Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Raise a glass, lift your fork to a new voice
Lindsey Nair
Front Burner blog
Recent columns
- A sweet opportunity
- 'Every little bit counts,' says this raw foodist
- Texas Chocolate Sheet Cake
- Column archive
Recipes
If there is one thing my grandmother was famous for, it was her pies.
Well into her 80s, the tiny woman could still make all kinds of expertly flaky pies, from fresh huckleberry to chocolate to strawberry-rhubarb.
I picture her whipping up pecan pies or apple dumplings now and wish I could do the same. Unfortunately, I never learned.
Grandma's been gone for a couple of years now, and in the true spirit of a food-lovin' family, I remember her best in the kitchen, always humming or singing a tune. But I have recently been on a mission to revive the home cooking that conjures up memories of her.
Once you're bent on finding the right recipes, they often find their way to you first. Recipes are like kittens in that way -- sometimes they find you before you even realized you wanted one.
The raisin sauce Grandma used to make for ham jumped out at me from the side of a box of cornstarch, of all things. I found carrot-raisin salad, corned beef and cabbage and meatloaf from books or friends along the way, too.
After five or so years of serious cooking, though, I feel I've barely cracked the egg.
As I take over this column for Beth Macy, I'm humbled by the size of the shoes I have to fill. I'm here to tell you that I set off my smoke alarm on a semi-regular basis, and I've come nowhere near toying with paneer.
But when I crank up the volume on my kitchen radio and reach for the cutting boards these days, I'm amazed to be experimenting with gratins and curries and shortbread as part of my job. And I can't wait to talk to others who plan extravagant meals or aren't afraid to plunge into a new recipe two hours before their dinner guests arrive.
An adventurous spirit and the acceptance of failure are important in my kitchen. Just the other day, my father said, "Remember, that's what the garbage can is for."
Dad took up cooking later in life, devouring books and taking culinary courses at The Homestead in Bath County. Now, ingredients and gadgets are one of the loves of his life.
It was he who first tackled things such as whole prime rib roasts, bearnaise, homemade ragout or linguine and clam sauce. At the same time, he can still be found smoking sausages or frying a turkey out by the shed.
Dad taught me to hunt morels, watercress and crawdads in the hills and streams of Alleghany County as a kid. Come summertime, we picked buckets of vegetables from his sometimes overly ambitious garden.
But not long ago, "Chef Bohemian" admitted that my mother had taught him a thing or two over the stove.
Mom, who worked as a grill and kitchen foreman for Copper Mountain Ski Resort in Colorado and toiled in nursing home and school cafeterias for years, is the type of person who can spontaneously provide the recipe for countless classics.
"Hey mom, how do you make macaroni and cheese?" I once wrote over e-mail.
"Well, open a box of Kraft," she wrote, then, "Haha. Just kidding. You mean saucy or baked?"
Then she rattled off the recipe.
The woman is a virtual encyclopedia of measurements, but she also cans vegetables (and squirrels), makes preserves, fishes, and can literally grill 100 steaks different ways at once.
She shoots deer, too, then butchers them and prepares a very nice chili, roast or stew.
With all these influences, my recipe scrapbook is practically spewing paper when opened.
There's an offensively stained index card in there -- a good sign for that chili recipe.
Not to mention a good friend's double chocolate raspberry rum cake, which she finally got tired of making at every single birthday and potluck.
But other pages remain blank, and there are millions of new scrapbooks in the world. And that's where you come in.
I'm reaching out to readers for the Penzeys Spices and Williams-Sonoma junkies, the restaurant fanatics, the chatty chefs -- amateur and professional -- or the busy moms who have a few quick, refueling recipes up their sleeves.
One of those moms is Ellen Rachel Lockhart, a 31-year-old part-time statistician for Carilion Health System in Roanoke who is raising a 3-year-old and an infant.
One of Lockhart's recipes, Mom's Chicken Italiano, was recently published in a new Gooseberry Patch cookbook titled "Slow-Cooker Recipes."
Lockhart's recipe was adapted from a dish her mother used to make in the oven. Now that Lockhart has her own hectic family life, she is always looking for easier ways to cook.
"The slow-cooker and I are very good friends," she said, laughing.
If you have invented a tantalizing slow-cooker recipe, send it my way. And if you know someone who has been making perfect pies for decades, I would love to know their secrets.
Any other kitchen tips or fabulous recipes are also always welcome in my in box at lindsey.nair@roanoke.com. And stay tuned in the next year for some tasty new offerings on the food page at roanoke.com.
Together, we will stuff our scrapbooks -- and our faces!
Mom’s Chicken Italiano
2 to 3 lbs. boneless, skinless chicken breasts
2 10-3/4 oz. cans golden
mushroom soup
2 14-1/2 oz. cans diced
tomatoes
1 c. onion, chopped
1 t. dried basil
Arrange chicken in a slow cooker. Mix together remaining ingredients and pour over chicken. Cover and cook on low setting for 8 hours.
Cut or shred chicken into bite-size pieces before serving. Serve over rice, sprinkled with grated Parmesan cheese, if desired.
Serves 4 to 6.
Recipe courtesy of Ellen Rachel Lockhart of Roanoke.
