They're Happy Because They Eat Lard

I love mid- 20th Century propaganda posters. Their lack of subtlety, sarcasm and political correctness makes them funny and almost alien to modern sensibilities. Today, I came across this one and thought this would be perfect to share with you guys:

They sure do look thin for lard eaters, don't they? But I'll tell you this; I have the same kind of smile on my face when I've eaten something cooked in pig fat.

Watermelon With Seeds, Please

As a kid, I remember July evenings running barefoot in the yard, catching lightning bugs in mason jars, and eating watermelon on the back porch. Every bite of melon also meant a mouthful of black seeds. You just couldn't avoid 'em.

So my cousins and I held watermelon seed spitting contests. Who could spit their seeds the farthest? Now I wonder if that simple summer tradition may soon be a thing of the past. I blame it on the seedless watermelon.

It appears I'm not the only one lamenting the absence of seeds. And is it just me, or do those seedless watermelons seem less sweet? What do you think?

They're Baaaaa-aaaaack!

You can breathe a little more easily now--the peach milkshake is back at Chick-fil-a! As you'll remember, I was a little concerned about whether or not it would return. This delicious shake reminds me of helping make (and eating) homemade peach ice cream on my granny's porch. Peaches. Yum. Get this. Get it now!

Pucker Up!

A friend recently told me about an article she’d read that said people who love lemon are typically not chocoholics, and chocoholics often don’t care for lemon.

I love lemon. And I love chocolate. But given a choice between the two, lemon would be the winner.

All this talk of lemon made me think of the lemon meringue pie my grandmother used to make. And with Memorial Day coming up and it being the unofficial start of summer, what better time to enjoy the tart, refreshing taste of a family favorite?

Here’s my Mamaw Penry’s recipe, in case you want to give it a try.

Lemon Meringue Pie

1 8- or 9-inch graham cracker crust

3 eggs, separated

1 14 oz. can sweetened condensed milk

½ cup lemon juice

¼ teaspoon cream of tartar

1/3 cup sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a medium mixing bowl, beat egg yolks. Stir in condensed milk and lemon juice. Pour into shell.

In a small mixing bowl, beat egg whites with cream of tartar until soft peaks form; gradually add sugar, beating until stiff but not dry.

Spread meringue on top of pie, to the edge of shell. Bake 12-15 minutes or until golden brown. Cool. Chill thoroughly, and refrigerate leftovers.

An Afternoon Snack

When I was in elementary and junior high school, I stayed with one of my two grandmothers each day after school. Being the studious, responsible adolescent I was, I always took care of my homework as soon as I arrived there.

Both my grandmothers watched Guiding Light (which was on from 3-4 p.m.), so whether I was at my Mamaw Lackey’s house or my Mamaw Penry’s, I finished my schoolwork while their “program” was on. Once the soap was over, they turned the television over to me. In my elementary school years, I usually watched Sesame Street, The Electric Company, and Mr. Rogers. In junior high, it was usually reruns of I Love Lucy, The Munsters, The Addams Family, or Bewitched.

But no matter what I watched, my grandmothers always made sure I had a snack. My Mamaw Lackey would sometimes have a fresh bread pudding waiting when I arrived (no raisins on my half!). Sometimes we would make a mayonnaise sandwich with just white bread and mayo. And sometimes she would pop some popcorn (in those days, before microwave popcorn, it was in a covered frying pan with oil), which she would always serve with a glass of tomato juice.

When I have mentioned having popcorn and tomato juice to my North Carolina-native friends, they immediately nod their heads in familiarity. When I’ve mentioned it to people who hail from elsewhere in the country, they offer me a puzzled look. They’ve never heard of such a pairing.

What I loved best about popcorn and tomato juice was the little “sssss” sound the popcorn would make when I dunked a piece into the tomato juice. The combination of flavors—buttery, salty, sweet, tangy—was just perfect. Even to a 7-year-old.

My Mamaw Penry always had a variety of sandwich-makings on hand. I loved (and still do) pimiento cheese. She is the person who first persuaded me to try olive loaf (which eventually led to my ravenous addiction to olives), but it was her grilled cheese sandwiches that stand out strongest in my memory.

I never actually watched her make a grilled cheese sandwich, but the finished product, which she always brought to me on a 1950s yellow-and-gray Harkerware luncheon plate, was creamy, buttery, toasty, and—needless to say—delicious.

I have, in the years since, determined that she must have put a thin layer of mayonnaise (always Duke’s) on the outside, as well as a very thin layer inside, before grilling. I even came across this blog post, which confirms my theory.

Now that I’m practically middle-aged (nearing 40), I sometimes wish I could come home from work, turn on a rerun of The Munsters and sit down to a snack of grilled cheese, popcorn and tomato juice.

Heck, I wouldn’t even mind doing some multiplication tables or reviewing my spelling words first …

Biscuit-Challenged

Being a born-and-bred Southerner, it’s with some trepidation (and embarrassment) that I admit to being biscuit-challenged.

I just wasn’t fortunate enough to inherit the biscuit-making gene that my grandmothers put so often to good use. Try as I might, every effort I make at creating light, fluffy biscuits results in my being rewarded with a pan full of dense little discs suitable only for use as doorstops.

In fact, the only edible bread I’ve been able to make is what my grandmother Juanita called a hoe cake. She made one whenever she was out of “light” bread (her term for store-bought loaf bread). There’s no recipe for her hoe cake; it consists simply of self-rising flour, shortening and milk, mixed together in varying amounts until the “right” consistency is reached. She usually baked it in a small metal frying pan, whose handle had broken off years before, until it was golden brown and looked like a big, fluffy … well, biscuit.

But once in a while, usually on special occasions like Easter, Thanksgiving or Christmas, she would make Angel Biscuits. Sort of a hybrid biscuit and yeast roll, I can still see them put aside to rise in a muffin tin, three little round balls in each cup, like a cloverleaf. The best part, though, was when they were fresh from the oven, broken apart, smeared with butter and light as an angel’s wings.

I will admit, too, that I have never tried to make my grandmother’s Angel Biscuits. But with Easter on its way, it might be just the special occasion to give them a try.

(Note: Although the recipe calls for rolling the dough and cutting it with a biscuit cutter, my grandmother shaped it into little balls, putting three in each cup of a muffin pan to form a cloverleaf roll.)

Angel Biscuits

1 package active dry yeast

2 Tablespoons warm water (105 to 115 degrees)

1 cup shortening

5 cups self-rising flour

¼ cup sugar

1 teaspoon baking soda

2 cups buttermilk

Dissolve yeast in warm water. Cut shortening into flour, sugar and baking soda with a pastry blender until mixture resembles fine crumbs. Stir in buttermilk and yeast mixture until dough leaves side of bowl (dough will be soft and sticky). Turn dough onto generously floured cloth-covered board. Gently roll in flour to coat; shape into a ball. Knead 25 to 30 times, sprinkling with flour if dough is too sticky. Place dough in lightly greased bowl; cover and refrigerate at least 3 hours but no longer than 3 days. Use as needed.

Roll or pat dough ½-inch thick. Cut with floured 2-inch biscuit cutter. Place about 1 inch apart on ungreased cookie sheet. Let rise in warm place until double, about 1 hour.

Heat oven to 400. Bake until golden brown, 12 to 14 minutes. Immediately remove from cookie sheet. About 3 ½ dozen biscuits.

Cast Iron Will

There are several foods I wouldn’t even consider cooking in anything other than cast iron. Cornbread. Collard greens. Country ham and red-eye gravy. Fried chicken.

In the South, well-seasoned cast iron cookware is a welcome inheritance (no doubt because of its sentimental value, and the fact that acquiring a good seasoning is a long and sometimes smelly process). I have two skillets, one from each of my grandmothers, that have no doubt spent their share of mornings on the eye of a woodstove frying eggs, ham, sausage and bacon. They are black as coal and smooth as silk from years of use.

In the last few years, it seems more people are taking notice of the benefits of cooking with cast iron—something we Southerners have known all along. This article from the New York Times attests to the fact that plain ol’ cast iron is just as good, if not better, than expensive, gourmet cookware.

For heat retention, durability and versatility, cast iron can’t be beat. From stovetop to oven to table, all it takes is a little attention. Here you’ll find some tips for the use and care of your cast iron.

From new twists on old favorites to just the simple old tried-and-true comfort foods, cooking in cast iron links us to the past. If you’re ready to get started, Southern Living has some tasty recipes to try. And if you want to read more about cooking in cast iron, check out this blog.

In these days of always-improving technology, it’s nice to know that something our grandmothers (and even great-grandmothers) used every day is still relevant. Cast iron cookware is one of those things that only gets better with age.

Pinto Beans and Politicking

Nothing tastes more like home to me than a steaming bowl of pinto beans and hot cornbread slathered with melted butter. Born and raised in rural West Virginia, I spent many winter afternoons sharing this meal with my grandparents, Emery and Birdie Mae.

My grandmother Birdie Mae dished up pinto beans from an iron pot she kept simmering for hours on the gas stove. The only seasoning she added was a slab of bacon or ham hock with salt and pepper. It was my grandfather Emery’s favorite meal.

Between bites of beans, Emery liked to talk about local and national candidates coming up for election. As soon as he started to speak, Birdie would shake her head with annoyance. “There he goes politicking again,” she’d say, wiping her hands off with a dish cloth and fleeing the kitchen.

Emery preferred lots of diced onion and crumbled cornbread in his bowl of beans. But pinto beans also taste delicious when garnished with sweet, tangy Southern Chow Chow Relish prepared from finely chopped green tomatoes, peppers and onions.

As a native West Virginian, pinto beans and cornbread are part of my Appalachian heritage. But no matter where you call home, a good bowl of pinto beans is a hearty meal that’s guaranteed to warm you up—body and soul.

Pinto Beans

How to prepare: Start with a 1-pound package of dried pinto beans. Dried beans must be soaked before they are cooked. Soak overnight, or use the quick-soak method. Overnight soak: Rinse beans well and cover with an inch of cold water. Soak beans overnight at room temperature. Quick-soak method: Rinse beans well, put in a saucepan, and cover with an inch of water. Bring to a boil, simmer for 2 minutes, then cover and let stand at least 1 hour.

How to cook: Cover and simmer beans in water used for soaking. Check periodically, cooking until tender. Add water as needed. Season with a ham bone, a couple of minced garlic cloves or chopped onion, and salt and pepper to taste.

Cornbread

1 cup self-rising flour
1 cup self-rising corn meal
2 eggs
1 cup milk
1/4 cup shortening or vegetable oil
dash salt

Sift flour and add salt; stir in corn meal. Add eggs, milk and shortening or oil. Beat with electric beater until just smooth, about 1 minute. Do not overbeat. Pour into greased iron skillet and bake in hot oven at 425 degrees for 20-25 minutes.

Patricia Porter, Salt Rock, WV