I Forgot That I'm Good at This

I forgot that I’m good at some things – like hospitality.  I had some friends over for lunch today, a last-night spur-of-the-moment thing.  So I took what was on hand and made deconstructed (yes, I just used the word ‘deconstructed’ in a sentence and I’m proud of it!) BLTs.  It all came together beautifully.

Here’s the thing: I love to entertain folks in my home.  Always have.  I can remember making a turkey dinner with all the fixins for some friends when I was 18.  And making my parents a Valentine’s Day dinner of manicotti when I was 16.  There’ve been a long line of shared meals over the years, but in recent times (measured from when I became a pastor), that practice has dwindled to a mere trickle of hospitality.

What happened to my hostess mojo?  I have no idea, but I suspect it went where my energy did – into my job (I know, it’s a vocation, a calling, not a job – but it’s a job too – shout out to Erin for the reminder).

I think I’m on a come-back – I’ve already planned a late-evening dinner later this month and have begun doing some thinking on the menu.  Yes, I admit it, I hope to impress.  But even more, I hope to delight.

A seminary buddy once observed that whenever he has guests, he always serves bread and wine, because friends around the table is always sacramental.  Sloane’s right.  It is sacramental.

There’s holy ground around the table.

We didn’t have wine today, but we did have bread and cranberry juice – close enough.

Yep, definitely a come-back.

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*Deconstructed BLT’s (easy)

1 half loaf of any good rustic bread – I used rosemary bread today (if you really want to show off,                bake your own.  I used store bought.
½ pound pepper bacon (Schwann’s has some good stuff) - baked until crisp (400 degree over for 12-           15 minutes)
2-3 fresh tomatoes
mozzarella cheese 
olive oil & balsamic vinegar
salt & pepper
romaine lettuce
butter
olive oil w/ salt and cayenne for dipping

Warm the bread and cut into rectangular slices good for butter spreading or oil dipping.

Break bacon slices in half as a good size for impromptu sandwich or just as finger food
Slice tomatoes onto plate interspersed with slices of mozzarella & drizzle with olive oil & vinegar.  Salt & pepper to taste.

Use the smaller (middle) leaves of romaine and serve standing up in a cup or glass.

It’s all finger food except the tomato/mozzarella salad, that can be put together in any combo your guests desire.  

Serves 3-4.

O Christmas Ham, O Christmas Ham

One of the casualties of my mom’s car accident on her way to visit me over the Christmas holidays was the Christmas ham she was to prepare while in Virginia to take back to West Virginia on Christmas Day for our family gathering there (don’t ask me to explain the travels of a Christmas ham – I can’t).

My mother’s ham is legend in our family: no one else’s even comes close.  So it was no surprise that when I first saw my mom in the hospital, one of the first things she said to me was to ask about the ham.

Knowing her as I do, I had already asked Jeanne Lou if she could go to where the car was towed and recover whatever she could from the car, but particularly the Christmas ham.  Thus when mom asked, I was able to reassure her that the ham was rescued.  I should have known what would come next (Jeanne Lou did, because she’d already given me the answer): but what about the shrimp?  

Jeanne Lou and her daughters ventured over the snow-laced mountain roads into West Virginia, where they found the car, took pictures, and retrieved what they could from the car, including the ham.

I had told them to be sure to have the ham for their own Christmas so it wouldn’t go to waste, so was glad to learn yesterday when I finally got to see Jeanne Lou that they had the ham for their Christmas dinner.

In addition to the ham rescue, they took pictures of the car, retrieved what presents they could, and tried (unsuccessfully) to get the shrimp too.

Alas, the shrimp had to be left: they could see it, but couldn’t get to it.  So some by-now well-frozen shrimp rest just out of reach in what remains of my mother’s car.

But the ham, oh, that ham.

***

Harriett’s Christmas (or any other occasion) ham

1 whole ham
whole cloves
1 large can pineapple rings
Marichino cherries
1 can 7-Up (of late, Mom has taken to using cherry 7-Up instead – you decide)
brown sugar

Place the ham fat side up in a pan.  Score the entire exposed ham in criss-cross fashion.  Spread  brown sugar lightly over the ham.  Push points of whole clove into each x from your criss-crossing.  Secure pineapple rings (save the juice in the can) all over the ham with toothpicks.  Put a cherry in the middle of each ring.  Mix pineapple juice and 7-Up and pour over the ham.  Cover with foil and bake according to instructions (I forget how many minutes to allow per pound).  About ½ hour before the ham is done, remove the foil and return for final baking and browning.  Remove ham from oven and allow it to set for 15 minutes or so.  Slice, serve and enjoy.  And yes, you can use the drippings for ham gravy.

2 Clerk Helpers, 1 New Friend & ½ a Bar of Paraffin Wax

The other day I went to town (a big deal where I live) and while there did some shopping for the necessary ingredients for my Christmas baking.

Rendering up Christmas goodies is part of my personal Advent observance – my own waiting and preparing looks an awful lot like cooking and baking.

In years past, I’ve done these rituals in the company of others – family and friends – but now, I am alone in my kitchen – or so it would seem to the outside observer.

But I know I stand in the company of the saints who have gone before (some of whom might be surprised to hear themselves described as saints, but saints to me, nevertheless).  As I made the first batch of fudge the other night (Fudge recipe), it was as if I could hear Dad and his sister Bonnie squabbling over my shoulder about the age-old fight: to beat or not to beat, while Grandma stood behind them just smiling on her brood.  At one point, I actually turned around, half expecting to see them.

But I digress.

In the grocery store the other day, I was looking for the paraffin.  A woman was perusing the pastas with the help of one of the clerks, a young man clearly not knowing what she sought.  Being me, when I heard her asking about whole wheat pasta, I stepped in and pointed the boxes out to her.  We spoke briefly about diabetes (my mom’s and hers).  Then I asked the hapless clerk where I might find the paraffin.

He looked confused.

“Wax,” I offered, trying to be helpful.  At the same time, the woman declared “peanut butter balls”, to which I nodded my yes.

Still confused, he went off for help, guided by the woman’s offer that the paraffin would be with the canning supplies.

He came back with another clerk who had two large boxes of jars in her hands.

I smiled at the confusion, bid the woman good luck and went off with the second clerk to canning supplies.  Sure enough there was the paraffin.

Later at the check-out line, the young man was bagging my groceries and was delighted to see that I had indeed found the paraffin.

Today the supplies are all out and sometime in the evening I will make hundreds of peanut butter balls to the delight of my family past and present.  I know Bonnie and Grandma will be there.  I’m not too sure about Dad – he loved to eat them but never bothered to help in the making.

And from my recipe book with the handwritten note, “verified with Bonnie 12/91" (which I can now do by memory, but always have the recipe on hand just in case), I will proceed.

PEANUT BUTTER BALLS

1 quart peanut butter 2 large packages of chocolate chips
1 pound butter (softened) 2 Tablespoons vegetable oil
3 pounds confectioner’s sugar ½ bar paraffin
3 teaspoons vanilla

Mix together chocolate chips, oil and paraffin and heat in double boiler while mixing remaining ingredients in large bowl.

Mix softened butter and peanut butter.  Stir in sugar (although I’ve never been able to stir this.  I just put my clean hands into the mix and do it the old-fashioned way).  Add vanilla and mix it in.

Make into small balls (about the size of walnuts).  Dip the balls into the melted chocolate (I use a fork rather than a spoon so the excess chocolate will run off easier)  mixture and put on wax paper to cool.

Enjoy.

ScotlandDay35: Sticky Toffee Pudding

Continuing the theme of being separated by common language, the concept of a cake as a ‘pudding’ is simply confounding to me.  And so, of course, I went to the internets in search of an explanation: just what is a ‘pudding’ in the collective consciousness of the British (sorry Scottish friends, but I’m including you as British on this one).

It turns out that ‘pudding’ referred originally to the manner of preparation (which actually clears nothing up for me): a pudding was something containing flour that was stuffed into a casing like a sheep’s intestine and then steamed or boiled, removed from its casing, sliced and served.  Pudding

As ‘pudding’ evokes an image as much of texture as of taste in the US,  I’m still trying to make the connection: was pudding referring to a somewhat jiggly, not-quite-set texture?  I’m still not sure.

But another article, even more interestingly, makes a case for the use of language to describe a meal within the UK as a matter of class distinction; thus, ‘pudding’ is to be preferred over ‘dessert’ (used by the newly rich gauche set). Pudding

And then, I searched exactly what goes into a sticky toffee pudding, and stumbled onto Jamie Oliver’s site, where his recipe calls for a dollop of Ovaltine – that’s right: Ovaltine.  (Never a fan, should I venture to make my own sticky toffee creation some day, I think I’ll skip the Ovaltine, The Christmas Story movie favorite connection notwithstanding).  Jamie Oliver's Recipe

Dining the other evening with friend Liz and a group of her supervision ministry students, all of us save Liz (who went for the healthy fruit plate option) opted for the sticky toffee pudding dessert (is that a redundancy?  I still don’t know).

Regardless of class implications and historical confusions, it was lovely.  Beautiful presentation (and yes, we all ate even the spun sugar and iced kumquat garnishes), wonderfully moist cake (aka pudding), delicate sauce and simple vanilla ice cream accompaniment made it plate-licking good (there I go again revealing my betrayal of all the good breeding my mother so desperately tried to instill in me at an early age – sorry Mom!).

A Great Recipe + A Bad-Cooking Day = Disaster

Yesterday I revisited a common plight when visiting or living in another country: nothing is the same as it was at home – nothing.

If you’re a creative cook, this can make for great adventures.  If, however, you’re more like me and require a recipe road-map, this can lead to disaster – a lesson you forget at your peril.

Fortunately for me yesterday, I was cooking for a palate of one, so I can truthfully disclaim that no guests were harmed in the preparing of this dish.

What Sandra's ravioli should look like!

There is a recipe from Sandra Lee's  Semi-homemade Cooking television show that I absolutely love to make and to eat – White bean ravioli with brown butter and caper sauce.  It’s really quite good.  And to reassure you of that certainty, I refrained from taking a picture of what I managed to ‘create’ yesterday.  If you want the recipe, just click on the link above and banish all images of the below-described fiasco from your mind - this does not have to be your fate - I promise!

I had the beans I needed, but no blender or food processor, so I tried mashing them first with a fork and then with my hands.  It’s not as easy as you would think to get a bean puree by hand.  I looked at the clumpy mess I had created, reminded myself that I was dining alone, and proclaimed, Good enough!  Mistake #1.

Next I learned that no matter how finely chopped something (even something like cheese) is, finely chopped is not the same as grated.  The results are predictable, as your cheese absolutely refuses (who knew cheese was such a wilful beast?) to melt/combine/play nicely with the other ingredients.  Mistake #2.

I relearned that at some point, persistence moves from being a virtue to being its own worst-enemy kind of vice.  They didn’t have wonton wrappers at the store, so I got some fresh thin lasagne noodles instead.  But no matter how thin, unless homemade, a lasagne noodle is soooo much thicker than the wonton wrapper or the ravioli pasta that the restaurants make and use.  Thus my spooned in mixture would not be contained in the lovely triangular-shaped pasta purses I had envisioned – the dough simply broke in half when I folded it.  That’s when inspiration (translate insanity) struck: I would boil the pasta for a few quick moments to soften it up (and make it wet and slippery and impossible to work with) so that it could be folded.  Still it would not stick to itself no matter what I did.  So finally I rolled little tubes around the bean mixture, laid them in a glass pan and poured boiling water over them (this was after I kept trying to flash boil them in the water on the stove, only to have the bean mixture slide out of each little triangle, tube and other shape I tried to create).

That worked after a fashion, but what I ended up with on my plate after I had dirtied about every dish in the kitchen was fried beans with some buttered fried pasta atop them.

No worries, I thought to myself – it isn’t how a dish looks; it’s how it tastes.  Of course, I was delusional by this point, forgetting everything I have learned from the most basic of cooking shows: people eat first with their eyes.  And in this case (as is, I suspect often the case), what it looked like was a good predictor of what it would taste like.  Mistake #3

Finally, this isn’t my first kitchen disaster and it won’t be my last.  The difference a bit of age has brought to me is that I know that. So after a few bites, I resigned myself to throwing the mess away.  Maybe that’s wisdom.  Final Lesson #4




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Mistakes/Lessons
1. What you wouldn’t serve to/give/present to an honored guest, you should not serve to/give/present to yourself - for you are your own honored guest.

2. Instructions are offered by those with more knowledge than I possess for a reason.  They are usually not intended as suggestions and I ignore them at my peril.

3. Know when to quit.  Think Kenny Rogers here.



4. “Try again, fail again, fail again better.”  –Samuel Beckett, quoted by Chef Tamasin Day-Lewis in Don't Try This at Home: Culinary Catastrophes from the World's Greatest Chefs , Kimberly Witherspoon & Andrew Friedman, Eds.

Mebbie You Can Tell a Little Something About This

“What are you doing?”

My aunt Bonnie could hear sounds over the phone, but couldn’t figure out what on earth I was up to during our annual “Help me!” call I always initiated during the holidays . . . I would inevitably forget some important ingredient for one of the many Christmas goodies I love to make and since Grandma died, Bonnie was my go-to gal for such crises.

“I’m beating the fudge,” I say.

“Is that the recipe that uses marshmellow cream?” she asks.

“I’m pretty sure.  It’s the fudge Dad always made.”

“Honey,” she laughed, “you don’t have to beat that fudge.  Dad (referring to my Grandpa) brought that recipe home from duPont.  The whole point of the marshmellow cream is that you don’t have to beat the fudge anymore.”

“That can’t be right,” I say.  “Dad always beat the fudge.”

Bonnie laughed some more as she explained to me that the old fudge recipe required beating, but not this ‘new’ one.

I hesitated for only a moment, remembering my dad and I, his faithful sidekick, standing over the stove, Dad beating the fudge until he broke a sweat, me waiting impatiently for the chance to lick the pan.  Dad even taught his brother Richard how to make that fudge just months before Dad died.

There was no way I was going to change this procedure.  You might not need to beat the fudge for it to set up, but I absolutely have to.  I’m churning memories into each batch with each stir of the spoon.

Bonnie and I laughed as we said our good-byes, both of us knowing that I would go to my grave beating the fudge and teaching the generations that you absolutely have to give it strong-arm treatment for it to turn out right.

That was years ago and in September, it’ll be two years since Aunt Bonnie met her Lord.

They’re all gone.  And I miss them terribly.

So it was a wonderful treat to get an envelope from my mother, tucked inside my birthday card, containing all of the recipes my dad’s mom had given my mother over the years, so that she could be sure to make dishes “just like Mom did”, per my dad’s instructions.

Some are in my mother’s handwriting, some even in my Aunt Bonnie’s, and some, rare treasures, in my Grandma’s own hand.  And there, the very last one of all, is the peanut butter fudge recipe.  Grandma wrote this one herself.  Oh, what a treasure!  Will she say to beat the fudge, I wonder?  You decide.

Peanut Butter Marshmellow Fudge

Cook: 2 cups sugar
2/3 cup undiluted canned milk until it forms a soft ball.  Remove from fire add:
1 cup marshmellow creme
1 cup peanut butter
1 tsp. vanilla
Stir good and pour into buttered plate.

“Mebbie you can tell a little something about this.”

Notes to the cooks: (1) We always use a 1-pound box of brown sugar and a small can of carnation evaporated milk.  (2) If you’re not a candy maker, you form the soft ball by taking a bit on a spoon and putting it into a cup of very cold water and seeing if it holds its shape.  (3) Stir constantly while it’s cooking.  I don’t even test it until the sugar/milk mixture has come to a rolling boil.  (4) This is one of the few recipes from my Grandma with exact measures and that’s not how we make it.  I use two big (and I mean big) spoonfuls of marshmellow cream and 2 of peanut butter.  (5) Peanut butter varies in taste - don’t skimp on the cheap stuff.  (6) I love this fudge with black walnuts - if you like them too, just add a cup of broken walnut pieces at the very end.  (7) I don’t know the author of this recipe.  If you do, let me know so I can give credit where it is due.  If my Grandpa brought it home from work, I’m guessing it came from a friend or that it was a pass-around recipe from some professional kitchen.  (8) Finally, I stand by my Dad’s teachings.  When Grandma says to “stir good”, that means to beat the fudge until your arm drops off.  Trust me, it’ll be better if you do.

In the words of my Grandma, Mary Edra Tennant Pyles, “Mebbie you can tell a little something about this.”