Happy St. Patrick’s Day! If you are planning on a big celebratory day of pub crawling, or consuming any amount of green beer after the parade, the best of luck to you. Tomorrow a breakfast bowl of Lucky Charms just won’t cut it. You will need a full Irish breakfast to insure your full recovery.

During the week I tend to be a bowl of sticks and twigs kind of breakfast eater: bran flakes, raspberries and 2% milk. I worry about my fiber intake. Sundays I let loose, and bake biscuits, or make pancakes, with bacon or sausage. Sometimes I bake scones. Or make eggy French toast. I won’t say that I am abstemious, but I have had very few meals that have included three kinds of sausage and bacon. I thought the overwhelming English breakfasts I was served in modest B&Bs were absurdly huge, until I ran into the multifarious Full Irish breakfast.

Remember Gareth? Whose funeral we attended in Four Weddings and a Funeral? Remember the foreshadowing with his big English breakfast fry-up every morning: eggs, tomatoes, bacon, sausage, and fried bread, topped with a soupçon of cigarette ash? That was modest high cholesterol fare, the breakfast of a hermit howling in the wilderness, compared to the vast number of heart-stopping calories found in an Irish breakfast.

Here is what is required in a full, Irish breakfast:
Bacon or rashers
Sausages
Fried eggs
Black pudding (don’t ask – think of scrapple)
White pudding (ditto)
Mushrooms
Tomatoes
Baked beans
Fried potatoes
Soda bread/toast/fried bread
Real Irish butter
Breakfast tea

According to the Irish Post newspaper: “A full fry-up contains on average around 1,300 calories in one serving, which is almost three quarters of a woman’s daily recommended intake (2,000 calories) and over half of that suggested for men (2,500 calories).” Yikes. https://www.irishpost.com/life-style/the-ingredients-of-a-hearty-traditional-full-irish-breakfast-78903

The Irish Sun newspaper information is even more dire: “Three rashers weigh in at 213 calories, one slice of black pudding is 192 calories, while two sausages grilled add 324 calories. Toast, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, beans and hash brown will bring it up to over 1,500 calories.”

I’ve read that some calorie-wise folks will grill everything instead of frying it, and might even toast the bread instead of frying it. It sounds like a fool’s errand to me. Opinions about the Full Irish are strong. If you serve your beans in a ramekin, you look snobby and are acting self-important, even though some people don’t like having the beans touch their eggs. You must ask first. If you serve chips (French fries) instead of frying the potatoes in the chip pan you are rejecting tradition. It is morally wrong to serve eggs without runny yolks. Here are some tips for preparing your own Full Irish breakfast feast: https://www.irelandbeforeyoudie.com/the-perfect-traditional-irish-breakfast/

If you were an Irish farmer, facing a long day of grueling physical labor in the field, a Full Irish will adequately fuel your day. But if you are a puny twenty-first century home-office worker, it might be overkill. Especially if you consider that everything is bathed in sweet delicious Irish butter. It’s oatmeal for you. Maybe Weetabix. Think about your fiber intake. Think about Gareth. And just smell the bacon.

“When you make a wee wish
on a green four-leafed clover,
may your belly stay full
and your cup runneth over.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich

https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/irish-weekend-fry-up-51145610

https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https://www.happyfoodstube.com/full-irish-breakfast/&psig=AOvVaw1ZG1J5ogXJQ68RYbQX1Gxi&ust=1678731865774000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CA8QjRxqFwoTCJj7ldaB1_0CFQAAAAAdAAAAABAR

Good morning, Gentle Readers. Rise and shine. Arcane laws, Senate bills, and agrarian rituals dictate that you will lose an hour of sleep this weekend – unless you are enjoying an early spring break and are waking up someplace in Ft. Lauderdale. But that is another story.

We change the clocks this weekend: we are springing ahead. Luke the wonder dog will be puzzled. He has the most accurate internal clock I have ever seen. Daily, he starts moaning and wriggling and doing his little wake up tap dance around 5:58 AM, certain that Mr. Sanders is about to oversleep. Every morning of the week. Luke is no fan of Daylight Saving Time. He and the birds will be up when the sun beckons, and not a minute later.

Changing the clock is as bad as jet lag, without the perk of foreign travel. We stumble around for a few days, dazed and confused, cotton-mouthed and vaguely exhausted. Who needs Ft. Lauderdale? So pour another cup of coffee and pull up a newspaper on your tablet. Breakfast awaits.

I always feel smug when I remember a meal I have stashed away in the freezer. Luckily, clock-watcher Luke, who is my constant companion, is unaware of these rare moments of personal triumph. As handsome and good as Luke is, he is an anxious dog. He has separation issues. His life is better when he has company. Mr. Sanders is his preferred human, but I will suffice during the day. He attaches himself to me, limpet-like, at 7:00 AM. We go for a long walk first thing so he can suss out the neighborhood. Then he follows me around the house, the garden, the laundry room, through my studio. I announce to him when I am just going out to the mailbox, though I will be right back. He pays more attention to where I am than my mother ever did. He is asleep here, by my side, twitching, chasing bunnies, anticipating the storm trooper UPS delivery who will shatter our domestic idyll.

I have realized that I don’t need to go to the grocery store, or abandon Luke to the uncertain fate of menacing Amazon deliveries. A day without a trip to the grocery store is a good day for Luke. Tomorrow’s breakfast is already nestled in the freezer, so I won’t need to leave him. Instead, I will just clatter around the kitchen, making pizza dough for tonight’s pie, and our secure, cosy routine will not be interrupted. There are only 6 more hours until our second walk of the day, and at 5:58 PM, approximately, Mr. Sanders will sail through the front door. It’s going to be a good day.

I like easy peasy muffin pan meals. Last week we had the sweet muffin pan Portuguese cream tarts. This week we are going for something savory: Cheesy Bacon Egg Muffins. You can prepare clattering bowls of sticks and twigs, glasses of juice, and steaming mugs of coffee to be wholesome, or you can just reach into the freezer, pull a couple of these muffins out, and call it a meal; it all depends on your level of sleep deprivation. We are having company in a couple of weeks, so I want to be fully prepared and well-stocked. These will be perfect.

Cheesy Bacon Egg Muffins for Early Mornings

Preheat oven to 350ºF.

Grease muffin pans with olive oil or cooking spray, or use cupcake paper liners

5 large eggs
1/4 pound (about 8 slices) crisp-cooked bacon, crumbled
Luke the wonder dog and Mr. Sanders prefer
crumbled breakfast or Italian sausage
1 cup grated cheddar, or any cheese you like
1 cup chopped onions and bell peppers, sautéed (optional)
A pinch of salt and a pinch of black pepper
1/2 teaspoon crushed chili pepper flakes or dried herbs (Luke won’t say, but I like oregano)

It’s the perfect time and place to sneak in some diced tomatoes, broccoli, sautéed mushrooms, leeks, spinach, green onions, olives, fresh basil, rosemary, thyme, parsley; or any other old Simon and Garfunkle song you can remember.

Break eggs in a bowl, and beat them with the salt and pepper. Add cheese, bacon (sausage), pepper, other add-ins – and stir. Divide the egg mixture into the greased/lined muffin cups and bake in the oven until set, about 10 to 15 minutes depending on the size of your muffin pans. I like to put the muffin pans on cookie sheets in case of spillage. Serve warm. Save one for Luke. He has earned it. No UPS guys broached his defense today.

Here is a variation: https://morethanmeatandpotatoes.com/bacon-and-egg-muffins/

For the Keto Diet fans this is even simpler: https://theketocookbook.com/keto-recipes/bacon-egg-cups/

Luke isn’t too bothered by the clock change since he never skimps on his naps and he makes sure his meals are served on time. Mr. Sanders and I are hoping this will be the last time Daylight Saving descends on us all. https://www.reuters.com/world/us/us-senate-approves-bill-that-would-make-daylight-savings-time-permanent-2023-2022-03-15/

“I’ve lived on the equator all my life and we never had to change clocks. Now they’re telling me time goes forward an hour after midnight? What is this, Narnia?”
― Joyce Rachelle

It is good to get out of town every once in a while, to travel a little. We had a couple of errands to run in the big city, so decided to make a weekend adventure of it. Luke the wonder dog was ecstatic to spend the weekend at the spa with his pals, and we were equally thrilled at the prospect of a couple of meals that someone else had cooked. Also, as we are often reminded by those who know us well, we were eager to poke around a few grocery stores. I planned to sneak in a visit to an art supply store. And we all hopped in the car, eager for adventure.

Did you know that some Staples stores offer TSA PreCheck services? (This is not a paid advertorial – we do not live near a large airport or city where the TSA has offices, and I was taking advantage of Saturday hours at this particular Staples location. Check before you go.) Now that we seem to have gotten out of the COVID woods we are talking about traveling again, and I do not have TSA clearance. We arrived too early for my appointment, so we had to fill an hour by eating lunch, one of our many un-monetizable skills. We were in an unfamiliar, un-touristy part of town, surrounded by colorless strip malls, railroad sidings and fast food joints.

One of our dream TSA travel locations is sunny Portugal. A high school friend of mine has relocated to Porto, and I eagerly scan his Instagram posts of the art he sees, the unusual signs and windows, the sunshine on cobblestones, and the new foods he is eating. Instagram can make you nostalgic for places you have never even seen. I am ready, like George Bailey, to shake the dust of this tiny town off my feet and head to exotic climes.

We thought it was a happy coincidence that we passed a modest restaurant in a storefront in a gray mall (admittedly, it was a rainy day) called Little Portugal. Inside we were greeted by a disarmingly cheerful server, who seated us, distributed menus and bustled off to attend to the other customers. Mr. Sanders ordered Garlic Shrimp – Camarao Guilho. I asked for a chicken sandwich. And fries. Our server suggested adding a couple of custard tarts. We hesitated. She persuaded. And life was transformed.

Our food arrived. The shrimp was savory and aromatic with unstinting garlic. The chicken was hot and crispy, and much too much for one person. The hand-cut fries were superb. But the Portuguese custard tarts were amazing. I was expecting a mass-produced, tiny, chilled, whipped cream-topped custard in a graham cracker crust. I was so wrong. These were homely, warm and delicate, hand-made creations, with a flaky crust and a dusting of cinnamon-y sugar. I was only going to have one bite. Maybe a second, just to analyze the ingredients. You might guess what eventually happened. We fell on those tarts like wolves who had not just eaten a massive lunch. Still licking my fingers, as one does, I Googled “Portuguese custard tarts.” And discovered that Trader Joe’s, another of our planned weekend stops, sells their own version of the tarts. Seemingly, this was going to be a weekend full of happy coincidences.

It was a gloomy day, rainy and cold with a low, gray sky. The only cheerful notes we had seen from our table looking through the plate glass window at the vast parking lot had been a couple of little girls wearing slickers, twirling their tiny pink umbrellas, who were among the steady parade of regular customers into Little Portugal. They were happy, like us, to crowd in, and be warmly greeted and fed, and enjoy unexpected sweetness on a rainy day.

After the TSA, and a dash through the art supply store for a bottle of gamboge paint, we hit the grocery store. This Trader Joe’s (another non-advertorial) was filled with an abundance of fluffy hydrangeas and vats of olive oil, but sadly, was not stocked with clever TJ’s packages of Portuguese cream tarts. They were on order, but had yet to arrive. And now, finally, we come to the cooking part of Food Friday: baking the sweet tarts at home. Who needs the TSA, or even Instagram to enjoy Portugal? Let’s bake!

Our gas oven only goes to 525º F, so we couldn’t get the lovely blackened tops that you’ll find at a Portuguese confeitaria, but that is just the impetus we need to go traveling.
https://leitesculinaria.com/7759/recipes-pasteis-de-nata.html

Here is a short history of the Pasteis de Nata: https://spanishsabores.com/pasteis-de-nata-story-behind-classic-portuguese-pastries/

And here is a recipe that suggests using store-bought puff pastry. Shhh. Everyone will still enjoy it: https://spanishsabores.com/pasteis-de-nata-recipe/

Our friends at Food52 suggest dusting the finished custard tarts with cinnamon or chocolate. I do not know how authentic the chocolate is, but I think it means that I need to get to Portugal soon to do some grueling field work. I’ve got to wait for the TSA to check my fingerprints. In the meantime, we’ve got delicious options: https://food52.com/recipes/84592-pasteis-de-nata-mandy-lee-recipe

“The custard should be firm but not immobile; when you press it with your fingers, it should have a little wobble still within. Soft, warm and voluptuous – like an 18th century courtesan’s inner thigh.”
― Nigella Lawson

Pasteis de Nata: Custard Tarts

https://www.littleportugalnc.com/

According to the calendar and Punxsutawney Phil, we are still knee-deep in winter. The back hall should be full of winter coats, balaclavas, snow boots, misplaced gloves, and puddles of melted snow. We should be huddled together in front of the fire, clutching warm mugs of cocoa, readjusting our blankets, and stroking the dog, and talking about vacations in warm and sunny places.

Reality check: for the last week it has been unseasonably warm. Punxsutawney Phil needs a new job. Last night, after another fulfilling work day, Mr. Sanders and I sat on the back porch, decompressing, in light cotton sweaters, watching as the sun went down and the crazy robins streamed in to assume their rightful spots in the bird bath. It is February, and spring has sprung.

And there, the carefully laid plans for seasonal newspaper assignments went astray. This year we aren’t longing so much to go someplace warm to eat tropical fruit and sun ourselves next to riotously pink bougainvillea bushes. Most years, in February we normally like to imagine what folks in equatorial countries are doing – certainly not shoveling snow. They are lounging in white linen, sipping cool cocktails, watching surfers, dipping their toes in the pool.

In February we wind up having to frequent the grocery store produce department that reminds us of the perfect spring break: pineapples, bananas, grapefruit, strawberries, lemons, Key limes and blood oranges equal sun tan lotion, daiquiris, piña coladas, Cuba Libres. Ah, misspent youth.

Mr. Sanders and I lived in Florida for a long time, in a little house in a neighborhood that had once been a pineapple plantation. We had a few coconut palm trees that would, without warning, abruptly and loudly drop coconuts, an orange tree with sweetly fragrant white blossoms, as well as a few grapefruit trees, in our flood-prone yard. We could never muster the energy to crack open a coconut, but we used to harvest grapefruit, and broil grapefruit halves dusted with a thin glaze of brown sugar. Those were divine Breakers-worthy breakfasts for our annual parade of sun-seeking February visitors. And we would make evening cocktails with the oranges, which were fresher, juicier and more flavorful than anything found in the produce department.

But here, in the present day, mid-twenty-first century, far from fresh fruit growing in our back yard, we are back to relying on the fair-to-middling, not-so-fresh grocery store blood oranges, grapefruit and other citrus fruits to remind us of the spring breaks that might have been. And right now, while the daffodils are starting to bloom, there are signs that winter is over; a tall, cool cocktail might be the next best thing we can hope for. And if the weather turns cold again, and you know it probably will, we enjoyed an early spring break; the memories of it still glow brightly.

It’s not all about decadence and having fun in the sun and sand.This Carrot-Citrus Crush cocktail is practically a healthy green leafy salad: https://www.cookinglight.com/recipes/carrot-citrus-crush

And this actually is a healthy salad: Cara Cara and Blood-Orange Salad with Ricotta Salata – https://www.marthastewart.com/286438/blood-orange-recipes?slide=f213042c-2ace-4a9e-8cd6-51155f43f1eb#f213042c-2ace-4a9e-8cd6-51155f43f1eb

This is a nice twist on a garden variety bloody Mary: https://www.marthastewart.com/964314/bloody-orange-maria

Sex and the City gave us the cosmo – here is an updated version: https://www.supergoldenbakes.com/2015/02/cocktail-friday-blood-orange.html

Mark Bittman has a recipe for a blood orange salad – which will bring the glow and warmth of a Key West sunset to your sallow winter cheeks: https://markbittman.com/recipes-1/winter-citrus-salad-with-honey-dressing

And because not all of us are drinking these days, here is a simple blood orange drink sans liquor: https://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/blood-orange-ginger-soda

Instead of grilled grapefruit, try this ricotta brioche toast for your next house guest: https://www.purewow.com/recipes/broiled-citrus-ricotta-toast It’s Florida, without the crazy.

Bon Appétit has all of the blood orange answers: https://www.bonappetit.com/ingredient/blood-orange

Spring is on its way. Find a sunny corner and warm up. It won’t be long now.

“Meanwhile the sunsets are mad orange fools raging in the gloom.”
– Jack Kerouac

Happy Presidents’ Day! There are no scandals here today, we are merely exploring what a few of our presidents have enjoyed for breakfast. While American presidents are mere mortals, we don’t give much thought to them eating breakfast. We know that they attend diplomatic luncheons, host state dinners, and visit hot dog stands, state fairs, and ice cream parlors while out on the campaign trail. Maybe they have eaten a lot of pizza.

The Spy Test Kitchens wondered how presidents like to start their days. Do they skip the food and just start drinking coffee while scanning the headlines? Or do they nibble at abstemious bowls of museli twigs and sticks with almond milk? Some of them enjoyed riotously enormous feasts, while others are just like us, and delight in a celebratory plate of waffles and maple syrup. This is America, and we are a large and diverse cross section of humanity. Just don’t be like Harry S. Truman, and have a shot of bourbon with your breakfast. https://www.myrecipes.com/extracrispy/harry-s-truman-started-every-day-with-bourbon

Dutch settlers first brought waffles to America, but legend has it that Thomas Jefferson, while he was ambassador to France, was introduced to the waffle in the 18th century, along with ice cream, French fries, fine wines, and soufflés. He shipped four waffle irons back to his Monticello estate, and started a waffle craze in colonial America. There were two family waffle recipes found among his granddaughter’s papers; one called for butter, milk, flour, and yeast, with a short note that reads, “Some persons eat waffles with butter, sugar, and powdered cinnamon.” https://gardenandgun.com/articles/a-pressing-mystery-thomas-jefferson-and-the-waffle/

This is a little more precise:
3 eggs, separated
1 cup whipping cream
1 cup flour
¼ teaspoon salt
4 teaspoons baking powder

Beat egg yolks vigorously. Add cream. Sift together flour, salt, and baking powder. Add to cream and egg mixture. In small bowl, beat egg whites until small peaks form. Fold into batter. Let batter chill for half hour.

Grease and preheat waffle iron. Cook waffles until lightly browned.

Our modern, non-stick, electric waffle irons are more convenient, and precise, than trying to cook waffles over a fire, in a heavy long-handled iron waffle pan.

https://www.familycookbookproject.com/recipe/2374149/thomas-jefferson-waffles.html

https://thecookinglounge.com/presidents-day-thomas-jefferson-belgian-waffles/

Other presidents were also fond of waffles. William Howard Taft, he of great girth and enormous bath tubs, ate huge breakfasts: “grapefruit, potted partridge, broiled venison, grilled partridge, waffles with maple syrup and butter, hominy, hot rolls, bacon, and more venison.” https://www.myrecipes.com/extracrispy/all-the-presidents-ranked-in-order-of-how-much-they-loved-breakfast

Teddy Roosevelt is my favorite coffee-swilling president. He started drinking black coffee at breakfast, while consuming his daily hard boiled eggs, and continued tossing back strong coffee throughout the day. It was once estimated that he drank 40 cups a day. It was Roosevelt who declared that Maxwell House coffee was, “good to the last drop.” Indeed! https://www.myrecipes.com/extracrispy/teddy-roosevelt-drank-an-unholy-amount-of-coffee

But back to our waffle fanciers: Warren G. Harding, after playing poker late into the night, liked waffles for breakfast. If I had a White House cook, I might have waffles, too.

This recipe from The White House Cookbook of 1887 is alarmingly vague – WAFFLES:
“Take a quart of flour and wet it with a little sweet milk that has been boiled and cooled, then stir in enough of the milk to form a thick batter. Add a tablespoonful of melted butter, a teaspoonful of salt, and yeast to raise it. When light add two well-beaten eggs, heat your waffle-iron, grease it well and fill it with the batter. Two or three minutes will suffice to bake on one side; then turn the iron over, and when brown on both sides the cake is done. Serve immediately.”
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/13923/13923-h/13923-h.htm

The Kennedy family had a much-requested recipe for waffles:

Ingredients
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened
1 tablespoons sugar
2 eggs, separated
1 cup buttermilk
1 cup plus 1 tablespoon cake flour
pinch salt
1 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon baking powder (or 4 teaspoons)

Instructions
Preheat and grease a waffle iron according the directions.
Cream the butter and sugar. Add the egg yolks and beat until combined.
Alternately add the flour and buttermilk.
In a separate bowl, whip the egg whites to stiff peaks.
When ready to make the waffles, fold in the egg whites and baking powder. The mixture should be light and fluffy.
Bake in the waffle iron and serve with warm maple syrup and melted butter.

https://unpeeledjournal.com/jackie-and-john-f-kennedys-waffles-recipe/

The Kennedys all looked too thin to have actually ever eaten a sandwich, let alone a stick of butter, but we’ll believe this PR. https://www.myrecipes.com/extracrispy/jackie-kennedy-had-a-really-great-waffle-recipe

There are no waffle breakfasts in the current White House. The President and Dr. Biden make their own eggs, or pour out a bowlful of Special K. They like to keep things simple. https://people.com/politics/joe-biden-jill-breakfast-white-house-tonight-show-jimmy-fallon/

I remember celebrating both Washington’s birthday and Lincoln’s birthday as days off from school. Didn’t you make construction paper cherry trees, and stove pipe hats, too? Pity the youth of today – they only get Presidents’ Day off. I hope they can start their holiday off right with some of Mrs. Kennedy’s waffles, before getting to the serious business of being kids. Hope they are reading some banned books, too.

“We need to remember what’s important in life: friends, waffles, work. Or waffles, friends, work. Doesn’t matter, but work is third.”
― Leslie Knope

The Super Bowl is this Sunday night, in case you are still tucked away inside your COVID bubble. The Kansas City Chiefs will play the Philadelphia Eagles. And that is the extent of my sports update. Otherwise, I am all about the snacks, and how to be polite until I can slink off to watch The Last of Us in the other room.

We haven’t been to a Super Bowl party for years, mostly because of COVID. But what about you? Are you packing up some nachos to heat up in a friend’s kitchen, or are you going to throw open the windows and host a little gathering of your own? Or are you going out to a well-ventilated bar where the televisions are super duper high res Samsung S95B OLEDs, and the crowd convivial?

You will need to think about tasty nibbles, if you are hosting, or if you are merely enduring the Super Bowl ritual. There is almost nothing that can’t be improved by snacks. Think of the solace brought by a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos. Stashed in our freezer, along with last week’s emergency Stouffer’s Family Sized Lasagne, is a bag of pigs-in-blankets. Life can come at you fast, and having a stash of hot, fatty snacks can soften the harsh blows.

Now, at Martha’s house you can probably expect all sorts of fancy treats, probably served on platters with doilies. Our treat presentation isn’t quite so tony, but we like her ideas. Yay, Martha! Team neutral treats: pigs in blankets, chicken wings, and nachos, with fresh dips and maybe some crab croquettes: https://www.marthastewart.com/7995029/super-bowl-appetizer-recipes

If you are a Philadelphia fan, Food & Wine has this variation on the irresistible Philadelphia cheese steak: https://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/philly-cheesesteak-queso

If you are a Kansas City Chiefs crowd, then here are some ideas for you – including some ribs that are almost-as-delicious-as-Bryant’s: https://www.purewow.com/food/super-bowl-chiefs-recipes

At our house, which is leaning toward Philadelphia, we are eschewing the meat, and going for homemade hot, soft pretzels, which should be appealing to any Super Bowl attendee. I first tried the pretzels from The Great British Bake Off, because the episode was so amusing, but the conversions were a nightmare. https://thegreatbritishbakeoff.co.uk/recipes/all/paul-hollywood-pretzels/

A much easier recipe to follow was from our friends at Food52: https://food52.com/recipes/88416-best-soft-pretzel Once you have made a couple of batches of pretzels, you will be immensely proud of yourself. Just remember to share with others. And don’t forget the mustard.

If you are lucky enough to visit Philadelphia you can enjoy the handiwork of the professionals: https://www.phillymag.com/foobooz/pretzels-soft-philadelphia/ Or you can always stop by a Wawa, a good, dependable source of hot, soft pretzels.

I love this website: Matchup Menu. Their slogan: “If you want to beat the enemy, you’ve got to eat the enemy.” They make football fun for those of us who would rather cook than watch. https://matchupmenu.com/

For Kansas City fans, here are some of their favorite foods: https://matchupmenu.com/afc-recipes/afc-west/kansas-city-chiefs/

And for Philadelphia fans: https://matchupmenu.com/nfc-recipes/nfc-east/philadelphia-eagles/ I do not suggest the Philadelphia Fish House Punch – you have to go to work on Monday.

Have a jolly time on Sunday, whether you are watching sports, or trying to get to Joel’s brother out west to save mankind.

“All of life is a continuous state of wonder interrupted by bedtime and light snacks.”
― Joyce Rachelle

I could not think of a better cook for Black History Month this month. Matthew Raiford, from coastal Georgia, has written an impressive cookbook. Bress ’n’ Nyam: Gullah Geechee Recipes from a Sixth-Generation Farmer. Gilliard Farms, the farm he runs with his sister, https://gilliardfarms.com/, is an organic farm in Brunswick, Georgia, on land bought and farmed by Raiford’s formerly enslaved great-great-great-grandfather. The family still works the farm, employing sustainable farming methods, and environment-friendly techniques.

I’ve written about Raiford before: his cooking, his family, his deep connection to the land he farms, his unique voice. Historically, African American foodways have shaped America, with little fanfare or praise for the Black cooks, for over three hundred years. The heritage of Raiford’s farm and family shows us the very beginnings of African American influence; seeds brought from Africa, ekeing out a life in a hostile world, to the tastes that are integral to present day America. As Raiford says in his book, “The legacy is in the soil.”

Raiford is the great-great-great-grandson of Jupiter Gilliard, who was born into slavery in South Carolina in 1812. After Emancipation he began to buy land. He raised squash, field peas and corn and a family. His son built a house and raised another generation of farmers and cooks. In search of education and jobs, the family dispersed and some moved north, during the Great Migration. Matthew, his parents and his younger sister moved back to the farm in the nineteen seventies.

Raiford grew up eating local, southern regional foods: soul food. It wasn’t until the nineties that African American cooks and chefs were accepted into the mainstream as talented creators of the foods of the American south. He wasn’t encouraged to pursue these unsophisticated southern foods while attending culinary school. Culturally, it wasn’t considered sophisticated. And yet, it was the hugely delicious, and unsung, part of the American diet.

Like most of us, Raiford remembers older family members cooking, bringing family recipes to life every day, while constantly adapting the recipes according to season and crop yield. Some years there might be an abundance of tomatoes, or a dearth of okra, but there was still a family to be fed. The self-sufficient cooks learned to improvise and adapt, to make do, and were inspired by necessity.

Rice was the foundation crop of the southern tidewater communities. The rice was brought to America by enslaved West Africans, who also had the knowledge and experitise to cultivate the difficult crop. First rice was raised as subsistence food, then as a cash crop, and rice and the food culture surrounding it, flourished. There were regional one-pot rice dishes, from gumbos, and jambalayas and perloos. Raimond has old family recipes for Gullah Rice, with a hearty vegetable stock and roasted vegetables; Reezy-Peezy, peas and vegetables; Cowpea Salad; Mess o’Greens; CheFarmer’s Gazpacho; and Effie’s Shrimp Creole, this week’s Food Friday.

Matthew Raiford’s mother’s recipe for shrimp creole: https://thelocalpalate.com/recipes/effies-shrimp-creole/

Raiford has plenty of recipes for seafood, crab and oysters, wild game, and hogs. I am rather drawn to some of the baking recipes that were also his grandmother’s. I love a nice simple cornbread, poundcake, or biscuits any time of the day. I also love that he remembers that his mother made meatloaf as a way to stretch beef further. His homage to his mother is also humble: Tomato Jam, that recalls the ketchup she used to “shellack” the meatloaf. Raiford uses it to dress up a lowly hamburger. Lucky hamburger!
https://georgefox.cafebonappetit.com/matthew-raiford-juneteenth-recipes/

There are many charming interviews with Raiford on YouTube. Go watch a couple and get to know him, and then go to your local independent bookstore and buy a copy of his book. You will be enchanted by its clean design and the heartwarming story of a successful Black American CheFarmer. Also: https://www.bonappetit.com/story/bress-n-nyam

“Seeds are no mere commercial product, but the embodiment of our living history.”
-Ira Wallace, Southern Exposure Seed Exchange

This past Sunday was just the perfect sort of Sunday for us. Admittedly, we are still in COVID recovery mode, so we weren’t up for exuberant adventures. No running with the bulls in Pamplona. No cross country adventures in a vintage convertible that end with a fiery crash as we hurl ourselves toward freedom. It was a cool, gray, misty day; perfect for reading the newspapers, doing mountains of laundry, and making a Sunday spaghetti sauce.

We are competing again with the ghosts from our childhoods – which will haunt us forever with their elusive, never-quite-remembered ingredients – because we were kids and didn’t pay attention to every step in the process of meal creation. We followed our running, frozen noses into the warm house, pulled off our crusty snow suits and red rubber snow boots, washed our hands at the kitchen sink, and sat down to shovel the hot, delicious food into our gaping maws. It was steaming, it was tomato-y, and it was hard to twirl the spaghetti on the fork. Besides nostalgia, there is always the mystery flavor enhancer – why does food always taste better when someone else makes it?

When I was in middle school my best friend and I would alternate houses on the weekends for sleep overs. We always made popcorn. We used identical ingredients: Jolly Time popcorn, Mazola oil, grocery store butter, and Diamond Crystal salt. We cooked on gas stoves. I always swore it tasted better at Sheila’s house, she thought it tasted better at my house. It is another ineffable mystery for the ages. Which is another reason why we can never reproduce exactly the meals from our youth.

This past Sunday I tried for something new, a recipe by Ali Slagle, who at one time, worked with our friends at Food52. I bought her new book I Dream of Dinner (so you don’t have to) for Christmas. Then, last week I heard an interview with her on the Slate Magazine Working podcast. https://slate.com/podcasts/working/2023/01/recipe-developer-ali-slagle-easy-weeknight-meals
It must have been kismet, because the New York Times then printed her recipe for Sunday Sauce. Cross your fingers that this link works: https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1022972-sunday-sauce?unlocked_article_code=jmGiCoZ5baNYeOGKw8HkCn9Wl5e2-MAw3VqptpJ8GPlaEZkMSgbKACC4g3vyy3AccnIqBC5Wc4erEFIh4vgsSZ79Nv3We1hvNXHC0_HMiIaK0ndrbaDT2D17kcBDBks5i_33iXNHsqdvCIs8YILkNZOVxnQ0ga4Fjjm7fcEFLBUb-21KR8w2HhmlqjBWmAnPdiYdkD7_j296IflWG0zg1WA_dPlWrr7L79L1AZmWQ-dODGX3iYIOFF_QxP0XobBS7OOyeAzZ07TT2tRd5X33UPN2Po9T5QKCoFZvH3INVVK114ph5WjOQI6qchZua0Bs8g&smid=share-url

The complex flavors of the meats are slowly steeped into this sauce, as you stir it every half hour of so, over the course of the afternoon. The six cloves of garlic pervade the house, their magic aroma wafting back toward the bedrooms, and through the front door, welcoming the uninitiated to your warm and cosy retreat. Your house will smell like the finest, most inviting Italian trattoria. Mangia!

It took all my energy to make this sauce, but there are ways to simplify. You can leave out the pork shoulder, and just have meatballs and sausages. You can buy pre-made meatballs. If you do have a Sunday when all you have to do is laundry supervision, it is a good way to made a tasty, thoughts-of-home recipe. It takes too long simmering away on the stove to even think about doing as a weeknight meal. We also enjoyed two nights of re-heated leftovers, which is money in the bank.

Sometimes you need to simplify. All that meat in the Sunday Sauce recipe can be intimidating, and expensive. This is tasty, easy, and gives just as much pasta satisfaction: https://food52.com/recipes/13722-marcella-hazan-s-tomato-sauce-with-onion-butter

If you don’t have a leisurely Sunday stretching invitingly before you, or you just want some hot pasta, there is no shame in picking up a jar of Rao’s Marinara Sauce. It is almost as good as having dinner at someone else’s house. You will still have to wash up, but there is satisfaction to be had in scrubbing pots, and making order from the kitchen chaos. It is a good thing to do on a Sunday or a weeknight. Just add some garlic to make it your own.

Another friend believes you should always have a family-sized Stouffer’s lasagne in the freezer. It is good for pasta emergencies. We don’t judge.

“Italian cuisine, at its very best, is a math problem that doesn’t add up. A tangle of noodles, a few scraps of pork, a grating of cheese are transformed into something magical. 1+1=3: more alchemy than cooking.”
― Matt Goulding

We are still recovering from COVID here, and are staggering around the house like the un-dead – not quite human, but yearning for warmth and comfort. Never mind that outside it has barely felt like winter. Inside I am still heaping on the blankets and the duvets and trying to burrow my way to better health.

The steaming, hot therapeutic chicken soup of last week has given way to heartier stuff, ideal for the recovering patients. We are now pulling out the big guns of childhood myth and legend: Mom’s Meatloaf and Picture Perfect Shepherd’s Pie, which are practically interchangeable; Shepherd’s Pie being a magical melange of seasoned meat, mashed potatoes and peas all in one pan. Take your pick.

No one can make meatloaf exactly like the meatloaf of your childhood. It will never taste right. Nostalgia is a powerful flavor. Even if you use the correct ratio of crumbled Saltines to ground beef (my mother’s version) or the exact proportion of dry Italian breadcrumbs to ground beef and pork and veal (Mr. Sanders’s mother’s recipe), it will not taste the same. It will be childhood adjacent. Which might just do in this post-COVID pinch. The magical powers of healing might actually lie in the peas and mashed potatoes, which you can safely recreate. It is a meal which even a sad sack like you can cook, while hunched in shivering misery, wondering when your COVID headache will finally vanish.

Ina Garten has a fancy pants version of meatloaf: https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/meat-loaf-recipe-1921718

Our friends at Food52 are very fancy – with the addition of mushrooms, a bell pepper and cream! This is what happens in New York City: https://food52.com/recipes/14924-meatloaf-plain-and-simple

We are boring to the point of total snoozery for most people – we always have mashed potatoes and peas with whose-ever-mother’s meatloaf we make for dinner. You might be more adventurous. In any case, enjoy simplicity and succor of the nursery food.

I can’t handle washing too many pots and pans these days, so I am opting for some Shepherd’s Pie tonight. And I am going to stick with beef, instead of the traditional ground lamb. (I have been following a shepherdess on Instagram, and cannot bear the idea of eating any of her charges. Let me wear their sweaters instead. https://www.instagram.com/theoriginalshepherdess1/)

I am all for recipes that sneak vegetables into the mixture – for me. My children were never fooled. It is too bad we haven’t figured out a way to monetize pea consumption. https://www.thewholesomedish.com/the-best-classic-shepherds-pie/

I also like including Guinness whenever possible: https://culinaryginger.com/traditional-shepherds-pie/ I don’t think this is a violation of my Dry January challenge.

There is red wine in this version – more readily available than Guinness. I will never pipe the mashed potatoes, no matter how much the recipe implies that any idiot can do it. I know I can’t. I do not have piping skills for butter, sugar and cream, let alone mashed potatoes. This is supposed to be comfort food, soothing and calming; bland and easily digested, not showcasing décorateur pastry skills. Be my guest if you’d like to show off: https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/member/views/traditional-irish-shepherds-pie-52780791

We should all enjoy the respite from winter weather, which is probably just the pause we need as we recover from COVID. Quietly revel in the mild weather, and think about the bulbs that have eluded the rapacious squirrel thieves so far. The sun is rising earlier, and setting later. There is a nice warm dinner in the oven, that will yield deelish leftovers. These are modest, homey comforts.

Mrs. Lovett : “It’s fop, / Finest in the shop. / Or we have shepherd’s pie peppered with actual shepherd on top. And I’ve just begun. Here’s the politician, so oily it’s served on a doily, have one.”
-Stephen Sondheim

The inevitable has happened. Mr. Sanders and I have caught COVID. We let our guard down after being so careful and conscientious. Naturally, I first cast aspersions on Mr. Sanders since he goes out into the wider world every day, mingling with humans. As self-appointed amateur CDC investigators, we counted back the days, and realized we must have been infected when we went to a timed and ticketed (yet still awfully crowded) traveling exhibit of paintings at a museum in the big city, where there must have been erudite virus-shedders. Thanks to all the hard work and science that Dr. Faucci has done we have been vaxxed and boosted every step of the way for the last three years, and our cases are fairly light, not that we don’t whine and complain and feel crummy. Luckily, just before the COVID boom crashed into me, I made a vat of chicken soup, which has sustained us this week. And Luke the wonder dog has been very helpful and sympathetic. He has been herding us along the road to recovery.

I prefer chicken soup with rice, while Mr. Sanders is a noodle fan. Both are easy to cook in advance, then put in the bowl just before adding the hot soup. Two happy patients, and no glue-y, congee barrel of chicken soup.

Rummage in the Pantry Chicken Soup

(not completely homemade – but if you feel a cold coming on, or you just got a positive COVID test, you had best get cracking!)

2 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup chopped onion
1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped carrot
2 cloves of garlic, minced
2 cups cooked chicken, in bite-sized cubes
6 cups chicken broth or stock
2 cups cooked rice
Salt and pepper
Chopped fresh parsley, strictly for decoration

1. Heat a large pot or a Dutch oven over medium heat.  Add butter.  When melted, add onion, celery, and carrot.  Sauté until onion is clear and carrots softened.  Add garlic, sauté for 1-2 minutes.
2. Add chicken.  Stir and cover.  Cook for 5 minutes.  Add chicken broth.  Simmer for 20 minutes.  Add cooked rice. Season with salt and pepper.
3. Serve with Saltines.
4. Go back to bed!

This will be much better than Lipton’s Chicken Noodle dried-powder and freeze-dried chicken bits! And certainly better than Campbell’s. Have you ever looked at those pinkish chicken nubbins in the bottom of the can? Well, you were probably feverish and anything warm was going to do the trick.

Thanks again to our friends at Food52 for their brilliant, simple and easy to follow ideas: https://food52.com/recipes/7634-chicken-stoup

Nigella has wisdom to share, with matzo balls: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/nigella-lawson/chicken-soup-recipe/index.html

Epicurious is an excellent resource, too, with a New York deli variation: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Chicken-Soup-108014

A word to the wise: you are going to need chicken soup sooner or later this winter, healthy or not. It’s cold out there! And, no, it will never taste as good as your mother’s. It will ward not off COVID or the flu, but will ease the aches and pains of your miseries. And soon, you will feel right as rain.

“There is nothing like soup. It is by nature eccentric: no two are ever alike, unless of course you get your soup in a can.”
– 
Laurie Colwin