Just a Pinch of South

New York has always had its restaurants. The South has always had entertaining at home. It is simply what one did.

My paternal grandmother kept a record of what she served when she entertained. I find it fascinating. This isn’t “good old Southern cooking.” The dishes are aspirational, of-the-moment (gelatin was big mid-20th century), and practical. Most of the food was able to be prepared ahead so that the hostess was able to entertain her guests without disappearing into the kitchen. This was the era before “open kitchens” and “casual entertaining.”  She wasn’t having a few friends to lunch. This was a luncheon.

I can only imagine how hot it would have been in our family’s house in Atlanta in August. At lunchtime. Without air-conditioning. This kind of entertaining is not for the faint of heart.

In case you can’t read her writing, here’s the menu:

• Molded vegetable salad (individual on each plate)
• Chicken Loaf with Irish potatoes around it (passed)
• Creamed asparagus with cheese (passed)
• Hot rolls
• Iced tea
• Ice cream served in merangue [sic] shells

I spent this past weekend with college friends in North Carolina. I used this as a perfect excuse to stop for barbecue along the way. I chose a slight detour to an Albermarle, NC institution called Whispering Pines just a few miles from my intended route.

Like all BBQ joints, it’s not much to look at. I sat inside at the counter, and it wasn’t but a few minutes till this gentleman and I struck up a conversation. Turns out he’s a farmer with 400 acres of land. I noticed he is missing a finger on his left hand which I am guessing this came from some sort of bailing accident years ago. He told me he’d bailed 4 acres of hay that day.  Is that a lot? A little? I told him I was a city girl who didn’t know much about farming. I allowed that I was from Atlanta, but I live in New York City.

That’s when some of the other restaurant patrons jumped in. We all got to talking so that I had trouble taking my leave after I had consumed my pulled pork, hush puppies, and Cheerwine. From traffic to crime to the Statue of Liberty, we covered a lot of ground. Of course the farmer did ask me, “What possessed you to leave North Carolina,” (because I had gone to Duke), “and move up there? What’s so great about New York City?”

Well, if you have to ask, then my answer probably isn’t going to ever satisfy you.

Of course, as great as New York is, I must admit you don’t ever encounter nine-fingered hay farmers in the big city. Nor can you find Cheerwine. Or such friendly company. I give Whispering Pines high marks in all departments.

But like the farmer said to me about New York, I’ll say about Albermarle. A nice place to visit, but I’m can’t imagine living there.

I came upon this delightful-looking peach/prosciutto/goat cheese bruschetta over on Pinterest. It’s originally from an article by Nealey Dozier at theKitchn.

This captures a “just a pinch of South” idea. Bruschetta? Italian. Adding peaches (as opposed to the more common melon)? Southern.

Of course ham and cheese are all over the place in the South. Just not in this fancy-pants bruschetta-ready form.  I can’t even imagine what my grandmother would have thought of goat cheese. It wasn’t exactly available at the market in Statesville, North Carolina when she was a girl. Let alone prosciutto. Boiled ham, yes. Cured ham, no.

I love the idea of this bruscetta. Salty and sweet and creamy. I’d try it if we were anywhere near peach season (we’re still in winter coat season here in NYC). It’s a Southern, and local/seasonal, inflection on an Italian dish. Clearly up my alley.

Last night I posted a sign and put out a box in the entrance-way of my 24 unit apartment building asking for hurricane donations. My NYC church is organizing donations today that will be taken down to the Bowery Mission and distributed to New Yorkers in need. They want warm clothes and non-perishable foods.

I wasn’t sure what the response would be. My neighborhood on the Upper West Side wasn’t particularly impacted by the storm. We had power, internet, and even stores and bars that stayed open through the storm.

New Yorkers have a reputation for being “hard” - and I would say that pretty fair. New York City can kick your butt if you let it. New Yorkers have an edge, can be rude, and aren’t afraid to make sure they have what they need.

But we can also be generous. I was overwhelmed by the canned goods and clothes my neighbors gave with little warning or heads up. The sign went up at 8pm last night, and by 8:30 this morning the first box was full and two more had been added. Way to go, New Yorkers in my building!

And way to go, in general, New York. A lot of my friends have made hundreds of sandwiches, given blood, distributed food and water down in the East Village, and two of my friends even went to Staten Island on Saturday without a plan and just ended up helping in various ways. It was pretty cool to see.

If you haven’t given yet, there are tons of different ways - from the Red Cross to the Bowery Mission to the NYC Food Truck Association.

(Source: outdoorhuman)

Today I’m teaching a Yankee friend to make biscuits. She’s the most legit foodie I know. She works for a food blog website called Food 52, grows vegetables on her roof garden here in NYC, and knows how to pickle things.

But she has never made scratch biscuits. I know I’ve mentioned them (many times) before, but just to sum up here is what you need to know.

1. get the right kind of flour. Gold Medal is the wrong kind. White Lily, if you can. If not, Aunt Jemima Self-Rising will do in a pinch.

2. The butter must be cold. Very cold. And the oven must be very hot. At least 425.

3. Don’t add too much milk or cream (if you’re fancy). Just enough to moisten.

4. And don’t knead the hell out of the the things. They’ll get tough. This isn’t yeast bread!

Otherwise, it’s not unlike making a pie crust. Same principles apply, actually, but there’s leavening and milk or cream, not water.

I’m bringing cheese grits, too. They’re best if made the night before so they aren’t soupy.

pic by sundaysuppers http://instagr.am/p/OeWB5EQ4vr/

(Source: beeslikehoney, via thatkindofwoman)

I’m not sure anyone likes coleslaw as a kid. It’s kind of a weird dish with strong flavors and textures. Not kid-friendly.

And there are lots of variations. From coarsely cut red cabbage lightly dressed, to the finely chopped and very mayonnaisey variety. It can be rather sweet, or tart, crunchy or soft. When someone says “slaw,” and by the way Southerners rarely say, “coleslaw,” you just don’t know exactly what they mean.

To this day I never eat it on its own. They even serve slaw at several New York City delis as something that comes automatically with your meal. No thanks.

But slaw is magically transformed when it goes on top of pork. It becomes the ying to the yang of the meat. Slaw adds crunch to soft pulled pork; it gives coolness and mildness to the heat of the barbecue spices. Without it, a pulled pork sandwich doesn’t feel complete. Same thing for a chili cheese slaw dog (like what you’d get at The Varsity). It makes something great into something wonderful.

I know there are a lot of skeptics out there when it comes to coleslaw and barbecue. I get it. I really do. But sometimes the whole is more than the sum of its parts.

(Source: southernpartofheaven, via lifeofhunt)

I brought back lady peas from Atlanta in my luggage. Lady Peas are impossible to buy in New York City. They are and obscure field pea and they are delicious. A true “taste of the South” that you can’t get elsewhere. I’m excited to cook them today.

(Source: mylifeizaparty, via penniesinmyloafers)

uga:

The Short Order: Hugh Acheson’s Guide to Athens, Georgia

Read More http://www.gq.com/food-travel/restaurants-and-bars/201207/chef-hugh-acheson-athens-georgia-guide-short-order#ixzz20DnPYuW7

(via spencerlewis)

I’m ready for summer tomatoes (pronounced “summah tuhMAYtuhs” where I come from.)

There’s something fundamental that changes about a tomato if it is refrigerated. There’s an actual chemical change that changes the flavor. They are not “right.”  So the closer to the source the better the tomato, of course.

And also, the uglier the tomato the tastier it is. Have you found that to be true, too? The weird purple-y ones, the strangely shaped heirlooms, the ones even with scaly skin mean that they weren’t mass grown. The perfect round red tomato isn’t usually the most  flavorful.

I grew up not really liking raw tomatoes. I think because they were mostly from the supermarket and had been refrigerated and chosen for color, not flavor. How did we as a society say that those terrible tasting tomatoes were okay? It was only as I discovered heirlooms and farm grown tomatoes did I actually fall in love with the taste.

I’d love a BLT right about now. With homemade mayonnaise, good bread, crispy bacon… mmm…

(via thatkindofwoman)

I had the chance to have a drink, play a little bocce, and eat dinner at Empire State South last night. The weather was perfect. Actually, there was a lot of perfection going on.

First of all, I won at bocce. But that’s not what I really want to talk about. I had a delicious Pimm’s Cup and our very friendly waiter let us try a little taste of Fernet Branca which was delicious. I could only describe it as Robotussin meets Pinesol, but in a good way. (I know, I have a future as a sophisticated beverage critic.)

We stuck to the first courses and shared. I just wish I didn’t have to share, because I could have eaten a lot more of everything. The farm egg, the pork belly, and the scrapple were all tasty. It’s the little things, like the field peas, the crispy rice, the sauce that make these stand out. Again, pretty darn close to perfection.

I haven’t encountered many restaurants in the South that could hang with the best of them in New York City. I know that sounds a little pretentious and superior, but it’s sadly true. I’ve been to far more restaurants in the South that had aspirations that exceeded the reality. But not the case here. ESS would be as welcome in Brooklyn or Manhattan as Midtown Atlanta. But I doubt they’d have room for bocce. Which would be a shame. Because I’m really good.

Empire State South, 999 Peachtree Street, Atlanta Georgia 30309

(Source: spaceforfaith)

My dear friend Jessica attended the Master’s a couple of years ago, and as my most loyal blog reader she called me up to tell me I was missing posting something about the tournament. Specifically the food.

So here is yet another reason to wish you were there. Not only has the weather been absolute golfing perfection this weekend, but at the Master’s you can eat and drink yourself silly for $20. Stuff like egg salad, pulled pork, and she said the most expensive thing she saw was the imported beer for $3.50.

In particular, Jessica mentioned the pimento cheese sandwiches which sell for like $1.50 at these various little huts along the course. And, the pimento cheese is made from a secret formula. Secret formula? Cheap food? Beautiful scenery? World class golf? Are you kidding?

Don’t just take Jessica’s word for it. Check out this post from CNN’s Eatocracy from April 4th. And this post whence cometh the pic above.