Smokey Mountain Breakdown

I'm on the phone with Betsy, the Goat Yoda, because I want to drag her away from the goats to go eat lunch with me Wednesday. Actually, I'm realizing my toenails are getting pointy and it might be a good idea for me to place myself in a social situation where I'm not eating with my hands.

Our conversations usually include what sort of healthy food things we are attempting. I bemoan the fact that even though I've been eating nothing but raw fish and miso soup for the past six months, I still haven't turned into a Japanese teenager. I grudgingly admit it's probably sugar related. If I could just accustom myself to the mouth-feel of Splenda, I'd be looking like Yui Aragaki. Really.

That's when Betsy said it.

"Well, we are just eating farm-grown produce. Our only vice is Blenheim Ginger Ale."

"You are shitting me!" I say. "You found Blenheim here?"

I immediately demand she give up her source.

"So, do they have triple X?"

If all this sounds like Greek to you, triple X was what we used to call Blenheim's Old #3 Hot. Blenheim's is a sipping ginger ale noted for its fiery bite. It burns on the way down. Burns bad. It's a South Carolina delicacy. It's even got its own fansite, The Blenheim Shrine.

I remember huddling around a fire with the wind blowing off the May River, waiting for the oysters to pop open. The drink of choice was Blenheim and Bourbon. I've been drinking this stuff for 25 years and I've got to tell you, there is no better Ginger Ale on the planet. It is legendary.

Betsy passed off a few bottles to me, wrapped in a paper bag--like the drug the stuff is. Her source is already out of the #3. I tried one of the red top bottles and it doesn't have exactly the kick I remember--but it comes right close.

If you like ginger--Blenheim Ginger Ale is something you have to try before dying. Really.

I was given this amazing leaf lettuce today along with some stunning onions from a local home garden. I just finished eating a salad made with both.

This sort of lettuce is most often prepared lightly wilted in a bit of bacon fat here--but I've never become accustomed to the idea of cooking lettuce. I've done some nice wilted spinach salads but lettuce--not so much.

I love when the fresh produce starts coming in. We are enjoying the Florida cantaloupes already. I had one that rivaled South Carolina cantaloupes(if you've had these, you know what I mean) I purchased at the Morristown Farmer's Market this past Monday.

I also purchased one of the best pink Brandywine tomatoes I've ever had there. A few chayotes and some amazing Peaches & Cream corn. I got a hugeous red papaya--and I confess to eating the entire thing when I got home.

When I was growing up in Bluffton, SC, a local family kept a large open air fruit stand on 278. There were amazing roadside fruit and vegetable stands in that area then and my mother was well acquainted with them all. When I was a teenager, my friend, Elizabeth, and I would cruise by there and get bags of fresh cherries. Elizabeth was the most beautiful girl of all the summer girls--blond and busty, she made traffic stop from the time she was eleven. Precocious she was. I never could get the hang of tying that stem in a knot with my tongue. Oh--I could do it--I just looked like a dog with a peanut butter cracker stuck to the roof of its mouth.

I'd love to hear about any special produce that impressed you this season. How is your garden coming along? What did you plant?

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Unrelated--I'm a big fan of watching my spam folder. Got this funny one in today.

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Maybe that's what I need. Get me one of them there Doctoraate degrees. Then folks will recognise me.

Deep Frying 101

I have a confession to make. Until last week, I have never deep-fried anything. That’s right, Southerner to the core and have never used a deep fryer. It’s embarrassing.

Last week I purchased an inexpensive deep fryer because I wanted to try out my tempura skills. I now get it. Deep-frying is addictive. I’ve been picking up food items and thinking, gee, I wonder what would happen if I deep-fried this? I suspect this is how deep-fried Mars Bars came into being. The dogs are beside themselves with approval since I can’t actually eat this stuff beyond a bite or two.

It may not be surprising to other Southerners, since we use pan frying more often than not. I suspect many of us learned this working in fast food restaurants in high school. I was fired from Pizza Hut and never got to work at McDonalds. Food service was not my forte.

So, my deep-frying experiment has been something of a revelation and I thought I’d share what I learned—just in case there are some of you out there like me, who have been interested, but haven’t attempted this.

The best coating I found was self-rising flour mixed with ice water. I actually put crushed ice in the batter to keep it icy cold.

Tips

1. The oil needs to heat up very hot. Do not cover the fryer with a lid.

2. Dredge your food items with flour before dipping them in the icy cold coating.

3. Have lots of paper towel to drain.

I still don’t have the draining bit down. I’d like my tempura to be even lighter, but even so—they did turn out rather nicely.

Where I am from, the Lowcountry of South Carolina, benne seeds have a long tradition. They were brought over by the slaves from west Africa. The name “benne” is the Nigerian name for sesame seeds. But if you say “benne” in Charleston or Savannah, everyone will know what you are talking about.

They are a good luck food, and have various superstitions attached to them. I always heard to throw them over your left shoulder from the porch and your true love will hunt you down. They also say that once you start planting them, you must plant them every day until you die to keep the good luck you receive from them.

I think many people think them to be a sort of grain, but they actually grow on very attractive leafy plant. The seed pods are like those on touch-me-nots and you have to be careful gathering them. They are one of the oldest edible seeds known to man and have been used world wide since pre-history. The Chinese have been using them for 5000 years and were used by the Egyptians and Romans.

I usually buy large bags of them from the Oriental grocery store rather than fooling with those itty little spice bottles. If you toast them in a dry skillet, they are superb sprinkled on everything from soup and salads to meat and fish dishes. They can be used both sweet and savory. They are so amazingly versatile that I find it unusual that we Americans don’t do more with them.

Many of you are familiar with Tahini, which is basically benne butter. It’s the key ingredient for hummus along with chick peas.

The recipe I am passing on to you today is from the famous Charleston Receipts cookbook. If I were only allowed to have two Southern cookbooks, one of them would be Charleston Receipts. The other would be the River Road Recipes. Between those two books you have all the jewels of Southern food culture.

Give these a try. I think you will be very pleased. They are excellent with tea or coffee and are an elegant little cookie to display for guests. Because they are thin and crisp, they are excellent served with ice cream. Very pretty to just stick in the top of a scoop of sherbet or some peach ice cream.

My father’s parents were products of the fin d’siecle—carrying on the Victorian ideal until their deaths in the late 1960’s. I never knew them to call each other anything other than “Mr. Griffeth” and “Mrs. Griffeth”. I often wondered if they ever slipped up in their private moments to call each other by their given names. Even the yellowed love letters I found from 1900 never had a “James” or a “Rita” in them. My Grandmother Rita was well known for her crabapple jelly and I’m sure floral jellies would not have been out of place on her damask covered dining table.

There is something ever so delicate, ever so Victorian and very Southern about floral jellies. They really speak to a bygone era where leisure time was plentiful and entertainment was more than just a hurried dinner party or a restaurant date. To serve a floral jelly, is to serve your own work of edible art.

And they do need to be consumed quickly. Many fruit jellies will keep over the year, but the essences and delicate colors in floral jellies fade over a period of six months. One technique, I will discuss today really must be refrigerated and served quickly.

Jelly is alchemy in the kitchen in a way. It does take a bit of practice to get it right. The recipe I will give you is easy in that it uses commercial pectin. This is much easier than making jelly the old way. You have to use pectin with floral jellies because the blossoms have no pectin of their own.

Once you get the hang of it, you can make small batches as you need them. I will collect the blooms when they arrive—spring is the time for dandelions and violets—then steep them and freeze jugs of the resulting floral tea. Throughout the spring and summer you will find different flowers that make lovely, sparkling floral jellies.


If you would like to really amaze your guests for a special dinner or event, try embedding a blossom in the bottom of the jelly to make an individual “pat” to place at each guest’s place setting. Choose simple flowers like violets or small roses. Wash them, dry them and press gently down with some cheesecloth. Make your jelly. Using a silicone baking form placed on a cookie sheet, pour a small amount of hot jelly into the bottom. Press your flower, face down, into this and then fill the form up with the jelly. Cover with wax paper. You may make these several days to a week before the event but they must be kept refrigerated. Turn out onto the bread dish for a jeweled mold of jelly with a flower in the top.

In many ways we've lost touch with that desperate springtime longing for fresh green things that only living an agrarian life based on self sufficiency engenders. If we want a salad or fresh greens, we just go to the supermarket and buy them. Consider what it is like to have nothing but cabbage, because that stores well buried in the root cellar, for the entire winter. Some time in late February, the creasy greens get large enough to cut. By this point your body is craving the vitamin C punch these things carry and no matter how old you are, you are eager to have your first plate of greens.

Greens are almost always cooked here. Green salads don't seem to be as common and the old timers almost always saute or wilt the black-seeded Simpson lettuce they grow in the gardens.

Creasy's grow low to the ground and are a many lobed wild mustard green that is distantly related to water cress.. You can tell when you taste them in the field by their hot bite. You find them in unploughed fields and fallow areas. You cut them with a knife, leaving the root system intact for the next year's growth. They self seed very nicely and will even grow indoors well. The seeds are available from several heirloom seed sites if you'd like to sew you a patch. They'll grow just about anywhere.

Traditionally, you blanch the greens in boiling water for a few minutes, then drain them. Then you fry up some chucks of bacon and smother onions and ramps(if they are available). Saute the drained greens in this mixture, tossing all the ingredients well.

If you want to fancy this up, substitute prosciutto for the bacon, smother your onions in clarified butter, toss all together and top with feta or goat cheese.

I like them chopped raw and spicy in my salads--I fancy a mess right about now.

Today we have a Food Porn Friday exclusive from my friend, Jessica Gottlieb, who also writes. Many thanks for this beautiful and heartfelt foodie article in honor of her grandfather.

I'm first generation American. My Grandfather was a butcher. A German butcher. For those of you who didn't grow up in a German home that means that there is one way to do things, the right way. And let's not argue about it.

My Grandfather was nothing if not precise and his food was more than nourishment, it was nurture, it was the I love you that he could never bring himself to utter and the I'm proud of you that couldn't escape his lips. Men of that generation didn't say things like that.

Wiener schnitzel is traditionally made of veal and veal was the meat of my childhood but even a traditionalist like my Grandpa Alfie could see the wisdom of substituting chicken for veal, thereby saving a few dollars.

When I was a young adult living on my own my Grandfather used to prepare me wiener schnitzel. He would pound and then coat the meat and fry it halfway. Then he would chill it and wrap it first in wax paper and then in tin foil. These bricks of schnitzel would be presented to me so I "wouldn't starve". I'd defrost them and place the cutlets on a cookie sheet in the oven for half an hour and have a lovely home cooked meal.

The bricks of wiener schnitzel never stopped. I met my soon to be husband he loved my schnitzel (but only if it was chicken). During our courtship I made him many dinners whilst batting my eyelashes and hoping against hope that this magnificent and kind man would propose to me.

And he did.

After many years of marriage we had a daughter and we were pregnant with my son when my Grandfather died. Every schnitzel that came from the freezer was like one more kiss and hug from him. When my husband and my daughter would request Grandpa Alfie's recipe I'd groan inwardly, not wanting to deplete my precious supply.

But I ran out of schnitzel one day. My husband Robert requested it and after all those years (7 to be exact) I had to confess that it wasn't my own.

And no one had the recipe.

Seriously, none of us.

Between mad telephone calls to my Mother, Father, cousins and my Aunt we were able to piece together the recipe. It's not exact and I've never been able to pound the meat as evenly as my Grandfather did but I'm American and we have a little more flexibility in our recipes.

If you would rather not know how to prepare this at home--it would be in your best interest to turn away now. Today's FPF does have a bit of a gross out factor for some people and if you are used to just picking this up, thinly sliced, at your local deli and would prefer not to know--do not read further.

I was about six when I had my first tongue sandwich at Gottlieb's Deli in Savannah, GA. My mother ordered it for me. I was never been a picky eater and when your first solid foods include raw oysters, it takes a bit to shock you after that. My mother was very adventurous in the kitchen and prepared things like sweetbreads. And Southerners are accustomed to eating odd pig parts, so beef tongue didn't really phase me. Actually, I sort of suspect my mother of having gone through a phase where she tried to find something I would not eat. I'm guessing she lost interest when it became evident that there wasn't anything I'd turn my nose up at.

When I got to college in Columbia, SC, I couldn't find a place that served this up in nice little butcher paper packages by the pound. So, I found a butcher shop and had the butcher order them for me. Whole. Back then, you could get a whole one for a buck fifty, so it was good student food...as long as you didn't tell anyone what it was. I must admit, even I was a bit put off by the appearance of it the first time I saw one in its natural state. The great thing about the multi-cultural selections in today's grocery stores is that I don't have to search very far to find a nice beef tongue. They will be hanging out next to the tripe and thinly sliced beef liver.

I prefer beef tongue as a luncheon meat, served cold and thinly sliced in sandwiches. It is a finely textured and very fatty meat. It's perfect in little tea sandwiches with the crusts sliced off. I like it best with spinach and horseradish. I have seen some recipes for beef tongue served hot in a variety of ways. I certainly would not say no to it served this way, but cold is how I like it best.

They don't have to be pork, but they do have to be chops and they have to be thick chops to do this. Stuffing things into meat need not be the retro-medieval Turducken. Everyone should have some good quality basting thread and a good needle in their kitchen for those moments when you feel like stuffing something in a place that nature never intended something to be stuffed in.

If I convey anything to you on FPF, it is to encourage you to cook with the same fearless daring most home Southern cooks approach food with. People make fun of our "pinch of this" or a "mess of that", but what is really at the bottom of all of this is a combination of tradition and inventiveness. Because of the way we cook, we can often recreate a dish we have had somewhere without the benefit of a recipe. And really, when you think about cooking, it is a little bit science and a little bit craft. Once you know how a certain technique is done, like a custard, then you can figure out how to make other custard based foods. Who needs a recipe? It's cooking without a net.

So, back to the chops. I'm going to show you how to stuff chops and give you the basic process for stuffing. What you do with that information should be your own creative journey into recipe development. That's what I did with these lovely things. It started because I found these chops and they were really lovely, so I decided to do something special with them off the top of my head.


First, the stuffing. Prepare this before you start to stuff your chops. The basic process for stuffing from scratch is to make your cornbread the night before if you are using that as your base. If not, dry your bread out in a low oven until all moisture is gone. Be creative with the choice of base, if you like. Use pumpernickel, rye or any sort of bread you think would suit the type of chop you are going to stuff. What you add to the stuffing should also be a creative process. Sweet things go well with pork, so I chose apples and leeks. Pine nuts would have been nice, as well. You don't even have to use a bread base. Sometimes just a piece of fruit, dried fruit or sprigs of fresh herbs are nice to hide in the middle of a cut of meat.

The basic process to make a bread based stuffing is to melt butter and saute pungent and root vegetables until tender (onions, leeks, garlic, carrots, etc.). Pour this into a separate bowl where you have placed your crumbled stale bread with some sage or the seasoning of your choice. Then pour stock over the mix and add any other ingredients like nuts, egg or fruit. You may also add melted butter. Toss and mix well but do not mash.

To stuff chops, you will need a very sharp fillet knife. You cut a pocket into the side of them going back towards the bone. As always, be careful of cross contamination when working with raw meat in your kitchen. Stuff with your dressing and sew up with a needle and thread.

To prepare, first brown the chops on both sides in a skillet to seal in the juices. Then bake at 350 until done. I served these with applesauce and grilled winter squash.

But you get the idea...Now, get out there and play with your food.

This is a truly impressive cake with a pleasing and unusual melange of flavors. I've made it in the style that I use for parties which means that the cake shown is about 8 inches tall. You may half the ingredients to make a normal sized cake at home.

I recommend using blood oranges where available. I have cheated a bit on this one by using Duncan Hines Fudge Cake mix for the layers. My mixer has been burned up for some time and I have not yet replaced it. To use the layer cake recipe shown, you will need a mixer. If you wish to use box mix as I did, simply add your instant coffee gradually while mixing the cake.

This looks like a lot of work for this cake, but don't be intimidated by it. I think it will come together quite quickly the second time it is made. The saffron does not add much flavor but imparts intriguing streaks of color to the filling.

Orange Saffron Filling

3 cups granulated sugar
12 tablespoons cornstarch
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup cold water
1 cup orange juice + 4 TBSP frozen concentrate--mixed
6 large egg yolks -- beaten
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 cups boiling water
6 tablepoons orange zest
2 pinches saffron
1/2 cup Grande Marnier (optional)

Sift sugar, cornstarch and salt into a medium saucepan. Gradually blend in the cold water, Grande Marnier and orange juice mixed with concentrate. Place saucepan over medium-low and whisk until smooth. Add the eggs and 2 tablespoon butter and blend thoroughly. Stir constantly with a wooden spoon until thickened and add the boiling water. Continue stirring until the mixture reaches the desired thickness, about 2 to 3 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the orange zest and saffron; cover with plastic wrap and place in the fridge to cool.

Notes: Blood oranges are preferred when available. Do not leave this…recipe requires constant stirring.

Cake Layers

3 sticks unsalted butter softened
6 cups sugar
6 eggs
4 teaspoons vanilla extract
8 (1-ounce)squares unsweetened chocolate melted
1/2 cup powdered instant coffee
6 cups flour
6 Teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cup buttermilk
2 2/3 cups boiling water

Preheat oven to 350 F. Prepare 3 9-inch cake pans. In a large bowl, cream butter and sugar with an electric mixer on medium speed until fluffy. Add eggs and vanilla and beat until well blended. Add chocolate and beat, gradually adding instant coffee. In a separate bowl, mix together flour, baking soda, and salt. Add to chocolate mixture gradually, alternately with buttermilk. Beat until well blended. With mixer on low speed, add boiling water and beat until smooth. Pour into pans, then bake 35 to 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pans 15 minutes, then up-end onto a cake rack until finished cooling.

Chocolate Fudge Frosting

4 cups sugar
2 cups cream
4 squares bakers chocolate

Place sugar and cream in a cold stainless steel pan. Bring to a rolling boil and let boil on high for three minutes. Cut the heat back to medium high and let boil until it reaches the hard ball stage. Pour out into a mixing bowl and put four blocks of unsweetened bakers chocolate in with the mixture. Let the chocolate melt. After it cools a bit, place in the mixer on high until it reaches the consistency of frosting. If the frosting seizes, just add a few drops of cream and continue to mix.


Cake Composition

1. First, make and cool the filling.
2. Take cooled cake layers and split in half using a bread knife. This will give you six layers.
3. Place each layer on top of the next with a generous layer of filling.
4. When done, spread the filling over the outside of the cake.
5. Make the frosting and cool until warm. You may have to add extra cream to keep it in a frosting consistency.
6. Ice the cake and decorate with almond slivers.


Enjoy!

Perhaps it is because my parents were Savannahians that I’ve always been so comfortable in the cozy confines of tearooms. Tea was something you would most likely have at someone’s home when I was small. In Europe, tearooms are quite common and I certainly spent my share of time in them. It may be thought the refuge of ladies, but I’ve always admired a man who handled himself with grace in such an environment. There are so few places today where you can go and enjoy a truly elegant and civilized culinary experience that is so relaxing.

Today I took a break from the frantic last minute Christmas shopping in Knoxville to enjoy just such a tearoom. When you walk in to Tea at the Gallery the tension of the day slides off your back. It is elegant and intimate with art on the walls and white linen covered tables. I’m sure there was music of some sort, but it was so unobtrusive that I’m not even sure what it was. That is as it should be.

The menu is simple and offers three selections: Morning & Afternoon Tea Services, Luncheon Tea and Signature Luncheon Tea. Your pot of tea is separate and served in a lovely designer teapot, properly brewed to order.

I had arrived late but they graciously allowed me to have luncheon tea. “The Tea Ladies” as they are called in Knoxville, are Elisa King and Colleen Hayzen, both from South Africa. They can call you “madam” and it sounds lovely and inviting and not at all forced. I felt immediately welcomed.

They have their own line of teas and if you are not a regular or experienced tea drinker, you can be assured that there will be something there to your liking. I ordered the Lapsang Souchong, a dark smoky tea that is my favorite and a bit hard to find.

With my tea, I had some lovely finger sandwiches. There was cheese, rich gourmet salami and one of the best egg salads I’ve ever tasted used as fillings. The soup was rich corn chowder. A little savory mini-quiche was offered. There were scones topped generously with clotted cream, one drizzled with a citrus glaze and the other topped with strawberry jam. A slice of decadently rich pound cake and a ginger biscuit topped off my tea tray. All of this was artfully arranged on a silver pedestal platter and the sweets were lightly dusted with powdered sugar. It was as much a joy to look at, as it was to eat.

If you are in Knoxville, I highly recommend stopping off here to catch your breath and enjoy a spot of tea. They also offer tea appreciation classes, gift baskets and a tea of the month club. Tea is served Tuesday to Saturday from 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. The store is open those same days from 8:00 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. for purchases of loose teas and tea-to-go.

If you would like to experience a tearoom, but are not near Knoxville, I recommend checking with TeaMap, which lists tearooms across the country. I think tea may be the next big thing in the U.S. It’s about time we got over all of that Boston ugliness.

The knock comes at the door. You answer it. Oh, goodie! A Christmas package for you! Yay!

You open it hastily. Peering inside you find…Oh NO!

(“Jaws” music plays ominously in the background)

IT’S A FRUITCAKE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

Once again, dear hearts, it’s time for me to upbraid you for your lack of sophistication and jejune disdain for that most amazing of cakes, the fruitcake.

Hopefully, the fruitcake you just received is one of the Collin Street Bakery cakes or another such one, or even better, a homemade cake.

Let me explain to you why you hate fruitcake. No doubt you were given a slice off of some dreadful rectangle of doomed compressed dried fruit as a child. You bit into it, only hearing the word “cake” and discovered a desiccated piece of faux citron in your mouth. In all of your young life, you never experienced such a traumatic food related event, except, perhaps, for the time your Uncle Kenny told you habaneros tasted just like cherries.

Fruitcake isn’t a child’s treat. It’s serious adult food. It’s most definitely an acquired taste. Preferably acquired under the influence of a very fine single malt scotch. Scotch and fruitcake go together like nothing else, except perhaps, a really fine brandy and fruitcake. Anyway, you get the picture. Tippling is required.

But first you must prepare the cake. The cake needs to be well soaked in alcohol. Cryer’s Creek’s DeLuxe page has an excellent guide to how to “doctor” your fruitcake. Basically, you wrap the cake in cheesecloth, putting extra in the “well” of the cake and soak it over several days with your favorite spirit or wine. Personally, I like to make my fruitcakes with the locally available spirits.

So, when that fruitcake shows up at your door, don’t run and hide. Wrap it lovingly with cheesecloth and soak it with your favorite strong spirit, wine or port.

Another fun trick is to take it out on Christmas Day, spread it with marzipan, douse with brandy and light it on fire. That’s what the Brits do with Christmas pudding, which is basically just a steamed version of dark fruitcake.

This is my favorite recipe for fruitcake. It came from my best childhood friend’s mother and it was the first fruitcake I ever tried that I loved. If you must feed children fruitcake...this is the one to give them. No trauma involved...honest.

This is a reprint from 2005...but it's that time of year again. I don't have photos, but you'll have to trust me that these are gorgeous. But I do have a sweet bit of prose for you. I think they would be a perfect Hanukkah cookie too! At least I think so...I don't want to make the dreaded Hanukkah Ham faux pas. (Really, I thought Erica would be all over that story, but it looks like it's up to me to be the bearer of all ham related news.)

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I have been making these cookies for as long as I have memories. In my mind's eye, I can see my chubby little four-year old hands in front of me, covered in stickiness and powdered sugar. I can feel the heat of the mixture of crisped rice, nuts and caramelized dates and creamed sugar.

I hear my mother's voice. "Be careful...it's still hot!" or "You're rolling them too big!"

I liked to roll them big. That was because later, after they were chilled, I would slyly select the largest ones when they were offered. Munching into that cold sweet crispiness and getting powdered sugar all over my shirt. My face. I loved it when my mother would look exasperated and dust me off with her hand.

"I swear!....," she would say.

The recipe was lost for a time. My sister had gotten rid of the cookbook that the recipe was in. I was devastated when I realized this particular book was gone. I thought I was being fair by leaving the sugar-stained tattered book behind for her. It was particularly hard for me to do so. She did not see the old book as the pearl of great price that I did. My brother and sister have often been bemused by the things I deem valuable, but I think they are coming around to my way of thinking. History is important. Even the history of one family is important.

I reconstructed the recipe from my memories. My dead mother whispering in my ear the entire time. She often whispers to me.

I make them alone now to send to my family and friends. It doesn't seem right somehow, they are the sort of treat that really needs tiny sticky hands to form the warm melange into the little sugar-covered balls. If you have such little fingers in your house, you may want to give these a try.

Listen closely. Are you listening? Okay. This is what nutmeg looks like. Really.

I want you to go to your spice cabinets right this instance and get rid of any boxes of powdered ground substances that say “nutmeg” on them. Those ain’t it. Nutmeg comes from nutmegs, these little brown nut looking things. You grate them with your grater…you don’t sprinkle them. The beauty part of this is that these things last forever and maintain their freshness until grated.

Since we are heading into the season of sweet spice, I thought I’d talk to you about my favorite of the sweet spices. Nutmeg is what gives eggnog its distinctive flavor rather than just tasting like whipped cream and eggs. Not that there is anything repugnant about that combination …but nutmeg is what gives it that special flavor.

I’m going to share with you my recipe for eggnog. It’s derived from my 1939 Domestic Arts cookbook and uses raw eggs. You should not try this unless you are completely sure of your eggs. In other words, you have your own chickens or get them from a source that you trust. If you want to try it safely, you can use pasteurized eggs. Me…I like to live dangerously…..’cause I’m such a daredevil.

Southern Eggnog

8 eggs
1 cup whipping cream
8 tablespoons brandy, whisky or Southern Comfort
6 tablespoons of powdered sugar
Freshly grated nutmeg to taste

Separate your eggs. Beat your egg yolks until creamy and yellow. Slowly beat in brandy and sugar. Set aside. In a separate bowl, beat the whipping cream until thick but not yet peaking. In another bowl, beat the egg whites until stiff. Gently fold your egg whites and cream together with your egg yolks. Chill, but serve within 12 hours. Sooner the better. Grate fresh nutmeg over the top when serving. If done correctly, this is eaten with a spoon.

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As a sort of nutmeg footnote…if you are having trouble getting kids to eat liver…cook it with nutmeg. Nutmeg is the perfect spice to use with liver. Who’d a thunk it?

It was before we got the big silver Impala. Actually, all of my father’s “demonstrators”, those nice cars the dealership let him drive, were silver. No, this was in my mother’s old beat up blue station wagon. It was the car she drove to work as an elementary school and art teacher. It was always strewn with the detritus from the ghosts of first graders past and the paper mache dreams of high school art students. Those dreams would later be squandered in the oyster shucking profession. That car smelled of boiled peanuts and paste and old conch egg casings picked up on the shorelines of St. Simon’s Island.

I would sit with my chubby knees on the edge of the seat in my navy blue stretch shorts, usually purchased at Punch and Judy’s “Husky” department, and my blue boat shoes would kick the dashboard. We could have been traveling anywhere, perhaps to Savannah, perhaps to St. Simons, or maybe to Beaufort. She would cut her eyes at me, as we would approach those roadside stands. She was intimately acquainted with each of these places. Suddenly, she’d veer off and you knew it was time to get some boiled peanuts.

The best ones were still warm in their soggy paper bags. They would be salty and slightly smoky and you would pop them in your mouth to pop the shell and suck the juices out of them before eating the peanuts. Then we’d try to put the shells back in the little bag, but most often they’d end up on the floor with the roasted peanut shells we had gotten on the last outing. That’s why my mother’s cars always had the aroma of boiled peanuts. That smell reminds me of her every bit as much as the Chanel #5 that she always wore.

The pronunciation of “Boiled Peanuts” in the South sounds like “Balled Peanuts”. Except you draw out the short “a” a bit. Perhaps you are not familiar with them, or perhaps you saw them when you visited here and thought it a strange idea. But they are really wonderful, and you should give them a try.

This is the season when the new crop of raw peanuts is available. It’s the best time to fix them. It’s fairly straightforward. Just get a big pot of salted water, some raw peanuts and boil them for a few hours.

Now, the best ones that you find on the roadside are usually boiled in an open kettle over a wood fire. They often have just a hint of smoky flavor. You can add that by putting a dash of liquid smoke in your pot while you are boiling them. I also like to throw in a little smoked fatback. That’s sort of my personal secret ingredient for my boiled peanuts.

You can tell when they are done when the peanuts no longer have that crunchy raw texture and taste. They should be sort of mushy and not crunchy at all. The shells should be sort of soft. It depends on the variety of peanut that you buy. Both sorts are good boiled.

When they are done, strain them out in a colander and put them in brown paper lunch bags. You do need to refrigerate them.

I’ve got a big mess on the stove right now. I’m gonna make a huge mess eating them too. I’ll hear my mother's laughter, I’m sure. I always do.

So, this past Saturday, I joined an eclectic group of Pagans, free thinkers, Libertarians and RuPaul supporters for a goat roast! (oops, I'm being told by Shadow, The Political Pundit Cocker Spaniel, that it's Ron Paul, not Rupaul. And here I was getting all excited about having a six-foot-five drag queen in the White House. Hey...a girl can dream, right?)

Anyway...it was loads of fun. Picture a crisp starry mountain night with the air heavily laden with wood smoke. Two fires, one for the guest of honor and another for the drummers. Stories were told, food was eaten and there was amazing pumpkin soup. A man, who told me his name was "Spirit", made the most delicious ginger beer I've ever had. He passed on a trick the Jamaicans use that I'm going to try for my next batch. The trick is a little cayenne to boost the heat.


The entire evening had a sort of mystical quality to it. Friend Scott came along, but he had to leave early to go to work. He had some goat and chicken and some really wonderful hearty bread that had blue cheese baked into it.

Friend Scott asked me, "What do you call that? A cape?"

He was looking at one of the Pagan gentlemen who was wearing a cloak against the chill night air.

"I think it's more correctly called a cloak." I said.

"I want one." Scott says.

I'm not sure if there is anything finer than an outdoor barbecue or roast on chilly autumn evening. There is something atavistic about it. Something primal about gathering with folk around an open fire and eating meat.

And as I said before, I was not acquainted with the goat in question, so he was delicious. There was chicken though for the less adventurous.

Our weather has turned nippy late this year. Usually I start thinking about my fall season jams much sooner than November, but the heat and drought has made it difficult to imagine standing over a hot stove for so many hours.

Apple butter is a long standing tradition in this area. It was made out of doors over a wood fire in a large cast iron cauldron. This technique requires an entire day and much stirring. You have to have very strong arms to keep watch on a 50 gallon tub of bubbling apple butter.

The version I'm sharing with you today can easily be made in the home kitchen and is a festive addition to any holiday table. The red Hots Candy that is dissolved in the mix turns the apple butter a brilliant red. As with all apple butters, constant minding and stirring is key. A few tricks I've picked up since the first time I made this recipe is to run my apples through a food mill first, after steaming them in a colander. The mill will remove the seeds and skins. Another trick some of the old wives employ is to pour the half finished apple butter into a shallow baking or cake pan and finish in the oven. This preserves the color and keeps the apple butter from scorching.

Whatever you do, be careful of the bubbling hot mixture...this jam tends to bubble up and spatter easily. You will notice, if you have never made apple butter from scratch, that the texture is much more like a jam than the apple butter you buy in the store. Apples have lots of pectin in them, so really, those store bought apple butters are really more of a spiced thick apple sauce. Real apple butter has body and holds its shape when you spoon it out of the jar.

These are native American persimmons growing down the road from me. They are much smaller than the Asian ones and a good bit sweeter. Persimmons tend to ripen right after the first freeze, though these small native ones seem to get ripe around this time of year even without a frost. If you are familiar with persimmons, then you know the dreadful experience of biting into one that has not ripened.

These native persimmon trees are much visited in the fall by possums and other small animals. I had a stand of them out back of my little farm in Atlanta that a huge possum used to live in.

Persimmon pudding was a very typical colonial period dessert. I think you could make it with the Asian persimmons available in the markets, though there will be a less persimmon-y taste to it.

This is one of my grandmother's recipes.

When I first moved here, which was not that long ago, it was a scary little Exxon station with a full service garage. I think it might have been a game check point. You’d see hunters drive up with bears hanging out of the back of their pick-up trucks. I also had to drive to White Pine, about 30 miles away, for a six pack of really good beer. But a few years ago all of that changed when The Pigeon River Smokehouse took over the property and turned it into a really nice place to stop and eat.

It's been really amazing to watch how they turned that little service station into a spacious store and restaurant with a really beautiful modern kitchen with a wood smoker. The wide porches have picnic tables and rockers on them where you can take your barbecue and eat just steps away from the Pigeon River. As barbecue joints go...this one is really nice!

I’ve been a bit remiss in not writing them up sooner. They’ve been supplying my pulled pork sandwich habit for a while now. So, I decided to remedy that and marched in and ordered “The Works” yesterday. I tackled the Barbecue Combo.

This is a plate of smoked meats that will knock your socks off. Barbecue chicken, thinly sliced beef, pulled pork and ribs with French fries and a side of either cole slaw or baked beans. Two enormous slabs of garlic Texas toast come with it as well. I’m told both sides are excellent but the beans I had are truly outstanding. There is so much meat on this plate that I highly recommend bringing a very healthy appetite. I couldn’t finish mine and will be eating off the leftovers for a few days.

They smoke the meats in a modern wood smoker back in the kitchen using red oak. It’s a bit more of a subtle smokiness than some barbecue that I’ve enjoyed…and you know me…my barbecue addiction is legendary. I’ve enjoyed quite a bit of it in my lifetime. They serve it properly, with the sauce on the side.

Absolutely do try to save room for dessert. They also do a really outstanding Sweet Potato Pie with a nut crumb crust. I’m admittedly something of a Sweet Potato Pie snob, coming from South Carolina where this is practically the State Pie. But I give this pie a serious “thumbs up”. It's definitely worth saving some room for.



The Pigeon River Smokehouse is located off of I-40 just off the #447/Hartford exit on the river side of the interstate. I highly recommend stopping there if you are coming through on your way between Asheville and Knoxville. It’s just as you come out of or enter the big mountain pass that stretch of interstate services, so it’s a great place to stop.