Read A Love Affair with Southern Cooking Online
Authors: Jean Anderson,Jean Anderson
A Love Affair with Southern Cooking (40 page)
1 pound salsify, scrubbed, trimmed, peeled, and cut into 2-inch chunks (see Note above)
2 quarts cold water mixed with 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (acidulated water)
4 tablespoons (½ stick) butter
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt, or to taste
¼ teaspoon black pepper, or to taste
¼ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
¾ cup half-and-half or light cream
¾ cup milk
3 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
Topping
1 cup fine soft bread crumbs
1
/
3
cup finely ground pecans
1 tablespoon grated Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons butter, melted
- 1.
Preheat the oven to 375° F. Also butter a shallow 1-quart baking dish or gratin pan and set aside. - 2.
Place the salsify in a large nonreactive bowl, add the acidulated water, and soak for 20 minutes; this is to preserve the salsify’s country-cream color. - 3.
Meanwhile, bring 1½ quarts of lightly salted water to boil in a large nonreactive saucepan. Drain the salsify, add to the boiling water, cover, and cook for about 20 minutes or until firm-tender. Drain well and slice
1
/
8
inch thick. - 4.
Meanwhile, melt the butter in a small, heavy saucepan over moderate heat. Blend in the flour, salt, pepper, and nutmeg and cook and stir for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the half-and-half and milk and cook, stirring constantly, for 3 to 5 minutes or until thickened and smooth. Add the Parmesan cheese and stir for a minute or two or until it melts. Taste the sauce for salt and pepper and adjust as needed. - 5.
Combine the sauce with the salsify and turn into the baking dish. Quickly mix all topping ingredients and scatter evenly over the salsify. - 6.
Slide the baking dish onto the middle oven shelf and bake uncovered for 30 to 35 minutes or until bubbling and brown. - 7.
Serve at once as an accompaniment to any roasted meat or fowl.
SPINACH MADELEINE
MAKES
6
SERVINGS
Little did Madeline Nevill know that the recipe she created for her Junior League fund-raiser would become a Deep South classic. The year: 1959. The place: Baton Rouge, Louisiana. The cookbook:
River Road Recipes
,
of which a
New York Times
reviewer wrote: “If there were community cookbook Academy Awards, the Oscar for best performance would go hands down to
River Road Recipes
.”
I interviewed Madeline several years ago while writing about “Little-Known Louisiana” for
Gourmet,
never dreaming that she was the Madeline of Spinach Madeleine; the names are spelled differently. I began my trip in “English Louisiana,” staying for three days at Madeline’s stylish Green Springs bed-and-break-fast just north of St. Francisville. After breakfast one morning, she told me that her guests all urged her to come up with a breakfast version of Spinach Madeleine. “I tried, but nothing was as good as the original,” she said, adding that that recipe was something she’d just hit upon nearly fifty years earlier. As for the disparity in the spelling of the name, the very English
Madeline
confessed that she’d chosen the French
Madeleine
“because it sounded more gourmet-ish.” Note:
One of the key ingredients in the original recipe—a six-ounce roll of jalapeño cheese—is rarely available today, so I’ve reworked the recipe using current supermarket staples. I’ve also trimmed the fat for the calorie and cholesterol-conscious.
Tip:
This recipe can be prepared in advance through Step 5, covered and refrigerated until about an hour before serving. If you do so, increase the overall baking time by 10 to 15 minutes.
Two 10-ounce packages frozen chopped spinach (no need to thaw)
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons finely chopped yellow onion
1 medium garlic clove, finely chopped
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
½ cup spinach cooking water
½ cup evaporated milk (use fat-free, if you like)
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
¾ teaspoon celery salt
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon hot red pepper sauce
6 ounces sharp Cheddar cheese, cut into small dice
2 to 3 tablespoons well-drained canned diced jalapeño peppers (depending on how “hot” you like things)
1½ cups soft white bread crumbs tossed with 2 tablespoons butter, melted (topping)
- 1.
Preheat the oven to 350° F. Coat a shallow 2-quart casserole with nonstick cooking spray and set aside. - 2.
Cook the spinach by package directions, but do not salt the cooking water and do not season the spinach. Drain in a large fine sieve set over a large bowl, then press out as much water as possible. Reserve ½ cup of the spinach cooking water, rounding out the measure, if necessary, with tap water. - 3.
Melt the butter in a medium-size heavy saucepan over moderate heat, add the onion and garlic, and sauté, stirring often, for 2 to 3
minutes or until limp and golden. Blend in the flour and cook and stir for about a minute. - 4.
Combine the spinach cooking water, evaporated milk, Worcestershire sauce, celery salt, salt, and hot pepper sauce in a large measuring cup; pour into the saucepan and cook, whisking constantly, for 3 to 5 minutes or until thickened and smooth. Add the cheese, a few pieces at a time, then the jalapeños and cook, stirring often, until the cheese melts. Do not allow the mixture to boil because the cheese may “string.” Mix in the reserved spinach. - 5.
Scoop into the casserole, smoothing to the edge, and sprinkle the topping evenly over all. - 6.
Slide onto the middle oven shelf and bake uncovered for 35 to 40 minutes or until bubbly and richly browned. - 7.
Remove from the oven, let stand 5 minutes, then serve as an accompaniment to roast pork, turkey, or chicken. Good, too, with baked ham.
SWEET POTATOES
The New World potatoes Columbus introduced to Spain around 1500 were sweet potatoes
(Ipomoea batatas)
and by the middle of the sixteenth century, species of various hue were being grown there: red, purple, and white.
Food historians believe that the Spaniards also carried sweet potatoes to the East Indies and Philippines and that the Portuguese ferried them from there to China, India, and Malaya. The Belgians, we’re told, were attempting to grow sweet potatoes by the end of the sixteenth century; so, too, herbalist John Gerard of London. Neither had much luck.
According to Albert F. Hill, for years a professor of economic botany at Harvard, “The sweet potato requires a sandy soil and a warm, moist climate.” Which explains why it grows so well in the South. And why Southerners are so partial to it. For years they’ve been stirring sweet potatoes into everything from soups to salads to breads to pies.
As the nation’s number-one producer of sweet potatoes, North Carolina stages a “Yam Festival” every October in the little town of Tabor City with parades, cook-offs, contests, and coronations. “Yam” is of course a misnomer, for true yams (genus
Dioscorea
) are wholly unrelated to the sweet potato and in fact are not very sweet.
Louisiana, another top producer of sweet potatoes, is best known for the sweet-as-candy, vermillion-fleshed Beauregard, which was developed there in 1987 and quickly became the trendy chef’s darling. It still is.
In Colonial times, doctors prescribed sweet potatoes to children, believing that they could prevent measles, mumps, whooping cough, and other childhood diseases. Perhaps they were onto something. We now know that sweet potatoes are an exceptional source of beta carotene, the precursor of vitamin A, and that they also contain impressive amounts of vitamin C plus a respectable dose of vitamin E. Moreover, they are fiber-rich but fat-and cholesterol-free.
Small wonder they’ve been called “nature’s health food.”
SWEET POTATO CASSEROLE
MAKES
6
TO
8
SERVINGS
I particularly like this sweet potato casserole because it isn’t candy-sweet—no marshmallows, no canned crushed pineapple, no honey, and not very much sugar. I don’t boil the sweet potatoes before I mash them; I bake them so they’re less watery and have better flavor. Here’s how: Pierce each sweet potato with a sharp-pronged kitchen fork, set on a baking sheet, then bake on the middle oven shelf for about 1 hour at 400° F. or until you can pierce a potato easily with a fork. Cool the potatoes to room temperature, peel, then mash until light and fluffy.
3 cups firmly packed unseasoned mashed sweet potatoes (about 3 pounds) (see headnote)
½ cup firmly packed light brown sugar
½ cup fresh orange juice
4 tablespoons (½ stick) butter, melted
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 teaspoons finely grated orange zest
½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg or ¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground ginger
¼ teaspoon salt, or to taste
¼ teaspoon black pepper, or to taste
- 1.
Preheat the oven to 350° F. Butter a 2-quart casserole and set aside. - 2.
Combine all ingredients in a large mixing bowl, beating until smooth. Taste for salt and pepper and adjust as needed - 3.
Scoop into the casserole, spreading to the edge and roughing the surface. Bake uncovered on the middle oven shelf for about 45 minutes or until tipped with brown. - 4.
Serve hot as an accompaniment to roast turkey, chicken, or pork. Good, too, with pork chops.
SCALLOPED ORANGE AND WHITE POTATOES
MAKES
6
TO
8
SERVINGS
Southerners dote upon scalloped vegetables—scalloped oyster plant (salsify), scalloped tomatoes, and of course everyone’s favorite, scalloped potatoes. I’ve added my own twist here: a mix of sweet and Irish potatoes (bakers or russets) heightened with garlic, fresh bay leaves, and lemon thyme. This is a great make-ahead, so it’s ideal for a dinner party. Serve with baked ham or any roasted meat or fowl. Note:
Fresh edible bay leaves (bay laurel) are the ones to use here because only they have the proper lemony-gingery fragrance. Luckily, many farmer’s markets sell little pots of bay laurel, as do a few specialty groceries. Just make sure what you buy is edible. Bay laurel makes an attractive house plant and all you need is a sunny spot. I keep a little bay laurel tree in the garden window over my sink and it’s thriving thanks to the southern exposure. I also kept one on my New York City windowsill for years; that, too, was “south light.”
Tip:
You can prepare this recipe through Step 3 a day ahead of time; cover with foil and refrigerate. Before
baking, set the casserole on the counter, remove the foil, and let stand for about half an hour.
1 tablespoon bacon drippings or vegetable oil
2 large whole garlic cloves, finely chopped
1½ teaspoons finely chopped fresh lemon thyme or 1 teaspoon dried leaf thyme, crumbled
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 cups light cream or half-and-half
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
4 large fresh bay leaves, bruised (see Note on Chapter 4)
3 medium baking potatoes (about 1½ pounds), peeled and thinly sliced
1 large sweet potato (about 1 pound), peeled and thinly sliced
2 tablespoons butter, cut into small dice
- 1.
Preheat the oven to 425° F. Spritz a shallow 2-quart casserole or gratin dish with nonstick cooking spray and set aside. - 2.
Heat the bacon drippings in a small, heavy saucepan over moderate heat for 1 minute, add the garlic and lemon thyme, and cook, stirring often, for 3 to 5 minutes or just until the garlic softens. Blend in the flour and cook and stir 1 minute more. Whisking hard, add the cream, salt, and pepper. Drop in the bay leaves and cook, whisking constantly, for 3 to 5 minutes or until the sauce is thickened and smooth. - 3.
Place the baking and sweet potatoes in the casserole and toss well to mix. Pour in the hot sauce and push the bay leaves down into the potatoes, distributing them evenly. Shake the casserole gently to level the sauce and potatoes, then dot with butter (see Tip above). - 4.
Slide the casserole onto the middle oven shelf and bake uncovered for about 40 minutes or until the potatoes are crusty-brown on top and tender underneath. - 5.
Remove the casserole from the oven, discard the bay leaves, and serve.
RICE
In tropical countries rice replaces all other cereals as the staff of life…
—Albert F. Hill, Economic Botany
(1952)
In this esteemed textbook, Harvard professor Albert Hill also noted that rice originated somewhere in Southeast Asia and that its cultivation began in the dimmest past. The Chinese were growing rice more than 4,000 years ago and there are records to prove it. Indeed, in classical Chinese, Hill pointed out, the words for
rice culture
and
agriculture
are synonymous. And in other languages “the word for
rice
and the word for
food
are identical.”
How rice reached these shores is a journey both long and circuitous. From China, rice entered India before the rise of Greek civilization. It appeared in Syria and North Africa early on, too (about 1500 BC), but it wasn’t grown in Europe (Italy) until 1408—forty-three years before Columbus was born.
Although Columbus introduced a number of Old World foods to the New World, rice was not one of them. Its time and place of arrival here are well documented.
Charleston Receipts
(1950), to my mind the gold standard for community cookbooks because it’s intensely local, devotes a special section to rice and in it tells how the grain first came to South Carolina “around 1685” aboard a ship out of Madagascar (Botanist Hill agrees that rice arrived via Madagascar but puts the date a year earlier).
The ship’s captain befriended Dr. Henry Woodward, a Charles Towne pillar, and gave him “a small quantity of rice, less than a bushel.” Thanks to the
Lowcountry’s optimal growing conditions, that rice, once planted, flourished for more than 200 years. But it was another strain introduced somewhat later that became world famous as “Carolina Gold.” Or so some food historians believe.
In
The Carolina Rice Kitchen: The African Connection
, Karen Hess chronicles in painstaking detail the culinary importance of rice and traces the evolution of such southern classics as jambalaya, hoppin’ John, and pilau (pronounced
purloo
or
purloe
in the Lowcountry). Most were slave dishes, created by the Africans who had been imported to plant, tend, harvest, and mill the rice grown in South Carolina, Georgia, Louisiana, and elsewhere about the Deep South.
“As one views this vast hydraulic work,” David Doar writes in his description of a rice plantation in
Rice and Rice Planting in the South Carolina Low Country
(1936), “[one] is amazed to learn that all of this was accomplished in the face of seemingly insuperable difficulties by every-day planters who had as tools only the axe, the spade, and the hoe, in the hands of intractable negro men and women, but lately brought from the jungles of Africa.”
Most came from West Africa’s Windward Coast, where the cultivation of rice had long been known, and those in greatest demand were from the River Gambia and Gold Coast. One July day in 1785, Charleston’s
Evening Gazette
reported the arrival of “a choice cargo of wind-ward and gold coast negroes, who have been accustomed to the planting of rice.”
Some fifteen years earlier, Eliza Lucas Pinckney, mistress of more than one Lowcountry rice plantation, sent a bag of her best “Carolina Gold” to her sons’ headmaster in England together with a note explaining that South Carolinians liked rice with their meat “in preference to bread.”
The Civil War decimated the rice crop, and the subsequent freeing of slaves marked the beginning of the end. Around the turn of the twentieth century, rice was being replaced by more lucrative, less labor-intensive crops. The last crop of Carolina Gold, we’re told, was harvested near Charleston in 1935.
Today Carolina Gold is staging a comeback among “boutique farmers” in the South Carolina Lowcountry. And thanks to new disease-resistant strains, long-grain rice is once again a major crop in Louisiana and Mississippi, this country’s third and fourth largest producers after Arkansas and California.
In truth, much of the California rice crop is short-grain—good for risotto, maybe, but not for the fluffy boiled and steamed rices, the purloos and hoppin’ Johns so essential to the southern table.