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.

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

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 ...

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.

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.

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.

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.