A Whole Mess of Greens

Over the holiday weekend, I challenged myself. As a burgeoning Southern cook, I like to do this from time to time. I like to break out of my comfort zone of microwaved pepperonis and instant Ramen and attempt something new and exciting. I'm complicated that way.

During my short and varied stint as a "cook," I've managed to prepare a variety of traditional Southern recipes and dishes. Buttermilk biscuits and gravy, shrimp and grits, homemade macaroni and cheese, cornbread, hashbrown casserole, cubed steak, the list goes on and on. But the one dish that has eluded me, the one dish that I have avoided preparing out of fear and intimidation has been turnip greens. Now, in the South, we have this thing. We like to eat. A lot. We like to eat all manner of things, especially fried things and yummy vegetable things (sometimes the yummy vegetable things are one and the same with the fried things, which only makes them better). Turnip greens fall into the yummy vegetables category. In fact, I would probably say that turnip greens take the cake as the yummiest of all the vegetables but that's only my opinion, and you can take it for what it's worth.

As a great lover of turnip greens, and other types of greens which I'll discuss in another post on another day, I have not deprived myself or my husband of them in the years since I left the nest and the comfort of my Mama's turnip greens. No, in fact, I prepare them quite frequently and shamelessly out of a can. I know. I should be horribly ashamed. To even refer to myself as a Southern cook is a gigantic lie, but for some reason, I haven't been able to work up the courage to make fresh greens. Something about the entire process is just a little frightening.

Out of the can. 

While I was grocery shopping on Saturday, I encountered my old nemesis on the vegetable aisle. It mocked me with its leafy goodness, taunted me with those long stems and its sheer bulk. Not to be outdone by a stinking vegetable, I snatched up two bunches of the offending stuff and wheeled around to my husband. "I'm cooking greens!" I declared, plopping the greens into the buggy.

Puzzled, he hazarded to reply with "sounds great" and wisely pushed the buggy on down the aisle.

When we got home, I chose to sit around for a couple of hours before starting dinner. I'm used to throwing something together in about an hour, so I didn't think anything of it when I started my meal of turnip greens and dried field peas at around 6:30pm. Needless to say, it was around 9:00pm before we ate.

A Whole Mess of Greens

After quick-soaking my field peas and washing and chopping my turnip greens, I finally got everything on the stove. The greens were a daunting task but not quite as daunting as I had anticipated. I was feeling pretty good about myself when we sat down at the table to my pretty little meal. Jeremy had done his part and grilled up some pork chops as well, so we had quite the feast before us.

I cut into the pork chop. Tender, juicy perfection. The husband fulfilled his role as grill master well. Next, I scooped up a fork full of those delicious smelling field peas. Not bad for my first time cooking dried peas. They weren't too dry or too tough. I turned to the greens next. My husband had already tried them and kept calling them the "feature" of the meal. I tried a tiny bite. Good flavor, the pork fat I'd cooked with them had done its job. Surprisingly, they were also very tender. But alas, the greens weren't perfect. Nope, I'd made a rookie mistake right out of the gate.

Sure, I'd washed the greens. Ran them through nice cold water in a colander. I had been talking to my Mama on the phone when I was washing them. "Be sure to wash them good." She'd warned. My response? An impatient and flippant, "Yeah, Mama, I know." Well, I'll sure know next time that just running water over greens doesn't hardly "wash" them. Those bites of crunchy, gritty turnip greens were a testament to that fact.

The moral to this story? What you've heard is true. Mamas sometime, every so often, do know best.

Have you ever tried greens? If so, have you ever tried cooking them?

Katie's Easy Peasy Mac-N-Cheesy

Happy Monday, y'all. Well, maybe not happy Monday, but it's nearly over, and I just got done eating an awesome meal (if I do say so myself), so I'm feeling pretty happy about now. I'm taking a break this week from Melodrama Mondays. Since last week I was in the mountains on Monday, I've kind of gotten out of the Melodrama Monday habit. It may or may not be back. That's the beauty of having a blog...you can pretty much do what you want with it.

This week I'm linking up with my3littlebirds, who happens to also be last week's featured blog on The Dish. If you haven't already, be sure to check this lady out. She's amazing!





Hope you guys enjoy my What's For Dinner submission: Katie's Easy Peasy Mac-N-Cheesy.

It's no big secret that Southerners have a love affair with mac-n-cheese. Down here, it's considered a vegetable! Seriously, we love it, and usually, I find a way to work it into most of my meals. But I must admit that more often than not I just make it out of the box. No shame there...just the life of a busy wife.

Last week, we were down to our last groceries. I hadn't been shopping since a couple of weeks before our mountain trip, so you can probably imagine just how empty my cabinets were getting. So I decided had to throw supper together from the last few measly items left in my kitchen. I had macaroni, and I had cheese. Logical conclusion? Make mac-n-cheese, but alas, I had no milk, no eggs, no sour cream. None of the items that most mac-n-cheese recipes on the web called for. I was undeterred. I had mac-n-cheese on the brain and the tummy, and dangit, I was going to make mac-n-cheese happen. From this tenacity and overwhelming cheesy desire, Easy Peasy Mac-N-Cheesy was born.

Katie's Easy Peasy Mac-N-Cheesy

1 8-ounce box macaroni
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
3/4 cup shredded Mexican blend cheese with 1/4 cup reserved
1/3 cup dry bread crumbs
1 can cheddar cheese soup
3 tablespoon butter
salt & pepper to taste

Preheat over to 400 degrees. Prepare box of macaroni according to directions. I cooked mine al dente. The important thing is to not let it cook down too much, or you'll end up with mush. In large mixing bowl, combined cooked macaroni, cheddar cheese, 1/2 cup Mexican blend cheese, and cheddar cheese soup. Add majority of your bread crumbs (reserving a few dashes for your crust) and two tablespoons of your butter to this mix. Add salt and pepper. Blend well. Put mixture in greased 9x9 casserole dish. Sprinkle remaining cheese, a couple of dashes of bread crumbs, and remaining pats of butter to the top of casserole. Bake at 400 for 20 minutes.

Served mine up with mixed greens and shredded pork roast on sliced bread. Call me fancy! HA! :)

It may not be the most fabulous baked mac-n-cheese you've ever had, but it's pretty dang tasty and pretty dang easy, which counts for a lot in my book! And the hubby even liked this baked mac-n-cheese, and he usually prefers boxed macaroni and cheese...which probably doesn't say a lot for my past attempts...

How do y'all like your mac-n-cheese? Homemade or out-of-the-box?

   

The Biscuit Chronicles: Attempt 4 aka Biscuit Fail

Well, it was bound to happen at some point. And yesterday morning was as good a morning for it than any. I buckled under the tremendous pressure of the biscuit. I buckled, and I pulled out the Bisquick. Yes, sad but true. Bisquick's the go-to, get 'er done baking mix for complicated things like pancakes and dumplings, and I have used it several times before for making biscuits. I'd throw some milk in with the mix and shazam! Instant biscuit. But this was all before I changed my ways...long before the biscuit chronicles and back in the Age of the Canned Biscuit.

The title says it all. Literally.

But the saddest thing about this, Attempt 4 of the Biscuit Chronicles, was the fact that I couldn't even seem to make Bisquick biscuit right. I read on the box that I was supposed to roll out the dough to a 1/2 inch thick, and to me a 1/2 inch is apparently more like a 1/4 inch....and the resulting biscuit was very hard and flat. But hey, with cooking there are successes and failures and cop-outs. And this was definitely those last two. 

In other news, I had a pretty nice Saturday. Mama, me, and my husband went shopping for an upcoming trip to the North Georgia mountains next weekend. We stocked up on all of the "essentials," which mainly consisted of food; we're food-centric people. After the shopping expedition, we came back to my house where I prepared Baked Ziti for dinner. It's really rare that I get to cook for Mama (she usually does the cooking for get-togethers and such), and it was a nice treat to cook her dinner...a little payback I'd say for all the years she's spent cooking for me. And the best part? She seemed to enjoy the meal. I guess all daughters seek approval and validation from their mothers, but her enjoyment of the meal felt especially wonderful considering what a great cook she is. Every "yum" and "Katie, this is really good" was a feather in my cooking cap...definitely needed after the Bisquick Fail from the morning. 

Baked Ziti in my new Rachel Ray cookware. Can I get a "yum-o"?

It occurs to me that I'm always looking to my mother for reassurance and praise, and she's usually there to give it to me along with a hug and a "Go get 'em!", or otherwise to say something like, "Katie, don't you need to wax your eyebrows?! There's supposed to be two of them." Which is also very helpful. As much as we might fight against it growing up, most girls (women) eventually aspire to be their mothers. We aspire to be strong and loving and unselfish and kind. I hope that one day I'm even half the mother mine is, even if I am one who makes biscuits out of a box or a can every now and then. Heck, even Mama did it, too. 

What about you guys? Any pearls of wisdom you can share that your mothers used to share with you? Or the better question may be, have you become your mother?

PS - Can't leave my Daddy out. I'm a Daddy's girl to the bone. I was lucky to be blessed with two awesome parents.

PPS - Just in case you were wondering, a picture of the Bisquick Fail:

The one in the back corner is the giant biscuit from Hell. It tried to eat all the smaller biscuits. I saved them.

Pimena Cheese

There are a lot of wonderful things about living in the South. Great, if not horribly humid, weather, super friendly folks, and, my personal favorite, the to-die-for food. I can't imagine living and eating anywhere else, and although I know I'll probably die young from all the deep-fried, artery-clogging, butter-dripping fare, I also know that I'll die full and happy.

Behold. A strike of pure technological and culinary genius. The Fry Daddy.
via

One of the Dixieland food items I love the most? Pimento cheese, or pimena cheese, as I've always heard it called down South. Now when I was a little girl, I turned my nose up a mile at the mere thought of pimena cheese. I can vividly remember my parents fixing pimena cheese sandwiches and how completely grossed out I'd be by them and their nasty eating habits. Keep in mind I was a girl who would eat popcorn for breakfast, so my tastes couldn't exactly be trusted. And even I soon enough learned this fact.

via

The day I tried pimena cheese for the first time was a glorious day indeed. Since then, I've experienced many different variations of this cheesy, yummy treat. For those of you who may be unfamiliar with even what the heck pimena (or pimento) cheese is, here's a quick explanation: it's cheese with pimentos in it.

Seriously, that's pretty much what it is. It makes a yummy spread that you can put on sandwiches and crackers, or just eat by the spoonful. You can buy the spread (in mild and hot versions) or make your own with an easy recipe like this:

2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
1/2 cup mayonnaise
3 tablespoons diced pimentos
salt and pepper

And you basically just throw it all in a bowl and mix it together, then serve or chill. I always add cayenne pepper to mine, too. If you can get it nice and spicy, it's even better.

A recent variation I've had of the simple pimena cheese sandwich on white bread has been a pimena cheeseburger, which used to be available at Ruby Tuesday and isn't any more (boo, Ruby Tuesday, boo), but is more awesomely and yummy-ly available at a local restaurant in Rome, Georgia (a town about an hour from mine) called The Harvest Moon Cafe. The Harvest Moon calls their version of the burger the Pimp Burger, and I kid you not it's easily the best burger I've ever had. The meat was phenomenal, but the house-made pimena cheese smothered on the top was really what took the cake: Wicked Pimena Cheese.

Jeez, even talking about this burger and cheese spread makes me drool. Much to my dismay, you can't buy Wicked Pimena Cheese online, but you can always try to make your own version of plain ol' pimena cheese. I recommend that you at least try Southern Caviare, aka pimento cheese, at least once. It's a great taste of the South and is an easy, yummy way to dress up a plain, white bread sandwich.  

Hop, hopping with:

The Biscuit Chronicles: Attempt 3 aka "Glory to the Biscuit"

"Glory to the biscuit." Is what Jeremy said today after Biscuit Attempt #3. And I guess I agree with him, because as good as the other attempts have been, I think this one was the best.


This attempt was based on a recipe recommended to me by a blogger who found my desperate call for biscuit recipes on 20SomethingBloggers.  Amanda of Something Savory did me a huge favor by introducing me to JPs Big Daddy biscuits, a recipe featured on AllRecipes.com. Amanda does an excellent job of the step by step recipe on her post dedicated to these amazing and tasty biscuits, and while you're checking out the step by step, be sure to check out her awesome blog. She has some yummy-looking recipes, and she also reviews restaurants. Just a peak at her blog is guaranteed to make you hungry.


So these biscuits were to die for, but our taste buds may have been a little confused and influenced by the mouth-watering SAUSAGE GRAVY that Amanda recommends for putting on top of the biscuits. Seriously, I've had a lot of gravy in my day, and this was right up there with the best!


The ingredients:


2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon white sugar
3 1/3 tbsp shortening
2 tbsp butter
1 cup milk

Minus the milk, sugar, and salt. What a poor excuse for an ingredient photo.

Oh, and before I get started with the recipe, super excitingly, I got some new biscuit tools for my birthday, and this was the perfect opportunity to use them.

Pastry cutter (finally), new sifter, two new biscuit cutters, and an adorable new apron.

But back to the biscuits. After preheating the oven to 425, I sifted together my flour, salt, and sugar. I then added my Crisco and butter. Now, Crisco is something several people (Mama and Carla) have recommended that I use in my biscuits, and I must admit this seems to be the key difference. This particular recipe called for cold Crisco, and I don't keep my Crisco in the fridge, so I added it at room temperature. The biscuits may have turned out flakier if it had been true and cold. I used my new pastry cutter to cut in the Crisco and butter and cut until my consistency was what Amanda recommended as "coarse meal-ish." I then, slowly, added about 3/4 cup of milk, which proved to be just enough. 


The dough was incredibly easy to work, and I only had to knead it a couple of times to get it just perfect for patting out. I patted mine out a little thinner than Amanda recommended, maybe a 1/2 inch, and I used my smallest sized biscuit cutter to ensure a greater yield. I cut out about 12 biscuits.

Too many for one cast iron skillet alone, had to put the rest in a cake pan.

They took exactly fifteen minutes to bake. Oh! And Amanda's recommendation for putting the dough in the fridge before baking seemed to help. They turned out extraordinarily fluffy and tender. And the bottoms were browned just perfectly. Yum!

I suck at pretty food and pretty pictures, but rest assured, it tasted great. 

I recommend checking out Amanda's post for directions on the gravy. It may not look pretty the way I made it, but it was delicious. 


The Verdict:

Yum times a thousand. This is my winner so far. For now, this will be my go-to recipe when I want to make biscuits. 


What I Would Do Differently?


Absolutely nothing. Amanda at Something Savory obviously knows her food. Check her out and be impressed with delicious eats. PS - She's got a bacon cheddar scones recipe up right now that looks DIVINE. 


Call for recipes! Think you can beat JPs Big Daddy biscuits? Let me know. If I use your recipe, I'll feature you (and your blog if you have one) in The Biscuit Chronicles post. Just shoot me an email at katieross83[at]gmail[dot]com.

Linking Up:

The Biscuit Chronicles: Attempt 2

I learned something this week that I should have probably already known. If I had thought about it for a split-second, it undoubtedly would have occurred to me. I'm sure of it. Biscuits aren't biscuits everywhere. This was pointed out to me by one of my readers, Jo of the blog Chicken and Bees. Now Jo is from Australia, and to be perfectly honest, it never occurred to me before last weekend that I might actually have international readers, which is a thought that is nearly too exciting to handle. Someone from across the world is reading something this simple country girl wrote? COOL! I squealed for about an hour after Jo emailed me with her "biscuit" recipe from Australia. What can I say? I excite easily.
For those of you who aren't from the US, a biscuit here is probably more like a scone in your neck of the woods; although, I'm not convinced they're quite the same thing. A biscuit to you guys is a cookie to Americans. According to Wikipedia, a biscuit in the United States is a "small, leavened bread, similar to a scone.  In Commonwealth English, [biscuit] commonly is used to refer to a small and hard, often sweetened, flour-based product, most akin in American English to a cookie, or sometimes in the case of cheese biscuits, a cracker." So there you have it. Scones are biscuits. Biscuits are scones. Cookies are biscuits. And biscuits are cookies. Makes perfect sense. 

But that's all semantics. Let's get back to what matters: the food! This weekend I tried making Jo's biscuit-scones and what a time I had. I don't think I've ever laughed so much cooking. The recipe was both fun and original, and I feel just a tiny bit "worldlier" for trying it. Here's what the recipe called for:

3 cups self-rising flour

Pinch of salt

1 cup cream

1 cup Sprite

Yes, Sprite.

Now, Jo had to do some translating for me for this recipe. In Australia, Sprite and carbonated  lemon-lime drinks like it are called lemonade. Here in the US, lemonade isn't typically carbonated. Also, the cups in Australia are about 50 milliliters bigger than the cups here, but as Jo mentioned in her email to me, this particular recipe is more about proportion. I found that using the standard US cup worked fine.

After sifting the flour and salt into a mixing bowl, I added the cup of cream then the cup of sprite. I mixed this together with a butter knife until combined. I then turned the dough out onto a floured surface. Now, this is where I went wrong and things got funny. I'm thinking the Sprite must make this an extremely sticky dough. I mean sticky, sticky. Sticky like my nephew's hands are sticky after he eats fruit snacks. And not anticipating the extra stickiness of the dough, I didn't flour my hands or the board I turned the dough out on nearly enough. I swear it looked like I was making a plaster cast of my hands!

I never fail to get flour hand-prints on my butt when I bake...

...And a dusting of flour on my feet. Messy cook!

But after, and in spite of, all that mess, I finally got them on the baking sheet!

Once I got the dough off my hands and floured them a bit more, I kneaded a few times, then patted the dough out to about an inch thickness. I then cut them out and placed them on a slightly greased baking sheet. Jo recommended placing the biscuits close together on the sheet, and I did. This helped them rise beautifully! I baked these in a preheated 500 degree for exactly 12 minutes. They turned out slightly browned and very light and fluffy.

The Verdict:

I don't know what they should be officially called, but no matter what the name they were great and extremely tasty. Honestly, they tasted very biscuit-y to me, so I'm thinking a scone is very much like a biscuit. And these were easily the softest and most tender biscuit-scones I've ever made. The leavening power of the sprite was outstanding, and contrary to what I thought when I read that sprite was in the recipe, they were not sweet nor did you even detect a hint of lemon-lime taste. Yep, I'd definitely make these again.

What I would do differently?

Add more flour to my hands and board! I definitely probably could have added a bit more flour to the dough, too, just to make it less sticky-fied. But other than that? I wouldn't change a thing. Thanks to Jo from Australia for an excellent recipe! Be sure to visit Chicken and Bees for funny and quirky posts and some of the cutest kitties you'll ever see. 

Call for recipes! If any of you fabulous readers have any biscuit recipes you'd like me to try out, let me know. If I use your recipe, I'll feature you (and your blog if you have one) in The Biscuit Chronicles post. Just shoot me an email at katieross83[at]gmail[dot]com.

 

Inside Looking In: The Universal Element

Katie's Note: Another guest post from my man. Here he offers an explanation of his compulsion to make fire. Enjoy!

“And I am he that searched out the source of fire, by stealth borne-off inclosed in a fennel-rod, which has shown itself a teacher of every art to mortals, and a great resource.”

I come from a different place, and now I live here; that's part of my identity. But I am a man, and I make fire. It’s something I have to do. Fire is both a force of nature and a fundamental element of society. Ancient man first began to form civilizations around the idea of fire. Fire was difficult to move and harder to start, so some people stayed home to tend it while others foraged and hunted. Then we made beer, and things pretty much progressed the way you’d expect from that point.



Every single culture on Earth uses fire to cook. Grilling, in one form or another, is the true universal common ground. If aliens ever visit Earth, chances are good that if they come from an atmosphere somewhat similar to ours they also will know about grilling. 

So this Inside Looking In post isn’t so much about the differences between the South and the non-Yankee area I come from that is technically further north than here (Jefferson State - I won’t say “Californian” because it’s terribly misleading, and the idea of secession gives me some local credibility). I’d rather talk about this one thing we have in common - fire. Specifically, today, we'll talk about fire in two aspects - one of cooking, one of eating. This can be easily accomplished with the use of hot sauce and chicken wings.

You can’t just go with the off-the-shelf wings sauce; you gotta mix your own. Here’s what I use

The Biscuit Chronicles: Attempt 1

I cheated. I kinda feel ashamed.

In my post An Introduction to: The Biscuit Chronicles, I claimed that I was going to start my biscuit-cooking extravaganza today and update every Sunday morning with the stories of my biscuit attempts. And while I'm still going to update on Sunday mornings, as you can see, I didn't exactly wait until this Sunday morning to actually cook my biscuits.

Yep, I'll confess. I cheated and cooked them last night. After a rainy Saturday cooped up inside ALL DAY (I cannot the stress words "all day" enough), with little to do but surf the interwebs and write, I was going a little stir crazy by about 5:00pm. I also have a bit of a cold, and I was absolutely sick of feeling bad and loafing around on the couch sniffling. So I got my lazy butt up and decided to do something. But what?

Laudry? Check. Picking up the various crap that ends up on all our tables and chairs after a week of working? Check. Cleaning up the kitchen until it's spotless? Check...well, kinda, my kitchen's never quite spotless, but you get the point. I had already done all of the things you do on a day spent puttering around the house. I would have loved to go outside and work in the yard, but alas...rain ruins everything.

I checked my watch. Hmm...about suppertime. I call out to Jeremy, "want shrimp etouffee' for dinner?" He enthusiastically yells "yes" from in the living room. Now, I should preface this with the fact that I bought 2lbs of frozen shrimp on our last grocery store trip. Just in this last week, we've had shrimp three times. Once at my sister's house: steamed shrimp. And twice here at home: shrimp and grits & a little dish I call shrimp Katie...a creation of my own mad mind. That's not to mention the fact that next weekend is my birthday, and in celebration, my family's fixing my favorite meal, a low country boil with what else? Shrimp!

Since I was beginning to feel like I might turn into a shrimp, I decided that maybe something different was in order. I searched my pantry cabinet and fridge. Some frozen chicken, boxed mac n cheese, canned greens. My eyes kept landing on the bag of flour I'd bought just for my biscuit experiment this morning. It was in the freezer. On purpose...not like the phone incident earlier this week.

Oh, why the heck not?! I got the flour out and decided that breakfast for supper was in order.

I'd already scouted out my first biscuit recipe. The White Lily Light Biscuit Recipe. It seemed pretty simple and only had three ingredients. My kinda recipe.

The ingredients:

3/4 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup butter (or shortening)
2 cups self-rising flour

After adding my cold flour to a mixing bowl, I add my butter. According to the recipe, you're supposed to cut the butter into the flour with a pastry cutter (which I don't currently own). I used a fork until my mixture was nice and crumbly. Then I added my cold buttermilk and mixed minimally. The dough wasn't very cohesive, and it's not supposed to be. To keep things light and flaky, you work it as little as possible.

I turned the dough out onto a flour drizzled counter top and started pressing it down a few times. I didn't roll this dough out as the recipe called for, because I was nervous about over-working my dough. This part was a little difficult because the dough was so crumbly. I tried to use my hands as little possible, but in order to get things to stick together, I had to press down pretty hard. I pressed and folded in two rounds, then took one of my glasses and began cutting out my biscuits.

I put my biscuits on my preheated at 500 degree greased baking dish and slip them into the oven. Jeremy has been dancing by my side for most of this endeavor. To say the least, he's a little excited about these biscuit experiments.

10 to 12 minutes later voila! Biscuits are ready!

The Verdict:

These biscuits turned out tasty-licious. Seriously, their flavor would be hard to beat. So many of my past biscuit attempts have tasted too flour-y (yep, it's a word) or just bland, but these had an incredible amount of flavor for so few of ingredients. They turned out extra crunchy on the bottom, which was great, and the texture was light and fluffy, just as the recipe promised. And what's more? They turned out SO pretty! Just look at 'em!

 What I would do differently?

As much as I loved these biscuits and as tasty as they were, I'd probably do a few things differently next time I try this recipe. For one, I need to get a pastry cutter. The fork I used didn't quite do the job it needed to, so my butter wasn't very evenly dispersed.

Two, I might not preheat my baking sheet at this high temperature. The biscuits got extra crispy on the bottom, something I didn't care too much for.

Three, I'd work the dough even less than I did. I think I over-worked it. Something I'm infamous for with doughs. I think if I worked the dough a little less they would have turned out more tender. For the last two biscuits I cut out, I had refolded and pressed out the scraps from the first group of cut-outs. These two turned out looking like elephant man biscuits...bless their hearts. 

Call for recipes! If any of you fabulous readers have any biscuit recipes you'd like me to try out, let me know. If I use your recipe, I'll feature you (and your blog if you have one) in The Biscuit Chronicles post. Just shoot me an email at katieross83[at]gmail[dot]com.

'Til next time!

An Introduction to: The Biscuit Chronicles

So it's Friday, and in addition to doing laundry, cleaning house, and loafing around watching MTV True Life or Teen Mom episodes I've seen a million times, I try to use my Fridays off for something productive. Something good and never evil.  Today my good and not evil deed has to do with biscuits and my search for the perfect biscuit recipe. In order to progress this search to a new level, I've decided to start a biscuit project of sorts. To give a little background, below is an exert from one of my columns called "The Legacy of Biscuits."

The South is a region that is built upon a strong foundation of family and food, and the royalty of the Southern food family is the biscuit. All my life I’ve heard stories of biscuits. From the dainty soda biscuits my Daddy’s Gram would prepare with nearly every meal to the piles of lard biscuits that my Mama’s Grandma Tuggle would fix for her legendary Sunday dinners, I grew up with a respect for the Southern biscuit and its place on the Southern table.

The problem is that I haven't yet found my own biscuit identity. I love to cook, especially Southern cuisine, and if I can't establish a good recipe for one of the foundations of Southern cuisine, then I might as well throw in the towel and surrender myself to the fact that I'll probably never rise above simple things like chicken noodle gravy. So, I've decided to begin a search for my "biscuit identity," the biscuit recipe that will secure my place in the family's biscuit legacy. 

A past and poorly photographed attempt.

Beginning this Sunday, I plan to embark on what I'm going to call "The Biscuit Chronicles." *Cue dramatic music here. Please, folks, try not to get too excited...it's exhausting. Each Sunday morning, I will try a new biscuit recipe. I will document the ins and outs of each recipe, the ups and downs, the successes and failures. I'll hope like crazy that they don't turn out flat and hard as rocks, but I'll know that some batches will, and I just have to be okay with that. 

I will record The Biscuit Chronicles until I have found the perfect recipe. The biscuit of all biscuits. The one that works with bacon, gravy, sausage, and honey. The one that makes my husband react in a sincere and honest way (instead of the usual "Oh, I love anything you cook, honey" response).

Between now and this Sunday, aka Day 1 of The Biscuit Chronicles, I'll be searching for my first trial recipe. If anyone knows of a great recipe, or would like to share their own, please let me know. Really, you could be a part of history here.

By the way, it's Fab Friends Friday over at For the Love of Blogs, and in the spirit of the day, I'd like to recommend that in addition to reading my posts, you hop on over to the "Blogs I'm Reading" list to the right or my Link <3 tab at the top of the page. These are some awesome blogs that exemplify the kind of blogger I want to be some day :)

Inside Looking In: "What's a grit?"

More than any other region in America, the South has a distinct flavor. That's not news to anyone, I suppose, but to an outsider, the unique ingredients can seem pretty exotic, maybe even confusing. Everyone is familiar with fried chicken, but pairing chicken with waffles is not as wide-spread, even if it is delicious. "Chitlins" are famous, but outsiders tend to focus more on the source more than the product, which makes them a kind of unfortunate ambassador of Southern food - and they're not nearly as common as people seem to think.

One of the more enigmatic food items, virtually unknown outside the Southern states, is (are?) grits. A person of northern persuasion might ask, "What's a grit?" To be honest, I don't know myself, and I've lived here for years now.

Grits are measured in estimates. This is one "mess" of grits.

Lunchroom Musings, or Pizza & Corn

I spent two days this week going into local lunchrooms for college recruitment. As an admissions counselor, lunchroom visits are one of my favorite types of recruitment. While some recruitment events may be a little on the boring side, going into a high school lunchroom and observing teenagers in their natural habitats is always entertaining!

What I wouldn't give to bring back those days of culinary perfection!

I wish I could say that I was an impartial observer in this venture. But alas, I was once a teenager, too, and my own experiences have probably colored my impressions. What follows is an attempt to document my observations of the creatures and goings-on of this unnaturally natural high school setting.

I'll start with the "teacher table." The head honcho, the big cheese, the leader of the pack, the princiPAL sits in the middle or at the head of the table. You can tell it's him or her by the way he or she sits. Confidently. The "I am a Leader" pose. He or she demands respect. A born school administrator. I imagine that as a child, this individual was always "Mother" in Mother-May-I. The male version of this rare species sits with his elbows slightly propped on the table beside his tray. He reminds me of a lion hovering over a kill. His eyes constantly dart up from the food in front of him, taking in his surroundings with a keen knowing and understanding. It's almost like he's waiting for something, for a food fight to break out or for a troublemaker to slip up. He's on the edge of his seat and ready to pounce on the next kid who jumps out of line.

The female principal is a little less predatory. She is equally confident, but perhaps a tad more discreet. Her confidence permeates not from her pose or the way she moves but from somewhere within. She is secure and eats her lunch assuredly. She is in no hurry and has no concerns. Her students will stay in line, or they will pay the price. They know that, and she knows that, so she doesn't worry about constantly watching them. If something happens, she'll handle it when it does.

The teachers around them enjoy their lunches and the chance to socialize. In a way, they've become their own clique. Chatting and enjoying each other's company. Adding to the din of the cafeteria. And boy, is there a din!

Inside Looking In - The Glorious Bounty of the Swamp

I interrupt your regularly scheduled food blog to bring you this special guest announcement:
Good food comes from many places. Swamps are most definitely one of them.

I'm Jeremy; Katie asked me to weigh in on here. Offer an outsider's perspective, so to speak. I was born in Oregon, but raised in northern California - not any part you've heard of, I'm sure. My whole life, until a few years ago, was lived in an area that ought to be Jefferson State. It's a great place with a culinary history of its own (so to speak), but the call of the South reached me even there.

Long, romantic story short, here I am, and I couldn't be happier. Southern food suits my stomach nicely. There are 700 ways to cook a pig, and I haven't had one I didn't like. But that's a topic for another day - really, the pig is a topic for either a doctoral thesis or a religious cult, more than there's time for now.

No, today I want to talk about all the good things that come a dirty place. Swamp food.

Eat me, will you? We'll see who has the last laugh.

Melodrama Mondays - The Pork Chop Scapegoat

Today's post brought to you by: my hatred for Mondays.

Since my Mondays (and probably everyone else's) are typically filled with lots of angst and drama, I've decided to start a series called "Melodrama Mondays," which will document the trials and tribulations of my encounters with this most dreaded of all dreaded days of the week. 

Today's Monday started out drama-free enough, but by the end of the day, I was ready to punch somebody, so I came home and took my frustration out on four boneless pork chops. I can safely attest to the fact that they are dead now. I made Pork Schnitzel, recipe courtesy of Deep South Dish. The recipe called for me to trim the fat and then pound the heck out of my pork chops. I used a saucepan and cleaver to do the deed, and while I imagined certain peoples' faces on the pork chops, I pulverized them to a pulp. Boy were they tender!

Here they are good and dead. Bet they'll never talk back to me again!

While I was preparing the pork chops, my kitchen sounded more like a construction zone, and my cats were convinced that I was going to turn my cleaver onto them next. They still haven't emerged from their various hiding spots. I've surely now traumatized everyone in the household and, accordingly, feel much better myself. I wonder if I'll ever get to the point when I don't have lousy Mondays? Nah.

Food: the REAL Attraction - Part One

We'll start this one off with a little song. I just made it up (I know...you may marvel at my brilliance later), but imagine it to the tune of "Anticipation" by Carly Simon. And notice how I changed the lyrics up to suit my message. Again, a stroke of sheer brilliance.

"Procrastination. 
Procrasti-na-a-tion is 
makin' me late.!"

Okay, so I only changed one word, but seriously, this little diddy (minus the Puff or P) popped into my head as soon as I started working on this post, which was originally saved in my post queue WAY back in October 2010. Practically ages ago. I've been putting this one off, because I knew it would take forever to write...just because I have SO many opinions on this particular subject. What subject you may ask? Well, reader, I will end your anticipation (anticipa-a-tion) now. This post is all about Disney Food. Not Disney World, because let's face it, that can get boring. Disney FOOD: the real attraction.

Way back in October 2010, my husband Jeremy and I took a third anniversary trip to Orlando, to re-experience some of the "magic" (nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more, say no more) of our honeymoon trip from three years before. Because romance and lovey dovey crap was the focus of the honeymoon trip, this trip we got to focus on what we really love: food. Practically the entire trip was centered around where we would eat and what we eat and when we would eat. Just the way I like my vacations...food-centric.

Key Lime (Minus the Key) Pie

It's hard to believe that only a few months ago I was wishing for Fall/Winter weather. It's true that you always want what you don't have. That's why it's also a cliche. Gotta love a cliche. Yep, here I sit wishing for Spring/Summer weather and wallowing in my cliche.

Last night, Jeremy and I attempted to bring a little Spring/Summer to the Ross household. Jeremy had been dying to use the new grill my parents got us for Christmas, and despite the fact that it was 30 degrees outside, he decided that last night - January 21, 2011 - would be the night he officially christened it. He'd already cured and seasoned the grill last week. That part had felt like an ancient manly ritual: "I am man! I make fire!" He carefully rubbed the entire inside of the grill with vegetable oil, then heated it to 250 degrees for 2 hours and 400 degrees for an additional hour. Why that combination I have no idea, but this process will supposedly keep the metal from rusting as quickly. I'm skeptical.

In addition to this curing process, Jeremy had to season the cast iron grates. Of course. For this, he used nearly an entire can of my Crisco (Yes, I'm very possessive of my cans of shortening; Mama's little baby loves shortenin' shortenin'!). The grill got heated again. This time to 350 degrees. The entire ritual used a huge bag of charcoal, which makes very little sense to me. Why waste charcoal when you're not even going to cook something? But whatever. I'm female and lack the natural compulsion to make fire and burn things.

Regardless, I was glad that Jeremy had already completed this complicated curing and seasoning business, because this meant he could use the grill to make some yummy steaks last night. And boy, were they yummy!

Steaks, baked potatoes, salad, and wine = the perfect meal

Chili: The Ultimate Air Freshener

After more than a week of being sick, I'm finally on the mend, and as I come out of the drug- and snot-induced stupor that has plagued my days, I am becoming slowly aware of the disaster that is my home. I'm not an unusually anal person. Sure, I have lots of neurotic tendencies, some of which resemble symptoms of OCD, but for the most part, I can live with the fact that my house will never be spotless, and I will never win any Martha Stewart awards for being Martha Stewart-esque. Who the heck wants to be like her anyway? I'd much rather be normal and un-domestic...otherwise, people may expect too much from me, and no one wants that.

All of that being said, I am just anal enough to be bothered by the fact that two weeks have passed since I was able to give my house any type of love and attention, and because of that, I'm now sitting in a collected two-weeks worth of filth, and it's driving me insane. So I got up in the mood to clean. I woke up with the express purpose of being wifely and of fulfilling all of those things thought of as "womanly" duties (the feminist in me balks at the thought of such closeminded-ness, but as my buddy and I established at work the other day, who are we kidding?! Our husbands are definitely not going to take it upon themselves to keep a perfect and pristine household, so why fight the inevitable?)

But as much as I've cleaned and returned my house to some semblance of its former order and organized chaos, it still doesn't SMELL quite right. I've cleaned the litter boxes, so it's definitely not the cat poop that's detracting from the scent of my home. No, it's something that goes a little deeper than that.

In the course of my two-week illness, I have not only given up cleaning properly, but I have also stopped cooking. When I get home in the late evenings, I just haven't been hungry. I've guiltily left Jeremy to fend for himself and have collapsed on the couch without any dinner and, more importantly, without any of the lovely cooking smells that usually permeate my house at least four nights a week. I miss those smells! Those smells are what bring me joy and keep me calm. Food is my friend and savior, and I've been seriously neglecting our friendship.

This brings everything up to present day, and where I sit now, waiting for my ground beef to brown, chopping onions and peppers, and preparing a big pot of slow-cooker chili. Okay, so that's not exactly where I'm sitting, otherwise I wouldn't be able to type this now, but you get the point.



Most of my cooking can probably be best described as "semi-homemade." This isn't something that I admit readily or proudly. I like to think of myself as an innovative chef, a whiz in the kitchen, with a natural flair for turning out wonderful and unique dishes. I like to think of myself in a lot of pretty ways like that. But let's be honest, reality is usually pretty stark and, well, realistic, and the reality of my short life as a cook, which has been dotted with small victories and highlights, can generally be best described by the dish "chicken noodle gravy."

My chili is really no different than anyone else's chili, as exhibited this morning by a quick spin around the web to check out other chili recipes which are dangerously close to my own. I start with a pound of ground beef, add two cans of diced tomatoes (usually Rotel because I do like a hot kick), add two cans of kidney and/or pinto beans, add eye-measured and unspecified doses of chili powder, cumin, black pepper, salt, garlic powder, onion powder, and cayenne pepper, then round everything off with one diced onion and one diced green pepper. Where my recipe deviates is my addition of...wait for it...HONEY.

Yes, I add honey to my chili, and it's an addition I have found that I can't live without. I developed this habit from my Daddy. He's a lot like me when it comes to cooking. He experiments. He adds. He subtracts. He cooks with his heart and with instincts that are generally pretty spot-on (something I'm hoping to develop with age). The best pot of chili I can ever remember consuming was created by my Daddy, and it was the original experimental pot with the honey. To be precise, it had honey and a small dose of white vinegar. I can't accurately describe the way this amazing pot of chili tasted; I'm just not talented enough as a writer. But I can say that the sweet undertone of honey followed by the bitter, pungent taste of vinegar was a memorable combination.

Thus far, we've been unable to reproduce it.

My Daddy gave up after that first pot. My sister and Mama didn't approve of the doctored up chili, and so it was gone before it really began. But I never forgot the taste, and I've been chasing that elusive combination ever since I set off on my own and began developing my own identity as a cook.

The chili that's simmering away in the crock pot now has sourwood honey in it, but I'm still debating the addition of a little white vinegar. I don't want to mess up a good thing, but I can hardly resist the urge to chase after that perfect pot.

Regardless, this lowly pot of early winter chili has already served its primary purpose. It's filled my home once again with the scent of cooking, something that just can't be replicated or replaced or, as I've learned after the last couple of weeks, lived without.

the one with all the spam

Sitting in a tattoo parlor, waiting on your sister-in-law to get her newest tattoo, you sometimes might find yourself talking with the tattoo artist about a variety of strange topics, anything to keep your in-law's mind off the needle that's repeatedly puncturing her skin. Maybe you don't typically talk to the artist about Spam, but that's why you're you and not me. See, me, I find that the stranger the topic the more likely your in-law is to not think about the needle. I'm selfless that way. Plus, I can't help but talk about weird things. Ask any of my friends, I'm weird that way.

I'm not totally sure that the tattoo artist fully appreciated my discussion on Spam. In fact, he seemed rather disgusted at my suggestion that after our visit to get all tatted up, we'd be going home to a yummy supper of fried Spam sandwiches.

"You actually LIKE spam?" He asked me, disbelief dripping from his tone. Now, let's be honest, this guy's probably seen some rough stuff. At the very least, I'd like to think he's seen some rough stuff; he's a stinkin' tattoo artist for goodness sake! And yet, the mere mention of that wonderful canned spiced ham had him cringing and making gagging sounds. You're using a needle to inject ink under the surface of someone's skin; yet, I'M the gross one. Yeah, right.

Well, it seems that this particular person's opinion is shared by thousands (probably even millions), and once again in life, I find that I am pulling for an underdog. For the mother of all underdogs. Spam, I salute you.

Let's get a little more negativity out of the way first. Spam was recently included on a list of the top ten foods we love to hate, along with such foul eats as anchovies and liver: oh, the horror.

Plus, let's remember that one of the most hated things on the internet is spam. Although, this is definitely a spam of a different color; the Spam.com website even has a disclaimer telling us so!

And even I, a proponent and supporter of Spam, the food (?), must admit that when you first open up that can and dump that cold cube of meat onto a paper plate, both the sickening suction sound it makes and the fact that it perfectly maintains the can's shape, make it a little less than appetizing. But since when did we, as Americans, avoid things that are less than appetizing? Vienna sausages, anyone? Sauerkraut? Hot dogs? Who the heck knows what those are really made of? Hot DOG, really? I say, it's our patriotic duty, as Americans, to eat and love to eat Spam. But I sometimes say outrageous things, or is it outrageous?



Upon a little research, I have discovered that Spam really IS patriotic. During World War II, over 100 million pounds of Spam was shipped overseas to allied troups. And even after the war, Spam was promoted by a group of female World War II vets. How many foods do you know can brag about serving our country? Not many, I bet.

Furthermore, Spam has its own Monty Python sketch AND song. If Vikings can like it, why can't we all?

So, really, why have we insisted on making Spam such a villain? A fried spam sandwich with a couple of slices of your choice of cheese and a squirt of dijon mustard is actually quite tasty. And fried Spam can also make an excellent alternative to bacon for breakfast. Honestly, it's NOT that bad.

Although, I will readily admit that I have not tried raw spam, nor will I ever. Even I have my limits.


Works Cited

Layton, Julia. "10 Foods We Love to Hate" 21 September 2010. HowStuffWorks.com. 04 October 2010.

"Spam Brand and the Internet." 2010. Spam.com. 04 October 2010.