Tag Archives: southern food

72. Tea Cakes (Sorry, No Frosting)

18 Feb

Photo by B. Williams
Flickr Creative Commons

My sister has a friend named Shannon, and every time her name comes up in conversation (always in a good way, Shannon!), my dad says, “Ask Shannon when she’s going to bring me those tea cakes.”

I really don’t know when or why Shannon promised to bring my dad tea cakes, but I find it endearing that he’s still holding on to the hope that they will one day be delivered. I would have lost faith decades ago.

What are tea cakes? Well, as I have mentioned, Southerners have a tradition of giving foods names that aren’t even remotely related to their ingredients (salads with no lettuce or nutritional value, casseroles that are actually desserts, etc). Tea cakes are another good example. They are not cakes. They contain no tea.

Caution: Do Not Dip.
Photo by Chad M.
Flickr Creative Commons


“But wait,” you might think. “Perhaps they’re meant to be dunked in tea.” Alas, you would be wrong. No Southerner in his/her right mind is about to dunk any food item into a glass of iced tea.

You might think “What about hot tea?” Oh, no. No, no, no, no. In the South there are only two kinds of tea: sweet or unsweet, both of which are iced.

So what are tea cakes? Most folks would probably call them cookies, seeing as they’re round discs of dough baked on a cookie sheet. But they don’t have the crunchy or chewy texture that’s usually associated with cookies. I guess one could argue that they’re sort of cake-like. More specifically like a sliver of cake that’s been left on the counter to dry out for a few days.

I, myself, think of them as mutated sugar cookies.

I’m doing a terrible job of conveying the deliciousness of tea cakes, but that’s part of my “more for me” tactic.

Apart from Southern bake sales and the occasional lemonade stand, you will probably never happen upon tea cakes for sale. But they’re easy and – dare I say – fun to make at home. If my dad ever gives up on Shannon, I’m sure he could make these himself.

I haven’t made tea cakes in about a hundred years, but I think this recipe from the Bell’s Best Cookbook is the one I usually use, judging by the amount of sugar in the crease. I’ll reproduce it exactly as it appears then add my commentary. It’s on page 328 for those following along at home. The recipe is listed as “Old Fashion Tea Cakes,” not to be confused with “Old Fashioned Tea Cakes,” which precedes it on the page.)

Old Fashion Tea Cakes
2 whole eggs
3/4 cup sugar
2/3 cup of Wesson oil
2 cups self-rising flour
2 tsp. vanilla

Beat eggs with fork; stir in oil and vanilla. Blend in sugar until mixture thickens. Blend in flour and mix well. Put in refrigerator to chill 3 hours. Drop by teaspoonfuls 2 inches apart onto ungreased cookie sheet. Flatten with greased bottom of glass dipped in sugar. Bake at 400 degrees for 8 to 10 minutes. Remove from cookie sheet immediately and place on paper towel. Keep tightly closed in Tupperware to preserve crispness.

Attributed to: Mrs. M.E. (Annie Bell) Sudduth, Jackson – North Council

My notes:
• I don’t think these will self destruct if you choose a different brand of vegetable oil or even replace the oil with butter as I am usually inclined to do.

• If you don’t have self-rising flour, add 1 tsp baking soda and ¼ tsp salt per cup of all-purpose flour.

• I don’t have the patience for chilling dough. A few minutes in the freezer usually works for me. Results may vary.

• I cover the bottom of the glass with butter, but if you like grease, go for it.

• I don’t know why on earth you’d transfer tea cakes to a paper towel. I’d use a cooling rack or, in a pinch, a plate.

• I don’t have any name-brand Tupperware. I use the cheap-ass kind from Ziplock or Glad. They work just fine.

Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD! Wish I were there to bake you some tea cakes!!

Do you have a good tea cake recipe? Please share!

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70. Red Velvet Cake (Accept No Substitutes)

16 Feb

Photo by Sharyn Morrow
Flickr Creative Commons

It might surprise y’all that I’ve EVER met a cake I didn’t like, but it’s true. And before you call me a blasphemer and start extolling the virtues of this traditional Southern delicacy, allow me to explain:

I grew up eating a fair amount of red velvet cake, seeing as it turns up everywhere from church socials to meetings of the Local Heathens Society. (Yes, I just made that up, but it sounds like just the sort of group somebody ought to start.)

Barring the occasional groom’s cake, most red velvets I sampled were homemade, probably using somebody’s grandmother’s hand-me-down recipe. Or in a pinch, consulting the recipe book of the (name of town) First Baptist Church. (Yes, these actually exist. I’ll go into more detail in a future post, so stay tuned.) So for the first 24 years of my life I LOVED red velvet cake. Then I moved to Southern California, and later, Seattle.

I’m here to tell you that there is not one good red velvet cake to be found in either of those places, or anywhere in between. I reckon you probably won’t find decent red velvet cake west of Texas or north of Virginia, but I haven’t conducted scientific research. And don’t intend to.

Yummy? Probably.
Red Velvet? No.
Photo by awhiskandaspoon
Flickr Creative Commons

Some say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. If so, someone ought to sic the folks with the white jacket on me, because I cannot resist trying red velvet cake whenever I encounter it here. And I am ALWAYS at best disappointed, at worst disgusted. Even when I purchase said cake from bakeries/cupcakeries I know and trust. This means you, Cupcake Royale (disappointed) and Macrina Bakery (disgusted. Couldn’t even finish Macrina’s version. And I have NEVER disposed of a half-eaten cupcake. To be fair, I had never before disposed of any half-eaten Macrina item. They make AWESOME cookies, cakes, breads, pastries, etc. Which is why I was so shocked at the quality, or lack thereof, of their red velvet cake.)

So I used my friend Linda’s Golden Globes/craft-making party as an excuse to attempt my own red velvet cupcakes. I spent a fair (ok, indecent) amount of time comparing recipes, trying to determine what might be wrong about Yankee velvet cake, so that I didn’t end up disappointing myself (or–as Southerners say–myOWNself).

After the cupcakes were baked and cooled and properly frosted, I tasted one. Hallelujah! I now know at least one place to get honest-to-goodness Southern red velvet cake in Seattle.

My ought-to-be-patented
recipe filing system

I used this recipe for the cake (But used 3 tablespoons of cocoa instead of the chintzy 1 teaspoon the recipe calls for. Actually, I probably used close to 4 T, adding a bit at a time till the batter tasted right.)

I frosted the cupcakes with:

Cream Cheese Frosting

8 oz. cream cheese (softened)
1 stick butter (softened)
2 tsp vanilla extract
2 cups powdered sugar
¼ t salt

Directions: Use the mixing appliance of your choice to cream butter and cream cheese with powdered sugar. (On low at first so you don’t sugar coat the entire kitchen). When sugar is incorporated, switch mixer into high gear. If you are mixing by hand, stop. Go to your nearest mart store and pick up a hand mixer, already.

Add vanilla and beat until the frosting reaches your ideal spreading consistency. If too dry, add a splash of milk. If too wet, add more powdered sugar.

Finally, add salt and beat some more. (See why I told you to get yourself a mixer?) I add additional salt a pinch at a time till the frosting loses that hurt-your-teeth-sweet quality.

Frost and enjoy! Save the beaters and near-empty bowl for someone you love who loves to lick the frosting. You love yourself, right?

Sadly, I didn’t photograph my pretty, delicious cupcakes, as I was running late (shocker!). I guess I’ll have to bake them again…

Everyone enjoyed the cupcakes, and I was most impressed when my friend Julie (who’s from Texas and presumably knows red velvet cake) went for seconds.

Epilogue:
I was picking up a sandwich the other night and noticed a fetching-looking red velvet cake (complete with Valentine’s themed heart on top). I’m happy to report that I was not lured in. Maybe I’m learning from my mistakes, after all.

Also, if you’d like a more in depth analysis on RVC, check out the taste test conducted by The Bake More blogger.

Do you have a go-to recipe for red velvet cake? Or know of a good place to buy a tasty premade one?

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66. (Not to be confused with 666): Deviled Eggs

4 Feb

Photo by Debbie R
Flickr Creative Commons

One day when my sister and I were in an antique store, she picked up a deviled egg plate and said, “Since I’m Southern, I probably should have one of these.” Alas, neither of us purchased one. Fast forward 20 years: I spot a nice glass deviled egg plate at Goodwill for $5. But did I buy it? Oh, no, I did not. Then a couple of weeks later I run across that SAME glass deviled egg plate at an antique store and they wanted $50 for it.

Right now you are probably thinking that I spend far too much time rooting through people’s old stuff. And I haven’t even mentioned my new estate sale obsession…But I digress…

I never actually tried a deviled egg until I was well into my thirties. I grew up Southern Baptist, for whom eating Satanic snack food is a sin almost on par with dancing. Ok, I made that up. Baptists eat heaps of deviled eggs (especially around Easter). But the sinful dancing part is true, in case y’all missed “Footloose.”

Why are these eggs brown around the edges? Because they're actually cookies! Photo by distopiandreamgirl
Flickr Creative Commons

I’ve kind of always had an aversion to yolks, and the only way I would eat eggs was scrambled until… My fellow Southern expats, Chad (Tennessee) and Leah (Georgia) had a brunch one Easter and there was (of course) a tray of deviled eggs. People seemed to be enjoying them immensely, and I started to feel left out – actually, the “left out” feeling began when the conversation turned to triathlons. Anyhow, I tried one. And another. And another. “Deviled eggs!” I thought. “Where have you been all my life?” Deviled eggs: “Duh! Only every gathering you’ve ever been to in the South.”

I was an immediate convert, an evangelist even. I probably went through a whole carton of deviled eggs before the novelty wore off or the cholesterol shot up. These days, I don’t make them at home much, but am always delighted to happen upon them out in the wild.

So far, I haven’t found any that tasted as heavenly as Leah’s. But I’ve used Paula Deen’s recipe, which is a pretty good approximation.

Now if only I could find a suitable deviled egg plate on which to serve them…

Paula Deen’s Traditional Southern Deviled Eggs

Ingredients
7 large eggs, hard boiled and peeled
¼ cup mayonnaise
1 ½ TBSP pickle relish (Paula specifies sweet; I prefer dill.)
1 tsp yellow mustard (French’s style, not fancy pants Gray Poupon)
Salt and pepper to taste
Paprika, sweet gherkin, or pimentos for garnishing (optional)

Directions
Halve 7 eggs lengthwise. Remove yolks and place in a small bowl.
Mash yolks with a fork and stir in mayonnaise, pickle relish, and mustard. Add salt and pepper, to taste.
Fill egg whites evenly with yolk mixture. Garnish with paprika, pickles and pimentos. Store covered in refrigerator.

Do you have a favorite deviled egg recipe? Please share!

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64. Nabs–The Protein Bar of the South

2 Feb

In most Southern households (at least the ones I’ve visited), you’ll find anywhere from two to a dozen packs of nabs, which is what we call any brand of individually wrapped cracker and cheese combos. I don’t know whether people buy them from the grocery store or if fairies deliver them at night, but they’re always there.

Nabs are what you eat when you’re kind of hungry, but not enough to eat an actual meal. Or if you ARE hungry enough to eat an actual meal, but the meal you’re fixin’ to eat isn’t fixed yet. What Southern child hasn’t heard his/her mother say, “Here, have some nabs” or more frequently, “Eat you some nabs”?

Back in the day, I used to like the kind with a cream cheese concoction on captain’s wafers, but peanut butter on cheese crackers would do in a pinch. I used to work with someone who said if you ate the latter variety while drinking a root beer, it tasted like oatmeal. Which begs the question, “Wouldn’t you be better off actually eating oatmeal?”

I hadn’t encountered nabs in years until my nephew Tray came out for a visit with a 12-pack of nabs in tow. He forgot to take them when he left, so they took up residence on the laundry table in the basement for months, till I finally tossed them. In retrospect, I probably should have stashed them in a box labeled “In Case of Apocalypse.” Most likely, they would still be good.

What kind of nabs do you like best?

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62. Krispy Kreme–Kalories Be Damned!

31 Jan

Photo by Anne Brink
Flickr Creative Commons

Donut eaters tend to fall into two camps: those who like the cake variety and those who prefer the glazed kind. Guess which ones Southerners tend to prefer. Hint: glazed. And where’s the best place to get a glazed donut? Krispy Kreme.

When I was growing up, the closest Krispy Kreme was on the Gulf Coast, three hours away. I wouldn’t say we traveled there just for the pastries, but if you’ve seen the “beaches” in Gulfport, you’d know we weren’t there to frolic in the non-existent surf. Looking back, I can’t recall why we ever went to the coast. It’s not like we couldn’t get tacky souvenirs and sunburns at home. But I digress.

I can’t remember eating my first Krispy Kreme, but I’m pretty sure the heavens parted and angels sang in chorus. Biting into that melt-in-the-mouth confection of fat, sugar, and dough, I may well have swooned. After that, all other donuts might as well have been rice cakes. Ok, not really. But I sure did love Krispy Kreme.

Photo by Lori Federico
Flickr Creative Commons

The best thing about Krispy Kreme is their neon “Hot Now” sign, when it’s on. Seeing as donuts are typically made long before sunrise, where else am I ever going to get a hot, fresh one? Ok, yes, I could make one myself, if I could ever figure out how to dispose of used cooking oil.

After I left Mississippi, they opened a Krispy Kreme in Jackson, where you can not only get donuts hot and fresh, you can watch them being made. The donuts float along a little river of oil, travel through a waterfall of icing, and ride a conveyor toward a Krispy Kreme worker ready to box them up. If I recall correctly, they’ll even let you pluck your own donut off the conveyor. It’s like a low-rent version of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Sadly, no oompa loompas.

Photo by Scott Ableman
Flickr Creative Commons

Fast forward to 1999 when Krispy Kreme infiltrated Hollywood. Everybody on every TV show or movie was eating Krispy Kremes. It was driving me mad because I was living in Seattle with nary a Krispy Kreme in sight. I even went so far as to send an email to KK’s headquarters asking them when they would: A. Build a Krispy Kreme in Seattle or B. Lay off the product placement already. They sent me a courteous reply saying they had no plans to open a franchise in my area anytime soon. ACK!

So I left Seattle (not solely over the Krispy Kreme issue, but it did factor in…). When I came back in 2002, lo and behold there was a Krispy Kreme within driving distance. Hallelujah.

I now live just a few miles from a Krispy Kreme, and while I will occasionally swing by for an original glaze, I have to say my infatuation with them has been steadily eroding over the last few years. I’m now inching closer and closer into cake donut territory.

Sadly, the nearest Top Pot is fifteen minutes away…

What’s your favorite Krispy Kreme variety?

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60. Groom’s Cakes (Even the Ones in Poor Taste Still Taste Good)

20 Jan

Bee-u-ti-ful groom's cake
by maggie valley club

I just recently found out that groom’s cakes are a Southern thing. Here’s how it happened:

Me: What kind of groom’s cake are y’all having?

Bride, groom and everybody at the engagement party table: Huh?

What? People get married without a groom’s cake? Seriously? The bride gets the venue she wants, the flowers she wants, the music she wants, the photographer (and the 18 million pictures) she wants, the wedding cake she wants, and so on, and the groom can’t even get a lousy chocolate sheet cake?

C’mon people!

Supposedly, in the tradition’s early days, the groom’s cake wasn’t eaten at the wedding. Slices were packaged and sent home with single girls who would put them under their pillows to induce dreams of their future husbands. Right. Like a Southern single lady with post-wedding blues is going to let a perfectly good slice of cake go to waste? Never gonna happen.

These days, the cakes are tailored toward the grooms tastes and/or interests. I’ve never actually witnessed first hand a cake shaped like a Lazy Boy recliner, TV remote, or bottle of Jack Daniels, but surely they exist. As far as flavors go, well, they don’t go far: nearly every groom’s cake I’ve encountered was chocolate.

Steel Magnolias: The movie that launched
a thousand red velvet armadillos

“Steel Magnolias” features the beat-all, end-all groom’s cake: an armadillo-shaped confection featuring a red velvet interior. Yum!

I think the groom’s cake is an excellent addition to any wedding reception (but then my motto is “the more cake, the merrier”). However, clearly, not all grooms ought to have free reign at the bakery, as evidenced by the ill-conceived collection posted on cakewrecks.com.

Did you have a groom’s cake at your wedding? What kind?

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58. Chicken Fried Steak (The Culinary Equivalent of Sweatpants)

17 Jan

Photo by goldbirds, Flickr Creative Commons

What could be better than a tender, fire-kissed slab of steak? Hello! A battered and deep fried slab of steak. Before you start thinking that Southern folks dunk a big ole T-bone into tempura, I should say that the sort of steak that’s chicken fried is actually cube steak. I couldn’t tell you why a pounded-flat piece of beef is called “cube.” I, myself, have learned to live with the mystery.

When dining in the South, you’ll rarely see a chicken fried steak served without its three bffs, mashed potatoes, gravy, and biscuits. However, when it comes to gravy, there are two distinct camps: white gravy folks and brown gravy folks. Both argue that their version is the only “true” Southern gravy. I really don’t see why it matters. I mean, has any Southerner ever turned down gravy of any kind? (Apart from my brother’s dyed-green Christmas gravy, which accompanies his dyed-red mashed potatoes.)

For me, there’s no better comfort food than chicken fried steak. So it’s probably for the best that you can’t really get “authentic” chicken fried steak around these parts. Case in point: One of my friends from Mississippi was passing through town, and we went to the Icon Grill where I’ve enjoyed many a delicious meal. But…Ricky opted for the chicken fried steak. I think I warned him “I do not think that word means what you think it means…” Sure enough, his plate arrived, and we both stared at it going “hmmmm,” not to be confused with “mmmmm.” It didn’t really resemble any CFS I’ve ever encountered, besides which it was served with chow chow. Even if chow chow is supposedly a Southern delicacy, I’ve never actually seen it in person, much less tried it. I should mention that I greatly enjoyed my meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

Photo by the delightful homesicktexan.blogspot.com

Some Southern restaurants serve not only chicken fried steak, but also chicken fried chicken, which sounds like it was named by the department of redundancy department. But no! These are completely different dishes (except that they’re both fried and are also both chicken). Regular fried chicken is served on the bone whereas chicken fried chicken is a boneless breast that’s been pounded flat in the manner of the above-mentioned sirloin. However, I should point out that it’s not called cube chicken. I don’t think it has a name it all, so let’s call it Tweety.

If any of my fellow Southern expats know where to get a good chicken fried steak in Seattle, please let me know. And for all my MS peeps, I’d love to hear about your favorite CFS joint. Caution: if you say that you, yourself, make the best CFS around, I will show up at your place for dinner (aka supper). Not today…not tomorrow…but someday…

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56. Waffle House (Kind of Like IHOP without the Pancakes)

15 Jan

Photo by gingher, flickr creative commons

On the ride home from the airport to my dad’s house, I’m always astounded by the number of dining establishments that have cropped up over the years. When I was growing up, you could count the nearby restaurants on one hand (and have fingers left over.) If I recall correctly, there were three: Sonic, the locally owned Chuck Wagon, and Waffle House. For some reason, we never went to Sonic. Perhaps Baptists are offended by girls delivering food wearing roller skates, seeing as roller skating could be a gateway to dancing.

On many a Sunday evening after church, the congregation would re-congregate at the Waffle House. I reckon Baptists are in favor of breakfast for dinner, but who isn’t?

Don’t let the name fool you: the menu at Waffle House isn’t limited to waffles. But in general, my advice is to order whatever food the restaurant’s named after. That’s probably your best chance for a decent entrée. But, hey, you’re a grown up. Order whatever you like. I’m not the boss of you.

The cool thing about Waffle House was that it was the first place I ever encountered a jukebox. To this day, I still get a little goosebumpy when I happen upon a working jukebox. Unless said jukebox is in a 50’s themed establishment, because I have a hate-hate relationship with 50’s music. Hello! I’m nostalgic for the 80’s! Hint, hint, restauranteurs.

Waffle House was an occasional treat as a kid, but when I hit college, I developed a deeper relationship with the place. Two reasons: it was cheap, and it was close by. Also, did I mention it was cheap?

Yep, pretty much how I remember it... Photo by Angela Layana, Flickr Creative Commons

When “dining” at Waffle House, I always enjoyed hearing the ancient waitresses hollering out orders for hashbrowns that were “scattered, smothered and covered.” I’m going to have to look up what that means. Ok, according to the Waffle House site, the options have expanded from the original “scattered” (spread on the grill), “smothered” (with onions) and “covered” (with cheese) to include: “chunked” (with ham), “diced” (with tomatoes), “peppered” (with jalapeño peppers), “capped” (with mushrooms), “topped” (with chili) and “country” (with sausage gravy). You can even order them “all the way” (with all available toppings) though I imagine that would have you running all the way to the bathroom.

I seem to recall ordering chicken fried steak and eggs, but sadly that’s not on their current menu. You can still get t-bone, rib-eye or NY strip, but really, what’s the point of steak if you’re not going to deep fry it? Just kidding. Sort of.

One other distinguishing feature of Waffle House is that they used to offer a slice of pecan pie topped with your choice of A. cheddar cheese or B. a scoop of butter. Do y’all remember that? Or was it a nightmare induced by watching Paula Deen before falling asleep?

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A Belated Holiday Post: Deep-Fried Turkey.

13 Jan

by Henry Alva, Flickr Creative Commons

As y’all know, I’m generally in favor of deep fried foods, but you’ve got to draw a line somewhere. I humbly suggest we draw it at turkey.

It would be one thing if you wanted to cut up a Butterball and batter it, but whose idea was it to just drop the whole dang turkey in a vat of boiling oil? What’s the point?

Fried turkey aficionados will tell you that deep frying produces a bird that’s moist and delicious without being greasy. I will tell you that I’ve tasted deep fried turkey alongside oven-baked turkey and the only difference I could discern was the extra hundred or so dollars spent on oil and a turkey-frying contraption.

The upside of deep fried turkey is that it frees up oven space for the requisite sweet potato casserole, dressing (not stuffing: Southerners don’t bother with actually stuffing the poultry), rolls, and green bean casserole. The downside is, well, it’s difficult to enjoy dinner when your house is burning down.

Even I, a card-carrying member of the Safety? Schmafety! Society, must confess to feeling uneasy seeing folks frying turkeys in the garage around a bunch of flammable materials. Cars, for instance. Yeah, folks know you’re supposed to fry turkeys outside, far from kids, pets, and other wildlife. But that’s also far from the kitchen. Besides which, it might be raining.

Despite all the exploding turkey stories you hear, misguided fry masters are STILL dropping half-thawed poultry into boiling oil. I don’t imagine they do it more than once, but to paraphrase P.T. Barnum, there’s a nitwit born every minute. Here’s hoping you aren’t married to one. I was going to say “here’s hoping you aren’t related to one,” but realized the odds for that are very, very slim.

Do you enjoy deep-fried turkey more than the regular variety? What am I missing?

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53. R.C. Cola–Good Enough for Me?

11 Jan

by Dewayne Neeley, Flickr Creative Commons

Looking for the perfect drink to wash down that Moon Pie? How about an R.C. Cola? It’s been so long since I’ve had one, I can’t even remember what they taste like. Probably like the love child of Coke and Pepsi with a dab of Dr. Pepper. But I could be way off base.

What I do remember about R.C. Cola is that you’re supposed to drop a handful of peanuts in the bottle before taking your first sip. Kind of like the lime in a Corona bottle, except way different seeing as the lime doesn’t generally make a break for the bottle neck with every sip. I’m surprised more people haven’t choked on runaway peanuts.

How did the peanut in R.C. Cola thing get started? I suspect like many Southern traditions laziness (er…efficiency) was involved. Why go to all the trouble of getting out plates and glassware when you can enjoy a handy lunch from a bottle? With protein, even! It’s a Southern-style smoothie.

In case you’re wondering, R.C. stands for “Royal Crown.” Why a bunch of Southerners would go for a drink with a dubious aristocratic heritage I couldn’t tell you. Except that some of us do like to put on airs (or better yet, tiaras).

I wouldn’t be surprised if many of y’all haven’t heard of R.C. Cola. (It might get a little street cred if they’d change the name to “RCC” in the manner of KFC and PBR.) But surely you’ve had a Nehi once or twice. Grape was the best back in the day. I don’t know that I’d be so eager to drink grape soda now. Unless it was mixed with Everclear. Note to Washington State Liquor Control Board: Give us Purple Passion. Please!

For me, the most memorable thing about R.C. Cola was their early 70s “Me and My R.C.” campaign. Who remembers the jingle? Sing it with me: “Me and my R.CCCCCCC. Me and my R.C. What’s good enough…for other folks…ain’t good enough for me!”

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