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103. Banana Pudding–Over-Ripe Fruit at Its Best

3 Apr

Southern banana pudding by Evil Shenanigans

One of the perks of being the child of a Southern Baptist preacher (besides, of course, having your most embarrassing childhood antics immortalized in sermons) is that folks occasionally show up at the house with food.

I would never admit to rating congregants based on the quality and frequency of their culinary gifts. But if I were to do such a churlish thing, the winner would be Donnie of the aforementioned chicken and dumplings. First runner up in the (imaginary, y’all) savory category goes to Vicky J.’s lasagna and garlic bread. However, Vicky takes first prize in the dessert category. “There’s a dessert category?” Does bacon come from pigs? (Surely, no one will argue that bacon can also come from turkey. That’s not bacon. That’s a travesty!)

Yes! We have no bananas...

Anyhoo, Vicky breezes past the competition with her banana pudding. Those of y’all who’ve never had banana pudding may be wondering how such a dish could ever win (an imaginary!) dessert contest. There’s not even chocolate in it, and nary a nut to be found. You might think of pudding as something only old folks, hospital prisoners, and people lacking tastebuds would eat. Oh, no. You’re probably thinking of banana-flavored pudding (or more often, chocolate-flavored, still no nuts).

Banana pudding is an entirely different creature. First of all, it starts with actual bananas. Not just any old bananas (or worse, new!). They should be slightly riper than you’d like with cereal, but nowhere near banana bread territory (or smoothie for Seattle folks). The other key components are pudding and Nilla Wafers.

Pick the middle one.

What makes Vicky’s banana pudding so delectable is that she has the optimal balance of ingredients. Some folks are stingy with the wafers. Some skimp on bananas. But Vicky’s banana pudding features an abundance of everything so that every time you dip the spoon, you get pudding, banana, and wafer all at once. (Anybody who eats with me on a regular basis has likely noticed that I’m a big fan of the “perfect bite.” It takes a bit longer to eat in this persnickety manner, but it’s worth it.)

When I went down to Memphis to welcome my newest nephew, Eli, my sister gave me a very important assignment (and if y’all know Jenna, you know how fond she is of giving assignments). She had Paula Deen’s banana pudding recipe and wanted me to whip up a batch and bring it to the hospital so she wouldn’t be forced to ingest institutional chocolate-flavored pudding or worse, green-flavored Jello.

One of the steps in Mrs. Deen’s recipe is to mix together a block of cream cheese with a can of sweetened condensed milk. I was tempted to stop right there and eat the whole bowl, but I feared the wrath of my sister and thus persevered.

Rather than use the traditional Nilla Wafers, Paula goes all fancy (and spendy) using Pepperidge Farm Chessmen cookies. I’m not sure they’re an improvement, but my tastebuds are heavily influenced by nostalgia, so I could be wrong. I’ve also heard of banana pudding made with Nutter Butter cookies, but haven’t tried it because I’d hate to end up on A&E’s “Intervention.”

While I’d never turn up my nose at Paula’s banana pudding, I’ll note that it IS made with boxed pudding mix (though thankfully NOT banana-flavored). I’ve tried my hand at a variety of banana pudding recipes over the years and my favorites are the made-from-scratch variety. Like my PerfectBite™, homemade custard takes a little more work, but it’s worth it. The next recipe I’m trying is from Evil Shenanigans, pictured at top.

What’s your favorite banana pudding recipe? Or if you don’t cook, where’s the best place to order it?

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101. Cream-of-Something Soup

27 Mar

I don’t know whether or not anyone has ever heated up Campbell’s cream-of-anything soup and actually eaten it straight. In a bowl. Maybe with some bits of saltines (or oyster crackers for the fancy folks). I, for one, have never done this. Nor have I witnessed it or even heard urban legend-ish tales about people who’ve done it. See, where I come from, cream-of-whatever soup isn’t actually soup. It’s an ingredient. I mean, you might as well dig in to a bowl of flour or down a shot glass of butter.

So how did cream-of-something soup become such a Southern staple? In a word: casseroles. I’m pretty sure casseroles existed before canned soup, but I can’t imagine how. Surely folks didn’t make homemade soup and then toss some combination of chicken and pasta or green beans and crispy onion rings into a 9 x 13 Pyrex dish to make a casserole. I mean, if you’re making homemade soup, well, wouldn’t that be considered a meal unto itself? And now that I’m thinking about it, how on earth did folks make green been casseroles before they started selling those onion rings in a can? Maybe some of my more seasoned readers can shed light on this mystery. I’d hate to have to do research, and by “research” I mean check Wikipedia.

If you’ve ever been to a dinner on the ground (or the non-denominational event known as a “potluck”), you’ve likely seen all manner of casseroles, most of which involve chicken. If there’s anything Southerners like almost as much as fried chicken, it’s casseroled chicken. But we don’t stop there. We’ll happily eat casseroled vegetables, too, as long as there’s cream-of-something soup involved (and also meat of some sort). And, of course, there are dessert casseroles, but thankfully, they’re mostly soup-free.

I can see now that the topic of casseroles is far too broad for one blog post (seeing as I was about to expound on the sweet potato casserole marshmallow vs. crunchy pecan topping dispute), so I’ll stick to discussing only those involving cream-of-something soup.

One time, a friend was telling me about one of her relatives who became quite indignant upon arriving at a potluck and discovering that someone had “stolen” her recipe for chicken and rice casserole. I said, “You mean that same chicken and rice casserole that every Southern person has known how to make since birth?” She said, “Precisely.”

For the benefit of folks who don’t have the recipe embedded in their DNA, here is my mom’s version, which she credited to one of her sisters. Apparently, providing vague directions is a genetic trait.

Chicken Dinner (Geneva)

Chicken breasts

1 can cream of mushroom soup

1 can cream of chicken soup

1 can cream of celery soup

1 large onion, chopped

1 stick butter

1 1/2 cups uncooked rice

1 1/2 cans water

salt and pepper

Mix all ingredients together and place in a large baking dish. Place chicken breasts on top and pat with butter. Bake at 325 for 3 hours.

I have made this dish many times over the years, but have yet to produce anything that tastes nearly as good as my mom’s version. It might have something to do with the vague directions or my inability to wait three hours for dinner to cook. Then again, it might have to do with all the tinkering I’ve done trying to make it healthier and/or a smaller serving size.


I do not recommend:

Using 98% fat free cream-of-something soup

Using only the cream-of-chicken soup

Using only the cream-of-chicken and cream-of-celery soup

Using skinless, boneless chicken breasts

Omitting the onion

Using only ½ a stick of butter

Adding way too much salt

The last time I made this, I followed the recipe (such as it is) exactly (except for jacking up the oven temperature to 450 or so). Still wasn’t as good as mom’s, but better than any previous attempts. And for the first time ever, I had half a casserole in the freezer. It was almost like having funeral food, except nobody had to die. Yay!

I’ll have more to say on casseroles later, but I just have to tell y’all that during my time in Seattle, I’ve attended not one, but TWO casserole potlucks. Which is two more than I’ve ever attended in the South, but I reckon that’s because at Southern potlucks there’s no need to add the word “casserole” to the invitation. It’s implied.

What’s your favorite use of cream-of-something soup?

Photo Credits:
Cream of mushroom soup ad available from Bamboo Trading, Chicken casserole from Campbell’s, Cream of chicken soup ad available from A Glass Collector.

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I’m Baaaaaaaack, Sort Of.

10 Aug

When I read Julia Child’s memoir “My Life in France,” one of the passages really struck a chord with me. Julia’s referring to cooking, but I think it’s more of general life lesson that might give Oprah an “aha moment.” Although, to be fair, it’s not too difficult to elicit an “aha moment” from Oprah. Probably a gerbil could do it. Or a hampster for sure. But not a Guinea pig. All they do is sit there and stare at you. In a creepy manner.

Anyhoo, here’s the passage wherein Julia discusses serving someone a terribly unappetizing meal:

“We ate the lunch with painful politeness and avoided discussing its taste. I made sure not to apologize for it. This was a rule of mine.

I don’t believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. When one’s hostess starts in with self-deprecations such as, “Oh, I don’t know how to cook…” or “Poor little me…” or “This may taste awful…” it is so dreadful to have to reassure her that everything is delicious and fine, whether it is or not. Besides, such admissions only draw attentions to one’s shortcomings (or self-perceived shortcomings), and make the other person think, ‘Yes, you’re right, this really is an awful meal!”

Oh, no, Mabel, your sweet potatoes
look very...well done.

And that’s why I won’t be apologizing for my extended absence from the blogiverse. Also, I just hate it when you start reading a new blog and the writer keeps apologizes profusely for their absence(s). Like I care. I just met you. So what if you missed the last Weight Watchers meeting/church service/whatever? I wasn’t there either!!

So welcome, new subscribers! Please allow me to offer a very brief explanation to my long-time readers. Here goes: Pinched nerve root in neck. Pain radiating down right arm and hand. Typing = Torture. Hence, no entries. On the mend now, but paying work takes up nearly all my limited typing time. Therefore, here are a few funny and/or tasty and/or tasteless distractions for y’all till I’m back for reals.

The HI-larious and insightful scribes over at Real Southern Men are offering “Twanglish Lessons,” my favorite of which, thus far, is “Cussemisms.” That is also my new favorite word, although “twanglish” was definitely a contender.

I am all about the inadvertently amusing advertising one occasionally runs across (or frequently when one lives in the South), so I just lurved Todd Pack’s recent entry “‘Used cows’ and other signs of the times.” I’m still kicking myself that I never bothered to stop and take a picture of my favorite sign right outside Jackson, MS. It was a giant banner that read “Cemetery Now Open!” Yes, folks, an exclamation point! So hurry on in, y’all!!

Ok, I may be getting too far into my English major roots, by mocking the mistakes of most likely good-hearted people, but one of my favorite sites is CakeWrecks. And my favorite types of wrecks are the appallingly misspelled or, most especially, the ones whose instructions are horribly misconstrued. Check out the cake that inspired the blog, but be prepared to spend hours on the site.

Not that I am one or either...

I realize that a Shakespeare link might permanently label me as a nerd, but this is amusing whether or not you’re a fan of the bard. And besides, if I was truly a nerd, I wouldn’t get all the amazing impressions Jim Meskimen does–from Jimmy Stewart to Harvey Keitel, George Clooney to Droopy Dog. What’s most impressive to me is how his Jimpressions so accurately correspond to the words in Clarence’s speech from Richard III. My favorite is his line by Simon Cowell referring to “such howling in my ears.” But now that I’m on the subject of impressions, I must mention my favorite improv impressionist, Kevin Spacey, as seen on Inside the Actors Studio. Even better than his impressions was his answer to one of James Lipton’s recurring series of final questions: “What is your favorite curse word?” Spacey: “Rat bastard.” Let’s all try to incorporate it into our repertoire, shall we? Ok, Baptists, you are excluded. Feel free to use the above-mentioned “cussemisms.”

And to end on a sweet note, I must direct y’all towards my delightful bloggy pal Christina’s Southern Sweet Tea Granita recipe at Dessert for Two. What’s better than sweet tea on a hot summer day? Right, iced sweet tea. But what’s better than that? Sweet tea slushie! Hooray!

Hope these amuse y’all. Stay tuned for more frequent entries in the hopefully not-too-distant future. Next up: Cream-of-Something-Soup, since it was the first runner up on the SSPL Facebook page survey. Thanks for the vote “Kim’s Sister,” or Jenna, as I call her.

What are some of your favorite web finds? (And by all means, feel free to vote for yourself!)

P.S. I am partial to funny cat videos.

Photo Credits: “Hey Y’all” sign available from SlippinSouthern at etsy; Well Done Yams by Walker Cleavelands, Flickr Creative Commons; “Heavens to Betsy” t-shirt available from SweeTee; “Math & Stuff” shot by me (rather poorly with phone); Sweet Tea Granita by Christina at Dessert for Two.

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99. Salads (Hold the Veggies, Please)

15 Jun

Cranberry salad by Unsophisticook.
Click for recipe.

When I lived in LA, I witnessed a whole heap of salad eating going on. Here in the Pacific Northwest, folks happily munch on greens of any variety, as long as they’re organically grown less than two miles from their home (Ok, maybe it’s 50, but who’s counting? Locavores, that’s who!). But I daresay there’s no place in the country–perhaps even the planet–where folks eat more salad per capita than the South. Now before y’all start to challenge my completely made up statistics, let me explain: When I say “salad,” I don’t mean a bowl of veggies lightly drizzled with dressing, perhaps topped with a sprinkling of walnuts or cranberries. Oh no. I’m referring to Southern-style salad, which hardly ever features any vegetable as the main ingredient.


So what IS in Southern salad? Well, there are two main categories: sweet or savory. Cool Whip features prominently in the former and mayonnaise in the latter.

Sweet salads include, but are not limited to: fruit salad, pistachio salad, cranberry salad, strawberry salad, blueberry salad (noticing a theme here?), and ambrosia and Waldorf salads (for the fancy people).

Many of the above salads also feature Jello (or Jello Instant Pudding) as a main ingredient. In fact, I think the rule is that as long as you add one other ingredient to Jello, you can call it a salad. The varieties of congealed salad are too many to list, but here are a few I found in my trusty Bell’s Best community cookbook: Apricot Jello Salad, Coca-Cola Salad, Lemon-Lime Congealed Salad, and Miss Dora Sills’ Golden Glow Salad (which involves lemon Jello, pineapples, and carrots. Yum?).

Pistachio salad by Country Door.
Click for recipe.



I should mention that the outlier of the bunch is Waldorf salad, which contains both fruit and mayonnaise. But don’t blame Southerners for that bizarre pairing. It came straight out of the hotel formerly known as the Waldorf Hotel (now Waldorf-Astoria) in New York City. I should also mention that my sister-in-law Karen taught me to make an AH. MAZE. ING. fruit dip using only a pack of cream cheese and a jar of marshmallow creme. Ok, so that’s not technically a salad, but close enough.

In the savory salad category, you’ll find Southern staples like chicken salad, tuna salad (usually referred to as “tuna fish”), potato salad, egg salad, and macaroni salad. This is where you’ll find the occasional vegetable such as celery, green onions, or pickles. Mostly, though, the recipes break down like this: Put a large portion of salad’s namesake ingredient in bowl, add large portion of mayonnaise, stir, and serve. If you’d like to read more about chicken salad, check out what Southern women want by my blog pal, reelingintheyears.

Chicken salad–Hey, who added the lettuce?



I’ll leave y’all with the recipe for one of my all-time favorite salads (also courtesy of my sister-in-law Karen). You might think it sounds more like a casserole than a salad, but it’s CALLED salad, which is good enough for me.

Hot Chicken Salad
2 cups chicken (cooked and cut up)
1 can water chestnuts
1 can pimentos, chopped
3/4 cup mayonnaise
1/2 cup almonds
2 T lemon juice
1/4 t celery salt
1/8 t pepper
3/4 cup grated cheddar cheese
1/2 can french-fried onion rings

Mix all ingredients together except cheese and onion rings. Mix cheese and onion rings together and place on top of mixture. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes.

What are your favorite “salads”?

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97. Chess Squares, Not to Be Confused With Checker Circles

2 Jun

Yep, folks, it’s time for another installment of inexplicably named desserts. This time, I give you “chess squares.” Are they perhaps shaped like chess pieces? Why, no. They are, in fact, shaped like squares (so at least the name is half correct). Might one eat these while playing chess? One might, if one didn’t mind one’s knights and pawns covered in sticky sweetness. Besides which, I don’t know about y’all, but there wasn’t a whole lot of chess playing going on where I grew up. I could be wrong, but I think Southerners are mostly checkers-type folks. Or dominoes. Or poker.

Chess squares are super-easy to make, but hard to keep around the house for long. Unless you happen to live with one of those “I don’t care for sweets” people. But I don’t think they allow more than one of these dessert-ally challenged people per household, so surely someone will pick up the slack, in the manner of Jack Sprat and his wife (and you all know which one you are).

I took a pan of chess squares to my book club brunch here in Seattle where they were snapped up pretty quickly (not as popular as piggies, but then what is?). Now that I think about it, maybe chess squares are best appreciated amongst the nerdy set…

A chess square by any other name...

One day, I was dining at the 5 Spot, and my friend Linda ordered something called “gooey butter cake.” When said dessert arrived at the table, I thought it looked vaguely familiar. Once I tasted it, I knew why. I thought, “That’s no gooey butter cake; that’s a giant, flat chess square.” Later I googled recipes for gooey butter cake and was not at all surprised when they were almost identical to my chess squares recipe:

Chess Squares

1 egg
1 box yellow cake mix
1 t vanilla
1 stick butter, melted and cooled

Mix above until crumbly. Spread in a buttered (or Crisco-ed, if you must) 9 x 13” pan. Work from the center and have the crust a little higher around the edges.

Filling:
8 oz. Cream cheese
3 eggs
1 box confectioner’s sugar

Beat well and pour into crust. Bake at 375 for 30 to 40 minutes or until brown.

In case you’re curious about the origins of gooey butter cake, one of my favorite foodie bloggers, CakeSpy, has a great post, which features a recipe with more detailed instructions. And if you’re into cute things (and if not, why??) check out the CakeSpy shop. However, you might want to proceed with caution if adorable illustrations of cupcakes make you want to sprint (and by sprint I mean drive) to the nearest bakery.

After a fair amount of Internet research, I’ve yet to find a recipe for CS aka GBC that doesn’t feature boxed cake mix as one of the main ingredients. Surely someone made a prototype before Betty Crocker came along. If anybody knows how to make this from scratch, please let me know.

Also, do y’all find it amusing that Southerners have given this dessert a highfalutin sort of name when everybody else calls it exactly what it is: gooey butter cake? Just seems counter-intuitive…

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95. Cheese Straws–For Eating, Not Drinking

20 Apr

Following the time-honored Southern tradition of misnaming things, these tasty, cheesy morsels somehow got labeled “straws.” You can’t sip a beverage through them. You would not use them as bedding for farm animals. And it would be nigh impossible to weave a basket out of them. Still, we call them “straws.” I reckon it sounds better than “kind of like an elongated cracker, but with a different texture, plus cheese.”

Even in the South, spotting cheese straws in the wild is an unusual (and therefore delightful) occurrence. I think folks are scared off by the high-priced tins of cheese straws offered by purveyors of Southern delicacies. Sure, they’re tasty, but I’d rather spend my hard-earned 20 bucks on something more substantial. Chocolate, for instance.

I’ve heard that cheese straws were the hit of the cocktail party circuit back in the day, but I never ran across any, seeing as Baptists don’t invite folks over for drinks all that often.

I think your best chance of finding a batch of cheese straws is to get yourself invited to a Southern girl’s bridal or baby shower. As an added bonus, you’re likely to happen upon a platter of piggies and the almost as rare but far more delicious Southern delicacy, petit fours.

The only time I’ve seen cheese straws north of the Mason Dixon was at an ad agency I worked for in Southern California. Someone brought a tin of them back from a vacation in the South. Oh wait, that was me, so I guess it doesn’t count. Note: The whole tin was devoured in record time.

I’ve only made cheese straws a few times, always for showers and always in Mississippi. Seeing as they’re not at all difficult to make, I really should whip up a batch soon and introduce them to my Yankee friends. I will probably use Homesick Texan’s recipe. Any of y’all planning a cocktail party?

If you’re at all curious about the history of cheese straws, check out Hoppin’ John’s well-researched post.

Photo Credits: Homemade cheese straws by Chez Loulou, Flickr Creative Commons; store-bought cheese straws available at The Everyday Gourmet.

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93. Fried Pickles–Chips, not Spears

12 Apr

Ever since I moved to Seattle, the 5 Spot has been one of my favorite restaurants. Along with their eclectic selection of American comfort foods, they feature special regional menus that change every few months. And it’s not just the menu that changes, y’all; they redecorate the whole restaurant (including the bathrooms). You’ll find all manner of kitch from the featured region like Mardi Gras beads and masks for New Orleans or the particularly impressive donkey and elephant paper mache mobiles for the Washington, D.C. theme. (I couldn’t resist the Marion Barry Cakes – pancakes covered in marionberry sauce and topped with candied macadamia “rocks” and a sugar crystal butter ball. Dee-Lish-Us!)

What does any of this have to do with fried pickles? Well, I’m getting to that. But first let me tell you about what goes on in the restrooms. Or one of the things, anyway. As soon as you walk in, you’ll hear a bad radio drama that will sound vaguely familiar. It will probably take a few moments to figure out what this is supposed to be, unless you cheat and look at the sign on the wall that tells you. The first few times I encountered this, I thought it a travesty that someone would butcher classics like “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” or “Charlotte’s Web.” Then I found out who was doing it: the 5 Spot staff. How loveably dorky!

Now to the fried pickles. Many years ago, I spotted fried pickles on the 5 Spot menu. “Hallelujah!” I shouted (inside my head), and promptly ordered a batch. Imagine my surprise when what arrived at my table were not crispy, delicious, deep fried dill pickle chips. No, folks, these were spears. Spears!! After a few mishaps such as this (I can’t even talk about the Fried Catfish Incident), I’ve learned not to order anything the 5 Spot tries to pass off as “Southern.” (With the exception of the fried chicken from their regular menu. It’s actually pretty good.)

If you’ve never had Southern-style fried pickles, you might be wondering why spears would be so appalling. After all, they’re still pickles. They’re still deep fried. Yes, yes, but spears and chips are worlds apart when it comes to pickle/batter ratio. In my mind, there’s no such thing as too much batter. I’m still waiting for the restaurant that will sell fried chicken, minus the chicken. Don’t get me wrong. I like chicken, but I LOVE the battered and deep fried skin.

Good news: They DO sell fried chicken skin.
Bad news: In Malaysia

Given the popularity of boneless, skinless chicken breasts, this ought to be a no-brainer. I mean, what do they do with all the leftover skin? It’s 2011, y’all. How is it possible that nobody has invented chicken rinds?

Some of the best fried pickles I’ve ever had came from Kismet’s, a little hole-in-the-wall Greek restaurant in Brandon, MS, of all places. If you like regular fried pickles and ranch dressing, wait till you try their version with Greek seasonings and feta dressing. Yum!

I wish I could tell y’all where you can get some tasty fried pickles around here. Alas, I do not know. The ones at The Counter are semi-decent, emphasis on “semi.” After a quick search, I found folks on Yelp raving about the fried pickles at The People’s Pub. Just when I was starting to get my hopes up, I learned that they serve SPEARS. Sorry, Seattle Yelpers, but y’all don’t know what’s good!!

Photo Credits, Flickr Creative Commons: Chips basket and pickle spears by Robyn Lee, chicken skin by Phil Lees.

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91. Chicken ‘n Dumplings–Like Fuzzy Slippers, but Tastier

29 Mar

If I ever happen to be condemned to die by lethal injection or perhaps a more cruel and unusual punishment such as being forced to listen to nothing but 50s music, I know exactly what I’d request for my last meal: chicken ‘n dumplings. Not just any old chicken ‘n dumplings. I’d have to insist on somebody’s grandma’s chicken ‘n dumplings.

Just as New England and Manhattan have distinctly different versions of clam chowder, Southerners have two kinds of chicken ‘n dumplings. Actually, the “chicken ‘n” part pretty much stays the same. But the dumplings are either flat or puffy. I’m not sure if it’s a regional issue or just a matter of personal taste. I, myself, prefer puffy dumplings, probably because I can’t quite fathom the distinction between a flat dumpling and a noodle.

One of my favorite things about going home used to be the chicken ‘n dumplings that Donnie would bring over. One of the perks of being a Baptist preacher’s kid is that folks are all the time dropping by with food. How this got started, I do not know. I’ve learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth and ask “why?” seeing as gift horses are easily spooked.

Years ago, my mom told Donnie (who’s female, by the way – in case you were wondering) how much I loved her chicken ‘n dumplings. Whenever I rolled into town, she’d bring over a big pot full of them. Hoo boy!

Hmm...I think not.

One year around Christmas time, Donnie called to say she was dropping something off, so I hastily pulled out a bowl and spoon in anticipation of her arrival. Ten minutes later, my mom goes to the door and comes back with a CD of Christmas music. What? No steaming pot of creamy chickeny dumplingy goodness? No cornbread? Not even so much as a lima bean? Nope. A CD. That’s all. Nothing else.

Later my mom called to thank Donnie for the CD and just so happened to mention how much we’d appreciated all those pots of chicken ‘n dumplings. She might have added how much I love them and how I never get them in Seattle and also that Donnie’s dumplings were my absolute, all-time favorite ever. Would you believe it worked?

I still feel a bit guilty for conspiring to flatter a senior citizen into making me some chicken ‘n dumplings. Nevertheless, I’m glad I did. And if I’d known they’d be the last I’d ever see of Donnie’s chicken ‘n dumplings, I would have stashed some in the freezer. Also, asked for the recipe.

In the last couple of years, I’ve attempted chicken ‘n dumplings a few times, without a whole lot of luck (a.k.a. skill). Whenever I’m hovering over the pot hoping for a miracle, I picture mom and Donnie looking down at me, shaking their heads and saying, “Bless her heart.”

Done right, chicken ‘n dumplings are so good, even vegetarians can’t pass them up. Ok, maybe not all vegetarians, but at least one. However, I should probably qualify this by mentioning that my sister’s friend David isn’t exactly a lentils and tofu vegetarian. Soon after he’d adapted the vegetarian lifestyle, he commented that he’d thought becoming vegetarian would make him lose weight. Someone kindly let him know that most vegetarians don’t subsist on Ho-Hos and Doritos.

One day, David was telling us about his grandmother’s legendary chicken ‘n dumplings. He and his family had enjoyed many a steamy delicious bowl of them. He figured if eating dead bird was the price he had to pay for a taste of those heavenly dumplings, so be it. Until…

Grandma's secret ingredient??

He happened to walk through the kitchen and caught his grandmother in the midst of dumpling making. What was that in her hands? A CAN of biscuits? THAT was the secret to pillowy dumpling deliciousness? Canned biscuits? It was enough to send him running back to traditional vegetarian fare such as French fries and Little Debbie snack cakes. Although, I imagine he ate at least one last bowl, for old times sake.

If anybody has a good chicken ‘n dumplings recipe, please let me know. Full disclosure: I’ve made them with canned biscuits and they turned out ok, but I’d prefer to make the dumplings from scratch.

Photo credit: Southern Style Chicken and Dumplings by Back to the Cutting Board: this will be the next recipe I try. Yum!

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89. Dinner on the Ground

24 Mar

The first two things you should know about dinner on the ground are: 1. It’s not dinner and 2. It’s not on the ground. Ok, actually, it IS dinner for Southerners, but I didn’t want to confuse folks who think of dinner as an evening meal. In the South, dinner is served once a week (at noon on Sunday) or possibly twice if there’s a holiday involved. All other midday meals are called “lunch” or occasionally “brunch” (for fancy people). The evening feeding event is called “supper.”

During my time as an expat Southerner, I’ve rarely heard the word “supper,” apart from that short-lived “supper club” trend that swept Los Angeles in the late 90s. But I try not to think of that, seeing as my only supper club experience involved stopping Gary Busey outside the bathroom to tell him, “I loved you in Carny!” and “Stay off the motorcycles!!” Yes, there might have been demon liquor involved. But as my mother always reminded me: I don’t have to tell everything I know.

While dinner on the ground may or may not be considered “dinner,” it is definitely NOT on the ground. Unless you are the type of person who doesn’t mind the occasional speck of dirt in your mashed potatoes or grass stains on your Sunday best.

I’m sure my non-Southern readers can’t wait to find out what this mysterious event actually is, so here goes: It’s a potluck meal after church on Sundays. I know, kind of a letdown – unless you actually GO to one.

I’m not sure how the tradition of dinner on the ground got started or how it evolved off the ground and onto folding tables. I suspect it had something to do with the desire to boost church attendance. Even the worst backsliders (and y’all know who you are) will endure a sermon and some hymn singing for an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord of Southern delicacies. For free, no less! (Or at the low, low price of a two-liter Coke or a pack of those crappy dinner rolls parked next to the hot dog buns at Kroger.)

Wrong!

Dinner rolls: Right!

As a general rule – based purely on my personal observations – the farther into the backwoods you go, the better the food’s going to be. I suspect there are some city churches that don’t even do dinner on the ground anymore, which just seems terribly sad.

If you want a true taste of Southern cuisine at its finest, try to finagle an invitation to a dinner on the ground. I’m partial to the Baptists, but I’m sure a Methodist spread might do. You’ll find a funeral food worthy display of casseroles, meat-flavored vegetables, and homemade Dixie sweets – with the added perk that nobody actually died.

In case you ever happen across a dinner on the ground, here are a few helpful pointers:

Whose green bean casserole will reign supreme?

1. Get in line early and often.

2. Do a little reconnaissance: know your options and save room for the best stuff.

3. If you encounter two or more versions of the same casserole, opt for the dish that’s most empty. Don’t hesitate to take the last serving or the person behind you might swoop in and beat you to it.

4. Avoid desserts with tell-tale signs of store boughtness like those dinky tin pie trays or cookies in a plastic tub. I like to make a sampler plate of everything that looks promising. But if there’s something special you want, get it before it’s gone.

5. Aim for the best seating option: a table with chairs. A chair without a table is trickier, but anything beats the last resort – the ground.

6. Don’t start fixing a to-go plate till everybody’s done eating. Wait till folks start retrieving their casserole dishes and then act quickly.

Dessert: YES!!

NO!!

This may sound counterintuitive considering how fond Southern people are of their food, but nothing makes a cook happier than returning home with an empty dish. And you can be sure folks are keeping tabs on which dishes moved the fastest. Leaving with a dish that’s still ¾ full is like being the last team member picked during P.E. class. But worse because who cares about P.E.?

Before you leave dinner on the ground in search of the nearest surface suitable for napping, make sure you find out who made your favorite dishes, praise them lavishly, and ask for the recipe. Don’t be surprised if you’re swept up in a spontaneous hug. Many Southerners equate food with love, so if you love what they cook, they’re sure to love you back.

What’s your favorite dinner on the ground delicacy?

Photos from Flickr Creative Commons: Green Bean Casserole by littlemaiba, Pecan Pie by leah1201l

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87. Pigs in a Blanket (aka Piggies)

17 Mar

My greatest accomplishment as a Southern Culture Ambassador has been converting Seattleites into piggie lovers. It was with great trepidation that I first showed up at my book/brunch club with a tray of piping hot piggies. I thought surely my sophisticated, erudite friends would scoff at the prospect of eating lil smokies and American cheese wrapped in store-bought, fresh-from-the-can crescent rolls. Lo and behold, not only did they not scoff; they scarfed. I might’ve even come home with an empty tray (and by “tray” I mean giant faux Tupperware container). I can’t remember, seeing as I was so stunned.

I don’t make piggies all that often due to my aversion to coming in contact with what can only be described as (squeamish folks might want to skip ahead) lil smokies juice. But when I do show up with a container of piggie deliciousness, I step aside quickly lest I be pounced upon like Pepé Le Pew’s long-suffering, would-be lady friend.

(Hmm. I’ve never thought about it, but the folks at Looney Tunes seem to endorse stalker behavior. But then they also encourage playing with TNT and running off the edges of cliffs, so it’s all relative, I suppose.)

So what do piggies taste like? Well, folks, they taste like hugging seldom-seen but always-cherished old friends. Like recalling collective memories that lead to hysterical laughter. Like dancing to “I Will Survive.” Like carefree college days. Like nostalgia. Like home. Also, meat, cheese, and bread – three of my favorite food groups.

My sister is the designated piggie maker at our annual Christmas party. I think she does it partly for the powerful admiration piggie making elicits. Mostly, I think she fears that if she didn’t make them, we might go piggie-less. The horror!!

I must confess that her self-appointed position of Piggie Maker in Chief has led to fights on more than one occasion – almost always in the refrigerated section at Kroger. But then, if you can’t make a scene in public, what’s the point of fighting?

This year, we decided to nip the Annual Angry Kroger Confrontation™ in the bud by orchestrating a fight in the car on the way over – role-playing style. (Of course we’ve never been to therapy. Why ever would you think that?)

It went something like this:

Jenna (playing me): Jenna! WHY are you buying so many crescent rolls? You don’t NEED that many crescent rolls!!

Me (playing Jenna): If I don’t buy eight thousand cans of crescent rolls, people will STARVE TO DEATH!

Jenna (playing me): Just get three cans! You don’t NEED more than three!

Me (playing Jenna): I’m getting four! I ALWAYS get four!

Jenna (playing me): WHAT-EVER! Get what you want. FINE. I don’t care. FINE!! WHAT-EVER!!!

Pause to represent the deafening silence that is our ride home from the grocery store, which will be followed by a private cooling off period/sulking time.

I’m delighted to report that it worked. We managed to go a whole visit without fighting once. We’d almost done that one time before, except that an observation that we hadn’t had a fight led to a heated argument. About what, I cannot recall.

A couple of weeks ago, I was at a going-away party for two of my favorite people in Seattle who are now two of my favorite people in Boston (despite the fact that they up and left me for better jobs. The nerve!).

Our host Jenny, who’s always generous with comfort food and hospitality had put out quite a spread, the star of which was a tray of piggies! (And by “tray” I mean cute serving dish.) I quickly popped one into my mouth and two thoughts immediately sprang to mind: 1. That’s one dee-li-ci-ous piggie! And 2. There are five left. How many can I get away with eating? A quick glance into the kitchen assured me that more were on the way. Yippie!

So long, lil smokies. Nice knowing you.

I’ve often toyed with the notion of making a fancy version of piggies, but can’t break from the “don’t fix what ain’t broke” school of thought. When I tasted Jenny’s piggies, I prepared myself for a paradigm shift. There’s no way that was a cresent roll from the plastic-wrapped-cookie-dough-and-canned-items-claiming-to-be-biscuits section of Kroger. But they WERE! However, the lil smokies had been replaced by lil smokie-sized chicken and apple sausages. Yum! Also, they were cheese-less, which is usually a deal breaker for me, but I have to admit I didn’t miss it. I know! Shocker!

One might argue that Jenny’s version weren’t technically “piggies” and ought to be called “chickies” or somesuch. I hate to break it to y’all (and hope I’m not reveling trade secrets), but the Holloway girls’ “piggies” would more accurately be called “cowies” or “beefies,” neither of which sounds terribly appetizing, although not as bad as what Geoff mistakenly calls them: “Puppies.”

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