This concoction has been used as a cold sauce across the South for a long time, but it’s often referred to as Mississippi comeback.
I like that; if Mississippi were to have a signature dish, it should be one that beckons her weary children home, and as a Mississippian, knowing how to make a good comeback should be as much a part of your repertoire as knowing how to pass a tractor towing a bat wing bush hog on a two-lane highway.
Most recipes for comeback involve an emulsion combined with chili sauce or ketchup. Some prefer salad dressing instead of mayonnaise. I suspect that because the main ingredients are kitchen staples, and since the resulting mixture looks and tastes a lot like Thousand Island without pickles, this Ur-comeback became a popular substitute for store-bought. The basic combination was often taught in home ec, but many learned it at their mother’s knee.
My version of comeback is quite simple, involving no more than mayonnaise, chili sauce, Worcestershire, and black pepper with a smidgen of onion powder. For seafood, a little lemon juice is needed along with horseradish and fresh parsley.
Jimmy’s commitment had been court ordered after he’d busted up the pool hall on Radley Road and sent Dennis Sprayberry to the ER with six broken ribs. Jimmy wasn’t always like this, meaning the type who’d take a cue and beat the ever-living hell out of the guy who was the best man at his wedding.
Jimmy and Debby got married in the same church he was now exorcising his devil. Dennis couldn’t bring himself to press charges, so Jimmy wasn’t in that much trouble, but he needed to mind himself.
Debby just couldn’t understand how it had all gone wrong, since for a long time all Jimmy did was drink a little too much beer every now and then but bit by bit he kept drinking more, got off all by himself a lot of times and nobody could talk to him and when we did he just said nothing he had going was doing right.
And it wasn’t. He was hanging by a thread with his job, and when he almost cut his thumb off in an air-conditioner changing out the condenser and tested for alcohol for the third time he was fired. That’s the night he ended up down Radley Road and tried to kill Dennis. The sheriff told the prosecutor to throw the book at him, but things worked out so that Jimmy had to spend a month in rehab and two years under observation.
The day Jimmy went into rehab, Debby put in a garden. I kept telling her that March was too early, better to wait till Jimmy got out next month, but she wouldn’t listen. She wanted everything to look promising. So when Jimmy went in, Debby went to the garden store in Tupelo and bought tomatoes and peppers, squash and cucumber seedlings, which she set out in a bed off the porch. She wanted her and Jimmy to be able to sit there in the afternoons and watch the sun go down over the garden. She said she was going to make Easter eggs so she and Jimmy could go looking for them the day after he got out.
She planted a garden in the cold earth under a cool, cloudy sun. I knew it was a bad idea, but I’d said all I could. Good Friday came, and Debby got a call. Jimmy had broken out, so they had to put him in jail for violation of a court order. That night a cold wind came in and threw down a hard frost. Come morning the garden was nothing but frozen rows with withered plants. All I could do was be there.
“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” she said.
I just shook my head; I didn’t. I was blinded by hope, too. I loved my brother Jimmy more than she did.
This simple, hearty recipe is a perfect side for pork. The Irish call it calcannon, but you don’t have to.
For two servings, use one large starchy potato (russet) to a packed cup of raw, chopped kale. Cut potatoes into chunks, boil vigorously until very soft, and whip with milk and butter. These don’t have to be perfectly smooth; in fact, they’re better a little lumpy, if you ask me (and I know you didn’t).
Stew greens, drain, and toss with a melted butter. Mix potatoes and kale; season with salt and white pepper. Some people cook green onions with the kale, but they’re better as a garnish.
You can thin this basic recipe with milk or broth to make a soup, or you can spoon it into a casserole and bake with crumbled bacon and some type of dry cheese.
In our neck of the South, stuffed peppers mean mild, fleshy bells filled with a mixture of rice and meat or seafood, usually ground beef or shrimp. A vegetarian version with beans is wonderful as well.
Select peppers that are globular rather than oblong, slice off the top, and remove whites and seeds; a lot of people parboil the peppers, but don’t. For a stuffing mixture, use a 50/50 blend of rice/meat or beans in a light tomato sauce seasoned with black pepper, sage, and basil.
Crowd into a casserole, baste with more sauce and place in a medium (300) oven until peppers are cooked through. Baste again with sauce, top with dry white cheese, and toast.
The authentic, die-hard, you-will-go-to-hell-if-you-don’t-do-it-this-way recipe from Syracuse demands new russet white potatoes (grade B), not red nor sweet (an interesting option), but Yukon Golds, a variety developed in southwest Ontario–in spitting distance of upstate New York–do just fine.
Bring two quarts water to a low boil and stir in two cups salt. Likely not all the salt will dissolve, depending on the softness or hardness of your water (soft water will hold more salt). The potatoes sizzle while boiling as the moisture leaches out. Once the potatoes are done through, remove them with a slotted spoon into a colander and let them dry. A salt crust will form on the skins. Serve hot with melted butter for dipping.
With Roffignac, on one hand, you have an effete, fruity cocktail, on another, the roguish oysters Roffignac.
Both recipes are from the most popular restaurant in antebellum New Orleans, which occupied the corner of Royal and St. Peter Streets. Howard Mitcham says that oysters Roffignac was the first baked/broiled oyster dish in New Orleans, and if Howard says so, it’s so.
You’ll not find many oyster recipes that use red wine, and fewer using paprika for actual flavor as opposed to a color accent, but it’s a robust combination. Add this dish to your repertoire as a hearty alternative to that sissy Bienville.
For four servings: 2 dozen fresh oysters in their shells 1/2 lb. peeled boiled shrimp (about a pound raw in the shell) A half dozen scallions, finely chopped About a dozen small button mushrooms, chopped 2 cloves garlic, minced 1 stick butter 2 tablespoons cornstarch 1 tablespoon paprika A dash of cayenne About a half cup of dry red wine
Clean oysters of mud and hangers-on, shuck, and reserve liquid. Heat butter, add scallions, garlic, shrimp, mushrooms, and seasonings. Cook until done through. Dissolve cornstarch in about ¼ cup water, add wine and oyster liquor, and drizzle into hot mixture until thickened. Cool before spooning over oysters and broiling.
We call counterfeit coins slugs; this sandwich filling is a culinary counterfeit posing as a burger. During the Great Depression, a lot of diners in the American South stretched patties of ground beef or pork with potato flour. These were deep-fried, giving them crispy exteriors and juicy insides, topped with mustard, slid between buns, and sold for a nickel, which back in that day were also called slugs.
John Weeks brought this recipe from Chicago to Corinth, Mississippi, in 1917. Weeks had his hamburger meat ground to specification by local butchers, which included potato flakes and flour. Originally called Weeksburgers, in the Fifties, soy grits replaced the potato and flour. Patties of the mix are fried in canola oil and served with mustard, dill pickles, and onions on a slider bun.
Slugburgers are very much a thing in Corinth, surrounding north Mississippi, and Alabama. Each year people from across the continent descend on Corinth for the annual Slugburger Festival, which began in 1988. For three weekend evenings in summer–its in July this year–the town celebrates the local culinary icon with music, a carnival, and The World Slugburger Eating Championship
For slugburgers, add two cups potato flakes and a cup of flour to one pound of ground beef, add a tablespoon each salt and pepper. Use your hands and mix very, very well. Form into patties, on the thin side. Some people—me included—dust the patties with flour before deep-frying in canola oil. Serve on a bun with mustard, pickles, onion, and a side of French fries or onion rings. This makes about 8 burgers.
Lay three slices of rye bread out on a cutting board. Smear two of them with a tablespoon each of yellow mustard. Smear the last one with mayonnaise. Top one of the mustard smeared slices of rye bread with 4 slices deli ham, 2 slices American cheese, 2 leaves of iceberg lettuce, and four slices bologna. Top the second mustard-smeared slice of rye with 4 slices salami, a half dozen pickle chips, 3 tomato slices, 4 slices turkey, 2 slices Swiss cheese, and the third slice of rye bread, mayonnaise side down. Stack this unit on top of the first mustard smeared slice. Secure the sandwich with toothpicks skewered through pimento-stuffed green olives.
