Thursday, December 27, 2012

Turnip Chronicles II: Resigned Redemption

By Stephanie Burt

[fade in]

Woman #1 in comfortable clothes opens fridge and pulls out turnips. They have had tops removed ...

[flashback]

Woman #1 holds hand over cast iron skillet, then adjusts heat, pours a decent splash of olive oil into pan, then tosses chopped greens from cutting board into pan. Greens turn vibrant color. Woman #1 smiles, adds a dash of salt, some sliced grape tomatoes, and a beaten egg. Scene fades ...

Scene 2

Woman #1 (mumbling): OK, treat them just like potatoes. We'll see ...

Woman turns on water, scrubs each turnip under spigot, then turns off water and quarters each small, white veggie. Meanwhile, she turns away and hits the preheat button on the oven.

She opens cabinet above her head, pulls out cranberry-colored Pyrex dish (popular in 1998) and fills with diced turnips. Sprinkles with herbs from herb shelf, drizzles with olive oil, then tosses. Washes her hands, then grabs dish and places in the oven. Leaves room ...

Scene 3

Woman #1 walks back into room and opens oven. Calm. Grabs potholder, pulls out dish, sitting it on top of stove. She peers into it, then hits "cancel" on stove buttons.

Woman #1: OK, already better. No burning. Let's see how you taste -- chicken makes everything better.

Woman #1 pokes turnip with fork, piercing it, then brings it to her mouth, pausing. She blows on the veggie, browned on one side and soft, then takes a bite, reacting to the hot.

Woman #1: OK. Not bad. That'll do, pig. That'll do.

Woman #1 looks off in distance with a faint recognition ... [thinking] Have I heard that line before?

[fade out]

This has been a S. Burt plagiarized production.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Making Bacon ... Literally

I've been a busy gal as of late, but please refrain from using the term "bringing home the bacon."

Instead, I've actually been making bacon.

This is a new level. By that I mean the gateway drug was making homemade soap, then jam, then homemade wine and blackberry cordial, then on to pickles and now ... bacon. Curing meat ("ooooooh" my inner chemist cooed).

Me & My Bacon. Image by Forrest Clonts

Granted, I don't know how much I will do this moving forward, but I was not going to pass up the opportunity to learn, especially from such a talented meat curer as Tim Peters. And it was fun! Curry, fig, fenugreek and sorghum bacon ... I'll let you know how it tastes when it comes back from the smoker in a couple of weeks.

Until then, read my blog for The Local Palate here. Then get adventurous in your own lab ... uh, I mean kitchen.

Saturday, December 15, 2012

A Non-Gender Specific Green Bean Casserole

My mom's explanation for The Green Bean Casserole is the following:

"I know that it's not that exciting, honey, but men just love it."

So we have GBC at every holiday. And my dad and brother-in-law look forward to it. I'm not going to delve into the gender-specific nature of this comment, but I guess she's cooked it a lot longer than I have, so I'll leave it at that.

Still, it's definitely not something that excites me all that much. Well, besides the French Fried onions on top ... so I went to the Vintage Kitchen for a suitable replacement that wouldn't have anyone grumbling at the table, no matter the gender.

For my vegetarian sister, I'm serving the bacon on the side for individual serving.

Click here for the complete column, and enjoy!

Recipe from the Monticello Cookbook

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

You Know What is Good?

I am Tired. Weeknight tired. Although the Super Bowl of cooking is coming up (read "Thanksgiving"), I am creating simplicity for the additions to our table. Buttermilk Lemon-Lime Pound Cake. Roasted Brussell Sprouts with Bacon and Onion. That's stuff that is easy, or at least comfortable for me to execute. I always say -- don't use this day to whip out the recipe you wish you knew how to cook. Just be thankful for food, family, friends.

Did I mention food? Well, here are some of the foods I'm thankful for ...

-- the loaded baked potato at The Royal American
-- avocado smoothies with local honey
-- shoepeg corn
-- fresh, amazing October beans from Rosebank CSA
-- Roots Ice Cream
-- oh yeah, King of Pops too
-- Hilton Head Popcorn
-- Cardinal Gin
-- soda water
-- a roasted chicken on a cold night
-- pita bread, warm and dipped in tzatziki
-- banana pudding, from my mom's table
-- local fish, local shrimp, local oysters

... and friends and family to enjoy all of this with ...


Wednesday, November 7, 2012

The Turnip Chronicles I: Epic Fail



Screenplay by Stephanie Burt

[fade in]

A woman in black stilettoes and pencil skirt comes out of a local business with a resuable grocery bag as the sun is setting behind the building. She opens the back car door, sitting the bag on the back seat, and excitedly rifles through the contents. Her face falls when she spies something in the bag, and she abruptly sits it in the floorboard, shuts the door, climbs back in the driver's seat and drives off.

[cut to the interior of a house, a kitchen, very small but filled with modern appliances]

Scene 1

Woman in knee-length boots and dress opens the fridge and pulls out a bunch of turnips, green tops still intact, and places them on the cutting board. She then turns, hits the preheat button on the stove, then exits the scene.

Scene 2

Woman in toile-patterned pajama pants and tank top walks into the frame and makes a beeline for the Charles Shaw merlot on the edge of the counter. She takes off the wine saver top, opens cabinet, pulls down a glass and pours wine as she looks at the turnips on the cutting board. She takes a big swig. That's right, swig. Not sip. Then she pulls out a half sheet pan from the bottom of the oven.

Woman #1: I hate this drawer [struggling]

She sits cookie sheet on top of stove. She then turns to turnips, washing carefully, trimming greens and discarding, then takes out her off-brand chef's knife and slices turnips ultra thin, taking slices and putting them in a bowl. Tosses slices with olive oil and garlic salt and garam masala, then arranges turnip slices on cookie sheet. Opens oven door, slides cookie sheet in oven, then closes door. Walks out of frame.

Scene #3

[oven timer beeping]

Woman #1: Ok, let's check this out. The smell is what I remember, but I'm hoping for the best.

Woman opens door. Steam and smoke billow out. Woman feebly waves pot holder in defense.

[smoke detector starts screeching]

Woman #1: Alright! alright! [waving pot holder wildly above her head in direction of smoke detector].

She returns her attention to the oven, using the same potholder to quickly remove the sheet pan, sit it on top of the oven, and then push some buttons that turn the oven off.

Woman #1: [large sigh] These turnips were picked in vain! [camera zooms in toward pan]

Woman tilts pan over the trash can. A few chips fall into the can, but most  of the turnip chips stick and she is forced to set pan back down on top of the stove.


Fade to black [literally]

The Turnip Chronicles II -- Coming Soon.

Friday, October 5, 2012

Vintage Kitchen for OKRA

I am so thrilled to be able to announce this: I have a food column.

While other middle school girls were descending into major crushes of New Kids on the Block, I was beginning to read Kathleen Purvis (I liked music but I didn't wallpaper my room with pics like one of my friends did). Purvis just happened to be the food editor of my local paper, but she was funny and informed and very honest, and I liked her. She was my food writer, my first food writer, though it was later that I realized that she is a really good and respected food writer. In short, she is beloved.

Well, today, I think back on that middle school girl. I have my own food column, which is different than just writing about food. A column is my personal voice, my personal platform, and I am happy that it has landed at OKRA.

My headshot for The Vintage Kitchen. Image by Leslie McKellar.

Click here to read my first full article as the "Vintage Kitchen" columnist for OKRA, an online magazine of the Southern Food and Beverage Museum. Thanks to the mighty and magical photographer Leslie McKellar who is my friend and generously shot this piece. She makes me look good. But the food is the thing; it's always the thing, and writing about it makes me happy. Feeding you makes me happy too. Or just talking about how you feed others, so never stop telling me why you like it.

Monday, September 24, 2012

Cracked Conch Cracks My Heart Wide Open

Lime. Salt. Blue water close and reaching to the horizon. Let's face it, the first time I had cracked conch, I was set up to love it. But over the years, I've had it many more times, and it's become one of those "vacation" meals, you know, the one that you're like, "Aah, NOW there it is. I'm really here" kind of taste bud experience?


Well, it was already dark on a Sunday evening, and I was here in the land of Lowcountry marsh, not on vacation on a dock, my eyes not filling with the Caribbean blue that I crave just before I go to sleep. Still, I was in for a treat, I knew. There are some meals that you know you are not going to be able to recreate. Fine. But to eat a meal that you know is only a mirage as you're still chewing is a kind of desperate joy.

The conch was from the Bahamian out island of Andros. It was clean and milky white, not gray like the stuff you can get here. It was imported on a personal flight, a checked baggage of deliciousness that was worth any customs hassle.

We were about to have cracked conch from a home kitchen. First, we had to flatten it "like it's done something to your Mama." Pound it thin, sprinkle salt and pepper directly on the meat, dredge it in an egg wash first, then flour laced with Adobo.

And at every step, squeeze a lime on it. Before the dredging. After the dredging. After frying (which you do until it reaches golden brown deliciousness.) And serve it with a slice.

Now, at this point, I always liked a little heat, but I didn't realize that I was working with a new level. What new level? This:

Matouk's Calypso Sauce is the new level
Good stuff. One drop, awesome. Bring it. Two drops, of course. I'm a professional. Three drops, oh, I've gone too far. Is it hot in here or is it just me?

But the cracked conch was ... heartbreaking. With every bite, I knew I couldn't cook this again, make this happen again. This was it.


Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Tuesday Night Tortilla

 I don't have a microwave.

I know. This means, to some of you at least, that I can't cook fast food. That, when I'm hungry, I can't eat when I want to. That it has to be roasted chicken, short ribs, or nothing.

Wrong. Have you ever died in 20 min. from hunger? Uh, no.

Well then. You can have this on a Tuesday evening, like I did last night. I have discovered these habanero-lime tortilla wraps from Trader Joe's. They make goat cheese and tomatoes a meal, but more importantly, they make weeknight "cooking" easy -- without a microwave.


I had tilapia in the freezer ... now I am not 100% sure it was tilapia because it wasn't labeled, and I don't purchase that anymore, but still.  It was there; I needed to use it. Enter the tortillas.

A quick oven foil packet for the fish was all it took, 20 min., with lime and some salt and spices. Add spinach and avocado, and we have a meal. See? Non-processed food doesn't have to be hard. But having a killer tortilla wrap helps.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Mango is Just a Playa

I have a love/hate relationship with mangoes.

First: the hate.

I see them on sale at the grocery store, with a sticker that says "RIPE". I narrow my eyes at the sticker. Really, I think? But in the end, I believe it, just like I do the guy who says, "Baby, you are very special to me."


I go home with high hopes, only to have them dashed the next day in the kitchen. The mango is not ripe, smells and tastes pine-y, and has a fibrous pit that takes up most of the fruit. Despite the sweet juice running over my fingers as I slice little pieces off, it's basically unsatisfying.

This has happened numerous times. Why? Because I remember the love. I want to experience the love again.

Second: the love.

I'd taken the Tequila Trolley across the border to Juarez, before the heavy start of the war zone it is today, but just enough of a rough spot to make it a bit exciting. Of course, I and my companion bailed the trolley and ended up walking most of the way to the market. I was young and silly, but really, what was I thinking, thinking how odd it was to pass a hospital where everyone bandaged was leaning and standing on crutches outside, smoking?

But, flippantly naive, we made our way safely to the market.


It was midday and we walked into the non-air conditioned hangar. The scent of overripe mangoes soon overtook me, and my eyes filled with the sights of counters for a fast meal, piles of fruit, cold soda of indiscriminate variety, and plenty of crafts. Mangoes were forever associated with my first foreign market.

A few years later, I tasted a mango as it should be, ripe from a tree from a neighbor's yard in Florida. It was hot and honey and sweet and all the things I wanted it to be in the exotic way that none of my cut-and-dried Carolina fruit had ever been.

I was hooked.

Finally: unrequited love resolved.

But since then, it's been back to the hate, back to the empty promises of the "RIPE" label in the produce section, so much so that I resolved to stop on-and-off dating such a player. I mean, really? Is it worth it?

Last night, I finally got what I was asking for, and it was because I refused to listen to the label. Yes, the mangoes were labeled "reduced for quick sale." But they smelled ripe and looked ripe, and I trusted my instincts instead of some story that the store was trying to tell me.

I picked some winners, bringing home four that sliced like butter and were honey and rich and orange and sweet, none of the bite and all of the kiss. Aaah. I added a little honey, a sprinkle of cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger, and they were the dessert of late summer dreams, hurricane humidity in the air and the feeling of the end of long lazy days drowsy with heat.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Dreaming of Dinner

It happens every year. August. For some reason, I just have a hard time cooking this month. And this year more than most years.

There's the heat. And the work. And the fact that, really, I'd rather be anywhere else other than standing  in my little kitchen. That's right. I feel this way too. Cooking is for crisp autumn days, where it doesn't seem a chore to peel more than a few apples, and where you can spend a lingering dinner with friends without having to worry about being too hot and too bothered to enjoy their company.

Yes, I have air conditioning, but I don't have it up so high that I don't know what season it is. And when I'm searing something in the oven, it seems that in my little kitchen, every time the oven door opens is a time for the smoke alarm to go off. And that's just one more thing. It is just too hot to hear that noise, over and over.

So I haven't been doing much cooking. Celebrities such as Gwyneth Paltrow or Gwen Stefani would call it a raw diet, but I call it lazy. Do I want to make a quiche with cheese, spinach and tomatoes? Uh, no. I will just eat slices of cheese, some raw spinach and tomatoes with maybe a boiled egg. Or maybe if I eat enough olive oil popcorn, almonds and edamame I won't have to eat dinner. Done.

Now, we all know this is excluding my comfort go-to, the roasted chicken. Eating like a king for 5 min. prep is worth it. I've recently been using a Caribbean oil blend from Charleston Spice Co. that makes it amazing. Still ...

I dream of being motivated, of deciding on a whim to bake a cherry lemon pound cake. I think of how good a mustard braised pork chop dinner with mashed potatoes would taste, or how I'd like to try to make a bread salad like the one I saw last week at another person's house. But I'm just too hot. Too unmotivated. Too hungry to wait. So I wait a little more, until that day, when suddenly the "project" of one of Rick Bayless' Mexican dishes sound like fun, not like a chore.

Until then, I'll be here, loving the heat but not able to stay in the kitchen. It's one of those worlds, isn't it?

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Does That Taste a Little "Goat-y"?

Sometimes the Little Kitchen goes on a road trip. This is especially true this time of year when I'm officially too hot and stressed to cook very often. So Sunday evening I attended my second LIME dinner in as many weeks, though this time without the pirate outfit I sported last time ... but that's a story for another day.

This was was a truly underground dinner -- five courses of goat, with a starter goat cocktail. Although I played bartender, I thought the concoction of goat whey, rum, lime juice and sugar was, well, a bit "goat-y." Everyone seemed to love it, but I was a bit skeptical. Where was my Cardinal and tonic? Sigh. You know I drank it anyway ...



But then we were on to the meal itself, and the second course ended up being my favorite of all -- a flatbread made with housemade goat cheese along with goat sausage crumbles seasoned with an African berber spice blend. As you can see, I ate a piece before I remembered to take a picture:

OK, looks like it was two slices. Sorry.

But wow, it was amazing. It had an earthiness that was perfectly balanced by the crispy flatbread, and the microgreens were just a bit of bright to heighten the deep flavors. 

In the next course, the soup course, the goat was more like short ribs, and by the time we got to the goat chop crusted in pistachios and coconut, I had given up taking pictures, and instead was just eating, talking (no surprise there) and pouring wine for the other guests. 

Trident Tech student chef Helen Hayes tapped her inner alter ego (pictured below in tattoo form) and rocked it ninja-style in the kitchen, cooking multiple meat courses in the July heat and smiling through it all:


I won't even mention that this was her first time cooking goat. No one would ever notice. In fact, none of us are sure we believe her, the food was that awesome. And besides, who has the guts to make her professional chef debut underground cooking something she's never done? Right. No one.

As always, Dr. Ruth and Chef Renata, along with Ollie and the Gang, were great hosts. This was technically an iLIME dinner, a more informal setting for the dinner. It is a great way to experience your first underground dining experience -- it's more economical, more intimate, and all fun. 

And like me, you might discover a favorite new food, goat!

Friday, July 27, 2012

From My Little Kitchen to Nursing Home Admittance

I live alone.

This means that one day I will have to go into a nursing home, that is, unless some kind soul takes me in. It's not that I wouldn't like to live my days out in my own house, defiantly driving my old car slow, going to get my own mail in my own mailbox, and baking cookies for little neighborhood girls who are scared to eat them because of all the crazy ingredients in jars lining my kitchen ...

In short, it's just that packaging is going to send me there. That's right, packaging.

Now, at my vibrant age (no snickering back there!), it's already come to this: I can't open most chip bags, block cheese, shredded cheese, coffee bean bags, milk containers, and assundry other products. So how do I survive? The knife.

I use the tip of a knife to break the seal on the gallon of milk, cut open the chips, block cheese, and shredded cheese, and get out the scissors for the coffee beans. I even take off wine foil with knives. I need a glass of wine, ok? Well, one grey-haired day, one of my neighbors will walk in on me wielding a chef's knife against a small package of cheese and will decide that I could be a danger to myself.

And he will be right, because it's not like I can store anything either. I can't close the zip on a zippie bag (if it's torture watching, trying being the one watched). Only Hefty one-zips please, and yes, those do get stuck too. I use old hummus containers and Parmesan cheese containers to store everything, but the lid matching can make everyone feel like we're playing a sad game of matchmaker that doesn't quite match.

And let's not even mention Saran Wrap. Let's just not.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Coupons for Creativity

One of the ways life in the Little Kitchen stays exciting is through creative shopping. Grocery shopping, that is.

To me, the heart of being creative is shopping the sale. Buy it, and figure out a delicious way to use it. One of my newest ways to do this is a weekly coupon for something free from Earthfare. I signed up on the website, and each week, I receive a coupon for something awesome. Chicken (my favorite meal!). Bulk items. And this week, cherries.

Friday was a day at the Little Desk, lots of writing, lots of research, and not lots of time for food. But lunch was a 5 minute drive away.

The Flying Pig Turkey Wrap, potato salad, and the cherries, all from Earth Fare
Everything was delicious, and I fell on it like a pack of hyenas. You know what this looks like. I did not take a picture of it, k?

However, I am not being creative with the cherries. I am eating them straight out of the fridge, cool and sweet on my tongue. My friends Lindsay and Joe brought some to my house last week, and I ate all those too. This is cherry-time, sweet candy direct from the tree. 

Sunday, July 8, 2012

A Basil Rekindling

Last summer, basil and I saw each other a lot. In fact, you could say that we were "going steady." I bought one of those living basil plants from Earth Fare and planted it in a pot by the front porch. It was in full sun, and it rewarded me by basically becoming a small bonsai, trimmed at least twice a week by my not-so-expert hand for pesto, salads, and garnish.

Seriously, I froze nine batches of pesto last summer, not counting the batches I made fresh and served that night. I went a little overboard. I got tired of pesto (watch your sassy mouth, you say!). But I did. I  treated my aroma-filled kitchen as just another room in my house.

My ambivalence lasted through the winter, through dinner with friends who gushed over it; in fact, my "over it" attitude was still around last week.

I had dutifully planted another basil plant this year in my new place, employing my "Go With God" method*.

As you can see,  poor 2012 edition is limping along.
There hasn't been any pesto, any Caprese Salad, and frankly, I was still feeling mostly ok with that. Until last Thursday.

It was a blazing sweaty-degrees at 10 a.m. on Thursday morning when I visited City Roots Urban Farm in Columbia. The farm shed was filled with the heady scent of basil when we arrived, and we walked through and continued to the fields, the greenhouse, the beehives, the chicken coop, and rows of basil.

Just picked basil, gone to flower

Rows of basil at City Roots
I swooned a bit.

Regaining my composure, I continued my writing research in SC's Capital City, but basil was ready to rekindle our relationship. He knew the way to my heart -- through a well-fashioned cocktail.

My first brush with him came at The Vault with a St. Germain-laced concoction garnished with basil and lemon. You had me at hello.

But then, things got serious at The Whig. We drank City Roots Basil-infused vodka cocktails, simple and as brightly green as the rows of plants from which they were derived. Oh, how I've missed you, my lovely, I thought. You with your heady licorice scent and taste of green.

The next morning, I bought a bunch to take home and fill my kitchen with the smell of pesto once again, pulling out my recipe stained with olive oil:

the simple recipe copied from Food.com

The delicious results are summer and sunshine and all things bright. And beautiful.

Just blended pesto

And after my dinner tonight, there's some to put in the freezer. I doubt we'll tire of each other again.

*"Go With God" method: Plant plant. Water plant. Check plant for the next couple of days. Talk nicely to plant. Water one more time. Cross yourself, and wish plant well. "Good luck, you now have to adapt in this ecosystem. No babying for you. Go With God."

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Beach Days and Brandywine Tomatoes

Years ago, I knew Guillermo. He was from Miami. He was kind, always ready with a smile, and we sometimes talked food. He loved to cook for his boyfriend, and I loved to hear about Cuban food. One day I casually asked for his gazpacho recipe, and the next time I saw him, he handed me this:

From Memories of a Cuban Kitchen

In the world of emailed links, he'd taken the time to transcribe by hand a recipe with lots of ingredients (and I love the added comment: "I substituted cilantro instead, mmm-mmm"), and in such readable handwriting to boot.

Every time I make it I think of him and his easy smile. When I spotted this buxom Brandywine beauty at Kings Market on Edisto Island on Sunday, I knew her highest and best use -- Guillermo's gazpacho.

I counted this as three tomatoes and added a Cherokee Purple one I had left over
I had the rest of the ingredients at home -- really, it's pretty easy to have these on hand this time of year -- and so after a long beach day, I got to chopping.

The best part about this recipe is the smell of summer: cucumbers, onion, tomato, sweet pepper, cumin and garlic. It filled my kitchen with a cool freshness that still lingered the next morning. The tomato's pink flesh did not make as deep red of a finished product, but nevertheless, I think it made the recipe proud. "mmm-mmm."


Wednesday, June 13, 2012

An Instagram Intervention

Over the weekend, my friends staged an intervention. It wasn't for Cheez-It's, K? I've gone through the 12-step program there ...

It was for Instagram.

Marcus said to stop taking pictures of food. I said, food is all I am taking pictures of right now, unless you count new eye shadow techniques, which I promise I do not post anywhere. He said, well, fine, I'm going to unfollow you on Instagram.

Holly said, I'm not sure all of these pics are in focus. I said, but I put a filter on it. She said, That chorizo picture of it draining on a paper towel cannot be fixed by a filter. Or that picture of kale. I got a little nauseated at looking at it. I liked that picture of kale, I said. It was like an art piece.


My kale art
She just stared at me silently. So this is what it felt like.

Back when I worked at Lowcountry Living, I distinctly remember thinking on a holiday food shoot, Good God, Why is this taking so long? I mean, the food is NOT moving. It's just sitting there. How hard can it be?

Of course, since then, I have come to understand that photographing food is one of the hardest things in the photography biz. I have seen the work of amazing photographers. I bow down to them, not just because it's hard for me to do, but because they have beautiful work. They are artists. It's obvious I don't have it ...

Back to the discussion. Well, Marcus, look at this fish I made recently. It was fresh mahi, and the recipe was from Garden and Gun. It was delicious.

He chuckled, then got serious. OK ... he said, really looking at my phone in the dark. That kind of looks like caveman food. I am not really even sure what that means, but I know this -- whatever it means, he is right.

Cavemen mahi with a buerre blanc
So, while I cry in the corner, read some tutorials, and decide not to post pictures of chorizo in any form, here are some food blogs where the photography will make you swoon:




It looks so good; wouldn't it be awesome to cook it?

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

The temptation of plums and a Wednesday night veggie feast

I love summer. I love it for the heat, the humidity (yep), the sound of tree frogs late in the evening, the smell of vanilla ice cream melting, and of course, the veggies.

On Sunday, I drove to Cottageville for a story. It's going to be a great story, yes, but on the way back, I hit a farmstand -- I simply had to stop. It's in my blood. Okra, plums, fresh corn, oh my. I couldn't help it. The farmer wanted me to taste the plums, and I did and threw a pit into the field of brush beyond the tent. He knew what he was doing, out there on 61 way past Summerville on a Sunday when everyone out there was out to church but me. He knew I could be tempted.

He was right. I bought more plums than one person should buy.

On Monday, Holly called and said she had veggies if I wanted. Boiled peanuts, squash, the sweetest little Persian cukes ever. And suddenly, here we are.

And so it's Wednesday. I am in the middle of a very heavy workweek, and yet, I'm hungry. I need food, although I don't want to take the time. (It's amazing to cook, but even for me, without distraction, sometime it is too much.) But when you really aren't eating processed food, there's not much of a choice. You have to do something.

I did. I threw some potatoes in the oven, sliced some tomatoes, breaded a bit of okra, and can we call that even cooking? Suddenly, I had one of those bounty dinners, those summer bounties, where you know that you gotta eat it up or it's going to go bad.




And here we are, the sound of tree frogs high after the rain, and Summer upon us with its tomatoes and cucumbers and okra that I wait for all year. I am just lucky that my boyfriend Beets didn't decide to join the party; I might not have been able to handle it.

Monday, May 28, 2012

Presence of the Knife

Last night, my friend Kris asked me how I got into cooking, why I like it. I took a moment, and remembered a (paraphrased) point from Ruth R.'s Garlic and Sapphires:

"Cooking is dangerous. You have to pay attention, meditation on the edge of a knife, and it gives me solace."

That's what I feel, and sometimes why I cook the same foods over and over. It's not so much that the eating of them is comfort, but that the making of them is. I love chopping. I like peeling. I have another job away from this desk where sometimes I get to use a chef's knife and cut romaine lettuce, and really, that ups my happy for the day.

At that moment, all I am focused on is how wide to make the cuts and how to make sure that my fingers are not in the cuts. And that present, that presence is pure bliss. I'm not thinking about deadlines, bills, relationships, or anything. Not anything but lettuce.

It's like those guys that mow the grass and make it almost a zen practice, or the woman that vacuums when she's anxious (you know who you are).

That being said, I cut myself sometimes, burn myself sometimes still and generally am on occasion extremely clumsy, especially when a glass of wine is in reach of my elbow. It's a practice, ok?

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Friday night: Champagne and Radishes

My sweet sis came to visit the little kitchen this weekend, and in celebration of her visit, I went shopping for some extra veggies for this vegetarian. My biggest score came from the Vegetable Bin on Thursday afternoon -- easter egg radishes.

These colorful beauties from Johns Island called to me, and so we built an impromptu meal around them.



Of course, we started with some butter with coarse salt for the radishes, then prosecco (the most important part!), Persian cucumbers, cheddar cheese, gouda, a random addition of herbed popcorn, more prosecco, crackers, and avocado tossed with lemon and salt.

We ate all of this on my bed, listening to music, and using a bath towel as an impromptu picnic blanket. Right now, I have a bit of a miniature dining table --ok, that's an understatement -- so we ate and laughed and tried our best to not get crumbs on the bed quilt.

The next day, we enjoyed more bubbly at Virginia's, a spot in easy walking distance from our favorite shopping on King Street. Oh, and they have fried okra, something we two sisters make a beeline for. Cheers!




Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Be A Good Girl and Eat Your Flowers

I love all things flowers -- and I don't just mean the scents. And yes, you CAN bring bring flowers (Try it, seriously. You'll have me at "hello"). But really, I mean flavors. That's right, you crazy Americans, you can eat flowers. My two faves are violet and rose, and you can make fun of me all day. You're so weird!, you say. I really don't care. I will eat my flowers and like it.

-- Rose. There was this part in Like Water for Chocolate that made me really think this as more than a Valentine add-on. Yeah, this book could make anything sexy, but the roses actually sounded good tasting.

The key is to use organic, old fashioned roses. Don't think you'll be able to use those hot-pink long-stemmed varieties from the cooler case at your local grocery. One, they are filled with chemicals. Two, they don't have much scent, and therefore, not much flavor.

But if you use the right roses, the results are divine, like the roses surrounding the Virgin of Guadalupe divine. Case in point: the rose milk paleta from Las Paletas in Nashville. Delicate yet rich and blush colored. And that combo rarely happens.

Not so divine. The rose wine that once exploded in my pantry. It was was so bubbly that it escaped it's bottle, and although it promised amazing Firefox deliciousness, I have never had the guts to try it again.

-- Violet. I've been hopeless in this respect for a long time. In fact, when I was 16 or so, I had petty cash for a family vacation to Wilmington, and I distinctly remember going to a specialty gourmet store (this was WAY before the Food Network) for fun and buying balsamic vinegar and violet pastilles. Really? Did I have a hard time getting a date for the prom? What? Why no, why do you ask? But anyway, I digress ...


Violet is like eating perfume, and especially when it is in that European concoction of after-dinner mints or gum. Granted, this delicate purple bloom doesn't counteract a garlic-filled repast, but it makes a worthy effort, and y'all, it's purple.


Monday, May 7, 2012

A Beets Paperback Romance

I first noticed him in high school. He was the kid with glasses on the relish tray, pickled and, well, not that appealing to my Pop-Tart loving self. I liked the showy guys (like jalapenos) who stayed up late and probably drove fast cars.

But a few years ago, I met him again. He'd grown up, been dating goat cheese and was suddenly oh-so-much more appealing. I'd also matured, way past Campbell's Won Ton Soup and deep into the heart of roasted chicken, black beans and succulent artichoke, dripping with butter onto my tongue.

My friend Hilarie Lambert re-introduced us again at a dinner party, and the attraction was definitely there. He wasn't sour like before, or strange, and he had this amazing complexity that I'd never noticed. Even though we briefly chatted, I knew that I'd be thinking about him again soon, and I was.

We flirted. We'd go out to lunch, especially to our favorite lunch spot where he seemed to get a lot of attention, and where I'd get a little more than expected. We'd meet at the farmer's market, and I'd stop and chat for a while, but we'd never make firm plans.

Still, this Spring I started thinking about him again. I knew he was fresh into town, ready to go, and I heard that he was at the farmer's market and willing to hang out. I made a date to see him -- I was late, way too unfashionably late -- and he was just leaving when I arrived. He looked a little put out among the boxes, but I persuaded him to join me anyway. I was determined.

We got home, and he seemed to relax into himself, to radiate his sexiness even more.


But, as I always am, I was a bit nervous, despite knowing exactly what to do. I left him to be, and said, "Another night."

Last night, beets and I went all the way.

Roasted in a mere inch of water, a little sprinkle of olive oil and kosher salt and cracked pepper, he came out luscious and tender. The scent of roasted beets is like sweetgrass after a May rain. It's very subtle, and the opposite of the fuchsia stains it leaves on my cutting board, my knife, really, everything everywhere. It's a hot mess of a vegetable, but with tortellini and some freshly shaved Parmesan it is a revelation -- of living, eating, spring and all things good and earthy.



Sunday, May 6, 2012

Lingering lamb shanks

I've been dragging my feet a bit thinking about writing this post, as I was so excited to cook these babies up. 

Honestly, they were less than stellar ... I lightly floured and browned them in my cast iron skillet, then used homemade chicken stock and red wine, some fresh rosemary, garlic and cherry tomatoes to braise them. They stayed on the stove for about 10 minutes, then went into the oven for 2 hours.

I hung out, had wine and cheese, opened the oven door, closed it, had a handful of almonds, watched an episode of Mad Men, then checked again. Y'all, I was hungry, and so I pulled them after two hours. They could've gone another 30 minutes at least.

Once reduced, the braising liquid became a chunky, luscious sauce, and I served that over some jasmine rice. Easy. Added arugula for a green, and I was good to go. 

Added note: photographing meat is hard! This is reminiscent of a 1960s Betty Crocker cookbook photo -- sorry.
The meat and sauce had an amazing flavor, but I felt more cave woman pulling the meat from the bone than fine diner pulling it away with her fork. I ate it and hoped for the best when I warmed it up the next night. Nope. The next night, it dried out a bit so was a little more jerky-esque in some parts. 

Sigh.

The flavor was delicious, though, so I will try again. All the recipes I saw called for more than 2 shanks, so I was trying to adjust the time and porportions. 

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Farmers Market Week Two: Blistered Tomato Bliss

Week two:



  • First up was asparagus. The season is waning, so I went for it another week. Asparagus is one of my favorite veggies and was one of the hardest to curb myself on when I started eating more seasonally. I could not imaging Chicken Marsala without its accompaniment, for instance, and I'd just learned to roast it in the oven with kalamata olives. It was great raw with a dip, as a soup ... and lest I go on and on, I am going to assume you get the point without continuing my impression of "Bubba" from Forrest Gump.
  • I was wooed by arugula. My shopping buddy, Lauren V, swooned over this, so I opted to trade out strawberries on my list for arugula. This is all fine and good, and I know I will ab-so-lute-ly enjoy it, but I'm still getting over the fact that since I have no strawberries, and I opted for wine instead of chocolate at Trader Joe's, I have absolutely no sweet in the house. I could be hitting the honey pot if this gets desperate.
  • Marinated olives? Although they're not technically grown here, the company that owns the California grove ships the olives here to Charleston and processes them for olive oil, and into these little containers of mixed marinated ones. I couldn't resist. 
  • Lamb. Having purchased from Moss Hill Farms at last year's market, I knew I wanted lamb this week when I walked in. Ok, I did have a steak last week at Lana, and a burger from Moe's on Friday, but your point? I'm obviously still on the red meat train which must mean I need some iron. Or something. I chose lamb shanks for this week.
  • Cherry Tomatoes. I don't know how these are coming to the market so fast, but it's happening. The Black Cherry ones from Ambrose Farms were beautiful, but the ones I had last week from Robert Fields Farm off Johns Island were so amazing, I went back to their booth for more.
Besides eating them raw, I made Blistered Tomatoes twice this week with the intention of putting them over pasta. They didn't make it either time, but became the centerpiece of my dinner, with sides of extra sharp cheddar cheese, crackers, edamame and a glass of vino. They're so easy. Here's how I did it:

Blistered tomatoes warm out of the oven
Blistered Tomatoes

1. Halve desired amount of tomatoes and place in oven-proof glass baking dish.
2. Toss with olive oil, garlic salt and dried oregano.
3. Bake at 350 for 15-18 min. or until blistered. They should be warm and soft, but still hold their shape and not be on the way to "tomato sauce."

Thursday, April 19, 2012

First Farmer's Market Run

Tuesday was idyllic. Lunch with friends, errands at my own pace, and then an anticipated event: the opening of the Mount Pleasant Farmer's Market.

Of course, the Charleston Farmer's Market every Saturday in Marion Square is closer to me, but for ease of food shopping, the Mt. P one has it all, fruits, veggies, eggs, spices, seafood and lamb and chicken (!) without the clogging crowds or the clogging amount of crafts. So for this cook, it's absolutely perfect.

My first order of business -- the first shrimp of the season, per my desire to eat more seafood at home. These came right off the boat in McClellanville:


They were huge! And like the freshest of the fresh, smelled like clean ocean water. Nothing "fishy" about these shrimp. One pound will last me two meals, and I got the heads-on so I can make shrimp stock with the celery and onions already at home.

After that, it was on to fill my fridge for the rest of the week. I got the shrimp AND all this for $18:


That's fresh purple asparagus, cherry tomatoes, a lot of radishes, a pint of strawberries, and an organic Genova basil plant that will (if I'm good to it) help feed me all summer! A quick trip past Trader Joe's on the way home filled in with cheese, milk, hummus, cereal and wine, and thus, the week is set.

Delicious, local, in many cases organic, and on a budget. Check!

Monday, April 9, 2012

Relocation of My Little Kitchen

It's been quiet as of late here. I have been cooking a little, but really, moving a lot.

The little kitchen has moved to another little kitchen, complete with a flattop cookstove (it heats so fast!) and the essentials, pictured below:


My sister Courtney and friend Lauren help me set up the new little kitchen, including jars and labels for each of my beloved herbs and spices. "What is this one for?" Lauren kept asking, holding up cardamom or cumin or herbs de Provence, and more often than not, I replied "for roasted chicken" or "great on roasted potatoes."

Whoa. Expanding the menu a bit is one of the first agendas of the "new" little kitchen. Roasted chicken and potatoes is a comfort meal for me, and I've needed a lot of comfort lately, but with Spring and new beginnings, my palate is looking for some new flavors. First on my agenda is adding more seafood. It's one of my favorite things on earth, and I live in one of the best places on earth for it, but I've always said "when I have more money."

Although that's not necessarily the case, I am going to incorporate it more into the home kitchen. I'll just go meatless the other nights, and with the bounty of fresh veggies available at the local markets, that won't be a sacrifice. So here's to Spring, and the new little kitchen.


Friday, February 24, 2012

Little Debbie Move Over


My sister Courtney and I had a childhood filled with ritual. One particularly happy one, but one that still plagues my calorie intake to this day, was the after school snack.

We would come home, grab a snack and then settle in for a rerun of Little House on the Prairie. Every school day for years. No lie. (Note: This means you cannot stump me in Little House trivia. I've seen most episodes twice, can describe even now in detail Half-Pint's grown up dress, and know that Albert was addicted to morphine.)

The snack could be a variety of things, but more often than not was a cinnamon sugar pop tart, or Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls or Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies. Now before you send my Mamma hate mail, understand that she canned all our veggies, didn't allow soda except for special occasions, and really, really tried to get me to like white beans. 

But back to the "Little Debbies." A few years ago, I was hungry-grocery shopping (yes, it's a real term) and the box of 1.29 creme pies was on an end cap. Nostalgia kicked in, and they went into my cart. The devastation set in, of course, when I realized that through no fault of my own, the packaged pies looked generally squished, and the creme tasted more like shortening than I ever wanted to taste again. Sigh.

But about a month ago, I had the opportunity to be a part of the 1st annual Charleston Food Truck Festival. It was a sunny 70 degrees, and I was loving life.
  

The cutest snoball airstream ever
But then, as fate would have it, this woman set up beside me:

https://www.facebook.com/CarlaBakesCharleston
I mean really? A baked goods booth next to me? But Carla of Carla Bakes was very personable and had some brisk business, and there was lots of oohs and aahs over bacon chocolate chip cookies. I had my eye on another prize, though. A homemade oatmeal creme pie.




It came home to the little kitchen to savor later, yes, possibly over a Little House rerun. While that didn't happen, the delectable cream with a touch of salt, along with an amazing, brown-edged cookie replaced Little Debbie in my heart forever. It was so good, Mr. Edwards could have played a jig ... 

Friday, February 10, 2012

Stand By for Fresh Ice

If you're interested in reading my latest "away from the blog writing," an article on the Art of Mixology in Charleston, you'll have to get a print copy of the latest issue of The Local Palate. It was a fun research assignment, getting behind the bar to see the infusions, concoctions, mixtures and in general, obsessions of some of Charleston's masters.

However, there is an excerpt online, which is about The Gin Joint and Joe Raya's focus on ice. That's right. He says it is the most important, yet most overlooked, part of a beverage.

I am into ice. In the little kitchen, I ditched those dollar-store cube trays a while ago and started buying a bag every now and again to keep in the freezer. No ice maker, you say? Well, you obviously haven't seen my fridge or you wouldn't say that.

I use my ice cube tray for pesto now -- like this, but it's a red tray

But we know that ice makes a difference. Like those little pellets of ice that come with your diner fountain soda. Or the shaved ice that comes from the most perfect snoball stand on Magazine Street in New Orleans. Or the ice I shot through my straw across an elementary school cafeteria table that started an epic food fight and got me cleaning gum under the tables and scared of lunch lady/MY bus driver Mrs. Williams until I started junior high ...

But the best ice of all is marinated ice. Next time, ask your bartender for that when you order your next drink. But don't ask Joe Raya -- he probably won't like it.


Sunday, January 29, 2012

For your next Trader Joe's Trip

Here's a great article about the best and worst finds at Trader Joe's. Nothing is more demoralizing for the home cook than wasting money on food you think you'll like but won't.

So happy shopping across the bridge!

The Daily Meal's Best and Worst Products from Trader Joe's

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Beer and Doughnuts -- I have a "hard" life

On Thursday, as the sun was waning over the marsh tidal creeks in the Historic Navy Yard of North Charleston, I visited a more industrial side of the complex, a factory filled with bright tanks, tubes and large sinks. That's right, I made it to Coast Brewery for their Thursday happy hour tasting.

I joined Lauren Vinciguerra and Amanda Woodward (who I both hope will be guest blogging here in the future), and soon, we met a new favorite combo -- sunset, beer, and a doughnut, a Diggity Doughnut to be exact.

The Food Network famous doughnut, along with my favorite Coast taste,  32/50 Kolsch

I had a peanut butter and siracha doughnut, and it was Thai-tastic. Lauren opted for chocolate and Amanda stuck with classic cinnamon and sugar, and we munched, learned about venting CO2 and traded roasted chicken recipes. In short, spending time with these ladies was a serendipitous gift!

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Do-it-yourself Home Cook Challenge


One of the biggest complaints I hear from people who are frustrated with cooking is "You buy all these ingredients, use a little in making the dish, and then that ingredient, ginger or cilantro or manchego cheese or fill in the blank, goes to waste. What else do you do with it?"

Enter the do-it-yourself home cook challenge. I see this as an opportunity to not only be frugal and avoid food waste, but also as an excuse to try something new. The only judges are your tastebuds, and the only criteria is whether or not the taste exceeds the trouble of making it.

I present to you a weekday case in point.

1. The ingredient: buttermilk. Now buttermilk isn't that expensive, but I am serious about the food waste thing. Use it! Buttermilk has a long shelf life, and a couple of weeks ago, I bought some local buttermilk to make buttermilk pies as thank yous. The local brand only came in a half gallon, and five or six pies later, I still have half of that. So, another tactic was called for unless I am OK with being the "what kind of pie?" lady.

2. The challenge: find a recipe that uses more than 1/3 c. of buttermilk. And not biscuits, OK. I know I can make them, but do I need to be eating an entire batch? I think not.

3. The bookshelf: the indexes of cookbooks are vital to this challenge. Ah. Found recipe in trusty Martha White Cookbook for Whole Wheat Cardamom Bread. 1 1/4 c. of buttermilk. We have a contender.

I had all the ingredients on the shelf except whole wheat flour. Previous attempts at making whole wheat bread had for me resulted in dry bread that eventually went to feed birds, so I was cautious -- and frugal -- and purchased only what the recipe called for from the bulk bin at Earth Fare.

And look what came out of my oven!

Crusty goodness

I substituted dried cranberries for raisins, and pecans for walnuts, and I have a new breakfast bread to add to my rotation. This is a quick bread, so there's no yeast involved, and it mixed up in literally 10 minutes.

Challenge successful! And I have enough buttermilk for another loaf ... what ingredient do you have right now that you could "use up"?

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Saturday Lunch



Leftover steamed garlic broccoli. Watermelon radish, peeled and sliced, with kosher salt and butter. The remnants of a cheese plate from the always-good Lana Restaurant. And suddenly a Saturday afternoon alone doesn't seem so, light streaming in and everything feeling brighter ...

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

A Dubious Battle Hamburger Steak

As of late, I've found a local source for ground beef. I have already professed my love for chicken on this blog, but I do eat beef a few times a month, so I was happy to find this great source for chili, ragu and the occasional hamburger steak.

There is a passage in John Steinbeck's In Dubious Battle that describes in detail a hamburger steak with onions, and ever since reading this years ago, I've studded my steak with onions, a depression-era diner trick.

The other night, I was in a diner kind of mood, and with my trusty cast iron skillet, created a Steinbeck-worthy moment (well, with that and Instagram).


It was a thick, down on the picket lines kind of main dish, and I was needing some fortification. Reporting for duty, sir.


Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Composting -- fascinating fun with vegetable scraps

Food and fun are not the only things that come out of my kitchen. In fact, there is also a lot of trash. When you cook a lot at home, you have much more than just take out boxes to dispose of. But veggie peelings, onion skins, that bit of leftover rice that I can never seem to finish all make their way not into my trash can, but into my compost pile.

Now before you start holding your nose and running, realize two things: 1, that it is a petite pile neatly hemmed in with chicken wire at a far corner of the yard, and 2, it's a mix of leaves and veggie stuff, so it's not like it smells like a trash can. But yeah, sometimes it does, and you don't really put your face that close to it, especially in August.

When I started seriously buying more veggies from the produce section instead of the can or the freezer, surprise (!), they come whole. So you have to peel them, remove seeds, ends and cores. My parents had a compost pile growing up, and so I was used to the idea.

But now that I have my own, it's like my own local version of Planet Earth. Don't need time lapse photography of the rain forest floor here, just my leftover jack-o-lantern, slowly caving and changing colors. Or old cabbage leaves that begin to rot in my crisper drawer and then seem to stay perfectly half-rotted for the longest time in the pile under a thin layer of Bradford Pear leaves. It's a fascinating ecosystem that I feed, and then in spring, it feeds me back, all dark and rich and dirt-smelling with only an occasional avocado skin or newspaper shard to recognize.

And the most amazing thing? The size deferential between the amount of stuff I throw in there (asparagus ends alone account for pounds of discards) and how much rich dirt I get out. The breakdown is amazing.

If you're interested in starting your own, anytime is the perfect time:

http://web.extension.illinois.edu/homecompost/building.html
http://eartheasy.com/grow_compost.html
http://gatheringinlight.com/2007/10/15/how-to-start-a-compost-bin-in-the-city-with-little-money/