Author: Jesse Yancy

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Discomfort Food

Much is written about foods as panaceas against the interminable petty crises of everyday existence. A bowl of chicken stew on a crisp November night or a little plate of banana pudding on a warm May afternoon can be every bit as comforting as old shoes, good memories, or Mose Allison. Dishes that challenge should have places on our plates as well. At some point in our lives, many of us become complacent; we eat what we prefer to the point of stultification. Listen to your Auntie Mame: “Life’s a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death.” Diversify.  I’m not urging you to sample foods contrary to your ethics, but do try dishes you might forego for less proscriptive reasons.

Childhood prejudices should come under review. Unless you were the subject to the most dastardly abuse, the dishes you disliked as a child were most likely fed you by people who loved you and wanted you to do well in the world. Believe that. Believe also that they probably didn’t know how to cook very well; perhaps it’s their fault you hate spinach. The lingering scar of their benign ineptitude should not deny you of present or future pleasure. My culinary bugbear was eggplant, invariably fried, soggy, greasy, and limp as hell. I hated it. But once I went to a Lebanese event at Ole Miss where a spry little lady served up the most wonderful creamy, and absolutely delicious spread.

I asked her what it was, and she turned to her husband, whose English was better, and he said “eggplant.” Had I known what it was in the first place, I probably wouldn’t have tried it at all, but I was pleasantly surprised that my old bête noire could take on such an appealing form. The dish is known by many names, but I know it as baba ghanoush. Here’s a basic recipe:

3 medium eggplants
3 cloves of roast garlic, mashed
1/2 cup of tahini
1/4 cup lemon juice
1/4 cup water
1 tablespoon salt

Stem, pierce and roast eggplants in a hot oven until soft. Scoop out the flesh, taking care to get the browned meat, mix with the other ingredients and blend in a food processor until smooth. Adjust salt to taste. Drizzle with olive oil and serve with flat bread.

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Hummingbird Cake

The story of hummingbird cake begins on an estate in  Jamaica called “Goldeneye,” where in 1960 Ian Fleming wrote a book (For Your Eyes Only) about a British Secret Service agent that began, “The most beautiful bird in Jamaica, and some say the most beautiful bird in the world, is the streamer-tail or doctor humming-bird.”

Fleming purloined the name for his secret agent, code name 007, from American ornithologist James Bond, a Caribbean bird expert and author of the definitive field guide Birds of the West Indies (1936). Fleming, a keen birdwatcher himself, had a copy of Bond’s guide and he later explained to the ornithologist’s wife that “It struck me that this brief, unromantic, Anglo-Saxon, and yet very masculine name was just what I needed, and so a second James Bond was born”.

It’s way too much of a stretch to think the doctor bird became synonymous with Jamaica because of a James Bond story, but it’s entirely logical that Air Jamaica adopted the bird for its logo. In 1969, the Jamaica Tourism Board distributed press kits that included Jamaican recipes modified for American kitchens featuring “the doctor bird cake made from bananas.”

Food historians generally cite Mrs. L.H. Wiggins’ recipe published in the February, 1978 issue of Southern Living magazine (p. 206) as the first widely-distributed recipe for Hummingbird Cake. The recipe features ripe bananas and canned crushed pineapple lightly accented with cinnamon. It is made with oil, and as such is akin to carrot, zucchini, and applesauce cakes that utilize chemical leavening and eggs without the creaming of butter to create an intensely moist, rich cake. It is typically paired with cream cheese frosting. Here is the original 1978 recipe:

Hummingbird Cake

3 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3 eggs, beaten
1 1/2 cups salad oil
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 (8 ounce) can crushed pineapple, undrained
2 cups chopped pecans or walnuts, divided
2 cups chopped bananas
Cream cheese frosting (recipe follows)

Combine dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl; add eggs and salad oil, stirring until dry ingredients are moistened. Do not beat. Stir in vanilla, pineapple, 1 cup chopped pecans, and bananas; spoon batter into 3 well-greased and floured 9-inch cake pans. Bake at 350 degrees F. For 25 to 30 minutes; remove from pans, and cool immediately. Spread frosting between layers and on top and sides of cake. Sprinkle with 1 cup chopped pecans.

Cream Cheese Frosting

2 (8-ounce) packages cream cheese, softened
1 cup butter or margarine, softened
2 (16 ounce) packages powdered sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Combine softened cream cheese and butter. Cream until smooth. Add powdered sugar, and vanilla, beating until fluffy. Yield: enough for a 3-layer cake.

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Quick Pickled Green Tomatoes

This is a refrigerator pickle, not requiring canning procedures. To every quart of green tomato wedges ( about two pounds), heat 1 cup apple cider vinegar and a cup of water, add a tablespoon of salt, a tablespoon of sugar, and a half teaspoon (or more) red pepper flakes. I like to add a little pickling spice. Pack tomato wedges in jars–green onions are an option–pour in hot liquid to cover (well), and seal jars. I let them cool on the counter before refrigerating, but it’s probably not necessary. Wait at least two days before serving for best flavor.

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My Scalloped Potatoes

I make a blond roux with butter and add enough whole milk to make a thin sauce, which I season with salt and white pepper. I then parboil waxy potatoes, peel and slice thinly, layer them in a glass or porcelain baking dish, spooning the sauce between the layers. This is baked in a medium-high oven (350 or so) until the potatoes are tender through and the top  browned.

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Egg Salad Angst

Egg salad screams of ladies’ luncheons and soda fountains. Pimento and cheese once simpered in such situations, but thanks to a Southern machismo ethic that makes eating a white bread Vidalia onion sandwich dribbling Duke’s mayo over the kitchen sink a valid display of white collar masculinity. P&C is even found served in micro-breweries where it’s paired with an unassuming yet authoritative amber larger and baked parsnip chips.

Still and all, the South is nothing if not traditional, and while egg salad might certainly be served on pumpernickel at some happy hour buffet in a Pensacola leather bar, for the most part it endures as a staple on occasions with a heavy distaff attendance such as christenings, weddings, and those endless, inevitable funerals. Though I’m certain some misguided, unbalanced, and violently boring individuals make egg salad with scrambled eggs, the rest of us use whole boiled eggs peeled and chopped or mashed (swear to God I knew a gal who used a baby food jar) with mayonnaise to bind.

I like it on the chunky side. Add chopped olives, finely-chopped celery, green onion, and pimentos for color. A dash of vinegar gives it bite, and a little olive oil gives a smooth meld. Top with ground black pepper and serve on rye toast with Pilsner, not lager, you knuckle-dragging Neanderthal.

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SCOTUS on Tomatoes: Nix v. Hedden, May 10, 1893

In 1887, U.S. tariff laws imposed duties on vegetables, but not on fruits. Some smart lawyer (we occasionally stumble upon these fabled creatures) representing not only a particular commercial interest but Mother Nature Herself argued that the tomato is a (duty-free) fruit. Botanically, tomatoes are a type of fruit; a berry, to be precise. Alas for Mother Nature and the enlightened litigator championing her, on May 10, 1893, in Nix v. Hedden (149 U.S. 304), the U.S. Supreme Court ruled (unanimously) that “based use and popular perception,” under customs regulations the tomato is a vegetable, putting the court at odds with science, but in concord with commerce. With appropriate deference to hoards of potentially bellicose biologists across the globe, the court–by way of covering their collective asses–acknowledged its limitations by not purporting to define tomatoes beyond the rule of American law.

 

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Chicken and Dumplings

Cut a chicken into quarters and simmer in a gallon of water with carrots, onion, and celery. When tender, remove and bone chicken. Return bones to the pot and reduce liquid by about a third. Strain and return to pot to simmer. You want a good, rich broth. Make a stiff biscuit dough with sweet milk; roll it out to about an eighth of an inch, cut into strips, and drop into boiling broth. As the liquid thickens, add the chicken meat, boil for another minute, then reduce heat and cover. After five minutes, cut the heat, and salt to taste. I like chicken and dumplings with a stiff dose of black pepper.

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Pickled Shrimp

I recommend 21/25 ct. shrimp. Boil, peel, and if you’re the persnickety type, devein, but leave the tails on For five pounds of shrimp, mix well a cup of rice vinegar, a cup of vegetable oil, a small jar of capers (with liquid), two tablespoons of good Italian herb blend, a thinly sliced onion, and a teaspoon each of coarse black pepper and red pepper flakes (or to taste). Add a small white onion, very thinly sliced, two fresh bay leaves, and a cup of diced mild peppers. Toss until shrimp are coated, cover and chill overnight, stirring occasionally. In season, add diced ripe summer tomatoes before adjusting salt and spooning over leaf greens and drizzling with marinade liquid.

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Primavera

Sauté cooked pasta and blanched vegetables with a little garlic, scallions, and shallots in butter. Season lightly with salt and pepper, add heavy cream, and reduce to coat. Toss with a grated hard cheese.