Poppin' Fresh

A few weeks ago I called my friend Emily. I'd been thinking about my Aunt Cissy's Poppin' Fresh donuts, and I was determined to give them a try. She gave me the support of a good friend and said when I wanted to fry she would be available as a taste tester. When the night arrived, I was too excited for my own good and cooked a deliciously heavy meal for us before I even fried the donuts. We had to take a little "breather" before I got up and poured the oil.

We pulled out the pan and poured in the oil. Now, I like the kitchen, and until now, I had yet to actually fry something. I don't own a Fry Daddy. (And I call myself Southern?!) I've never made french fries, nor have I fried shrimp or catfish - all things I grew up with. I still haven't even managed to talk myself into frying pork chops - of course that might just be my piece de resistance. If I can give myself a few dozen times to get it wrong, I might just make Cranmommie proud one day.

So I let the vegetable oil flow into the pan. Emily and I are laughing the entire time. (Am I really doing this?)

When I was a little girl, I would go play with Aunt Cissy and Uncle Clarence. Aunt Cissy let me play in the kitchen with her. We would fry poppin' fresh donuts. Every Valentine's Day we made a heart-shaped strawberry cake for my class. Aunt Cissy would make her chicken salad and pack sandwiches. We would drive out on the Natchez Trace and find a little spot with picnic tables. She would cuff her pants up, and we would wade in the creek waters while Uncle Clarence watched. Aunt Cissy also made meat pies and crawfish pies! (Wowser) These are things I must absorb very soon. They are too precious, too delicious and much too deep and happy a memory to be lost. These are recipes to be learned. And soon.

But for now we are pouring vegetable oil in the pan. And Emily and I are definitely laughing. I keep hovering my hand over the oil. Blondie here can't decide when the oil is hot enough. I've pulled out my butter-me-not canned biscuits and formed five little donuts. I passed Emily the condensed milk, and she prepared our icing bath.

We were laughing again in no time. I put the first donut in a little prematurely. We are talking about Rachel Ray and the oil rippling and how were we supposed to know it was ready? Slowly but surely it was time to flip the first donut. It was a rotten crispy (oily, fried) mess. We threw it on the paper towel and waited a couple of minutes. Shortly, there were tiny bubbles forming on the bottom of the pan. It was looking prime. I started feeling gutsy and put two little donuts in this time.

And the oil began to sing...

Our donuts fried up just like I remembered. While I'm flipping, Emily is picking at the first sad little donut. I'm insisting she use the icing. She's saying she likes it just fine without. I'm carrying on about doing it Aunt Cissy's way.

After my four little donuts were fried up just right, we let them roll around in the icing bath and took them to the Man Cave. Emily was ahead of me - she took out the first one. From her reactions, they weren't too bad. I'm still staring at the donuts. Can I remember how they tasted? Did I do it right? How disappointed am I going to be emotionally when this doesn't taste right? Why do I care this much?

First bite. Here goes nothing. And it is absolute magic. I can't even finish the donut. I put it back down on the plate. It is absolutely, positively a taste from childhood. I told Emily it didn't matter if they were good or bad - they tasted exactly like I wanted them to, exactly like I remembered them.

My mom called in the midst of the revelry. She encouraged me to call Aunt Cissy which I did. It has been a long time since I was a little girl sitting on the counter watching her fry donuts. She would fry the donuts, and I would sneak spoonfuls of powered coffee creamer. (Yes, I was strange - still am.) And when I called Aunt Cissy, I felt like a little girl again. It was such a treat. I even got a little giddy and excited when I talked to her. She laughed and more than once told me, "You are a funny girl."

We are planning on making heart-shaped strawberry cakes at Christmas. It is terribly out of season, but it is well worth the memory. Aunt Cissy doesn't know it yet, but she is going to have to show me her meat and crawfish pies too.

My poppin' fresh experience was much more than a success. I could not have imagined that they would literally take me back to a counter on Hurricane Road in Natchez. I was instantly transported back in time when we rode on Uncle Clarence's back anywhere we went, a time when we would put a blanket in the wheelbarrow and take a "ride". We would even climb down to the bayou in their backyard and look for arrowheads.

I'm typing this now and fighting tears. I didn't realize the donuts - or writing this entry - would bring back so many memories. And they are very good memories. I am thinking now that as I walk through the Carolina woods and look at the trees and listen to the birds I am reliving one of the pleasures I loved when I was little and forgot when I grew up.

It's been 10 years this year - the night of my birthday - that Uncle Clarence passed away. He always had Juicy Fruit gum in his desk drawer and a terrific smile on his face. He packed us around on his back like we were nothing more than hummingbirds. He and Aunt Cissy exposed us to the woods and the great outdoors. They asked us to love nature like they did.

Daddy laughed the first time I told him I was going to take a hike in the Carolina mountains. I guess Aunt Cissy and Uncle Clarence's love of the outdoors was not completely lost on this little girl.

The Casa Kitchen

It is that lovely time of year - the time when friends travel and I get to house sit. While this may not sound ideal to some, I adore this time in the Casa. I pack up all my duds and take a week (sometimes more) to indulge in the luxury of a GORGEOUS kitchen. (Side note: I also get to enjoy the US Open in the Man Cave!)

I don't necessarily plan what to cook while I'm here. I just know that all my cooking and baking dreams can temporarily come true in a more beautiful space. Don't get me wrong. My little one-bedroom-apartment kitchen does the trick. Where there is a will there is a way, so the things I want to accomplish get done in my kitchen. When open the door to the Casa and see the granite counter tops and gas stove sparkling before me, I enter my own little paradis - even if it is temporary. In some sick sense, it is pretty close to Main Street USA in Disney World.

Here's the problem this year. I've put myself back on Weight Watchers. I'm not being fanatical; that much I can promise you. In the past, I have somehow managed to survive on the lowest possible points for weeks on end. I wasted away - it was lovely. Now, I'm just trying to stop gorging all the time. I like to cook, to eat, to bake, to drink. The eating deadly on the hips, but the cooking so soothing for the soul. Unfortunately, my soul feels a little fluffy, so it's in the backseat on this trip.

It all boils down to these questions: how do I utilize this kitchen? Let it see the glorious aromas and flavors? Create in it the plates that it deserves? Oh and manage to be aware of Points at the same time? I must be losing my mind.

This morning, I stared at one of my sugar cookie recipe for some time. There is a cookie I am trying to create/recreate. I need to transfer the taste and texture from my head and onto the baking sheet. I thought about taking this opportunity to make dozens of cookies and attempt to figure out the precise recipe. Then I considered my hips. I decided for now I'd be happier if I stuck to the Points.

So I pulled out the WW cookbooks, and a little notepad came out with it. I'd written down (who knows how long ago) the next five recipes I wanted to make. I laughed as I realized I'd not made a single one of them. I followed my own instructions and pulled out the corresponding cookbook to the first recipe on the list. I opened to page 117 to find Chicken with Rice and Tomatoes. I am sure the initial draw for me was the sundried tomatoes and the garbanzo beans. (Yum!)

The making of the dish wasn't bad at all. In fact, when you are using a WW recipe, it seems a little naughy to brown chicken. To be honest, I strayed from the recipe a bit. I left the skin on the chicken parts. (Seriously? Naked chicken thighs and legs? Sorry - can't do it.) I also had long grain rice instead of the brown they used. I couldn't be bothered to pick up more. I really enjoy prep work, but there wasn't too much chopping this time around. Browning the chicken made me happy enough.

In the end, the chicken was perfectly tender. I'm not sure that I salted it enough while I was browning. The rice was flavorful though not moist, and the chicken was moist though not flavorful. Go figure.

Will I make it again? I'm not sure. If I do, I will probably add some white wine to compensate for the lack of liquid necessary for fluffy rice and hopefully enhance the flavor. It is a pretty dish but not a show stopper in the taste department. I suppose that is just one more off the list. It isn't bad at all, but I won't be dying to make it again. What a bust in the Casa kitchen. Five more nights here. What to make next?

Broccoli Bread

While in hot pursuit of a casserole recipe on Sunday I came across a something I had been craving. Broccoli bread. I've been wanting said bread intermittently for the last three months. I wasn't sure where to find a recipe. I never bothered to google it. I didn't even think I might actually have the recipe. And I didn't only have one copy. I had two different copies written in my Grandma's handwriting.

A couple of years ago my aunt shared a stack of my Grandma's recipes with me. I now have copies of everything from corn dip (a crowd favorite), homemade lemon curd, crawfish elegante and chocolate sheath cake. There is even a recipe for Mexican grits. Mmm! It didn't even occur to me that the broccoli bread I'd thought about lately was something Grandma made, but in the middle of digging for an ooey gooey casserole recipe I found the broccoli bread.

Broccoli, believe it or not, is actually one of my favorite foods. It doesn't need much at all (or you can choose to gussie it up). Steam the broccoli and add a little Crazy Jane's - you've got a good (zero-point) side dish. Add some butter and cheese to make it oh-so comforting. A squeeze of lemon and some salt and pepper makes it a refreshing side. I even have a broccoli and grits casserole from my great aunt. YUM!!

So this broccoli bread. The minute I saw the recipe I knew I'd be making it this week. It should really be called cheesey, oniony broccoli bread. It calls for 2 cups of sharp cheddar and an entire onion chopped and a box of Jiffy cornbread mix. Of course there are a few other characters in the bowls, but those are your leading ladies. Instead of making them in the pan, I used muffin tins. Self-imposed portion control being my first thought.

I hate to admit it, but I gorged on broccoli bread muffins yesterday. They were divine. Hot out of the oven they needed some salt, but when I allowed them to cool and the flavors to join forces, they were exactly the way I remembered them. I'm sad I didn't associate this flavor with Grandma instantly.

While I type this, my mind is wandering back to a time when my tiny six-year-old bottom would sit on Grandma and Papa's kitchen counter. I had a bird's eye view. Sometimes they were scrambling eggs or making coffee milk for me. Other times Papa made the best grilled cheese sandwich in the whole entire world. Either way I got to watch and to taste.

I'm so glad I made the broccoli bread. It was perfect in taste and in memory. I'm taking my muffins to a friend on Thursday. I hope she likes it. For me, it is sharing much more than a little carb to round out our dinner.

Casserole Comfort Food

Comfort food. It's something different for everyone. You have to admit that sometimes it's just Kraft macaroni and cheese. It's typically gooey and warm. I'd find it hard to believe a salad is anyone's ultimate comfort food. It's about the texture, the high calorie content and the hug it provides.

So I've been digging for a comfort food recipe. I took a long hard look at the cabbage rolls recipe. I make them at least once every fall or winter, and they always hit the spot. Now just isn't the right time for the cabbage rolls. I need to get some cooler weather and find myself in need of a good hug. I started rummaging through recipes early this morning. I wanted rice. I wanted seafood. Maybe I wanted chicken spaghetti. I definitely wanted a casserole.

I try to be mindful of my calories - some old habits refuse to fully die - so I started off in some of the healthier cookbooks. Who was a I kidding? I tried a couple of Natchez/Trinity cookbooks. That was leaning more towards what I wanted. Then I pulled out Holly Clegg's Trim and Terrific Louisiana Kitchen. Mmmm! I don't always dive in to this one, but it is a favorite.

Now this whole time I was thinking casserole, I had a vision of my mama's CorningWare that always made the crawfish casserole. I opened straight to the seafood section. After some flipping back and forth between a couple of recipes, I finally decided on the Eggplant Shrimp Casserole.

Gloppy goodness! There was Worcestershire sauce. There was mayonnaise. Three cups of rice rounded off with shrimp. Yes! A taste of home with a featured guest...the eggplant. The last two or three times I've gone to the grocery store I've stared at the eggplant. I don't use it often, but I do enjoy it. This was the recipe.

After it was all said and done, I very much enjoyed the endeavor. The casserole was delicious, but I spent the rest of the afternoon still wishing for mushrooms and tomatoes. I think I was ultimately craving Pearl Street's Cajun Shrimp. (Oh mercy!) The recipe was a great starting point. Next time, I might change out the veggies to be a little closer to my favorite Natchez dish. All in all, the casserole did the trick as a gooey comfort dish. I would certainly make it again the next time I'm in need of a culinary hug.