It Wouldn't Be Christmas Without Sausage Balls

When it comes to holiday foods we all have our guilty pleasures, those foods we don't eat (or won't own up to eating) any other time of year. This is the kind of concoction you're ashamed to admit craving, and eating it is often a private affair, like viewing pornography or cheating with your best friend's spouse. Okay, so maybe I exaggerate, but fair to say you feel the need to do penance with every bite by saying out loud, "Oh, this is so bad for me..."

So it is with sausage balls, my personal holiday food vice; unhealthy, greasy, carb laden treats likely conceived in a trailer park by a cook with more imagination than time, a block of government cheese, and a roll of Jimmy Dean sausage that was about to go bad.

My husband loves them (whatever that says about him) and they are unbelievably good. Also extremely quick and easy to make in a season of complicated, keep-you-in-the-kitchen-all-day, holiday recipes. All you need is a box of Bisquick, a pound of sausage, and a big chunk of supermarket cheddar.

Culinary abomination or national foodie treasure? You decide.

SAUSAGE BALLS

1 pound ground sausage (mild, regular or hot, depending on how spicy you like 'em)
3 cups Bisquick baking mix
4 cups grated sharp cheddar cheese
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper (or to taste)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Spray baking sheet with vegetable oil cooking spray.

Combine all ingredients in the bowl of your food processor. Form into 1-inch balls. (Resist the urge to make them bigger. They will rise as they cook. First time I made them I ended up with tennis ball sized sausage balls. Good, but more a meal than a treat.) Bake for 18 to 20 minutes until golden brown.

Serve with a mayonnaise/mustard dip (1 cup mayonnaise, 1 tablespoon mustard), honey-mustard or other favorite condiments, or just eat as is, the way I prefer them.

Bet you can't eat just one.

Two-Buck Chuck Cranberries

Most of you already know that I'm a wine snob, but you probably didn't suspect that I'm a cranberry sauce snob too. I'm one of those people who wants turkey and dressing to eat with the sauce, but I wouldn't touch that congealed mass that comes in a can, even with your fork.

For the uninitiated, Two-Buck Chuck, aka Charles Shaw wine, is an "extreme value" wine marketed by Trader Joe's, and it sells (sold?) for, you guessed it, $1.99 per bottle. (Until January 2013, when it became Two-Fifty Chuck, at least here in California.) You can find worse wine, and it has developed a certain cachet, more for cheek than taste. But it's still not the drink you'd want to be sipping when you propose to your beloved or toast the end of your probation.  That being said, I use it unabashedly for cooking. While you wouldn't want to use a 'bad' wine for cooking, neither would you want to use a 2005 Chateauneuf-du-Pape. I always suggest you use an inexpensive wine that you wouldn't mind drinking in a pinch. Say it's 2:00 am, your boyfriend just told you he's gay, and the liquor store is closed; then Two-Buck Chuck fits the bill impressively.

This cranberry sauce is quick, easy, and if you make it once, you'll never buy canned again. I first made it in a 'Forks and Corks' cooking class (taught by the incredible Martha Vining) at the John C. Campbell Folk School, and it's so good you'll eat it with a spoon. You'll want to make a double batch of it, one to serve with the turkey and stuffing and another to serve over the delicious paneer you're going to make, from the recipe, (also from the Forks and Corks class), I've included as a little holiday lagniappe. (Yes, you can make cheese. It's a showstopper appetizer and tastes even better than it looks.)

I use Two-Buck Chuck Cabernet Sauvignon, but if you can't get it where you live any decent inexpensive Cab would work well, as would a Zinfandel or even a Syrah. Just make sure it's something you won't mind pouring in your glass to finish off the bottle once the cooking is done!

CABERNET CRANBERRIES
(yields 1 1/2 cups)

12 oz fresh cranberries
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 cup Cabernet Sauvignon
1 stick cinnamon
Zest of 1 orange

Pick over, rinse and drain berries.

Combine sugar and wine in a 3-quart sauce pan. Bring to a boil and stir until the sugar dissolves. Add the cinnamon stick, orange zest and cranberries. Return to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, partially covered, for about 15 minutes, until slightly thickened.

Remove from heat and cool to room temperature. Chill before serving. Mixture will continue to thicken as it cools and chills.

Perfect with Thanksgiving dinner or on top of homemade paneer at the Christmas party.


PANEER
(Soft Indian Cheese - yields 3 cups)

1 gallon whole milk
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
Cheesecloth
Strainer

Bring milk just to boil in a large stainless steel pot, stirring frequently to prevent sticking. (This is important 'cause if it sticks you'll end up with brown flecks in your cheese plus the pot will be a bitch to clean.)

Whisk in the lemon juice and stir 1 -2 minutes until well blended. Let sit for 5 minutes. Milk will separate and break into curds.

Pour mixture into strainer, lined with cheesecloth and set over a large bowl. Allow to drain and cool for at least one hour, pressing down occasionally to remove excess liquid. (Hint: Weigh the cheese down with a small plate centered with a heavy object, such as a can or jar of processed food. This presses the liquid out faster and helps mold the cheese to the shape of the strainer.)

When the cheese is cool and completely drained, remove from strainer, wrap and chill. Should be used within 3-4 days.

For a showstopper appetizer, invert cheese on a plate and spoon Cabernet Cranberries on top. Serve with an assortment of crackers. Bon appetit!

Sweet Potato Heaven

You just had one for Thanksgiving, and I'll bet you're thinking about dragging out the old pumpkin pie recipe again for Christmas. Don't do it. I have a better idea.

Frankly, I don't care if I never see another pumpkin pie; a holiday dessert I consider highly overrated and, to be blunt, almost unbearably boring. Where I came from, the pie of the day was a smooth, creamy, sweet potato pie, kissed with cinnamon and vanilla, and served with a dollop of sugared whipped cream. Then, somewhere along the way, I developed a real passion for cheesecake, (any kind will do thank you very much, and that's a hint), under the mistletoe, and since having two such super-rich desserts seemed decadent, even for the holiday, (not to mention calorically extravagant), imagine my delight when I found a recipe that combined them both. Finally I can have my cake and eat my pie too! This is truly sweet potato, (not to be confused with yams), and cheesecake heaven!

It's not a recipe you'd want to make every day because there are several steps and a plethora of ingredients, but for an occasion it's worth the trouble, and the calories. And, it's a great make-ahead dessert too, as it will keep quite well refrigerated for several days.

I like to Christmas it up with mint leaves and dried cranberries on top, but a scattering of toasted coconut flakes will work just fine too. And that dollop of whipped cream served on top of each piece? Might as well.

SWEET POTATO COCONUT CHEESECAKE
(Serves 10... or more...)

Sweet Potatoes
4 cups sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into cubes
1 cup water
1/4 cup orange juice
3 tablespoons sugar
3 tablespoons golden brown sugar (packed)
2 teaspoons unsalted butter
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon orange zest
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
Pinch of ground nutmeg (or freshly grated if you have it)
1 egg
2 tablespoons whipping cream

Combine first 13 ingredients (through the nutmeg) in a large saucepan. Bring to boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered for about 40 minutes, until potatoes are tender and most of the liquid is absorbed, stirring occasionally. Transfer to food processor and puree until smooth. Whisk together egg and cream. Add 2 1/3 cups potato puree and blend well. Cover and chill sweet potato mixture until cold.

Crumb Crust
1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted (plus more to coat pan)
Powdered sugar

Butter 10 inch springform pan and sides and dust with powdered sugar. Mix cracker crumbs and melted butter until crumbs are evenly moistened. Press crumb mixture over bottom and up sides of pan to make a thin crust. Chill.

Filling
2 1/2 8-ounce packages cream cheese, room temperature
3/4 cup whole-milk ricotta cheese
3/4 cup sugar
4 3ggs
1 15-ounce can sweetened cream of coconut (such as Coco Lopez)
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup sweetened flaked coconut (plus additional for garnish, if desired)

Using electric mixer, beat cream cheese, ricotta and sugar in a large bowl until smooth. Beat in eggs one at a time. Add cream of coconut, lemon juice, zest and vanilla. Beat until smooth. Fold in flaked coconut and chilled sweet potato mixture. Pour filling into pan prepared with graham cracker crumb crust.

Bake on a rimmed baking sheet in an oven preheated to 350 degrees for about an hour and 20 minutes, until filling is just set in center. Transfer cheesecake directly to refrigerator and chill, uncovered, overnight. (Center may sink.)

To serve, run a small knife between cake and pan sides to loosen. Remove sides. Place on platter. Scatter toasted unsweetened coconut over top or garnished as desired. Serve chilled.

Plum Crazy

The plum has never been my favorite fruit. To be brutally honest, it's never even made the top ten. But yesterday I made a dessert that's given me to consider that the humble plum has been seriously underrated, by me as well as a lot of other "I can take 'em or leave 'em" plum people I know. (Come on, tell me you didn't think 'prunes' as soon as I mentioned plums.)

While I do have fond memories of eating the tiny, sweet plums that grew wild in the Georgia of my childhood (and I'm not entirely sure how much the memory is flavored with nostalgia), in my adult life there's only one plum concoction I've fancied enough to go out of my way for. That would be the delightful pflaumenkuchen, (a German plum tart, and why can't they just say so?), baked only in August, when plums are at their peak, by Thee's Continental Bakery in the Los Angeles Farmer's Market. It's delicious, it's inexpensive, and, best of all, I don't have to spend an afternoon in the kitchen to have one; all qualities that have made it the late summer 'go to' dessert in our household.

So, invited to foodie friends' home for dinner on Saturday -- the kind of meal where you don't dare show up with store-bought anything, no matter how artisan -- and having volunteered to bring a fresh fruit dessert, my first thought was to try and duplicate the pastry whose name I'll never be able to pronounce. Searching for a suitable, doable, not too complicated substitute, I stumbled across this recipe in Ina Graten's "Barefoot in Paris" cookbook. (Thanks, Mimi). Now Ina is a total domestic goddess and wouldn't steer me wrong, but, being me, I tinkered with it a bit.

Here's what I came up with. It's an awesome recipe, easy, showy, and unbelievably good; an absolutely perfect summer dessert. I'm plum crazy over it. Serves six, but four of us ate most of it in one sitting, and then fought over the last piece.

Ina called it Plum Cake "Tatin." I call it...

PLUM UPSIDE DOWN CAKE

6 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature (plus extra for greasing dish)
8 to 10 plums, cut in half and pitted
1 3/4 cups granulated sugar, divided
1/3 cup water
2 extra-large or 3 large eggs, at room temperature
1/3 cup sour cream
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose four
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
Confectioners' sugar for dusting (optional)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Generously butter a 9 or 10 inch deep-dish glass pie dish, (a 9 or 10 inch square glass baking dish would work too), and arrange plums in the dish, cut side down. Plums should be ripe but still firm. Too soft plums make a mushy cake. The small, purple prune plums work best, but I used a bigger, round plum for the cake pictured -- 'cause that's what they had at The Farmer's Market that day.

Combine 1 cup of the sugar and 1/3 cup water in a small saucepan and cook over high heat until it turns a warm amber color (about 350 on a candy thermometer). Swirl the pan, do not stir. Pour evenly over the plums.

Cream the butter and the remaining 3/4 cup of granulated sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer and beat until light and fluffy. Beat in the eggs one at a time. Add the sour cream, lemon zest and vanilla and mix until well combined.

Sift together the flour, baking powder and salt. Add to the butter mixture and mix until just combined.

Pour the cake batter evenly over the plums. Bake for 30 to 40 minutes until a cake tester comes out clean. NOTE: I suggest sitting the dish on a baking sheet before putting it in the oven. Mine cooked over a bit and made a real mess!

Cool for 15 minutes, then invert the cake onto a flat plate. If a plum sticks, ease it out and replace it on to of the cake. Serve warm, at room temperature or refrigerated. (It's so good it doesn't matter!) Delicious plain, gussied up with a dusting of Confectioners' sugar just before serving, and/or with a dollop of creme fraiche (my favorite) or whipped cream.

Putting Up

Last weekend I put up fifteen jars of fig preserves, and this morning I added ten half-pints of rum-peach-pecan jam to the larder. I don't know how the southern colloquial expression for canning and preserving fresh fruits and vegetables came to be "putting up." As a child I figured it was because the filled jars were "put up" on shelves in a big walk in closet co-opted as pantry, like the one at my Aunt Sister's house.

Not to say that I came from a canning family. I do seem to remember my mother putting up cucumber pickles way back in the day, but once we got "the freezer" she never canned anything again. Rather she "put down" (it was a monster chest type affair) bags and boxes of every produce imaginable into its' giant frigid maw. As for fruit preserves, jams and jellies, we had Smucker's. That being said, Mama was never too proud to accept a jar of peach pickles or a pint of pepper jelly proffered by a friend or relative. Nor was I.

For years, until her untimely demise in 2009, I depended on the largesse of my cousin Mint and her generous friends, who invariably showered me with jars of fig preserves and pear relish whenever I was in Georgia. Not long ago, faced with the bleak realization that I was down to my last two pints, I had to do something.

Fortunately, preserving and canning has recently become retro-hip, and I had to look no further than Sur La Table at the Farmer's Market to find a class. I aced it.

Deceptively easy and, this is the best part, very forgiving, you don't need a lot of special equipment to get your canning on; maybe a pair of jar tongs, a magnetic "wand" for lifting the lids, and a great big pot for sterilizing and processing. (I use a tamale pot I bought for $16.99 at Vallarta Market in Van Nuys.)

Secrets, if there are any; choose fruit that is ripe but still firm, sterilize the jars thoroughly, and label them carefully, because a lot of this stuff ends up looking remarkably similar, and you don't want to be opening a jar of fig preserves when you're expecting pear chutney. Word.

For the particulars on the sterilizing and canning process, I'm going to refer you to a nifty website that can tell you all you need to know. Feel free to write me if you have any questions. Maybe I'll know the answers, maybe I won't. It's worth a shot.

So, without further ado, here are a couple of my favorite preserved indulgences. Eat these with White Lily biscuits. Scones will work well too, as will toast or a flaky buttered croissant. Better yet, find your own guilty pleasure to enjoy them with.

ANNIE'S FIG PRESERVES
(makes about 15 half-pints)


6 pounds unpeeled figs (any variety)
5 pounds granulated sugar
3 large lemons, very thinly sliced, seeds removed

Wash and stem the figs. Place figs in a large non-reactive container, (I use a huge Tupperware bowl), and pour the sugar over them. Cover and let stand at room temperature overnight.

Transfer fig and sugar mixture to a large non-reactive saucepan or Dutch oven, (minimum 8 quart capacity), breaking figs up slightly. Cook over medium heat until sugar is dissolved.

Reduce heat to low. Add lemon slices, and cook until figs are transparent and the syrup is thick about 2 hours, stirring often to prevent sticking.

Remove from heat and funnel into hot, sterilized jars and seal. Process jars in boiling water for 10 minutes. Allow to cool in water for 5 minutes. Using jar lifter, gently lift jars from water. Allow jars to rest on counter or in a cool, dry place for a few hours or overnight until all jars have sealed. (You'll hear a chorus of little popping sounds as the seals "take.") Properly sealed jars will have a slightly indented lid.


RUM PEACH PECAN JAM
(makes about 10 half-pints)


12 cups peeled, sliced, yellow peaches (about 1 doz. large peaches)
3 1/2 cups light brown sugar, packed
12 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2/3 cup dark rum
3 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1 cup raw pecan halves, slightly broken

Combine peaches, brown sugar, lemon juice and 1/3 cup of the rum in a large non-reactive container. Cover and let stand at room temperature overnight.

Pour fruit mixture into a large non-reactive saucepan or Dutch oven and mash slightly. Bring to boil over medium high heat.

Reduce heat to low and cook until the peaches begin to look translucent, about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking.

Add granulated sugar and increase heat to medium high, bringing the mixture back to a boil Boil, stirring almost constantly, for about 20 minutes, until liquid turns into a thick syrup.

Stir in pecans. Add the remaining 1/3 cup of rum. Cook, stirring, for 2 minutes more. (Note: This jam works quite well without the pecans. It just depends on how you like it. Put them in or not, it's all good.)

Remove from heat. Funnel into hot, sterilized jars and seal. Process jars in boiling water for 10 minutes. Continue as in fig preserves recipe. Enjoy!

Learning to Love Grits

Growing up smack in the middle of Georgia, breakfast meant grits, usually served up with a big slice of ham or bacon, a generous pouring of red-eye gravy, and, maybe if you were lucky, a piping hot fresh-from-the-oven biscuit.

I hated them. (Truth is the only breakfast I would eat was a hamburger with french fries, which my guilted mother frequently indulged, but that's another post.) Those runny blobs and gelatinous masses of virtually tasteless ground corn of my childhood could only be made palatable by adding massive amounts of butter, salt, and pepper, and really, what was the point? Our dogs wouldn't even eat them, and I understood why.

So it should come as no surprise that when I left the south, I left grits behind and never looked back. Until recently, when I noticed citified versions of grits popping up on the menus of better eateries across the south, most notably with shrimp. Add Andouille sausage to that combination, and you've really got my attention. I tried them. I liked them, some more than others.

This is my favorite interpretation of the dish, my own. It's a rich, filling meal, more brunch than breakfast, perfect for a lazy Sunday when you plan to eat late and make it a two meal day. Add a cup of cafe au lait, a Mimosa, maybe one of those killer, fresh-from-the-oven, White Lily biscuits with a little dollop of fig jam, and you're good to go until dinner.

The dish is best when you use old-fashioned stone ground grits, not the instant or quick-cooking varieties, (which IMHO are largely responsible for the ill fame grits enjoy). Of course in a pinch, or if you live in a grit forsaken place like California, you can make do with what you have. Just prepare the grits according to package directions substituting half broth and half milk for the liquid. (Better yet, plan ahead and order stone ground grits online.)

Likewise, the recipe gold standard is real Andouille sausage. In a pinch any good, spicy, Polish or Italian sausage would probably suffice. But if you can't find it where you live, it's well worth the trouble to order authentic Andouille from the Cajun Grocer.

Finally, and some might call it overkill, if you want your grits extra, sinfully, deliciously rich, use a cup of heavy cream in place of one of the cups of milk. Grits anybody can love, trust me.

SHRIMP & GRITS WITH ANDOUILLE SAUSAGE

Shrimp and Sausage:

1 pound shrimp, shelled and deveined
1/2 pound Andouille sausage, sliced
2 shallots, thinly sliced
1 clove garlic, minced
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon olive oil (plus olive oil spray for pan)
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup dry white wine
1 cup chicken stock, low sodium preferred
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 green onions, sliced
2 tablespoons parsley, chopped

Grits:

1 cup stone-ground coarse grits
2 cups chicken stock, low sodium preferred
2 cups whole milk
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons shredded Parmesan cheese

Place a deep skillet over medium heat, spray with olive oil spray and add the 1 tablespoon olive oil. Add shallots and garlic and saute about 2 minutes to soften. Add the sausage and cook until there is a fair amount of fat in the pan and the sausage is brown. Sprinkle in flour and stir with a wooden spoon to create a roux. Slowly pour in 1 cup chicken stock and 1 cup white wine, stirring constantly to prevent lumps. Add bay leaf. (If mixture becomes too thick, add a little more stock.) When the liquid comes to a simmer, add the shrimp and cook for 3 to 4 minutes until they are pink and firm, and the gravy is smooth and thick. Remove from heat and stir in 2 tablespoons of butter. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

For the grits, bring 2 cups of stock, the milk, 2 tablespoons of butter and 1 teaspoon salt to a simmer in a medium saucepan. Slowly whisk in the grits and reduce heat to low. Cook for 20 to 30 minutes until grits reach desired consistency. Remove from heat. Stir in Parmesan cheese and add pepper to taste.

To serve, spoon grits into serving bowls, top with shrimp mixture, sprinkle with green onions and parsley. Serves 4

That's-A Not A Spicy Meatball

If I hadn't been born Southern, I'd have been Italian. I'm sure of it, because if there's anything I like as much as a big crispy chicken breast Southern fried in bacon drippings, it's a nice juicy meatball, drenched in a velvety rich tomato sauce, and served over a mound of fresh pasta. (OK, even dried pasta out of the box will do. I'm not that particular.)

My introduction to meatballs was inauspicious, and, probably not unlike yours, (unless you really were Italian), they came out of a can courtesy of Chef Boyardee. That gelatinous mass of thick white worms of soft spaghetti, sprinkled with marble sized balls of mystery meat and held together with an anemic pink ketchup-like goo, could hardly be properly called food, much less Italian, but I loved it, even craved it. I snuck extra cans of it into my Mother's shopping cart, begged to have it for dinner instead of whatever "they" were eating, and had been known to eat it straight out of the can with a spoon.

The chef who likewise corrupted the taste buds of many of my young contemporaries actually was a real chef. That would be one Ettore "Hector" Boiardi, Italian immigrant and great American success story, who changed his name to match its phonetic spelling somewhere on his way up the culinary ladder so it would be easier for his American customers to pronounce. He died in 1985, but his legacy of bad taste lives on in the mouths of meatball addicts everywhere.

There is, however, hope. A real meatball is a wonderous thing, and once you taste one, you'll never go back. This is my recipe for real meatballs.

It's not-a spicy meatball, (Who can ever forget that unfortunate Alka Seltzer commercial from the 60's that further sullied the meatball brand and Italian cooking in general?), but rather a Sicilian style meatball, studded with pine nuts and currants and subtly flavored with marjoram and fresh parsley. It's a Sopranos kind of meatball. (You just knew I had to have been a fan, didn't you?). The kind of meatball I like to think Paulie Walnuts' mother cooked when he came home for dinner, or that Arte Bucco served up to the crew at Nuovo Vesuvio, which, by the way is where Tony should've been that ill-fated night in June of 2007, instead of making himself an easy target, eating fries in some burger joint, and getting himself whacked. (I know, I was in denial too for a very long time, but, let's face it, Tony bought the farm and he ain't coming back.)

As for the "gravy," as Paulie would've called it, if you live in Los Angeles just head over to Al Gelato in Beverly Hills, which makes it better and quicker than most of us ever could. But, if forced or inclined to make your own, (for God's sake don't use that stuff out of a jar from the supermarket), I've also included a really good, simple, basic tomato sauce recipe that's perfect with meatballs, and a lot of other pasta dishes too.

This recipe will serve 8. For smaller families or couples, you can easily freeze half of the meat balls, after cooking, with or without the sauce, for another meal.


EASY, BASIC TOMATO SAUCE

2 28-ounce cans peeled Italian tomatoes, crushed
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon sugar
Salt and pepper to taste

Pour tomatoes into a large enameled cast-iron casserole or a large dutch oven and crush. (Use an immersion blender if you have one.) Add olive oil and sugar. Season with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer for 30 minutes. While sauce simmers make meatballs.


SICILIAN-STYLE MEATBALLS

4 slices white sandwich bead
4 large eggs, beaten
3 garlic cloves, pressed
1/4 cup chopped parsley
1 teaspoon marjoram (dried or fresh)
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
2 pounds lean ground beef (chuck preferred)
1/4 cup dried currants
1/4 cup pine nuts
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
1/4 cup plain dry bread crumbs
1 cup (or less) vegetable oil, for frying (I use Peanut oil, Canola is also a good choice)

Soak the bread in a bowl of water until saturated. Squeeze out the water and transfer bread to a large bowl. Mash the bread to a paste and stir in the beaten eggs, pressed garlic, chopped parsley, marjoram, salt and pepper. Mash mixture until as smooth as possible.

Add ground chuck to the bowl along with currants, pine nuts and cheese, and mix, with hands, until thoroughly combined.

Add the bread crumbs and knead until the mixture is firm enough to roll.

Form the mixture into about 40 meatballs, (about 3 tablespoons each), taking care to tuck in pine nuts and currants as you go.

Heat oil in a large nonstick skillet. (I usually start with 1/2 cup oil and add more only if necessary to cover the bottom of the skillet. Remember, you're frying them, not drowning them in hot oil.) Add meatballs in 2 batches and fry over moderate heat, turning, until browned and cooked through, about 10 minutes per batch. Transfer to a plate covered with paper towels and drain.

Add meatballs to the sauce and simmer for 30 minutes.

Serve with pasta, (al dente, please), and top with additional freshly grated Parmesan cheese.

Gumbo, Not Ya Ya

Some of you may already know that I collect community cookbooks, (OK, it's an addiction. I need help.), and although I've never met a Junior League, Methodist Church or Woman's Club cookbook I didn't want to hug and take home, I'll be the first to tell you, they're often more of an amusement than a useful part of my personal cook's library, (one entire Ikea "Billy" bookcase, and two shelves of another, with no room to grow).

With a few rare exceptions, I just read them -- savoring every word, mind you, but never actually making any of the recipes therein. But then there are those few gems, some well-known, some obscure, that have become my go-to books whenever I'm looking for special something -- usually a regional or childhood favorite -- with real down home flavor and not a lot of attitude.
When my French/Cajun/Irish husband mentioned that when he was a child his family always had Gumbo for Christmas dinner, (hint, hint), I turned to River Road Recipes, Vol. 1, the self-proclaimed Textbook of Louisiana Cuisine, first published in 1959 by the Junior League of Baton Rouge, (I have the 1988 sixty-fourth printing), and found just what I was looking for; a sophisticated, yet traditional, Creole style seafood gumbo that's easy to make, can be dressed up or down as the occasion requires, and is absolutely delicious.

Unfortunately the recipe is uncredited, but I'd like to send a shout out to the Baton Rouge Junior Leaguer who contributed it, along with my apologies for leaving out the oysters, one of the few foods on God's earth that I won't go out of my way to eat, (with the possible exception of the fried oysters at Acme Oyster House in New Orleans). Feel free to add a pint along with the crab meat and shrimp if you'd like, but if I'm invited for dinner, don't be offended if I pick them out with a spoon.

SHRIMP & CRAB GUMBO
(6 to 8 servings)

3 tablespoons cooking oil
3 tablespoons plain flour
1 pound shrimp - peeled and deveined
1 pound lump crab meat
2 tablespoons cooking oil
3 cups okra (fresh, frozen or canned)
1 large sweet onion, chopped
1 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes
1 quart chicken stock
1 quart water
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon salt
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
Dash cayenne pepper (to taste)

Make a dark roux of 3 tablespoons cooking oil and 3 tablespoons flour: Heat oil in a large skillet, sprinkle in flour, stir until well blended. Continue to stir constantly as flour cooks in oil until the roux is the color of brown sugar.

Add shrimp to the roux and cook for a few minutes, stirring constantly, until the shrimp are no longer pink. (Note: The shrimp will absorb much of the roux.) Sit aside.

Heat 2 tablespoons cooking oil in a large saucepan or soup pot. Add onions and okra and smother until nearly tender. Add tomatoes and stir to mix.

Add chicken broth and water. (NOTE: Seafood stock made from the shrimp shells -- see my recipe for Shrimp Creole -- makes a great substitute for the chicken broth if you have the time and inclination.) Add the bay leaf, garlic, salt and cayenne pepper. Bring to a gentle boil.

Add the shrimp and roux. Add the crab meat. Turn heat to low. Cover and cook slowly for about 1 hour. (Note: This one of those dishes that is even better cooked the day before and re-heated before serving.)

Serve with white rice. (Or not, it's a wonderful dish, with or without the rice.)