Category: Early Stories

Country Ham for Easter

Smokehouse in Great Smoky Mountains National Park
Smokehouse in Great Smoky Mountains National Park

I have been hunting for a recipe for this, through all my white trash cookbooks.  I have not found a thing, not in the Cracker Barrel cookbooks, or Miss Daisy Celebrates Tennessee, or even my mother’s Sunday School class cookbook from the ’80s.  So I will try to remember what I saw, and write it down for you.

Pap, Daddy’s father, loved country ham, and he liked it boiled.  So that’s what Mother did for Easter.  The ham had been cured by storing it in a salt pack (buried in salt in a bin) and then it was smoked in the smokehouse for several days.  All this was done in the fall after the frost came, and in the early winter.

The ham was left to hang in the smokehouse and dry until wanted.  You could also put it back in the salt, as I recall, but I couldn’t swear to that.

When it was time to consider cooking it, Mother took it out and plunged a knife close to the bone, bringing it out to smell.  This is how she could tell if the ham was good or had spoiled.  If it smelled good, then she went to the next stage.

The country ham was soaked in a lard can full of water for a couple of hours, to get some of the salt out of it.  When that was over, Mother built a fire in the back yard.  The ham went back into a clean lard can which was filled with water up to a few inches from the rim.  She put the lid on, and hefted the heavy load onto the fire.  The ham cooked in the lard can for up to four hours.  I’m not sure how she decided when to take it off the fire.

When she removed it, she immediately wrapped the can in quilts and left it.  The ham continued cooking for some hours.

End result?  Sweet, moist, smoky country ham, not salty, very tender.

The New York Times article today made me remember this process!  Thanks to them for helping me recall how you cook a real country ham!

P.S.  Pap loved this.  He said Mother cooked the best ham he ever had.

Betty Friedan and Chocolate Leaves

Photo by Kraft
Photo by Kraft

Last week was the 50th anniversary of the publishing of “The Feminine Mystique,” Betty Friedan’s manifesto which opened the eyes of women all over the world.  Okay, I admit, I’ve never read it, but I was intrigued by the New York Times’ articles.  And as a child of the ’70s, I knew about women who immersed themselves in crazy stuff at home to fill their days and find some meaning.  It was still going on….and in some ways it still is.

The person who comes to mind is the mother of one of my college roommates.  Mrs. B was a home economics major at the University of Tennessee and got a master’s degree in textiles.  She was insanely talented as a seamstress.

Mrs. B made all Susan’s clothes, which were tailored within an inch of her life, and utterly unfashionable for the time.  Susan, to her credit, loved them.  But what 19-year-old girl in the Seventies would wear a gingham dress with a side zipper and smocking?  I borrowed it one time, and my boyfriend referred to it as “the chastity dress” because it was so hard to get off.

Mrs. B kindly volunteered to sew a raincoat for me, and told me to look at the Vogue patterns.  I have it to this day.  I picked out a Dior pattern for a balmacaan with a belt.  I lost the belt at some point, but it is so beautifully made that it is still wearable, and a classic style, of course.

The incident I was thinking of in connection with Betty Friedan, however, involved cooking.  Susan invited me home for the weekend to South Carolina.  Her parents were very fashion-forward for South Carolina if ten years behind the times–Danish modern furniture, uncomfortable plastic in the breakfast nook, Marimekko prints.  Her dad was an engineer and a kind if geeky guy.

I don’t remember what dinner involved, but I remember the dessert distinctly.  Mrs. B made parfaits, which I think involved chocolate Jello pudding and whipped cream.  But what impressed me was that each parfait was garnished with a perfect leaf made of chocolate.  Mrs. B allowed that she had experimented with several different leaves before discovering that ivy leaves worked the best, when placed on the surface of melted chocolate, peeled off, and allowed to harden.  Then she peeled off the actual leaf, and placed a perfect chocolate leaf on each parfait.

No one said, “Wow, Mom, that’s incredible!”  No one gave a single damn.  They just wolfed down their Jello parfait.  I thought my head would explode.

Maybe she was just a crazy perfectionist.  Maybe she would have done it without coming out of the environment she did.  Maybe pigs will fly.  That energy and creativity could have moved mountains.

 

 

 

Recipe: Bite-Size Cheesecakes

Bowl_of_red_CherriesThis recipe comes from my sister Juanita.  I made it for my Christmas party, and it was pretty popular.  Unfortunately, I didn’t take a photo of the little cheesecakes, but they were festive, and very tasty!  Just a little something easy to brighten up these damp, cold, dismal days.  We’re coming up on February, so you could use cherry filling in honor of George Washington 🙂

Bite-Size Cheesecakes

2 8-ounce packages of cream cheese

2 eggs

1/2 cup sugar

1 tsp. vanilla flavoring

1 can fruit pie filling (cherry, blueberry or apple)

12 vanilla wafers

Take a 12-muffin tin.  Put a muffin paper in each one, and put a vanilla wafer in the bottom of each one.  With a mixer, beat all the ingredients except the pie filling until smooth.  Divide the mixture evenly between all 12.  Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes.

After they cool, put 2 tablespoons of fruit pie filling on top of each.

More Sayings From My Mother

fronie-bowers-jones1[1]The other day I realized I had violated my in-home safety policy. I never even thought about such things until my friend Renny ran downstairs in her sock feet, slipped on the carpeted stairs, and shattered her ankle so badly that it subsequently took pins and plates to put it back together. Then there was the incident when my poor brother fell off the bed while changing a lightbulb in a ceiling fixture, hung his foot in the box spring, and was stranded for two days with a broken leg before he could get help.

Now that I’ve thoroughly frightened everyone, I should explain that the in-home safety policy applies only to people who live alone or perhaps spend all day or all night alone at home. Number one rule: Don’t run around in socks. Either go barefoot or wear shoes that fit. Rule number two: Always have your cellphone in your pocket. Make sure it’s charged. Rule number three: Teach your cat to dial 911 (joke.)

Anyway, my violation did not result in an injury, but I realized I’d done it while staring at a sink full of dirty dishes. Immediately one of Mother’s immortal sayings popped into my head: “If I get sick in the night, don’t call the ambulance until you clean up this kitchen.”

Another favorite behavior was how she hoarded her nice nightgowns and robes in case she had to go to the hospital. I guess she was concerned about looking well-dressed in her hospital bed.

Then I smelled my garbage, realizing it needed to be carried out, and thought, “There’s something kyarny in there.” That was a favorite word of Mother’s. I just found it online in the Urban Dictionary. I knew it meant “smells like something dead.” According to that website, kyarn is a Southern derivative of the word “carrion,” meaning dead or decaying flesh.

Another of Mother’s expressions was often aimed at me: “Get off your high horse.” That meant, “Stop being so arrogant and superior,” or as phrases.org.uk says, “A request to stop behaving in a haughty and self-righteous manner.”

Well, I have to get off my high horse and go get my cellphone. That way if I should get drunk as Cootie’s goose (i.e., dizzy) I can always call for help!

10 Years of Supper Club

ImageIn January ten years ago, my friend M. went off to a writer’s retreat near Chicago to work on her poetry for a month, leaving behind her husband, B.  B. is a human resources consultant and trainer and is often on the road, but things were slow that winter, and he was very bored.  He likes to do long-distance bike rides and has done several “centuries” in his spare time.  But that winter was a harsh one with lots of snow, so he was cooped up inside a lot.

I didn’t realize how bad it was until he called me and said, “Do you want to go to the mall?”  A sure sign of desperation, with most men.  I invited him to dinner instead with my friend Diane.  I had met Diane a few years earlier in a fiction writing class.  She has great tolerance for my limited cooking skills, and at that time was an assistant district attorney, with a lively perspective on local happenings. 

So I cooked dinner for the three of us.  I don’t remember what it was, but I’m sure it was simple.  It turned out that we all enjoyed murder mysteries, had similar political views, and were interested in the arts.  B. declared that we should do this on a regular basis.  “Let’s have a supper club, and take turns cooking,” he said.  Diane and I agreed this was a great idea.  Our first official action was to vote M. in as a member.

We’ve been meeting for the last ten years.  Sometimes it’s as often as weekly, or every two weeks.  It tends to be less often in the summer, when folks vacation.  They all have more vacation time than I do, since they don’t work 9 to 5 anymore.  But we’re still faithfully getting together.

We each have our favorite meals that the others cook, and ones that are our old standbys.  Occasionally the host will order out for pizza, because the main thing for our club is not the food–it’s the companionship.  That said, we have had some excellent meals, but this is not a gourmet supper club.  We’re as likely to have meatloaf or sausage and white beans as we are to have Julia Child’s beef stroganoff recipe.

This week we are celebrating 10 years, and M. is back at the same writers’ retreat.  I hope she turns out some wonderful poems.  And I hope we can keep cooking, laughing and talking for at least another 10 years.

2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 3,100 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 5 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

How to Carve a Pumpkin, the Old-School Way

My father was a quiet man, but he had firm convictions about the right way to do many things (see Father’s Day Special II.)  My view of pumpkin carving for Halloween is heavily influenced by his.

Every year just before Halloween we would go looking for a pumpkin.  Daddy felt that the proper shape for carving was the classic round, not one that was taller than it was wide.  It should be a good healthy orange, not pale.  The reddish-orange ones you sometimes see nowadays were not available back then in Tennessee.  We usually chose ours from a farm stand along 41-A, someone’s local produce.

The first step in pumpkin-carving was to spread a great deal of newspaper on the dining room table, covering the vinyl tablecloth so even it would not get dirty or be stained.  If the weather was warm sometimes we did this outside.  Step two:  Daddy carved a circle around the stem about six inches in diameter and pulled out this plug of pumpkin meat.  He cleaned off the bottom of this.  Then he scraped out the seeds and as much of the pumpkin meat as he could from the inside.

The next step was crucial, and this is where his opinions come in.  Daddy took a pencil and drew the face he wanted to cut onto the pumpkin shell, following these rules:   1) Halloween pumpkins should have triangular eyes.  2) They should have noses, either a triangle pointing in the opposite direction from the eyes, or two nostrils (some artistry permitted here.) 3) Their mouths should have teeth, either square and snaggled or pointed.  4) They should have ear holes.

So he carved according to these rules.  The pumpkin was lit by a stub on candle.  We would wait until dark, go outside and light the pumpkin, and stand in the dark admiring its eerie beauty.  Every year I was entranced with the result–old-school, simple, classic, and vaguely threatening.

This year I will have company for Halloween, and we will go to the Blaze in Croton to see thousands of carved jack o’lanterns, very fancy indeed.  But maybe I’ll carve an old-time one, in memory of Daddy.

Recipe: Gingerbread with Sorghum Molasses

Sorghum Molasses Pie

When I was a child we waited in anticipation every fall for sorghum molasses to come on the market.  Mother and Daddy were convinced the only appropriate sorghum molasses came from Benton County, Tennessee.  Even then, one had to read the label closely to make sure corn syrup had not been added.

Sorghum is a grain.  To make molasses, the canes are ground in a mill and the juice runs out.  In the old days, a mule walked around and around in a circle to make the mill turn.  The juice is cooked, not unlike maple syrup, and the byproducts skimmed off the top.  Sorghum-making is a skilled craft.  The byproducts used to be put in cattle feed.

But we wanted sorghum for two purposes:  Daddy ate it with hot biscuits and butter, and I made gingerbread.  How to explain how sorghum tastes?  It’s lighter and wilder than the only acceptable substitute, Brer Rabbit Molasses.  Dark Karo syrup is your syrup of last resort, too sweet, and it doesn’t have that wildflower/grain taste that sorghum does.  But these are dark times we’re living in, so we do the best we can.

Here is Mother’s gingerbread recipe with sorghum molasses.  Substitute as you must….

Ginger Bread

1 cup sorghum molasses

4 tablespoons shortening (butter or Crisco)

1 cup buttermilk

Mix together the above.

Sift together dry ingredients:

2 1/2 cups flour

2 teaspoons ginger (the dry powder, for you foodies who peel the root)

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 3/4 teaspoons baking soda

Mix dry and wet ingredients together.  Bake at 350 degrees for 20 to 30 minutes.

Recipe: School Night Chili With Beans

This recipe is so easy you can even make it on a school night.  This is my go-to, make-a-pot-and-freeze-in-portions chili, which makes it great for 4-6 people or for one or two.  If you like it spicy, use hot chili powder or seasoning mix.  If you like it mild, use regular chili powder, and you can cut the seasoning to 1 tablespoon, but I think it’s too bland, myself, if you do that.  Nothing better than a bowl of hot chili as the nights get cooler!

School Night Chili With Beans

1 lb. (or slightly more) ground beef or turkey ( I do NOT recommend ground chicken)

1 can black beans (15 to 16 oz.), drained

1 can red kidney beans (15 to 16 oz.), drained

1 can diced tomatoes or whole tomatoes (16 oz.)

Optional:  1 small can whole kernel corn, drained

2 tablespoons chili powder, or packet of chili seasoning of your choice

Brown the ground meat in a large skillet.  Drain off any grease or water.  Add the seasoning to coat the meat lightly.  Add the beans and tomatoes (and corn if you are doing that), stir well, and bring to a boil.  Reduce heat to a simmer and cover, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes.

Ready to serve.  Can serve with shredded cheese if you like, or over spaghetti, or both.  I’m a purist, I just eat it plain.  Serves 4-6, depending on how hungry they are.

Out of a Clear Blue Sky

ImageThis time of year many of us around New York are haunted by the weather.  Not that it’s grey and spooky, or dreary with rain–just the opposite.  The skies are usually clear and blue, with a little drift of white clouds.  The trees have not yet begun to turn.  There’s a quality the light has that is almost golden, especially early in the morning.  The sunsets often are spectacular, purple and pink and orange, and the sky then darkens to dark blue velvet.

The days are very much like they were on September 11, 2001.  Each year on these lovely September days, I remember a day very much like this, bright and crisp.  I remember driving to work with my CD player going, so I didn’t hear the news on the radio.  I walked into the office where I worked in New Jersey, and noticed it was nearly empty.  Everyone was in the cafeteria, watching TV and buzzing, trying to figure out what had happened to the first tower of the World Trade Center.  Then the plane hit the second tower as we watched on TV.  And clear blue skies would never be the same again.

So I still love these beautiful days in September.  But in some ways I’m glad now that we are past the equinox and slipping into fall.  October does not bring back the sad visions of those days when we lost thousands of people, and our innocence.