in the sugar, vanilla, then the flour. Mix in the nuts, if using.

Scrape half of the batter into the prepared pan. Here comes the fun part.Drop one-third of the Dulce de Leche, evenly spaced, over the brownie batter, then drag a knife through to swirl it slightly. Spread the remaining brownie batter over, then drop spoonfuls of the remaining Dulce de Leche in dollops over the top of the brownie batter. Use a knife to swirl the Dulce de Leche slightly.

Bake for 35 to 45 minutes. The brownies are done when the center feels just-slightly firm. Remove from the oven and cool completely.

May Memories From Cousin Lisa

May and Memories. When we lived on Aberdeen Proving Grounds [near Baltimore] in the military duplexes, my father kept a garden, as he usually did wherever we were living. I was always a gung ho harvester at dinner time. Sometimes it was zucchini, (or the blossoms to fry in cornmeal, yum...) or tomatoes, cukes, beans, all kinds of peppers, and more. At this particular warm dusk, I went out along the side of the house and brought in a bowl of fresh lettuce and other add-ins for a nice green salad with our meal. I washed and prepped and dished it up.

As I was I was munching away, I looked down at my plate and saw a little green inchworm mixed right in... I was horrified! My fork almost touched it! What if I had eaten it? Look at his little black eyes! Eww. What if I already DID eat another one! My heart was pounding. I couldn't eat. My Dad said, "Well, you wouldn't want to eat any lettuce that a bug wouldn't eat, now would you?"
When the oogy feeling went away, I knew he was right; but I don't think I ate any salad again that summer.

Summer is dancing before us again, and I love salads. And I still eyeball my salad plate thoroughly to this day.

I had a salad the other day that had mixed greens, arugula, candied walnuts, sliced strawberries, and goat cheese, with a chambord balsamic vinegrette. I don't know the proportions, but it was refreshing and delicious on a hot Florida day. It's perfect for summer. This would be a perfect side salad with pasta or chicken marsala, as I enjoyed it, or as a meal in itself with a hunk of bread for soaking up the last goodness of that dressing. Mmmmm. Now I can't wait to have it again. Give it a try and see if you can come up with some proportions for the vinegrette. Bet you'll like the flavors.

Cousin Cheryl's Cheesecake Memories

Of course, my memories of Mother's Day and Mamaw have more to do with the garden and the blooming Dogwoods, which are in full bloom here and always remind me of her. She and Pawpaw instilled in me such a love of gardening, and I think it's my most peaceful, love-filled hobby. Spring and mother's day are such a beautiful time!Me with food? Not so much. I'm not like you and Cindy and Lisa.

But if I were to be pressed, it would have to be her cheesecake. That's a story I remember so well!. When she baked one one summer, and the boys got in earlier than I did. They ate the whole thing before I even got there from the airport. For an entire day I whined and whined. "You love the boys more..." "They're your favorites" Of course the boys lapped it up and told me all about how she made it for THEM. etc., etc.

So the next day they were gone fishin' or something stupidly boy-ish. And when I finally got out of bed Mamaw (of course) was already up and baking..."Whatcha doin?" I asked..."making you a cheesecake" she said with her little grin... IT WAS MINE ALL MINE!