Potlikkery

bake me a cake as fast as you can

You might think this is just another one of those culinary memoirs and skip it, but you'd be wrong. Spiced: A Pastry Chef's True Stories of Trials by Fire, After-Hours Exploits, and What Really Goes on in the Kitchen starts out lukewarm, but gets better as you read along.  The copy I read, however, was an uncorrected proof, and so it's likely that it's better now.

The other difference is that Dalia Jurgensen is the first pastry chef to write her memoirs; most other culinary memoirs are written by chefs who are entree-centric, for lack of the proper word. Jurgensen's insights to the inner working of kitchens are bracing. She doesn't gloss over the sexism plaguing the modern kitchen; though some kitchens are better than others--seems completely dependent on the tone the chef sets. Jurgensen shares how dishwashers hover over porno mags, as well as more implicit manifestations of sexism in the kitchen.

Having only worked in one kitchen for one day, and most of my restaurant experience being at the front of the house as a server, I didn't realize how quickly chefs burnout or how often they "self-medicated" with a geographical cure. And yet, I did know a bit about socializing after work at bars; my SIL was a bartender for years and rarely made it to holiday events because of her work schedule. 

Besides working at various levels in kitchens Jurgensen spent some time in Martha Stewart's kitchen testing and creating recipes where she honed her food styling skills and developed a method for meticulously tracking each modification she made in recipe until it was perfect. Her forays into catering and consultants jobs provided insight into the pros and cons of those types of jobs.

Her descriptions of kitchen culture and politics are illuminating to someone who hasn't worked in that environment. For example: One cook hazes a waiter by constantly calling his sexuality into question. When Jurgensen and two colleagues leave Scarabee for Q25, the staff at Q25 sabotages their efforts. She writes about romance in the kitchen and how that can backfire. There's more, but I'll let you discover those morsels as you tuck into the book.

One of the most fascinating parts of the book was her creation of desserts for the various chefs she worked for. I wish there was more about her intellectual and creative process, to really get inside the pastry chef's mind. And yet, her descriptions of cooking, slicing, dicing, plating, and styling are detailed and mouth-watering:

I set one of the chickpeas pancakes, studded with small squares of tomato and chopped black olives and cooked in brown butter, in the center of each white plate. Now, the salmon. With my sharpened chef knife (a Sharp edge is absolutely imperative; you need to cut, not tear), I sliced each rectangle og fish on the bias with one smooth motion...The deep-coral center gradually gave way to the pale pink of the fully coked outer edges of the cooked fish. (87)

Jurgensen's book is chockablock with details about culinary careers, and specifically, what it takes to become a renowned pastry chef. It's a perfect mixture of her personal life and professional life that left me wanting more. So I'm headed to her blog to read about her Spiced Life. You might learn from her example and skip culinary school all together, as her training didn't prepare her for the reality of kitchen work. So, start at the bottom and work your way up, and one day, you might be top chef.

So my questions for Jurgensen: Where in Tennessee does your mother live? And what restaurants do you recommend in the Volunteer State? Because, this blog is all about Tennessee, after all.

While I wait for anwers, I should try her recipe for Lemon (or Lime) Pound Cake. I love pound cake's simplicity and density and am always on the hunt for a new kind of pound cake. Dalia's content below:

Dalia's Lemon (or Lime) Pound Cake 

Pound cake is not the first treat that comes to most people’s minds when their sweet tooth starts calling out, probably because most pound cakes are bland in flavor, dense without being rich or just plain bad. But for my English, sweets loving husband, pound cake, specifically a lemon pound cake, is a revelation. He thinks it’s perfect with afternoon tea (of course), after dinner with berries and ice cream, even for breakfast (I told you he has a sweet tooth).

Lemon pound cakes make my husband happy and since they are easy to make (and because I love the way his eyes light up upon smelling one when he walks in the door) I make them more than any other treat or, puddings, as he calls desserts. Last week I didn’t have lemons around and instead used some limes and the result was just as delicious. So, here’s my favorite lemon (or lime) pound cake recipe, one I adapted from Rose Levy Beranbaum’s The Cake Bible. The method may seem a bit counter intuitive at first (there’s no creaming of the butter and sugar) but the result is a tender, delicious lemon pound cake.

 

     3 Tbsp milk, room temperature

    3 large eggs, room temperature

    1 tsp vanilla extract

   1-1/2 cups all purpose flour

   3/4 cup sugar

   3/4 tsp baking soda

   1/2 tsp salt

    1-1/2 sticks (12 Tbsp) butter, soft

   zest of one lemon

   ***

    2 Tbsp lemon juice

    3 Tbsp sugar

 

   1. Grease a loaf pan (approx. 8 1/2 x 4 1/2 x 3). Preheat oven to 325 degrees F.

   2. In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, 3/4 cup sugar, salt and baking soda and mix with the whisk attachment for 30 seconds to blend.

   3. With a fork, whisk together the eggs, milk, lemon zest and vanilla.

   4. Add the softened butter and half the egg mixture to the flour mixture. Mix on low speed until just incorporated, then increase speed to med-high and mix for one minute. Scrape down the sides.

   5. Add the remaining egg mixture in two batches, mixing for 20 seconds and scraping down the sides of the bowl after each addition.

   6. Scrape batter into the prepared pan and bake until a toothpick comes out clean when inserted to the middle of the cake, about 55 minutes. I also recommend rotating the cake halfway through the bake time to ensure even baking.

   7. Let cool for about 20 minutes.

   8. Mix the lemon juice and 3 Tbsp of sugar.

   9. Carefully unmold pound cake onto a plate. With a fork, poke holes into the top of the cake.

  10. Brush (or spoon) the lemon syrup onto the cake. Don’t worry if it drips down the sides-that’s okay.

  11. Transfer cake to a clean plate and cool completely.

smitty's in the bbq capital of Texas

Thank Heaven for Laura and all the tv watching she does. Somehow, on our drive from Austin to Victoria, Texas, we went right through Lockhart, the BBQ capital of Texas. She saw a show about Lockhart on FoodNetwork. I think I saw the same show a few years ago when a BBQ special feature comparing Carolina, Memphis, and Texas style BBQ featured Lockhart. It rang bells.

It wasn't until our return trip though, back from Victoria after helping a friend celebrate her wedding, that we stopped and ate at Smitty's Market. It was on the main road and thanks to Laura's fabulous recall, she identified Smitty's as the place to be/to dine.  She pointed to the parking lot and said something akin to "If it's full, it's gotta be good." We parked and walked inside and lined up. It was super hot. There's an open fire just inside the building where the cook the meat and sell it. Once you're up to the register, you tell the meatman how much of this and that you want. You pay, and then go inside to order and purchase sides and drinks. 

We split 1/2 pound of brisket and 1/2 pound of pork ribs. They slap a sheet of newspaper down, then place your order atop it. The meat is accompanied by white bread and/or crackers. We tried both. The brisket was moist and flavorful. The ribs were simply divine. Their BBQ sauce is reminiscent of the sweet tomato kind I can find in BBQ joints in East Tennessee. Laura is spoiled now. No other BBQ compares to Texas. She turns up her nose at everything else. It turns out that BBQ is bigger and better in Texas.

I forget what all kinds of sides they offered. That's slaw on the far left, potato salad in the middle, and beans on the far right. The slaw was okay. The mustard-based sweet potatoes were yummy. But the beans were mostly disappointing. We both expected cowboy or baked/bbq beans. Laura--who should write her own blog as much as she's featured on mine--thought they'd be perfect for a soup bean and cornbread supper, but that was not what we had in mind.

Here's a glimpse of Laura, you can see a bit of the inside of Smitty's. The "cafeteria" style dining room has 4-6 long wooden tables that bbq lovers find spots to park their rears while they eat. Laura picked an older gentleman to sit by. He looked harmless, she said. And he was. He snuck in a trip to Smitty's while his son finished up a Boy Scout backpacking trip at a nearby state park. He mentioned a bit about a feud that split the original BBQ joint in two and thus Smitty's was formed. Seems like BBQ wars occur in every state. I shared a bit about the one in SC with Maurice. Naturally he thought we were from there. I corrected him, said we hailed from Tennessee.

Here's the damage. We ate it all, folks. All but the beans. The amazing thing was that for under $12 the two of us ate our fill of meat, sides, beans, and then left with a scoop of ice cream each. I'd love to return to Lockhart, not just to eat at Smitty's again, but to try the other BBQ restaurants vying for the title of Best BBQ in Texas.

a smidge of Austin

On the airplane from Asheville to Atlanta--the first leg of my trip to Texas two weeks ago-- the flight attendant asked if I'd like some crickets. It was well after the last round of cleaning up and she said "Is there anything else I can get you? Some crickets, maybe?" I was ready with my automatic "No, thank you" and answered before the cricket part registered. But then I revised and added, "Well, if they're on the menu..."

That Laura. She was seated near the flight attendant and they chatted a bit. Somehow eating unusual food items came up, maybe a vending machine in a large international airport, and Laura told her that "my friend up there"--because somehow we were separated despite having booked and selected our seats simultaneously via phone and Internet--eats crickets.

When our flight attendant passed by again, I stopped and asked her what the most unusual food she'd eaten was. Eventually she answered alligator. She wasn't so adventurous when it came to eating different food. Once she was in rural Japan and could not eat what was for dinner because it was still alive.

After a two or three hour delay we finally left Atlanta and arrived in Austin. The first order of business was finding food. I'd asked Pamela what to do in Austin, and she recommended the yarn store, which has the cupcake truck next door. That was about all I knew for food.

The Delta InFlight magazine featured a photo of the Magnolia Cafe's "Sorry, we're open," sign. After seeing that, Laura remembered seeing something about it on a show on the food network. She watches way more TV than I.

It was graduation day in Austin so we spotted a few ladies in linen sheaths and heels leaving this decidedly alternative cafe; we ate at the Congress Ave. location. Most of the waitstaff were tattooed. A fellow eater bobbed his purple mohawk. Magnolia Cafe serves breakfast 24 hours, and is open 24 hours, too. While waiting for a table I spotted their tea & dessert board: Peanut Butter Pie. I was off the diet while in Texas, just so you know.

We were seated within 20 minutes and got down to ordering. Laura's shrimp quesadillas are above. The photo I took of my fish tacos is not so good. We shared bites of each other's food. I loved her guacamole and she tucked into my salsa. The peanut butter pie there was unreal. Its consistency was unlike anything I'd ever had. The flavor was robust. But the filling was more peanut buttery than cream cheese, if that makes sense. 

 

Seriously, a portable Airstream cupcake truck? It's the best. And a darling idea, really. I told Laura that we should buy an Airstream and take up cupcake making in East Tennessee; we could travel all over the southeast appearing at festivals and the like.

Yummy cupcakes, Hey Cupcake!  had red velvet, and after paying the guy--no sales tax on food in Austin or Texas or what?-- he asked if I was gonna take his picture. So I did. It's the cupcake guy. He was foxy, too. Could give Johnny Knoxville a run for his money. Their T-shirts were fabulous, too. The back read "Who you callin cupcake?"

i ate jiminy & his five friends--a confession

If you haven't tried crickets, then how do you know you won't like them? Sure, people are opposed to eating animals on ethical grounds, but I'm not one of them. Did vegetarianism. Wasn't for me. It's just too difficult, or was, when last I tried it.

Ironically, I usually order salads or the meat-substitute item on menus: The portabella sandwich, the eggplant, the tofu dish. So it's not that I'm a rabid meat-eater. I'm just an omnivore, as I was biologically determined to be. It's beef I crave; a rare steak or juicy hamburger. And then there's pork. Yum. I leave chicken alone. It's ubiquitious, boring, and usually poorly prepared/seasoned.

Last week we drove to Gatlinburg to take Elsa to Ripley's Aquarium because the Weeki Wachee mermaids were performing in one of the tanks there. I whipped up a mermaid tail for her. We went light on the trypical Gatlinburg fare by splitting a Fannie Farkle corn dog. No funnel cakes. No fudge or candy of any kind. Oh, but wait, they have a Ben & Jerry's there. How random is that? We each had a scoop. Bypassing the Donut Friar was a big deal for us.

There's a new-to-us shop there on the main drag called All Sauced Up. They sell kitchen tools, dips, salsa, gourmet peanut butters, etc. It used to be a knife shop, like of the cutting and gutting type, not the mise en place ilk. We bought utensils, peanut butters, cupcake decorations, etc.

Along the counter "novetly" food items were displayed. I call them novelty because I cannot see that the demographic touring Gatlinburg would actually eat mealworms, crickets, and other insects. I asked the lady at the counter if she'd tasted any. She said the crickets were like potato chips, but went down the throat a bit tough.

I bought a package of salt n vinegar crickets. Ate 'em when we got home. Not so much to speak about, really. They were crunchy and would have been flavorless but for the salt n vinegar. So there. I ate crickets. I'd likely try anything once, because how do you know you don't like it if you've never eaten it? You can get around the idea of eating things. We, as meat-eaters, get around those ideas everytime we devour our mammalian friends.

cracker kitchens & diasporas

It's rare that I put a cookbook aside to seek other books the author wrote, but that is what happened with The Cracker Kitchen. I found My Brother Michael at the public library and had to finish it before I felt up to reading through Cracker Kitchen--that on top of having a 6 month old baby keeping me busy. Pat Conroy's introduction should have clued me into Owens's fabulous writing. But it didn't, although he described it so:

Janis Owens's cookbook is a love letter written to celebrate the poor white people of the American South who were my mother's people and my own.

Owens says it a bit better though:

We are the working-class back that colonial American was built upon, the children of its earliest pioneers, who have lately tired of hiding our light under a bushel, and have said to hell with subterfuge.

It's written colloquially. If you've read that Paula Deen biography that came out a few years ago, then you know what I mean: the style is easy and the plate is greasy. Often she goes into asides in parentheses by hypothesizing one of the Tarleton Twins's--of GWTW--reaction to being served Baked Armadillo.

Owens limns her Cracker credentials by providing colorful family history within the context of all that Cracker symbolizes. The fabulous piece here, is that Crackers are inbred cousins to the Hillbilly, my people. And so, naturally, I am at once at ease with Owens's festive and engaging storytelling.  Crackers are notorious for telling yarns; the men, especially.

Her goal is admirable: To introduce readers to all things Cracker despite the diaspora that drove them out of Florida. Economy got you down? Yeah, it's always a fact of life for the working class/rural folk. She calls them Crackerlings, makes them sound good enough to eat; crunchy, crackly, and good with dip. And the three pillars of Cracker life, you ask? Food and laughter and food. 

Recipes are ordered according to season. The glorious Cracker spring is first up. She talks about her childhood for a spell. Every menu and recipe includes a good deal of context. Then she offers a menu fit for spring including Crab Bisque, Easter Ham, Potatoes au Gratin, Green Bean Bundles, Mama's Cornbread, Cracklin' Cornbread, Easter Bunny Cake, Iced Tea, and Light Lemony Iced Tea.

Spring menu does not disappoint. When I saw the Easter Ham recipe I hoped, I wondered, I grew quizzical. Will it be a coca-cola ham? It was! It is! Somehow I escaped childhood in the Mountain South, having never eaten a coca-cola ham. Leave it to a Brit to get me to try it. Nigella Lawson offers a recipe in one of her books. I've followed it several times and end up with a truly delicious bit of ham. Scoff not!

Her Mama's Cornbread recipe uses yellow cornmeal. There is great debate about cornbread in the South centering on whether to use white cornmeal or yellow. As I recall, if it's not yellow, it isn't southern. The same holds true for sugar. If it has sugar in it, it's due to some Northern intervention. Alas, I prefer cornbread made with white cornmeal and sugar and that's an anomaly I attribute to my Baltimore-born mother--due to the Great Migration/Appalachian diaspora.

Next up Owens provides recipes for bridal and baby showers. Recipes are what you'd expect: chicken salad, dill dip, candied pecans, punch. Her recipe for Cold Coconut Cake caused me to take a second look for two reasons. First, I love coconut anything. And second, she uses a cake mix. Peculiar. Very peculiar. However, the pound cake recipe following is made completely from scratch and thus has somewhat redeemed herself in my eyes. I rarely use cake mix. It's just a thing with me. You know, cake mix snob that I am.

After reviewing her Pecan Pie recipe I knew immediately that I wouldn't try it. I like my own best of all, and the problem with hers-- in my estimation--is that she doesn't cook the corn syrup, sugar, and butter together in a saucepan first or go through several other steps that make ingredients in my pecan pie coalesce, and thus, truly divine.

But come summer, you bet I'll try her Peanut Butter Pie recipe. I'm a sucker for them. I used to seek out the best Key Lime Pie recipe ever, but since I found that long ago, I'm on to PBP.

For the most part the recipes in Cracker Kitchen are what you expect to find in a Southern or Coastal cookbook. However, once the leaves turn gold and brown and fall comes to the Panhandle, hunters provide all the wild game meat a gal--or guy--could dream of. Owens has recipes for Venison Roast, Fried Rabbit, Fried Cooter, Fried Frog Legs, Baked Armadillo, Rattlesnake, Roast Possum & Sweet Potatoes, and Stewed Squirrel. 

One of the problems with most cookbooks is that to find a decent game meat recipe, you must buy a very specialized book. And while Ted Nugent may be a musician and hunter, I have my doubts that Kill It and Grill It: Ted and Shemane Nugent's Guide to Preparing & Cooking Wild Game and Fish is anything other than a novelty. So pick this book instead, for it's southern standards and game meat recipes.

A last surprise was Velveeta Rocky Road Fudge. Velveeta in fudge? While it's not as shocking as Baked Armadillo, I suppose it comes as no real surprise.  Inventive ingredients doesn't always trickle from the top down via those molecular gastronomists and such. 

Many of Owens's recipes are standard fare that you'll find in most Southern cookbooks. She seasons her deviled eggs with dill, something I don't do and haven't tried. But I shall. Hands down that bit of dill has got to be an improvement over deviled eggs stuffed with a mixture of boiled egg yolk and 1000 Island dressing that I was instructed to make for Christmas Eve dinner. Tried it. Didn't like it at all. 

You want this book for Owens's delightful stories, her impressive turns of phrase, and her edification of Cracker culture. It's a necessity for understanding the people who proudly call themselves Crackers.  Say, for example, if Katie Lee Joel did something as narratively rich with her Comfort Table to uplift West Virginians, then I would have kept my copy rather than selling it to the used book store in town.