Have Yourself a Merry Paseo

When I moved to the Paseo Arts District in Oklahoma City, I had no idea how my life would change.  I came from a country setting in which trips to the grocery store had to be integrated with commutes to and from work and nobody ever just dropped in.  I do admit to missing the crisp mornings on my deck watching the wildlife around me.   Then there were my gardens…sigh.  I do truly miss all of that.

The trade off is definitely worth it, though.  Obviously I gained a wonderful family.  A spouse I love dearly who treats me with respect and love, and two kids that I never knew I wanted.  Now I cannot imagine my life without them.  I have traded morning coffee on my deck for morning coffee on my front porch watching my neighborhood awaken.  This is never better than during the Paseo Arts Festival.

These days my whole year revolves around this weekend.  I look more forward to Memorial Day than I do Christmas.  Paula and I throw our biggest party of the year during this time.  I love the carnival atmosphere and excitement the festival brings.  Our neighborhood is transformed overnight into a magical kingdom.  I can’t wait to wake in the morning and watch as the street fills first with vendors and artists then the festival goers full of anticipation as they walk down to Paseo Blvd.  Many wave as they go by and for this weekend it is as if there are no strangers.  We are all part of the same shared experience, embracing diversity and art.

It is wonderful to hear the music drifting up from the festival and the aroma from the various food vendors mingling with the cookouts cropping up all over the area.  Then there’s our party.  This year will be our 8^th annual party.  This party is different every year.  We have had as few as 30 and as many as 120 people come through our house on this evening.  I have long since stopped trying to plan the activities too precisely. 

I make sure there is a good spread of food and space for everybody.  Then I just let it flow.  The guests determine how it goes from there.  We have had drum circles and karaoke in the living room, dances in the kitchen and poetry readings on the deck.  You can move from one area to another and have very different experiences at this party.  It takes quite a bit of preparation to get things in order.  Though several people usually help me, I especially look forward to one particular person.

My friend Sydney and I have a tradition.  She takes off work the Friday before and helps me set up for the party.  I have learned a lot from her about catering for a large group and she has helped me settle into an easy menu and routine resulting in the least amount of stress.  My menu usually includes pulled pork, grilled chicken and smoked sausage, confetti rice salad and baked beans.  This year, I am adding Devil’s on a Horseback for the first time.

I got the original recipe for my baked beans from Mary Jane Rutherford.  I of course have tweaked it a bit to suit my taste.  I render a pound of peppered bacon and set the bacon slices aside for later.  I start with a pound and after greedy fingers steal a piece here and there, I’m probably left with more like ¾ of a pound.  I then take 20-30 cloves of garlic and poach them very gently and slowly in the bacon grease.  When the garlic is soft and golden brown, I set it aside with the bacon.  I find that the garlic, too, begins to disappear as the once pungent cloves are now soft, buttery and mild in flavor.  I pour most of the grease into a container for a later purpose and then I caramelize a couple of yellow onions along with a couple of pinches of red pepper flakes in the remaining oil using the same skillet.  I want as must flavor as possible.

As the onions are cooking, I prepare the beans.  I use a variety of canned beans, black, pinto, butter beans, green limas, navy beans and then finally a big can of pork and beans.  I drain all of the beans with the exception of the pork and beans.  I empty all of this into a big mixing bowl and add some red pepper sauce, molasses and ketchup.  Sometimes I add brown sugar.  This is really just to your own taste.

I add the onions, garlic and most of the bacon.  I leave the bacon in big bite size pieces and save a few whole slices for the top.  I bake all of this at 350 for about 45 minutes.  It is so beautiful with all of the different colors and shapes of beans.  The differing texture of the beans is what really gives this recipe interest for me.  Add the sweet earthiness of the molasses, spiciness of the red and black pepper and the saltiness of the bacon and well, you’ll just have to trust me on this one.

By the time Friday comes, I will have the rice salad and the pulled pork ready to go.  With Sydney’s help, I will season the chicken legs and put them in bags to marinate until they are ready for the grill, prepare the baked beans and assemble the bacon wrapped dates to be broiled right before the party.  We will also ready the deck and set up the chafing dishes. 

Sydney started coming around about our 3^rd Paseo Party.  She lived in another town and was wrestling with coming out. I met her the first time shortly before our party and she was eager to participate.  We have since become close friends, family really.  Over the course of the next couple of years it was a privilege to witness her transformation as she came to terms with her sexuality.  We don’t get to see each other as often these days, but Memorial Day is a time we get to reconnect.  We chat and laugh our way through the chores of party preparations.  With plenty of deck time in between work, we might even build a fire in the chiminea.

By the time Friday evening rolls around, I will have everything in place for the party.  Saturday afternoon, I will grill the chicken and sausage and broil the Devils.  By 6pm, I will have the food in the chafing dishes and be ready to greet our guests.  I will be like a kid on Christmas Eve excitedly waiting for the arrival of Santa and squirming with anticipation for the contents of his sack of goodies.  Only Santa will be the spirit of Paseo and the sack of goodies will be you.

It will be interesting this year to see how this party evolves.  I am looking forward to seeing old friends and spending time with new ones.  Paula and I have met so many new people this year through her newly published novel and my school and blogging.

If you’re coming, bring your favorite dish (if you want to), drink (if you imbibe), or instrument (if you play).  Most of all, come early, stay late and come prepared for a great, interesting time. 

A Merry Paseo to all and to all a good night!

Happy Birthday Papaw

My grandfather was blind, but he was not disabled.  There were certainly things that he was not able to do, like drive a car, paint a picture, or thread a needle but I never thought of him as disabled.  My Papaw was my father figure.  I loved him so much and still miss him terribly.  He was the finest man I’ve ever known.  Papaw was compassionate.  He was strong and slow to anger.

Papaw loved his wife, his family, his church and his community.   He and my grandmother had raised their three children in the small town of Holdenville in southeast Oklahoma.   From my young perspective,  I thought they were icons in this small world.  I still think so today.  It seemed everyone in town knew my grandparents and I was so proud.

Papaw was a man of God.  He would read his Bible every day.  The Braille Bible took an entire book case and occupied a prominent place next to Papaw’s chair in the living room.  He would sometimes read to me from this Bible.  I was fascinated to watch his fingers move knowingly across the thick pages of the oversized book in his lap as he slowly read to me.  I felt proud and amazed that he had this special ability to discern meaning from bumps on a page.  When I closed my eyes and ran my fingers over the page all I felt were bumps.

Papaw was also Hard of Hearing.  He wore black plastic rimmed glasses which held his hearing aids.  Of course the frames had no lenses.  Their main purpose was to hold the hearing aids and help protect his face from the occasional cabinet door or other unseen obstacle.  I remember many a child poking their little fingers through the empty lenses, trying to reconcile eye glasses for a blind man.

It seemed to me that Papaw’s blindness brought him closer to God.  Sometime in the early 80’s, my grandmother was having issues with her sight.  I drove to Holdenville to bring them to Oklahoma City for her appointment at Dean McGee Eye Institute so was there when the doctor came in.  He asked my grandmother several questions and was quickly able to resolve the issue.  He then turned his attention to my grandfather.

He asked Papaw when he became blind and what caused it.  I felt the doctor’s excitement and Mamaw’s, too.  It seems the doctor really thought that something might me done for my grandfather.  Papaw stopped the doctor in mid sentence.  He explained that he had made a deal with God.  If God would give Papaw Peace in his heart and a good life, he would be satisfied.  That was the end of discussion.

I've thought a lot about that day.  I think it showed strong faith and courage from my grandfather.  He took what some would call a tragedy and made a good and full life in spite of his blindness or maybe because of it.  I felt that day in the doctor’s office that Papaw rejoiced in his blindness.

My grandfather loved life.  He was eager for new experiences and to try new cuisines.  We took many family vacations together.  The summer after I graduated high school, we travelled to Germany to visit my uncle and his family.  Every Easter, my family would have a picnic at Lincoln Park in Oklahoma City and then go either to the Zoo or Springlake Amusement Park.  One year, a friend of my sister’s came along.  That particular year, we went to Springlake.  Papaw even rode a roller coaster called the Wild Mouse.   Having had a day filled with fun and food, we were headed to the car and he tripped over a curb in the parking lot.  It wasn’t a big deal, just a little stumble.  It was enough to draw attention to Papaw’s blindness.  Gwen’s friend was surprised as this was the first time all day she realized he was blind.

That’s how my grandfather was.  Being blind did not define him; it was just a part of who he was.  I am proud to be his granddaughter and I hope that I carry some of his finer traits with me.

Papaw loved to eat and I wish that I could now cook banquets for him.  He really loved his sweets.  He had a sweet tooth about a mile long.  No meal was complete without a little sweetness at the end.  This could be as simple as some jelly on one of Mamaw’s homemade biscuits at the end of breakfast, or a slice of pecan pie to top off a fine dinner.

May 10^th marks my grandfather’s birthday.  If he were still with me today, I know what I would prepare for him.  This is my favorite dessert and I think he would agree.

I start this dish of sweetness with a sheet of puff pastry.  I cut the sheet into triangles and brush the top with an egg wash and some raw sugar.  I then bake them in a 425 degree oven for about 15 minutes or until they are golden brown on top.

I use a package of frozen dark unsweetened cherries.  I find using a sauté pan works well for this part.  I heat the cherries until they start giving off some of their sweet juice, then I turn the heat down and just let the juice reduce and thicken.

While the cherries are cooking, I whip some heavy cream.  I add some sugar and amaretto to the cream for a bit of extra flavor.  When the cherry juice has thickened a little I take the pan off the heat and add a couple of pours of brandy.  Using a match, I light the brandy and let it flame, then put in back on the fire and let the brandy reduce and become one with the cherries.

The presentation is pretty simple.  The triangles of pastry are first on the plate covered by a few spoonfuls of cherries.  A mound of whipped cream for the top and finally I drizzle a bit of the ruby red cherry juice over the fluffy white cloud for a final flourish of color.

Though Papaw wouldn’t be able to see this dessert with his eyes, he would see it through my grandmother’s description of it.  I believe he would smile and taste my love for him with every spoonful.  Happy Birthday Papaw, I love you.

Culinary Voyeur

This past weekend I had the privilege to be a guest in a friend’s kitchen.  Not a guest chef, just a guest.  What a great time!  It is not often I am the recipient of such an invitation.  I brought the ingredients for a new cocktail experiment.  I call it a “Pomegranade”.  The name is borrowed from one of Paula’s poems.

A Pomegranade is pomegranate juice, vodka and a squeeze of lime.  I have added some club soda to make it a little lighter and for some effervescence.  When I arrived, I made a round of drinks in varying strengths.  I find this cocktail to be a refreshing contrast of sweet and sour with the slight burn of the alcohol.  Adding the club soda makes it dance on my tongue. 

Everyone else having been served, I made a nice strong drink for my self and the cook.  I would call Linda a chef, but she refers to herself as a “dump cook”.  I think that title sells herself a bit short, as any of her dishes I’ve ever tried have been fantastic.  I had been looking forward to this particular dinner since she invited me.

After we enjoyed our first cocktail, it was time to start the dinner.  She had a good portion of it underway.  The menu was breaded pork chops, garlic mashed potatoes, creamed peas and steamed broccoli.  The pork chops were in honor of her friend, Barb, visiting from up north and the creamed peas a nod to my gravy-loving Oklahoma roots.

I selected a chair from the dining room and found a spot in the kitchen that seemed to be the most out of the way.  Feeling a bit like a culinary voyeur, I sat down, got comfortable and prepared for a wonderful experience.  Linda moved gracefully and with confidence.  This was her kitchen and the dance began.  It was obvious to me this meal had already been choreographed in her imagination.

The potatoes were peeled, chopped and in pots of water, ready for the stove.  Linda pulled a small plastic bag out of the refrigerator.  It held a combination of herbs from the kitchen garden at her regular job.  There was parsley, chives and dill.  She described the garden to me as she chopped the herbs with a deft hand of experience.  I am truly envious.  I really want a kitchen garden, but don’t have the proper area for it.  She combined the chopped herbs, garlic powder and a stick of butter together in a small sauce pot.  She then placed the pot on the stove over low heat to infuse the flavors.  This would be used for the mashed potatoes later.

We talked of many things that day.  Linda shared fond memories of her child hood with Barb.  We marveled at how much we had heard about each other before we ever met.  We have become good friends, this fellow chef and me.  A friendship blossoming from similar life experiences past and present.  The conversation never interrupted her singular preparation of the upcoming feast.

The broccoli was all ready to go in a vegetable steamer on the counter next to the stove.  She is definitely an organized cook, with an organized kitchen.  She added several peeled cloves of garlic to the pots of potatoes and put them on to boil then turned her attention to the pork.  I was again struck by the ease with which she moved from one task to another.  She had a package of boneless pork loin chops she cooked first and then kept in the oven to stay warm.  The star, though, was the porterhouse pork chops that came next.

These cuts of pork were a beauty to behold.  They were a good inch thick and perfectly shaped.  Her breading was very interesting.  She used a combination of saltine crackers and chow mein noodles reduced to crumbs. I’m sure she used some seasoning, but that will remain “Linda’s little secret”, as the breading mixture was completed before my arrival. The chops began their journey with a dredging of flour, then on to a dip in the pool of egg wash and finally being pressed into the cracker/noodle mixture.  By this time, my mouth was watering and my anticipation of this meal heightened.  I made another drink.

The ruby red cocktail was beautiful with the fresh green lime wheel floating on top and only added to the sensory delight of the moment.  The aroma of the herb infused butter mingling with the crusty pork chops being fried was almost too much to bear.  My patience was running thin as the rumbling in my belly reminded me that I had skipped lunch for this feast. 

I never thought the chops would fit into the skillet, but like a master jigsaw puzzler, she arranged them perfectly.  As they were frying, she drained the potatoes and whipped them with butter and milk, adding the infused butter throughout.  She put them back into the pot to keep warm and left a bit for me the mixing bowl.  That bite was so good I almost melted right into it.  The herbs added a brightness to the otherwise extreme richness of the butter and potato.  They were so light and fluffy. I imagined floating away on a cloud of mashed potato.  Another friend came into the kitchen just then.  I begrudgingly shared with him.  Now I was starving.

She turned the chops and grumbled a bit about the puzzle pieces not quite fitting.  She made it work and started on the creamed peas.  Finally dinner was ready.  Normally I’m the one at the end of the line, waiting on everyone else to fill their plates.  I tell you, this night, I was first in line.  I chose my chop, a healthy mound of potatoes, a couple of stalks of broccoli and finally a spoonful of creamed peas cascading down one side of the potatoes onto the crispy browned pork chop.  Ok, maybe two spoonfuls of peas.

I was first to the table.  The other guests were slowly drifting into the kitchen as I was already cutting into my chop.  It was so tender and juicy, crispy and brown on the outside and slightly pink in the center.  Perfect.  I ran my first forkful of pork and potato through the creamed peas.  I put it in my mouth, finally.  I closed my eyes and I know I moaned.  I opened my eyes and was happy to see that there were just a few folks at the table, and they were just as enthralled with their plates, so no embarrassment.

That was perhaps the best pork chop I’ve ever had.  The perfection of the food along with the wonderful conversation made for a completely nourishing evening.  I left my friend’s house being nourished body and soul.