From the Southern Table

This weekend at the Memphis Farmers Market, we bought a bunch of pork from Mark and Rita Newman of Newman Farm. I was telling Mark we were planning to make a recipe that uses lard. Mark’s eyes lit up. Then he said the magic words, “Would you like some back fat?”

One minute I’m standing there with a bag so full of pork that I might as well have been holding an entire pig. The next minute I also have a bag filled with 15 pounds of back fat.

15 pounds of back fat

We made lard once before, using the scraps from our bacon-making experiment. That was on a much smaller scale, though, so this time we decided to consult an expert. We went seeking advice from our friend Lisa, the Homesick Texan.

It turns out that everything ain’t bigger in Texas — or New York City, either. Our Texan only rendered a pound of fat. One measly pound. Still, differences in scope aside, her technique is spot on. If you decide to make your own lard, you can’t do better than Lisa’s method.

Not strawberry ice cream

A few things from our point of view. First, you can scale her method up. Add 1/2 cup of water for each pound of lard. Second, a normal-sized stockpot will hold about eight pounds of fat. Third, as Lisa says, a pound of fat renders down to about a pint of lard, meaning that our 15 pounds gave us about two gallons.

Finally, and most interesting to us, is the smell of rendering lard. We don’t get the complaints. To us, the smell is pretty much just like cooking a pork chop. If anything, intensity is going to be the issue. You’re going to be cooking that “pork chop” for a few hours. The smell will fill the entire house. We don’t mind it though — redneck potpourri I suppose.

Freshly rendered lard

Lard has an undeservedly bad reputation. It isn’t nearly as unhealthy as you might think. For certain recipes, lard is the only way to go. And making your own lard is both easy and satisfying.

In addition to the normal caveats like “Don’t burn yourself.”, I would add, “Know where your fat comes from.” These days, there are great options for pork raised in a healthy and humane way, including the Newmans. Next time they are in town, just ask them. Or drop them a line. The difference good pork can make is tremendous.

Well, yes. Mostly. And we’ve done lots of food-type things lately.

We found out what happens if you forget that you put the pizza dough into the turned-off oven to rise where it will be safe from both drafts and curious pets. (It’s still ok the next day – actually quite edible.)

We made outrageous quantities of homemade marinara sauce. And burned it. Dammit.

We’ve made recipes we had never even heard of a year ago. It’s a project that we will share more about one of these days.

We’ve gotten a lot of use out of the deep fryer. Best $40 Costco purchase ever. At least on a fun and useful kind of level. Maybe not so much on the waistline part.

We proved that we really can live out of our freezers and pantry for at least a month. And actually live pretty well, although it does get interesting when you run out of rice.

We went to the Mississippi Delta to buy prawns that we turned into our version of New Orleans-style BBQ shrimp. And there was nothing wrong with that. More on that one later.

We learned that when you’re going to be sick, you might as well eat what you like because if you feel that bad, not even rice will stay down for long.

We got one of the best gifts ever from our friends the Newmans of Newman Farm. More on that one later, too. Just be thinking of things to do with lard. I already thought of that one, and Paul thinks it wouldn’t wash out of the sheets.

We’ve reconnected over a great meal with an old friend. Not that she’s old. At least not as old as some of us. (Pointing at Paul. Blinking innocently.)

We’ve found out that we’re losing a good friend and a great chef. Jackson Kramer of Interim fame is leaving us at the end of this week to take up residence in the less flat part of our state. We wish him well, but he will most definitely be missed.

We’ve thought a lot about the food memories of our childhoods and how they shaped the way we think of food today.

We’ve made new food memories as a family. Someday maybe Patric will learn that “cut into bite-sized pieces” means normal adult bites instead of ravenous bottomless pit fifteen year old boy bites.

We’ve learned that a cat can really get into mortadella, or pumpkin-spice donuts as the case may be.

So, yes. We’re doing a lot of food stuff. And we are writing about it slowly but surely. Some of us have had some health stuff going on. And then there is the continued stress of our day jobs. (By the way, if anyone would like to contribute to a “Paul and Angela Should Not Have to Work Fund”, just shoot me an email. We’ll talk.)

Life happens, and it tends to happen faster than you expected. My tiny baby boy is not only taller than me, he’s just a couple of inches from catching up to Paul. Our parents are talking about retirement. We’re having to think making college weekend trips.

But there’s still food. And writing. Both are a great escape from all the rest of the world sometimes. And yet they seem to be what keep us connected to the things that are really important – friends, family, tradition, change.

And this is supposed to be a food blog. There should be recipes, right? So here are a couple of quickies. They’re comfort/snack food.

Graham Crackers & Milk

4-5 honey graham crackers
1/2 to 3/4 cup whole milk

Break the graham crackers into bite sized pieces in a cereal bowl. You don’t have to make them all the same size, but it’s fine if you do. (And it is not OCD.)

Pour the milk over.

Eat quickly with a spoon so that the graham cracker pieces can still hold their shapes but soak up enough milk to become the sort of thing you used to eat when you were a very little person.

Shredded Wheat with Peanut Butter

Frosted Mini Wheats
Peanut Butter

Special equipment needed: a spoon

I know it sounds weird, but it’s a great snack with a glass of milk.

You’ve probably already heard. Everybody is blogging about it. Conde Nast has decided to stop publication of Gourmet. And not next year. This issue, the November issue, will be the last one. Ever.

I understand that businesses have to make decisions that aren’t going to be popular with everyone. And I will say that I have not always been a huge Gourmet fan. But under Ruth Reichl, the magazine changed. It got exciting again. I’ve looked forward to reading it and have followed the blogs of contributors like John T. Edge, Francis Lam, and Hodding Carter. They’ve been writing about important aspects of food in America today, and making it enjoyable to read.

As an aspiring food writer, I’ve thought that I would like to join those ranks, that I would like to write for Gourmet, that I would be proud to. That will never happen now.

Sure, they’re not going to leave the Internet. The blogs may still be around. But that’s not quite the same as seeing your name in print on a magazine page, as knowing that people sitting in cafes, airports, and doctors offices will pick it up and read what you wrote, that your article may be the reason some people actually buy the magazine. It’s a change that will affect the writers, some of whom I consider friends.

Gourmet has been around for over 60 years. It’s a loss that people will feel. Even though Conde Nast also publishes Bon Appetit, they’re not the same. The loss of Gourmet creates a hole that there’s no other magazine to step in and fill. When I think about being at the bookstore and looking at the food magazines, it seems that the majority anymore are tied to names, that they’re spin-offs of celebrity cooking shows, or they’re very regionalized and directed specifically to women. They’re not magazines that tell food stories on the whole.

I’ll miss those food stories. Maybe it will inspire me and the other bloggers out there to tell more of them ourselves. If anything, it makes me not want to wait until I think I’m ready to submit an idea. If you wait too long, there won’t be anyone to submit your ideas to.

There’s just something about being made to feel special on your birthday. To some degree, you don’t want anyone making a fuss, especially as the numbers start getting bigger, but you don’t want people to forget about it either. There’s a happy medium for the day as a whole, and sometimes, some people can be allowed to make an event of it.

We’ve had two birthdays to celebrate recently, and both of the stars of the days got to have their moments thanks to some wonderful people who make Memphis a great place to be sometimes.

First up, our little baby boy, my precious tiny person, turned fifteen. He’s not so tiny these days. He’s actually considerably bigger than his mom. For his celebration, we had brunch at Restaurant Iris. I know we brag about them a lot, but they really deserve it. They went out of their way to make sure that his day would be unforgettable. First, the table was decorated especially for his birthday. Then, there were the menus, all topped with a “Happy Birthday, Patric!” And then there was his special dessert. Not every teenager can say that one of Food and Wine‘s Top 10 Best New Chefs made a batch of cookies just for him, but ours can. He still smiles whenever we talk about it.

Then there was last night. Paul’s mother turned 74 today (that’s 28 again if you listen to her). We treated her to the farmers’ market dinner at Erling Jensen. Unlike Restaurant Iris, they didn’t know we were there to celebrate, but once they knew, they made her feel like a princess. When the dessert course came around, the lights dimmed and she was served first, complete with candles and a restaurant-wide rendition of “Happy Birthday”. She didn’t stop smiling after that. That may have been the special birthday-girl glass of moscatel, but I’m going to give the credit to the candles.

It’s easy to say that those are just little things, really. Or that the people providing them are getting paid for it. But it’s one thing when your family makes a big deal out of your day — they’re supposed to. When you really feel special are times like these when people who aren’t your family actually take the time to do all of that. Patric would have felt special just by getting to have a great brunch. Paul’s mother felt special just by being at Erling Jensen. But now they both have an extra special memory to carry with them.

Maybe that’s just the difference between a good restaurant and a great restaurant, but I like to think that it’s more about the people. About taking joy from giving joy to others. About feeling special because you made someone else feel special.

The phenomenon of Sonoran hot dogs has been big news in the food world lately. Food magazines, NPR, many bloggers and even John T. Edge in the New York Times have written about how American hot dogs have been embraced by innovative Mexican cooks along the border of Mexico and Arizona to create something unique and special.

When we’ve read about them, they’ve sounded delicious — hot dogs, some wrapped in bacon, topped with guacamole, sour cream, salsa, and refried beans, some wrapped in tortillas, others served on soft buns. They’re a food often served from trucks in the West or found in small restaurants that only the locals know about. And so, when journalists have stumbled across them, they’ve been amazed at how well the flavors of Mexico and the simple hot dog go together.

We wanted them. We considered making our own version. But then we heard a rumor that we could get them right here in Memphis. So we did some research and found a place that many of you may already know about — Cuauh’s Hot Dog-o & Taco.

We’re actually late in finding Cuauh’s; for almost a year now, they’ve been serving hot dogs, tacos, quesadillas, burgers, and tamales from their quiet strip mall location near Wolfchase. And these are not your mama’s hot dogs.

The Memphis is wrapped in bacon and topped with barbecue sauce; as a special, you can add crushed barbecue potato chips for extra crunch. The taco hot dog-o is a hot dog wrapped in a tortilla and fried, topped with cheese, lettuce, and tomato. The Mexican is topped with salsa, sour cream, and diced peppers in a colorful and tasty rendition of the Mexican flag.

The Cuauh’s original is topped simply with homemade refried black beans and fresh guacamole. These are all delicious, and they’re only the start of the menu at Cuauh’s.

There’s more than hot dogs at Cuauh’s, though. The guacamole is made fresh to order, as are the agua frescas. Both are worth the wait. The Cuauh’s burger is a treat, too, with cilantro, onions, and fresh jalapeno peppers combined into the patty. A smear of creamy refried beans and fresh guacamole tops it off.

We tried the buñeulos for dessert — a simple flour tortilla, fried and dusted with cinnamon and powdered sugar and a drizzle of honey. We’re going to have to go back soon to try the fresh cut French fries, French fried yams, and sweet tamales.

If you’re looking for a fancy dinner, Cuauh’s probably isn’t the place for you. But if what you want is something fun, inexpensive, and delicious, Cuauh’s is a great choice. If you want something a little stronger than an agua fresca, beer and tequila are available options. It’s also kid-friendly, offering plain hot dogs, chicken fingers, tacos, and PB&J sandwiches.

Once upon a time two people met. On the Internet. It could have gone badly. Let’s face it, it could have gone very badly. But the more they talked, the more they both liked what they were hearing until finally they decided it might be nice to talk face-to-face.

So they went to dinner. They ate sushi and realized that they both liked good, interesting food. Then they decided to watch TV, and they found out that they both loved unusual shows and movies. Oh, and there was a good bit of physical attraction going on, too.

It seemed like the more they got to know each other, the more they had in common, and the more they complemented each other’s strong points. Time passed, and the good parts only got better. They started not only working in the same room, but also working on the same projects. They encouraged shared interests and individual talents that had been dormant for a long time. They both found out that they really missed the other if they weren’t together.

Some people might say that they spent too much time together. They carpooled to work every day, chatted online, had lunch together, and rode home together in the evenings. But they liked it. If one of them stayed home and the other drove alone, it just felt lonely. Working on a big project together just gave them that much more time to spend with each other. Maybe the project was just an excuse.

But that’s how it happened. Unlikely, strange, maybe fated. Maybe it was just luck. I just think how lucky I am every day that it happened to me.

I am a goddess of grace and coordination. I float through my days delicately and sure-footed, capable of making even the most dangerously whimsical shoes look comfortable and steady. I glide over obstacles like a butterfly and negotiate treacherous paths of ancient cobblestone with ease. Not.

I trip over air. Sometimes I am walking, and then I am not. For no discernible reason whatsoever. Handrails on stairs are the only things that have saved me from head-over-heels death. Thresholds at doors can put me on the ground, and I have memories (and scars) from falls I’ve taken in most cities that I’ve visited around the world. In short, I am a klutz. Big time.

I have spent my afternoon today with my legs propped on pillows to elevate my knees, using frozen dried ebony black-eye peas for ice packs, and zoning out on Lortab. Why? I don’t really know. I was walking into work, wearing my trusty squishy not-far-from-the-ground Crocs (with the little squirrel thingy through one of the holes because I am that mature). I was doing just fine, sipping my sweet tea from McDonalds (I know – I shouldn’t have.), and then I wasn’t.

I reached the row of pretty shiny tiles between the lobby and my cubicle row, and my feet did not go the direction they were supposed to. While some people with my coordination level learn over the years to at least land well, I have never developed that skill. And today was no exception. I hit knees first on the pretty tiles. Followed by elbows. Followed by wrists. My sweet tea exploded into fragments of styrofoam and flying ice cubes on impact. I did not avoid the blast.

After the horrified looks and help up from my coworkers, I made it to my desk with every intention of sticking out the day. Except that my right knee started swelling instantly. And it was numb. And it has a cute raised plus sign where it hit just where the tiles crossed. And I was sticky. Stupid sweet tea. But I was telling myself that my pride hurt more than anything else. After all, nothing was turning a truly alarming shade of purple. I was ok until the numbness started wearing off.

After all of my various clumsiness-induced injuries, migraines, and arthritis, I think I have a pretty high pain tolerance. But I was having a hard time not crying because my stupid knee hurt so bad. So I wussed out. I came home, and I have been pathetic ever since. The dog does not understand why his tiny 90 pound self can’t sit in mommy’s lap today. The cats have taken advantage of my supine state. My sweet husband bought me cupcakes from Muddy’s.

It’s all good except for the whole ouch part. And seriously, even with pain medicine, ouch.

A few weeks ago, Angela, Patric, and I headed to New Orleans to do a little looking around and a whole lot of eating. We stayed in what will likely be our standard New Orleans hotel from now on, the Olde Town Inn in the Marigny.

If you’ve ever peeked into courtyards in the French Quarter and dreamed of living somewhere like that, the Inn is the hotel for you. It looks to be a converted apartment building. Its private courtyard is filled with palm trees and flowers.

The complimentary continental breakfast is served in the courtyard every morning. You can sit outside sipping coffee and watching the lazy breeze move through the palms.

The rooms are funky in style, but impeccable in cleanliness. It’s a bohemian paradise. Stepping out onto the balcony from your room, you know the only thing that could make this a more perfect New Orleans experience would be to have Stanley Kowalski shouting to you from downstairs. Fortunately, the neighborhood is much more quiet than that.

If you want to do a bit more than just soak up New Orleans atmosphere, the French Quarter is just a few blocks away. The interstate is convenient, too, should you decide to venture further out in New Orleans.

We have stayed in some excellent hotels in the French Quarter, and, I suppose that, if you were going to spend your entire visit in the Quarter, then one of those hotels might be a better choice. If, however, you plan to explore more of New Orleans – and you should – then Olde Town Inn is perfect.

Olde Town Inn
1001 Marigny Street
New Orleans, LA 70117
(800) 209-9408

I am being maudlin tonight. I had a great meal in my house that was not prepared by me or by Paul. It was simple, fresh, and delicious, and now it makes me sad.

Sometimes I think I’m the world’s worst mom, I just happened to get lucky and have a great kid. Patric has been a huge help this summer. He cleans house, does laundry, feeds animals, and cooks our supper. He’s exceptionally useful, and in his spare time, he’s read a book a week (not of his choosing).

He’s great at all of it, but I have to say that I have been most impressed with his cooking this summer. He’s been brave, trying out recipes on his own, even trying out his own variations. He’s even tried his hand at recreating dishes that he ate on the road with us.

Our little boy is definitely growing up. He knows the flavors he likes together, and he’s even learned that moderation isn’t a bad thing, even when something he loves is involved. He’s learned that he can like things that he didn’t think he would, especially when he prepares them himself.

I enjoy watching him grow up, watching him learn to do things that I know he’ll use for the rest of his life. Right now he soaks up every bit of knowledge like a sponge, and he hasn’t reached that stage of teenagerdom where he will be convinced that there’s nothing I can teach him. I love the afternoon phone calls when he has a question about something in a recipe and how proud he is to serve us a meal when he’s done.

I know I have to treasure these days. I know they won’t last much longer. Soon, maybe even next summer, he’ll want a job that pays money instead of knowledge. And not long after that, he’ll be driving on his own. There will be girlfriends who he will be much more concerned about impressing than he will be his parents. Then there will be college just three short years from now.

I know there will come a time when he won’t be here, and we’ll be looking for something to thaw for dinner from the freezer. I know we’ll find something that he made and put away. And while part of me will want to save it, to keep that moment frozen, we’ll eat it for supper and we’ll taste that moment and have it back.

I’ve spent all week hoping for rain and so ready for it to cool down. It’s been one of those weeks where you don’t want to cook just because you don’t want to add even one degree of heat to your house. And cooking outside — it’s REALLY hot out there, so just no.

But we still had to eat, and going out every night just isn’t an option. Another side effect of the heat has been the end of salad greens in our CSA, but it’s also meant a dramatic increase in the number of tomatoes we’re getting. So our salad options haven’t really decreased, but they’ve definitely changed.

We also had a refrigerator that was full of ingredients. Of course, one thing that we are definitely not short on is eggs. Now, I’m perfectly aware that it is perfect weather for nice cold deviled eggs. Paul adores them. But here’s another one of my weird food things – I can’t stand cold egg whites. Nice freshly boiled eggs are beautiful; let them get to room temperature, though, and they’re gone as far as I’m concerned. I know — I’m really missing out. But I’m ok with that.

So this whole avoiding the heat thing really will take some planning. First of all, there is our house elf (otherwise known as Teh Boy). He’s gotten to be particularly useful around the kitchen. He’s perfectly capable of putting a nice dinner on the table for us when we get home from work during the summer while he’s not in school. So Paul and I will do the planning, and he will be our executioner. Wait. That didn’t come out right, but you know what I meant.

His first heat avoidance meal was a rousing success. He made a tortilla Española. Yes, that did require some heat, but for an entire meal, it was minimal. He topped it with a beautiful tomato salad and green olive tapenade. His mommy was very proud and happy.

Next up, green goddess green beans and chicken salad. The beans will be blanched and then tossed in the dressing. We simmered the chicken over low all evening tonight (so we got chicken for the chicken salad and 6 quarts of chicken stock for the freezer). Now all we have to do is put it together tomorrow.

Teh Boy’s Tomato Salad with Green Olive Tapenade

For the tomato salad:
6 tomatoes, chopped
1 handful fresh oregano
1 handful fresh basil, torn
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
1 tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

For the tapenade:
2 garlic cloves, chopped
7oz green olives, stones removed
2 tbsp olive oil

1. For the tomato salad, place all of the salad ingredients into a bowl and mix well.
2. For the tapenade, place the garlic, olives and oil into a food processor and blend until smooth.
3. Serve with the tapenade spooned over the tomato salad.