In 1922, Helen Keller (of all people) published a recipe with canned diced pineapple, nuts, marshmallows, and whipped cream. “I ate it first in California,” she said, “So I call it Golden Gate Salad”. When Kraft published a similar recipe in 1975, some politically-savvy food editor renamed it Watergate Salad. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before some genius looking for something to cook for the Methodist pot-luck supper dumped a Watergate Salad into a batch of white cake mix, and voila! the Watergate Cake was born. While those of an age should remember Watergate as a by-word for illicit, illegal political intrigue and machinations, those younger will simply find this amalgamation of pistachio, coconut and pudding a pretty cake for the spring table. Such is the transitory knowledge of history.
1 box white cake mix
1 cup oil
1 pkg. instant pistachio pudding
1 cup lemon-lime soda
1/2 cup chopped pistachios
1/2 cup sweetened, shredded coconut
Pour cake mixture into two greased and dusted 9-inch round baking pans, bake and cool completely. Whip Dream Whip and milk into peaks, gradually add pudding mix and keep beating into a fluff. Assemble cake, frosting between layers then frost completely, sprinkle with crushed pistachios and grated coconut. Refrigerate overnight before serving.
Rombauer writes that dried beans are “on the dull side and much like dull people respond readily to the right contacts.” In my experience, dull people rarely respond to anything with any degree of alacrity and never seem to benefit as a result. Once a schmuck, always a schmuck, I say. Dried legumes, however, respond beautifully to moisture and heat, and with the addition of other ingredients, these wallflowers in the pantry dance on the table.
Dried beans are cheap and can be stored for a long time, but after a year they aren’t able to absorb enough moisture to be palatable. You can probably plant them, but not eat them. Dried beans are also easy to cook, but like most cooking, it’s a matter of procedure. First the beans must be cleaned. On every bag of dried beans, you should find a warning stating something like, “Beans are a natural agricultural product. Despite use of modern cleaning equipment, it is not always possible to remove all foreign material. Sort and rinse beans before cooking.” I cannot stress how important it is to sort and pick through dried beans before washing. Spread the beans in a single layer on a cookie sheet and pick out everything that isn’t a bean. You’re likely to find pebbles, little clods of dirt, sticks, and stems, none of which should find your way into your mouth. Put the sorted beans in a colander and rinse them twice, then pour into a container and cover with water. Remove any beans that float. Pour the cleaned, sorted beans back into the colander to drain.
While most people hydrate beans by soaking them overnight, you can simply dump dried beans in twice the amount of water and cook them for three or four hours on a moderate heat, adding water as necessary. It takes much less time if you cover beans with water, 2:1, bring to a hard boil for five minutes then shut off and soak for an hour. Again, cook beans in twice the amount water, but you may find you need to add more as they cook. Do not add salt. If you add salt in the cooking water before the beans are cooked, the skins will be tough. Salt when the beans are cooked through. This might not seem a big deal, but it is. Also do not add tomatoes or tomato sauce until the beans are done; some people will tell you that if you soak the beans, you can add tomatoes, but I’ve found it takes much longer for the beans to cook if you do. I always add one cup chopped onion and a couple of smashed chopped cloves of garlic per two cups (1 pound) dried beans.
I always use a flame-buster and a moderate heat when cooking beans. If you scorch a pot of beans, I don’t care who says you can save them and how, trust me when I tell you to throw them away and start over. Different types of beans cook differently, but generally speaking, a cup of dried peas or beans will make two to two and a half cups cooked.
Versions of this recipe have been bouncing around a lot recently, most of them praising its fool-proof simplicity, but as with such recipes—and one with two ingredients is about as basic as they come—the devil is in the details. Most versions call for 1 ½ cups of self-rising (“hot rise”) flour and a pint of melted ice cream—which make make a soft, sticky dough rather than a batter—baked in a standard 8×5 loaf pan at 350 for 45 minutes, but I’ve found that the recipe makes a much better presentation when baked in a 5×3 (16 oz.) loaf or a similarly-sized spring-form baker at 350 for only 35 minutes. I’ve also found that you must use a very rich ice cream such as a French vanilla or (as in this case) a butter pecan and that LuVel works just as well if not better than Ben & Jerry’s, but you must let the ice cream melt slowly on the kitchen counter or in the refrigerator overnight; don’t put it in the microwave or it will be “flat”. These cute little loaves serve six adults easily, slice into eighths for kids, and while a dollop of whipped cream might seem more appropriate, I don’t think a scoop of vanilla ice cream is redundant at all.
When I was a boy, mom gave me a “boys and girls” cookbook. Okay, actually, she gave it to my sister, and I stole it. I did not grow up to write Other Voices, Other Rooms, nor do Cher’s hair, but I did learn how to make frosting. Some people consider this insignificant, but sugar is tricky.
Cooking is an important skill. Speaking strictly for myself, I don’t trust anyone who can’t boil water. Teaching your kids how to cook is an important, multi-faceted experience for both children and parents. You might remember cooking with your parents. Simply being together, doing something together, strengthens family bonds, gives everyone a chance to relax and open up, to talk about what’s going on. Preparing food themselves teaches kids to appreciate the effort others put into cooking for them. It’s also a confidence-booster, as anyone who has pulled a beautifully-baked cake out of the oven can attest. You’ll feel yourself smile when your kid says, “I made it myself!” Reading and interpreting a recipe boosts reading comprehension and math skills, of course, but it’s also the best introduction to chemistry to be found in the home. Learning how to cook also helps make kids curious about foods in general, having the potential to expand the palate of a picky child.
You can teach your children how to make many things, and in turn you may well learn yourself. In case you don’t know how to make oven fries, here’s how. Take a large baking potato and cut it into thick wedges or strips. Brush with oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, place in an oiled pan, and bake in a very hot oven, tossing at least twice until browned and crisp. There you go; so simple even a kid can do it.
Take two cups potato mush, from potatoes, flakes or frozen tater tots /fries thawed and mashed. Add two beaten eggs, a half cup freshly grated onion and enough flour to make a loose dough. Season with salt and pepper, drop by spoonfuls into a hot oiled skillet and cook until browned.
You’ll often find recipes using an alcoholic beverage, particularly wine, of course, but also rum, bourbon, and beer. While some teetotalers recoil at making such recipes, if the dish is heated to anywhere near the boiling point, the alcohol evaporates, leaving only the flavor of the beverage. To concentrate the flavor of the beer in this recipe, some people will actually take an entire bottle of Guinness and boil it down to the 12 ounces called for here for more intensity, but that’s just an option.
3⁄4 cup superfine sugar
8 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
4 ounces white chocolate, chopped
6 tablespoons unsalted butter
3⁄4 cup all-purpose flour
3⁄4 cup cocoa
1 1⁄4 cups Guinness stout
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees and butter an 8-inch-square pan. Combine the eggs and sugar, beat with an electric mixer until light and fluffy. Melt the bittersweet chocolate, white chocolate and butter, stirring until smooth. I do this is in a glass bowl the microwave. Beat into the egg mixture. Sift the flour and cocoa together and beat into the chocolate mixture. Whisk in the Guinness, which should be at room temperature. Pour into the pan and bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the center comes out almost clean. Cool on a wire rack before slicing. You can dust this with confectioner’s sugar, if you like, and you can also add a half cup chopped nuts; pistachios would be appropriate.
Like many gardeners in the Deep South, I grow leaf vegetables and greens during our mild winters as much for their beauty as for their taste—the lemon-yellow spikes of bolting mustard and collard provide luminous company for spring dandelions and daffodils. For many years, I’ve dismissed rainbow chard, with its bold greens, sassy yellows and reds, as gaudy, but this year, I decided I was just being a closet case and planted a plot of them. They thrived. Every time I pass them I feel like putting on a pair of heels and tossing glitter. Mix chard with spinach, bib lettuce and bok choy, dress with vinegar and oil.
Nowadays most discussions—more often polemics—about culinary authenticity involve terms such as “the salience of ethnic identity” and “aligning broader socio-political representations”. These investigations certainly have their place in this global franchise we call a world, but when it comes to a specific restaurant recipe, we’re on less esoteric footing. We know that at some point in time, at this particular place, a recipe was formulated, prepared and served, a recipe that became an archetype for any that followed, and our best means of replicating such dishes is to find recipes written by people who are thoroughly familiar with the original and have the wherewithal to replicate it with authority.
Such is the case with Arnaud’s signature recipe for oysters Bienville in Bayou Cuisine that’s credited to Jackson restaurateur Paul Crechale. This recipe rings with authenticity and authority. Note the use of a beige roux to thicken, cream and egg yolks to enrich, mushrooms, shrimp and a hard dry cheese for substance.
Prepare the sauce by browning lightly in 3 tablespoons butter 2 minced onions. Stir in 3 tablespoons flour and cook, stirring constantly until the mixture is lightly browned. Be sure not to let it burn. Add gradually 1 ½ cups chicken consommé, ½ cup white wine, 1 cup minced raw mushrooms and 1 ½ cups chopped cooked shrimp. Cook slowly, stirring constantly, for 10 minutes. Open 3 dozen oysters and put them in their deep shells (my italics, jly) on individual baking dishes. Bake the oysters in their own juices in a moderate oven (350) for about 6 minutes. Thicken sauce with 2 egg yolks beaten with 2 tablespoons heavy cream and heat the sauce without boiling. Cover each oyster with some of the sauce and sprinkle lightly with equal parts of dry bread crumbs and grated Parmesan or Romano cheese. Return the oysters to the oven for about 10 minutes, until the topping is browned.
Before the cosmopolitan citizens of Hamburg, Germany began cooking it and putting it between sliced bread, steak tartar–as such it was served–consisted of lean, raw beefsteak minced, mixed with egg and seasonings. The dish came to western Europe from eastern Slavic regions, which has a long history of Mongol encroachment. The Mongols’ Turkic allies, known the Tatars, were known from Tartary, which was essentially Mongolia, though the name was a conflation of Tatar with the Greek stories of Tartarus (i.e. Hell). Tartars had a tradition of finely mincing very tough meats like horse and camel to make them edible, then binding the meat with milk or eggs. Stories of this dish being made by placing the meat under a saddle to ride upon it until tender probably came from the use of thin slices of meat to protect saddle sores from further abrasion.
Similarly, tartar sauce, or as the French refer to it, sauce tartare, consists of mayonnaise, mustard, chives, chopped gherkins, and tarragon in various combinations. In French, it is loosely translated as ‘rough,’ as the Tartars were considered rough, violent, and savage. But in his Creole Cook Book, irrepressible Lafcadio Hearn, a devoted journalist with a light heart, gives us a recipe for tartar sauce that harkens back to the days when the Golden Horde still prowled around the Great Gates of Kiev.
HOW TO MAKE TARTAR SAUCE
There are two good ways in which a Tartar sauce may be made. You can try whichever you please; but if you are in a hurry the second will suit your purpose better than the first.
1st: Catch a young Tartar: for the old ones are very tough and devoid of juice. To catch a Tartar is generally a very unpleasant and at all times a difficult undertaking. A young Tartar will probably cost you at least $10,000—and perhaps your life—before you get through with him: but if you must have Tartar sauce you must be ready to take all risks. Having procured your Tartar you must kill him privately, taking care that the act shall escape the observation of the police authorities, who would probably in such a case be strongly prejudiced in favor of the Tartar. Having killed, skinned and cleaned the Tartar, cut off the tenderest part of the hams and thighs; boil three hours, and then hash up with Mexican pepper, aloes and spices. Add a quart of mulled wine and slowly boil to the consistency of honey. You will probably find the Tartar sauce very palatable; and if hermetically sealed in bottles with the addition of a little Santa Cruz rum, will serve for a long time. The rest of the Tartar will not keep, and must be disposed of judiciously.
2nd: Take the yolk of a hardboiled egg, a teaspoonful of mustard, a tablespoonful of olive oil, a little vinegar, a little parsley and pickled cucumber, and hash up very fine.
Here’s a modern-day recipe that is simple and delicious. Finely mince dill pickles (I use kosher spears) to make about a third a cup and add about a tablespoon finely minced capers. Chives, dill and/or tarragon are customary options. Mix with a cup of mayonnaise and the juice of half a lemon. This keeps in the refrigerator for several days.
People will tell you that shortbread is just what they call a cookie in the UK, but in my book shortbread is more like pound cake, a simple, versatile sweet you can put together and on the table in a very short time. This recipe makes a rich and aromatic, soft and crumbly cookie or small cake that goes perfectly with a hot drink—coffee, tea, cocoa, even sweet mulled wine—and it’s so simple a child can make it.
Cream 1 stick butter with a cup of confectioner’s sugar, and a teaspoon each almond and vanilla extract. Blend in 2 cups plain flour sifted with a teaspoon of baking powder, a half cup chopped pecans and a tablespoon ground ginger. (I have tried this recipe with freshly-grated ginger, and it simply does not work at all well at all with so much butter.) This mixture makes a soft, elastic dough that you have to work with flour-dusted hands to form into a ball. Pat or roll the dough ball out into an 8” round, score into six wedges and crimp the edges with a fork. Bake on an ungreased cookie sheet at 375 until the edges are just brown. Cut and serve. This recipe makes great cookies, too, and is doubled or tripled easily.