Macaroni Salad

Pasta salads seem to come and go, but they’re always here, and the best ones are robust, the pasta providing a springboard for any number of wonders. This recipe has enough and to spare, since the rich and textured binding will embrace many types of additions. Simple elbow macaroni makes a great salad because it’s fluffier than other hollow pasta, and you can’t beat it for economy and availability. The other ingredients are just as familiar, and the combination is exceptional as well as spectacular. The recipe is also easily doubled, tripled or whatnot. For an evening meal make it in the morning, and for lunch the night before, but mind you this dish doesn’t keep well at all, not more than a weekend, less if it’s handled or kept out very much at all.

16 oz. large elbow macaroni, cooked
2 cups ham diced sautéed until lightly caramelized
1 cup each finely diced raw bell pepper, white onion (half green is great, too) and celery
1 cup finely-grated carrot
1/2 cup sliced/diced black olives
6 boiled egg yolks mashed
1 cup mayonnaise,
1 cup small raw broccoli florets
2 tbs. yellow and 1 tbs. spicy brown mustard
2 tbs. pickle relish

Easy Apple Cider

This recipe is not only easy, but it fills your home with those aromas you associate with autumn: apples, cloves, cinnamon and oranges. You can use a slow cooker like a crock-pot or you can (as I do) simply put a large pot on the back of the stove with a flame-buster under it and leave it on low heat until you’re ready to finish it up. (In my experience, the apples are ready long before I am.) The recipe also mixes apples with a couple of oranges for a little acid bite and added sweetness. You can use any type of orange, but I recommend a mandarin-type (tangerine of satsuma) instead of one of those tasteless, thick-skinned navels. Sure, you’re going to peel the oranges anyway, but navel oranges just don’t have the flavor of a Valencia or mandarin. As to the type of apples, use a mixture. I’ve included here a chart that will help you with your selection, but I do not recommend using Gold Delicious because they’re just too grainy.

Put about a gallon of water in your cooking container. Quarter about a dozen apples and two to four oranges, depending on size. Don’t peel the apples, but by all means peel the oranges because the oil in the skin will make the juice bitter over time. Add four sticks of cinnamon and a tablespoon or so of whole cloves. Do NOT use ground spices. You can also add a thumb of fresh ginger, whole nutmeg or allspice, but I’m of the “less is more” school and prefer to let the apples dominate the flavor. Heat to a simmer, the reduce to low and cook until the apples are totally soft, adding more liquid as needed.

When the fruit is soft through, take a wooden spoon and mash the fruit against the side of your pot, then strain, first in a colander, then in a fine-mesh strainer or cheesecloth. I recommend cheesecloth, since you can get more juice by squeezing out the ball and it reduces the amounts of particles. You can strain through layers of cloth for clarification. As to the sweetener, taste your cider. You might not even want to add any. If you do, I recommend brown sugar to taste. Serve warm with a slice of orange and a stick of cinnamon in the cups. It should go without saying that a slosh of dark rum is a great idea for grown-ups.

 

Citrus Season

In his lyrical work on the Mississippi Delta, The Yazoo River, scholar-politician Frank Smith says of sharecroppers that “Spending habits throughout the fall inevitably reduced all but the most prudent tenants to a penniless state by Christmas,

“… and no money for Christmas finery and festivity plus peppermint sticks and oranges for the children, could wreck the morale of any tenant. Oranges were a standard Christmas delicacy for the poorest of family. Santa Claus tried to get one in each child’s stocking. If the mother was a good cook, she ordered the peeling saved for flavoring a Christmas cake or pie.”

Well after Reconstruction, my father, a child of the Depression, made sure of having plenty of oranges for Christmas. In his time oranges had become symbolic of the Christmas season in the way fruitcakes were for others, and we kept wide shallow bowls filled with oranges and nuts in the living and dining rooms throughout the holidays. Daddy gave sacks of Valencias to nearby families during the holiday season. Our mother would have us children pierce oranges all around with toothpicks and insert cloves in the holes. We would hang these on the tree and mantle and their sweet, spicy scent would fill the room.

In those days, the oranges we bought were exclusively Valencias, thin-skinned and tight with juice. They were all from Florida, and some of the sacks bore the name Indian River, a designated area on the east coast where the oldest orange groves grew. The Spaniards planted oranges St. Augustine, Florida in 1565, and the fruit was planted widely along the Gulf (viz.: Orange, Texas; Orange Beach, Alabama), but none survived the Great Freeze of 1895, which sent freezing temperatures down to the Keys.

Felder Rushing said that we’ve had had citrus growing on the gulf coast since the late 1700s, “But oranges they kept getting wiped out by hurricanes and the hard freezes of the late 1800s and again in the 1930 that sent freezing temperatures down to the Keys. The cold-tender citrus plants are grafted onto the strong, disease-resistant rootstock of trifoliate orange, and when the ‘good’ citrus gets killed by cold weather, the trifoliate part grows into a pretty little thorny shrub with sweet flowers and sour, golf ball-size fruits. A lot of the trifoliate rootstock survived along the Gulf Coast,” Rushing said, “but most of those acres have been reclaimed for other crops. There are still a few orange groves, but the big citrus crop is the relatively cold-hardy satsumas.”

A mature satsuma tree can survive down to −9 °C (15 °F) or even −11 °C (12 °F) for a few hours. Of the edible citrus varieties, only the kumquat is more cold-hardy. Satsumas rarely have any thorns, an attribute that also makes them popular. They can be grown from seed, which takes about 8 years until the first fruits are produced, or grafted onto other citrus rootstocks, such as trifoliate orange. The fruit is exceedingly sweet, easy to peel and many cultivars are seedless. The Louisiana crop ripens from October until late November.

Citrus taxonomy is recklessly convoluted, but satsumas are in the big mandarin category, which contains all the zipper-skinned [easy-peel] fruits. They probably originated in northeast India but like most citrus fruits were cultivated in China and then brought to the west. The Satsuma mandarin may have originated in China but is was first reported in Japan more than 700 years ago.  Around 1878 they were introduced into the Louisiana citrus industry, where they were preferred for their sweetness and their cold hardiness. The name “satsuma” is credited to the wife of a U.S. Minister to Japan, General Van Valkenburg, who sent trees home in 1878 from Satsuma, the name of a former province, now Kagoshima Prefecture, on the southern tip of Kyushu Island.

Joseph Ranatza Jr., owner of Star Nursery in Plaquemines Parish, said he started picking on Oct. 7. “My season is going very well this year versus last year,” he said. “Last year, the grocery stores bought a lot of foreign fruit, and that really hurt us.” It’s hard for Louisiana growers to compete with foreign producers, who have lower labor costs and less restrictions, he said. “They can buy these clementine mandarins from Chile, Peru and Morocco, where labor is a lot cheaper, and call them ‘cuties’ and make it hard for us to compete,” Ranatza said. He said his answer to the “cuties” are his Cajun Babies, which are smaller-sized satsumas.

Its fruit is “one of the sweetest citrus varieties, with a meltingly tender texture” and usually seedless. The satsuma also has particularly delicate flesh, which cannot withstand the effects of careless handling, which means you’ll usually only find satsumas in local grocers or roadside produce stands. Satsumas are used very much as oranges in desserts, even entrees and salads, but if you’re feeling really froggy, here’s a particularly ambitious recipe from Louisiana Cookin’.

Satsuma Upside-Down Cake

Makes 1 (9-inch) cake

Ingredients
3¾ cups sugar, divided
4 cups water
24 (¼-inch-thick) slices of satsuma*
1 cup unsalted butter, softened
3 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 cups all-purpose flour
½ cup yellow cornmeal
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
½ cup whole milk
1 teaspoon satsuma zest*
½ cup fresh satsuma juice*

Preheat oven to 350°. Line the bottom of a 9-inch springform pan with parchment paper, and spray with baking spray with flour. Sprinkle ¼ cup sugar in bottom of pan. In a large skillet, stir together 1½ cups sugar and 4 cups water. Add satsuma slices, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer for 15 minutes. Remove satsuma slices with a slotted spoon, and place on a wire rack to let drain, reserving satsuma syrup. Let slices stand for 30 minutes. Place slices in prepared pan, overlapping slightly. In a large bowl, beat butter and remaining 2 cups sugar with a mixer at medium speed until fluffy, 3 to 4 minutes, stopping to scrape sides of bowl. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in vanilla. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, baking powder, and salt. In a small bowl, whisk together milk, zest, and satsuma juice. Gradually add flour mixture to butter mixture alternately with milk mixture, beginning and ending with flour mixture, beating just until combined after each addition. Gently spoon batter over satsuma slices, smoothing top with an offset spatula. Bake for 30 minutes. Cover with foil, and bake until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean, about 30 minutes more. Let cool in pan for 15 minutes. Loosen edges with a knife, and remove pan. Invert cake onto a serving plate, and remove parchment paper. Drizzle with ¼ cup satsuma syrup.