The Birth of a Food Nerd

As an adult, have you tasted a food that you haven't eaten in a long time, and experienced a sort of sensory-fueled time warp that brought you back to some sunny day in your childhood?

I have a lot of food associations, both good and bad. I remember that Grandma Gwen loved deviled ham on Wonder bread, which, to me, looked and smelled like nothing so much as a square of cat food-smothered foam rubber. Blech.

But Grandma was raised in the long shadow of the Great Depression, and probably gained a fondness for potted meats and smelly cheeses from both her mother's German heritage and her exceptional resourcefulness. Feeding 15 people on a lumberjack's wages required a little creativity and an open mind when it came to meal planning.

But food at Grandma Gwen's house wasn't always so odd, in fact, looking back now, I see that we routinely ate like kings, without having any notion of our privilege.

That time-travelling bite that I mentioned earlier? That's what brought this whole train of thought about. I popped a handful of hazelnuts while standing in my kitchen the other day and felt instantly present in my Grandma's back yard, circa 1982, cracking open the few filberts that we were able to pick just ahead of the hungry, cranky Stellar's Jays. We had a system that we'd learned from the birds - if you dropped the hulled nut against the porch, and it bounced, it was empty inside - move on. If it landed with plunk, there was a nut inside. We used a caveman-style approach from there and clobbered them with rocks until they either gave up their goods or went shooting off into God-knows-where from an ill-placed whack.

We had similar semi-feral country kid gorge-fests on English Walnuts, crab apples (big mistake!), red huckleberries, black caps and blackberries. Sometimes we'd be sent out with a dented old MJB coffee can and told to fill 'er up with blackberries or huckleberries, with the promised payoff of pie for dessert.

Besides what we could glean ourselves, we were also spoiled with the fish and game that Grandpa brought home. A Navy man and a Pisces, Grandpa had an incredible affinity for fishing. He was an avid fisherman, bringing home limits of salmon and steelhead, which he'd smoke or Grandma would bake or fry-up for dinner. We had salmon so often that we kids actually grew tired of it and would say "Again?!" when told that salmon was on the menu for supper.

Grandpa fishing for tuna(?) off the coast of Guam, 1957/58.

We also regularly enjoyed venison, catfish, trout and occasionally, crawdads that we kids took great fun in catching from the nearby icy-cold Nisqually river. The kind of groceries that would set you back a pretty penny these days were standard fare for us. If you'd have said to me then that king salmon and hazelnuts were considered "fancy", I'd have had a hearty chuckle at your expense.

Along with all of the great foods that I experienced as a kid were also those not-so-great foods of a 1980's latchkey kid - Salisbury steak dinners, blue box mac & cheese, Fruity Pebbles, etc. And to some extent, I'm sure that those foods would evoke memories for me too, though not necessarily great ones. I'm glad that I spent time outside of my neighborhood experiencing wild food in situ, because those are the flavors and experiences that have stuck with me, and shaped my foodie-geek palate. I love rustic. I love full flavor. I have a special place in my heart for DIY, "seed-to-skillet" food, and I have my Grandparents to thank for that.

Recipe: Osborne Family Applesauce Birthday Cake

This cake is another of my amazing Great Aunt Ethel's legendary treats. She would make an applesauce cake every year for each one of her siblings on their birthday. Keep in mind that she had twelve siblings. Therefore, she got to practice making this cake a lot!

Unfortunately, this is not Aunt Ethel's exact recipe. That, sadly, has been lost to me, so this is my best effort at making the cake from memory. And, believe me, do I have memories of that cake. When you only get one slice, once per year, you savor every speck of it and commit the experience to memory.

The coup de grace, the icing on the cake, if you will is just that - the icing.

Aunt Ethel always made this cake with a peanut butter frosting. So simple, and so dang good.

So without further slobbering rambling, I give you, the traditional Osborne birthday treat, Applesauce Cake with Peanut Butter Frosting. :)

Cake Ingredients-

1/2 cup salted butter, room temperature

1 cup brown sugar

1 cup granulated sugar

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla (can be left out if using boozy homemade applesauce)

1 1/4 cups cake flour

1 cup all purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking soda

3/4 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

2 cups applesauce  (Made from sliced apples that were left over from making "Apple Pie in a Jar" liqueur*.  But of course, your favorite store bought or traditional homemade applesauce would work just fine.)

1/2 cup golden raisins

Directions-

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

In a mixer fitted with a whisk attachment, cream the butter. Add the sugars and continue mixing. Add the eggs, 1 at a time, and vanilla, then mix until well blended and fluffy.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the dry ingredients. Add to the creamed mixture alternately with the applesauce. Fold in the raisins. Pour the batter into a greased and floured loaf pan and bake until firm to the touch, about 40 to 45 minutes. Let cool in the pan, then turn it out and allow to cool the rest of the way before frosting.

Frosting Ingredients-

1 stick butter, softened

1 cup creamy peanut butter

2 cups +/- confectioners sugar

3 tbsps +/- milk

Whip butter and peanut butter until well mixed. Add 2 cups confectioners sugar, a little bit at a time until well incorporated and fluffed up. If you're happy with the thickness/consistency of your frosting, stop there. If you'd like a more spreadable consistency (more icing than frosting), then add the milk, 1 tablespoon at a time, beating well between each addition, until you reach the desired consistency.

A really bad photo of a really good cake. This one made with cream cheese frosting, per my youngest monkey's request.

Slice up and serve, as dessert or as a really decadent birthday breakfast, with a big cup of strong coffee. :)

*Apple Pie in a Jar - Cored, thinly sliced apples, steeped in whipped vodka (or bourbon), brown sugar, vanilla bean and a cinnamon stick for 4 weeks. Add "Buttershots" liqueur for that extra buttery, caramelly flavor dimension. AMAZING.

Easter Eggs Au Naturel

I saw this great little poster floating around on the interwebs, and it reminded me of making Easter eggs with my Grandma Gwen. By the time that my sister and I were born, Grandma was out of the farming trade, and no longer raised chickens of her own. She did, however have a good sized kitchen garden. While we didn't have the luxury of farm fresh eggs to work with, let alone multicolored eggs, we had Grandma's depression-era knowledge base and a bountiful garden to work with to make our Easter eggs pretty, and we did.

The tricks that I remember Grandma employing were using boiled onion skins to get a rich orange/brown color, boiled beets to make a happy pink egg, and rubber bands wrapped around eggs in crazy ways to make stripes. Grandma was definitely about using what you already had!

Little did we know that there were scores of spice and veggie colorants available to us beyond our orange and pink standbys than ran the gamut from red to violet. Then again, Grandma had likely never heard of pomegranates or turmeric, so it's probably just as well that we were happy enough with what we had.

But in this age of everything available everywhere anytime, at least a few of these natural dye-producers are likely to be found in your fridge or pantry right now! So if you're too far away to buy my purty-purty, naturally rainbow colored eggs, try out a few of these non-artificial, non-scary, food-based colorants on your eggs this year. ;)

From Better Homes & Gardens' website-

*Bluish-Gray
Mix 1 cup frozen blueberries with 1 cup water, bring to room temperature, and remove blueberries.

*Blue
Cut 1/4 head of red cabbage into chunks and add to 4 cups boiling water. Stir in 2 Tbsp. vinegar. Let cool to room temperature and remove cabbage with a slotted spoon.

*Jade Green
Peel the skin from 6 red onions and simmer in 2 cups water for 15 minutes; strain. Add 3 tsp. white vinegar.

*Faint Green-Yellow
Peel the skin from 6 yellow apples. Simmer in 1-1/2 cups water for 20 minutes; strain. Add 2 tsp. white vinegar. Simmer 4 oz. chopped fennel tops in 1-1/2 cups of water for 20 minutes; strain. Add 2 tsp. white vinegar.

*Orange
Take the skin of 6 yellow onions and simmer in 2 cups water for 15 minutes; strain. Add 3 tsp. white vinegar.

*Faint Red-Orange
Stir 2 Tbsp. paprika into 1 cup boiling water; add 2 tsp. white vinegar.

*Yellow
Rich yellow: Simmer 4 oz. chopped carrot tops in 1-1/2 cups water for 15 minutes; strain. Add 2 tsp. white vinegar.

*Various shades of Yellow: Steep 4 bags of chamomile or green tea in 1 cup boiling water for 5 minutes.

*Mustard-yellow: Stir 2 Tbsp. turmeric into 1 cup boiling water; add 2 tsp. white vinegar.

*Pale yellow: Chop 4 oz. goldenrod and simmer in 2 cups water for 20 minutes; strain. Add 2 tsp. white vinegar.

*Faint yellow: Simmer the peels of 6 oranges in 1-1/2 cups water for 20 minutes; strain. Add 2 tsp. vinegar.

*Brown-Gold: Simmer 2 Tbsp. dill seed in 1 cup water for 15 minutes; strain. Add 2 tsp. white vinegar.

*Brown: Add 1 tablespoon vinegar to 1 cup strong coffee. (Other suggestions - boiled Walnut shells, black tea)

*Faint pink: Chop 4 oz. amaranth flowers and simmer in 2 cups water; strain. Add 2 tsp. white vinegar. Simmer the skins from 6 avocados in 1-1/2 cup water for 20 minutes; strain. Add 2 tsp. white vinegar. Mix 1 cup pickled beet juice and 1 tablespoon vinegar.

*Dark pink: Cut 1 medium beet into chunks and add to 4 cups boiling water. Stir in 2 Tbsp. vinegar and let cool to room temperature; remove beets. (Other suggestions - pomegranate juice)

*Lavender: Mix 1 cup grape juice and 1 tablespoon vinegar. (Other suggestions - Red Zinger tea (hibiscus tea))

Buckets of Fonzy

Today my friend, Simcha, over at Turkish Cooking, Everyday has posted a recipe for a Turkish liver dish, Ciğer Kavurma. She prefaces her recipe with a story of a childhood memory of having to choke down some Liver & Gravy, and disliking it completely ever since. But being cajoled and force fed something that you find horrifyingly repulsive is sort of the universal childhood experience; a right of passage, if you will. We all bear the scars. Simcha says that she has come to terms with liver and actually likes it prepared in a particular way now. I cannot say the same. Here is the story of my first and last taste of liver.

My sister and I were staying with our Aunt & Uncle, on their small farm. Being suburban kids, this was a rather novel experience for us. They had chickens, horses and cattle. As little girls, we were used to every "pet" having a name, and were shocked to find that no one had bothered to name any of the cows. We put our heads together and came up with Laverne & Shirley for the ladies, and Fonzy for the bull. Thinking back, I can remember my Aunt being like, "Ok, but....", but we, oblivious to the eventual fate of the moo-moos, became somewhat attached - albeit from a distance.

Bulls aren't known for their gentlemanly behavior, and Fonzy expedited his exit when he took it upon himself to try and gore my cousin's beloved horse to death. I can't recall if the horns hit the mark, but I do remember that the horse got knocked into a whole mess of barbed wire, hard. Fonzy had just put himself on the fast track to freezer camp.

Memories can be tricky - I'm honestly not sure if I'm remembering this 100% correctly or if my experience has been influenced by repeated viewings of Napoleon Dynamite, but as I recall, our school bus was just rolling up to drop us at the driveway, in full view of the pasture, when the shot was fired.

Trauma, tears and worry for poor, widowed Laverne & Shirley followed in tidal waves of 7-year old emotion.

It was either later that same day, or perhaps the next that the real butchering began. Bits were here and there. There were multiple 5-gallon buckets in the kitchen filled with various guts and whatnot. It was horrifying.

In stark contrast to the scene in the kitchen was the smell wafting out from the stove top as my Aunt made dinner. I remember that the aroma of whatever it was she was cooking was so good. Like pot roast or chicken soup, something warm and homey, the perfect balm to my emotional afternoon. I was starving!

When dinner was served up, it was liver and onions. It looked pretty sketchy, but the tasty smell and a few stern looks shot my way by my Aunt and Uncle compelled me to tuck right in. From the very second that that first bite hit my tongue, liver and I were done for good.

I honestly don't recall the taste. It may have been incredible. All I can remember is the texture in my mouth, and flashing back to pictures of the buckets in the kitchen. Buckets of Fonzy. Even if I could have got past the weird, creepy texture of the liver, the psychological trauma probably would have been enough to stop me eating it anyway. I put my fork down and sat their trying my damnedest to swallow that bite. I got it down but simply could not take another. I was threatened, bribed, and finally, warned that I'd be spending my entire night at the table in front of that rapidly cooling plate of Fonzy if I didn't just buck up and eat it already.

I spent the rest of the evening at the table, as did my sister.

Guess what was for breakfast the next morning?

My Aunt & Uncle were old school like that. I don't recall whether or not we went without breakfast of any kind, but I can tell you for sure that neither one of us ate that stone-cold, day old liver. I can only imagine that later that day I must have attacked my school lunch like a demented piranha, grateful for my fake mashed potatoes and instant gravy like I'd never been before.

And that is why I just say no to liver. It's the texture, the idea, the mental associations, all of it. I can't eat it in any form - pate, fois gras, no way, no how. That is my general approach to all organ meats really. It's not snobbery, it's the mental & textural issues that I can't overcome. Given the choice, I'd rather eat my napkin.