Food

Food / The garden / Uncategorized — 4 Comments
15
May 12

Okra. To be or not to be: The Garden Chronicles, Chapter 31.

Mother’s Day brought lots of rain to our nape of the neck.

And with that rain, the garden did grow.

That meant I needed to play God again with the okra.

I love okra.

Well, I love fried okra and so do my children. So when my transplants from the store dried up and blew away, I dropped a row of okra seeds into the dirt.

Up those seeds sprung.

And now comes a task every farmer must do.

Thin out the seedlings.

Shhhh.

 

 

Yes, it was time.

I don’t know why this causes me angst. Which one should I pull. There are dozens and dozens.

I need to pull at least 10 seedlings for every one kept.

 

I can’t help thinking…is this how God does things? Get in there and pull up a few.

It’s so arbitrary.

So I came at it from a different angle.

Rather than thinking of individual okra, I thought of the OKRA.

As in my crop.

For the good of the entire crop all but a few must be weeded out.

Yes, I did my job and now the remaining plants have room to grow.

I’ll probably have to weed out a few more in a week or so.

I’m really too emotional to be a farmer.

But my love of fried okra prevailed and I made the tough calls.

Actually it got easier as I went along. A lot easier.

How is your garden growing this 15th of May?

 

 

 

 

Food / Life in Madison / The southern palate — No Comments
3
Mar 12

Musing on Brunswick Stew and Barbecue. Helping out our friend Rick.

Brunswick Stew.

Did you know that it is made of pork, beef and chicken? I think it is anyway. I wasn’t taking notes — I was stirring.

So many of our community gathered in Bostwick today, to eat some barbecue and raise money to help our dear friends, the Spences, offset medical expenses they incurred while Rick, husband and father, was going through cancer treatment.

It’s just been a week since our friend Rick left us. So hard to believe, but all this cooking gave us a way to do something.

The Main Event.

 

Bucky Malcom and crew started these fellows late yesterday afternoon. They cooked over 12 hours.

And then this morning, lots of folks started pulling and chopping the dickens out of those roasted pigs.

 

I was on the Brunswick stir crew.

 

 

Keep it from sticking on the bottom. It became very clear, you didn’t want to be the one whose pot burned.

 

 

Inside they formed an assembly line to fix the plates and the to-go boxes.

 

 

 

Shannon and Cindy Spence. Rick’s much loved sister and mother.

 

 

And then the people came and came and came.

A few still trickled in an hour after the lunch was scheduled to end.

 

They fixed quarts of leftover meat and stew. So if you’d like some just leave a comment and I can contact my stew sources.

Though the rain affected the numbers for the ride, it didn’t dampen anyone’s appetite.

In Morgan County, people care about barbecue and more importantly —  they care deeply for each other.

 

Food / South — 2 Comments
31
Jan 12

Squatter’s Rights on a table and the Eager Beaver.

He just tried to snake my salad.

UGH.

The overeager, overachieving bus person had his hand on my salad bowl.

“Excuse me,” I said looking first at his hand and then to his face. “I’m not done yet.”

You want to freak somebody out….

that freaked out eager-beaver table cleaner.

Having time to kill in Athens, I decided to work and treat myself to lunch. I don’t do this ever for I am a good curb-excess-spending wife and mother.

And this guy was trying to take my salad.

Don’t come between a woman and her salad. One that is a treat she rarely enjoys. (Don’t come between me and any food actually.)

Clearly, I had hardly been here 30 minutes and though the restaurant was busy, no one was waiting for a table.

I was abiding by all the establishment’s login “thou shalts” as I understood them. And besides, this was a treat. He wanted me to rush through my ice cream sundae with sprinkles. (Well, my theoretical ice cream sundae.)

I figured an hour was fair enough for a ten dollar purchase.

The Beaver didn’t think so.

I’m bugging the poo out of him and he’s a little shaken. I see him as he furiously sweeps under the tables around me.

Close. But not too close.

It’s not fair that the woman across from me has sat there with her lunch companion — not eating, talking away – longer than I and he hasn’t reached for her bowl.

Clearly, my equal rights under the 14th Amendment as it applies to large franchise eateries with free WiFi had been violated.

No, there’s safety in numbers. The Beaver only looks for the lone pathetic woman (having a wonderful time) to try to hurry out the door.

 

 

He did until he found out this one bites.

Or gives a slightly threatening growl.

A grr.  

He must have found some other patron to torment for haven’t seen him in a while.

Okay, time for me to go.

Pity.

Ever squat on a table? Either by yourself doing work or talking with friends?

 

 

Food / The garden / The southern palate / Uncategorized — 5 Comments
1
Jan 12

Musing on mulligans for resolutions.

Do you know they already have Valentine stuff in the stores?

Me in the garden at 9:30 this morning.

 

My leg anyway.

I was picking greens.

Lots of folks have been stopping by the garden lately.

 

 

Know what this is a picture of?

Lots of money given away by me.

 

 

These bushes have been providing lots of collards for folks today.

Greens are consumed for money in the new year and black-eyed peas for luck.

As a child I wondered why you needed to eat the greens for money, for if you were lucky – who needs money?

But today I wasn’t thinking about such esoteric January 1 questions. No I awoke, to realize we had invited all my husband’s family to have New Year chow with us.

This put me in quite a quandary.

My New Year’s resolutions this year?

Go to church every Sunday.

Poop.

There I was out in the garden in my pajamas when I was supposed to be in church.

Awake only two hours and I already failed at my one and only resolution.

Now I got everyone in the family off to church (except me).

Does that count for something?

I might have to write Tim Tebow and get a ruling on a do-over. He’d probably like a few do-overs recently.

 

 

 

 

What do you do with a resolution foul? Completely give up or try again?

Maybe I should shoot for four Sundays in a row or something like that?

Food / The garden — 2 Comments
26
Dec 11

Musing on “I’m Choppin’ Broccoli.”

December 26.

Christmas is over for another year.

And I don’t think I’d ever care to eat again.

I always feel a twinge of quilt when expressing that very heartfelt thought, because I know that there are folks who are in serious need of food. That kind of makes complaining about eating too much of the wrong stuff for 30 days seem silly.

But that is the way I feel.

So today it was out to the garden for some…

My babies. The ones that don't talk back to me.

broccoli.

This is what they looked like the first of September.

Yes, with a little sun and cooler temps along with the occasional downpour those toddlers have turned into this.

Meet Carol.

 

And Robert. Or Bob to those who know him best.

 

Greta. She's shy.

 

I know some of you are saying…naming your broccoli heads? That’s insane.

That’s like naming your calves — as in bovines not lower leg muscles.

For we all know what lies down road.

Killer freeze or….

SCREAM.

 

Yes, Deborah was my lunch. And a fine lunch she was.

I love raw broccoli and here is what I did with it today. The start of my never-eat-again-but-raw-broccoli life.

Courtesy of Allrecipes.com and Edna Hoffman of Hebron, Indiana my

Marinated Deborah. 

Oops.

Marinated Broccoli.

4 teaspoons olive oil

1 tablespoon water

1 tablespoon white wine vinegar

1 1/2 teaspoons lemon juice

1 teaspoon honey

1 garlic clove, minced

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 cups fresh broccoli florets

2 tablespoons chopped sweet red pepper (didn’t have and didn’t add.)

 

Combine the marinate in a jar and shake well. Add your vegetables and toss. Chill for hour.

Done.

That’s all I’m eating for the next 40 years.

What about you?

 

 

Food / The garden / The southern palate — 4 Comments
23
Nov 11

Musing on cooking for Thanksgiving. It’s only part of the story.

I love Thanksgiving. It has always been my favorite holiday.

After hosting the family dinner last year, my children begged me not to. :(

They thought it more fun at their grandmother’s. So I thought it my duty to step up and do my share of the cooking and help out Nannie.

Funny. Cooking is only half the task. The other is planning and shopping.

I am not good planner or shopper.

Maybe that’s why I was making my list at 2 p.m. this afternoon. (I was supposed to be shopping by noon but life got in the way.)

I read the recipes.

 

Made my list and headed to the store.

So in middle of afternoon, I was in checkout line with loaded cart.

FYI, you early birds. It wasn’t terribly crowded. I guess for once it pays to be a tad off schedule.

 

 

That’s when it started dawning on me I’ve got lots to do between now and decent bedtime — for a 3:45 wake-up time.

Make sweet potatoes.

Make pecan pies.

Make corn casserole. (No, I’ll do that tomorrow.)

Go into garden and pick collards. Prepare collards.

Collard greens from the garden.

 

No one will eat these but my daughter, teenager and me. (And my father-in-law because he’s kind and feels obligated.)

Had friends stop by and pick greens and lettuce. That made it very fun and holiday. Nothing makes me feel more holiday than giving things away and getting a hug in return.

Here’s a picture of a head of Romaine that I will pick tomorrow for a fabulous new salad I’ve learned about. It’s his last night in the garden.

How beautiful is he? Tomorrow your mine, pretty.

 

Then I made pimento cheese with this new recipe I found for garden club. It was so fab, I’m making it to bring as appetizer with crackers just because I’ve been dreaming about it.

Saved last of the sweet potatoes from my summer garden for the casserole.

A little tradition I started last year.

Beauties too.

 

My pies are still in oven and I’m cleaning up.

Are you still cooking at 9 p.m. the night before Thanksgiving?

I need to turn in soon. Hope your feast is merry and bright. (Or is that for some other holiday?)

 

 

fall / Food / Uncategorized — 5 Comments
17
Nov 11

Musing on Halloween Cookies for Thanksgiving. Who’s the turkey now?

Another Chapter filed under I never did this as a child so I have to do it with my children or their childhoods will be utter failures is making holiday cut out cookies.

Since Christmas has turned crazy the last few years, I got this great idea to decorate cookies at Halloween.

Here are the Halloween cookie cutters.

Notice they have never been used.

I might was well mention they were not used Halloween 2010 either.

Thanksgiving.

Perfect time for cookies.

Here is the Halloween dough.

 

This dough was made and has been refrigerated since Halloween. Halloween 2011 not 2010.

 

So when the kids got home today, the flour was flying.

 

Note to self. Change from exercise gear before flour.

 

Also just noticed in two months my foot has turned the color of flour.

Most excellent.

FYI, Thanksgiving and fall-ish cookie cutters are in the shape of oak leaves (which look rather like Christmas trees), acorns (small and large), pumpkins and turkeys.

So we had our Kodak makin’-the-cookies moment.

Check that off the list.

And check out this turkey. I think it turned out really creepy (I mean cool) with our Halloween sprinkles.

 

Gobble, gobble.

 

Do you make Thanksgiving cut outs?

Surely I must be the only turkey who does….

Children / Food / Life in Madison — 2 Comments
13
Nov 11

Musing on the Smokin’ Gun. Why am I always the last to know?

This is how I found her.

Crumpled on the kitchen floor.

My daughter’s a tad dramatic.

This is what she did when she heard her favorite restaurant, the Smokin’ Gun, was shutting its doors for good after lunch today.

So we headed out there for one more meal.

Now, I must admit that I had never been there — but she and my son have been there lots with their grandparents.

I think this is the place.

Every time they go she has pulled chicken with Brunswick stew.

She talks about the Brunswick stew all the time. I guess that’s why she collapsed when she heard the bad news. Brunswick stew withdrawal.

Now, it’s not all bad. They are going to keep cooking — catering for parties, showing up at festivals – but it won’t be possible to get a daily fix after today.

Sure enough. They were closing. :(

 

We saw familiar faces.

 

The newlyweds. Carol and Jim Jones.

 

By the time we left, these tables were filled.

 

I ordered a pulled-pork sandwich and fries. (I couldn’t help myself with the fries — they were the crinkle kind right out of the fryer.)

 

Joe had his usual two corn dogs.

 

 

Hannah had her usual as well.

 

She looks sad. Maybe because she's already missing the stew.

 

It was truly delicious. I’m not just saying that because I want to be kind.

It was really, really good.

With food this good, why were they closing?

 

 

 

I guess for the same reason this was my first time visiting.

Their establishment was on the way out of town, the way I never go out of town.

If they had been on the way to Athens, the interstate, some better traveled way –

Oh well.

I’m a firm believer in that adage when the Lord closes a door, He always opens a window.

Some good news. They took our number and promised to call whenever they were making the Brunswick stew. :)  My children are already scouting locations for a reopening of another Smokin’ Gun sometime down the road.

Have you lost a great place to the downturn in things lately?

Children / Food / Life in Madison — 11 Comments
25
Aug 11

Musing on school lunches. Canned green beans take me away.

 

Open a can of green beans and faster than you can say “Jolly Green Giant,” I am transported to my grade school cafeteria.

Not only do I dip my steak in ketchup but eating (and sniffing) green beans from a can makes me happy.

I joined my daughter today for lunch.

Say "no" to the hand.

 

My daughter is tiring of being the subject for blog posts. Or so she protests.

Back in my day, you had to try everything on the plate and drink your milk.

I can’t drink milk. Never have, never will. (This provided lots of angst for me as child at lunch.)

If I didn’t drink most of the carton still ice cold from the chest, there was no way. If the lunch room monitor shook my carton and decided I needed to drink more of — at this point — warm milk…

Vomiteria.

I tried some of her pork and gravy.

This is the way I roll. Workout, clean out more of attic, come dusty and stinky to school for lunch.

A friend saw me at the Open House the other night said I looked pretty.

I think this was because I had showered.

After lunch, we headed to the Book Fair.

Jill Hill (who has an awesome blog) was dutifully volunteering and cheerfully ringing up sales.

 

While the brilliant writer and blogger Meg Ferrante was lifting the till while Jill’s back was turned.

 

Meg has a awesome annual blog during Advent. For those of us who love reading, she needs to think year-round or at least expand her blog by adding sacred liturgical favorites such as Lent and Halloween.

I love visiting my daughter for lunch.

I love chatting with her friends, waving at all my beautiful dutiful volunteering friends, and my daughter’s unabashed kiss goodbye.

What’s your canned green bean memory?

I’m going to get cleaned up.

Look forward to reading what made you vomit all over the mean girl. (If you had to vomit on someone, I hope it was the mean girl.)

 

Food / Georgia / South / The southern palate — 5 Comments
21
Jun 11

Musing on peaches. And the dump cobbler.

On the way up to Athens yesterday, my young son wanted to stop for some peaches sold at a road side stand.

I agreed to do it on the return trip.

We went all over that town.

We ate outside at Dairy Queen. Yes. Outside.  (You know the one…with no inside seating right next to the Varsity.)  I lobbied for the Varsity but he wanted DQ chicken tenders. Honestly, I think his motive was to garner a Blizzard.

It was hot. Later he said, “It feels like I pee-ed in my pants I’m sweating so much.”

We went on a mission and delivered some squash to a friend. It took a little doing to find her office but we perserved with her squash. It was the perfect amount for a casserole. I have yet to make a squash casserole this year.

Very sad for me.

Then we hit Target looking for white clothing — maybe save that for a later blog.

Then we headed home.

We stopped for peaches.
They are on the verge of being soo ripe. You can tell they are going to be awesome.
 
We’re making a dump cobbler.
 
Here’s a recipe from the New Perry Hotel. So easy and so good.
 
* 3 to 4 cups pre-sweetened fruit. (in our case, peeled and cut peaches with sugar.)
* 1 cup self-rising flour
* 1 cup milk
* 1 stick margarine. (I use butter. Because I’m bad.)
* 1 cup sugar
Melt margarine (butter) in 2 quart casserole. Pour fruit over margarine (butter). Combine remaining ingredients. Add to dish and stir slightly. Bake at 350 degrees until crust rises to top and is browned.
Yay.
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