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.)

Red Velvet Christmas Cake

If you're looking for a showstopper dessert for Christmas that tastes as good as it looks, have I got a cake for you! Seriously, nothing says "Christmas" like a red velvet cake, baked in square pans and decorated to look like the most delectable gift package ever to grace the holiday dessert table.

There must be hundreds of variations on red velvet cake, a different recipe in every southern cookbook, but I've never found one that could beat Miss Vickie's. Miss Vickie is a friend from Gordon, GA, and those ladies know when it comes to red velvet cake. Her recipe is so quick and easy -- dump all the ingredients in one bowl and mix it up -- that you won't mind the extra time it takes to decorate and, if you're the lazy type, (or it isn't Christmas), it makes a fine presentation just cooked in round pans and covered with the cream cheese butter cream frosting.

As a bonus, it's also the best tasting red velvet cake around, moist, flaky, melt-in-your-mouth yummy.

Merry Christmas, ya'll!

MISS VICKIE'S RED VELVET CAKE

2 1/2 cups cups cake flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups vegetable oil
1 cup buttermilk
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon cocoa
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cider vinegar
1 1-ounce bottle red food coloring

Preheat over to 350 degrees. Mix all ingredient in a large bowl. Pour into four prepared, (I use Baker's Secret), 8-inch square (or round) cake pans and bake at 350 degrees for 25 minutes. Cool in pans for 15 minutes then on cake racks until completely cool.

Frosting
(You'll need two batches for the "present" cake)

6 cups powdered confectioner's sugar
1 8-ounce package cream cheese, room temperature
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup chopped pecans

Spread frosting with chopped pecans between layers of cake.

Make a second batch of the frosting, omitting the chopped nuts, to ice top and sides.

Make "ribbon" from foot-long fruit roll-ups, slightly moistened and coated with sparkling sugar. Unroll roll-up, leaving the paper backing on. Lightly spray with water and sprinkle with sugar. Let sit for a few minutes until sugar sets. Peel off backing, lay long strips across cake and fashion bow from shorter pieces folded over and pressed into icing on top of cake.

If you want to put gingerbread men on the side, purchased ones will do nicely. However, if you'd like to make your own, see my Gitmo Gingerbread Men recipe, previously posted, and maybe make them without the amputations, just this once.

Prepare for ohhhs and ahhhs (never fails), and make sure you ask somebody else to cut the cake. you won't be able to bear doing it yourself!

Gitmo Gingerbread Men

I was never much on gingerbread cookies, certainly not gingerbread men, (or women either, for that matter), but that all changed a couple of years ago when these nifty little gingerbread people cutters with missing limbs turned me into a gingerbread cookie aficionado. A momentary craze, and having been featured in Bon Appetit no less, the little suckers proved almost impossible to find, but a dogged search turned them up on ebay at six times the price. They have, however, over the years, proven simply priceless.

With gingerbread men that look like these, who really cares what they taste like? Well, since I do, I've found a wonderful, crisp, not-too-sweet, but just right, gingerbread cookie recipe to complement them. They're easy to make, keep for weeks in an air-tight tin, and make perfect "a little something to let you know we're thinking of you" presents for the terrorist or political prisoner on your holiday gift list.

These cookies have been tortured, bitten, mauled and mutilated. I call them my Gitmo Gingerbread Men. You can call them anything you like. In fact, you could even make them with ordinary gingerbread men cookie cutters, but what's the fun in that?


Enjoy!

CRISP GINGERBREAD COOKIES

3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
3/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
12 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 1/2 sticks), softened
3/4 cup unsulphured molasses
2 tablespoons milk

In food processor fitted with steel blade, process flour, sugar, ciinnamon, ginger, cloves, salt and baking soda until combined.

Cut butter into small pieces and scatter over flour mixture. Process until mixture resembles the texture of meal.

With processor running, gradually add molasses and milk. Process until dough is evenly moistened and forms soft lump. (Note, you may need to "pulse" and scrape down the bowl a couple of times as this mixture is thick and doughy.)

Scrape dough onto work surface, divide into quarters. Roll each quarter between two sheets of parchment paper until about 1/8 inch thick. Leaving dough sandwiched between parchment, stack on cookie and place in freezer. Freeze until firm, about 15 to 20 minutes.

Heat oven to 325 degrees. Line cookie sheets with parchment.

Remove dough from freezer. Peel off parchment. Cut into gingerbread men or desired shapes with cookie cutters. Place on cookie sheets and bake 15 to 20 minutes, rotating cookie sheets halfway through baking.

Cook to room temperature. Decorate if desired.

Gather scarps. Repeat rolling, freezing, cutting and baking until all dough is used.

Makes a whole bunch of cookies which, if sealed in a air-tight container, will remain crisp and good for several weeks, in the unlikely event that they last that long.

The Very Best Turkey Chili

There's nothing better on a cold, rainy day than a nice hot bowl of chili. Unfortunately (or not) we have few such days in Los Angeles, and whenever we do, like this past week, I rush to the kitchen to whip up a batch before the weather changes.

I'm partial to turkey chili. It's supposed to be ever-so-slightly better for you, having considerably less fat than beef. However, let's face it, it can also be considerably bland, and just adding a spoonful of extra chili powder isn't going to fix it.

With this recipe I discovered the formula for a thoroughly satisfying turkey chili with big chili flavor and the richness of beef chili without the fat. The secret ingredient? Chocolate. Surprised? I was too, but just a touch of chocolate seems to give the turkey chili a bit of the body it is often missing, without altering the flavor. Makes sense if you think about it, sort of like the Mexican mole sauces which contain a bit of cocoa.

So, here it is, a recipe for really good turkey chili. I'm hoping for at least one more rainstorm before the New Year so I can make it again before the Christmas eating orgy begins.

THE BEST TURKEY CHILI

Olive oil spray
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
2 medium red bell peppers, chopped
6 garlic cloves, chopped
2 1/2 pounds lean ground turkey
3 1/2 tablespoons chili powder
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 1/2 teaspoons dried oregano
3 tablespoons tomato paste
2 15-ounce cans red kidney beans, drained (3 cans if you like lots of beans)
1 28-ounce can diced tomatoes in juice
4 1/2 cups canned low-sodium chicken broth
1 1/2 ounces (1 1/2 squares) semi-sweet chocolate, chopped
Shredded cheddar cheese and/or sour cream - Optional

Spray bottom of a large heavy pot or dutch oveen with nonstick spray. Add olive oil and heat.

Add onion, bell peppers and garlic and saute over medium high heat until vegetables are soft, about 8 minutes.

Add turkey and saute until no longer pink, breaking up large pieces with spatula or fork.

Mix in chili powder, cumin, oregano and tomato paste and stir together, about 1 minute.

Add beans, tomatoes with juices, chicken broth and chopped chocolate. Bring to boil. Reduce heat and simmer uncovered until chili thickens, about 1 hour, stirring occasionally.

Season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve with shredded sharp cheddar cheese and/or sour cream for toppings. Add a salad and cornbread and it's a meal.