From Seed to Table, An Organic Journey

A craving for farm fresh vegetables sent me on a trip to the farmer’s market recently.  My favorite one is in Norman, overflowing with local and home grown choices.  We were up and ready to roll at 7am.  The market doesn’t officially open until 8:00, but I know from years of experience that the selling begins long before opening time. We found a place to park, gathered our bags and off we went to gather the bounty.  I was hoping for some culinary inspiration.  I have been in the mood for the kind of nurturing that only fresh vegetables can bring.

We made our way through the outside booths before entering the building.  I mostly do a walk through first and then go back to make my final choices.  I did see some marble sized yellow and red tomatoes that I had to get before they were all gone.  The vendor let us try them and they were so very sweet.  She only had three cartons of them so I bought two of the three. 

The first booth we came to inside the building had a young man so excited about his organic offerings.  He had heirloom okra, tomatoes and cucumbers.  What I remember most about him was his enthusiasm for his product.  He was proud not only of his produce, but of his process as well.  He spent quite a bit of time explaining his use of a portable shop vac to pluck grasshoppers off his plants as he harvested.  Then he empties the grasshoppers over his pond to feed the fish.

This got me thinking.  I believe that when I cook with love the food tastes better.  I also believe that my intent, my love, infuses the food and helps to nurture my family and friends.  What if this begins with the seeds, or even before?  A friend and I took a road trip to Sulphur over July 4^th.  This is one of my favorite places on Earth.  We spent the morning walking the nature trails and meditating by the springs. On our way out of town, we stopped by the new Chickasaw Cultural Center.  This is a beautiful place, worthy of more than just an afternoon’s stop next time.

There, I saw a film about the “Three Sisters” way of planting crops.  After preparing the soil, a corn stalk is planted on a mound.  In a few weeks, after the corn stalk is a couple of feet tall, beans are planted then a little later squash seeds are added to the mound.  The corn stalk provides a place for the beans to climb.  The transpiration from the leaves of the stalks helps to cool the beans and gives them shade.  The beans help provide much need nitrogen for the corn and the squash covers the soil acting as a mulch.  Talk about planting with intent! 

Imagine a seed being planted and nurtured with not only water and nutrients from the soil, but with loving intentional care.  Then imagine that seed growing into a beautiful squash and being prepared with the same intentional love for the nurturing of your family.  I’m sure that the vegetable would be more nutritious physically, but what about the spiritual nutrition?

My Dad loved his garden.  He would come home from a long day working construction and spend his evenings cultivating his plants.  I didn’t understand it at the time, but now I think I do.  The hard work in his garden fed his soul.  He in turn fed our souls with the produce from the garden.  He was so very proud to share this bounty with his friends as well.  This makes me think of the vendors at the Farmer’s Market.  Herein lies a difference. 

You can go to the grocery store and buy beautiful produce, but to see the pride on the faces of the farmer’s market vendors is another thing entirely.  Those fruits and vegetables must be infused with intent, pride and I believe love.  That’s the produce I want to buy and prepare for my friends and family.

I was conservative in what I chose at the farmer’s market because I didn't want to waste anything.  I wish I would have bought more.  Along with the marble sized tomatoes, I chose some cucumbers, onions, brussel sprouts and an abundance of yellow squash.  I had in mind to try a squash soup sometime over the coming weekend.  I also got some peaches, a cantaloupe, watermelon and some of the finest grapes I have ever tasted.  These were homegrown and she had a purple variety and a golden variety.  I bought the golden ones.  They are so very sweet and full of juice, amber drops of grape flavored honey.  She also had some perfect looking heirloom tomatoes, but I had already bought some from a vendor earlier.  I will definitely go back if just for those two items.

After the farmers market, I met a friend at Whole Foods for lunch.  I finished my shopping there getting some burrata cheese, polenta, lamb, some maple link sausages and chorizo cherry sausages along with cherry walnut bread and cream cheese.  I was now ready for my weekend of nourishment.

Saturday evening’s dinner was lambs chops marinated in yogurt and curry then cooked on the grill, pan roasted brussel sprouts and creamy polenta.  The amber grapes were a perfect touch of sweetness to compliment the curried lamb chops.  Sunday morning found us munching on the Cherry Walnut Bread slathered with cream cheese, sliced cantaloupe, maple flavored breakfast sausage and fresh farm eggs cooked over easy.

Sunday evening was perhaps the simplest but to me the best meal of the weekend.  I made a cous cous pesto salad using some pesto I made from some basil which was a gift from a friend’s garden.  I used Israeli cous cous because I wanted the larger pearl shaped pasta for this salad.  I started by browning the dry cous cous in some olive oil until it was toasty brown.  I then added organic chicken stock, brought it to a boil then let it simmer until the cous cous had absorbed all the liquid.  In the meantime, I seeded and chopped a cucumber and washed the cute little tomatoes.  I added these ingredients to the cous cous and dressed it with the pesto.  I remembered some chopped pecans in the freezer so I added some of those. 

This salad is so full of texture, the tomatoes popping in your mouth releasing their sweet juice.  My original plan was to add some pearl style fresh mozzarella but decided to serve it with the buratta and heirloom tomatoes instead.  Burratta cheese is fresh mozzarella that has been filled with a combination of mozzarella, cream and sometimes ricotta.  I love this cheese.  It comes in a ball shape the same as mozzarella, but when you slice into it, the creamy interior oozes out onto your plate.  I plated with the cous cous in the center and wedges of the heirloom tomatoes on one side, the buratta on the other.  I drizzled balsamic vinegar over all of it and sprinkled a little finishing salt along with a few grinds of black pepper over the top.  It was so colorful and refreshing.

I served this salad plate with a bowl of summer squash soup.  The soup started as many of mine do with chopped onions caramelized in oil, chopped garlic and red pepper flakes.  In this case, I used the fat left from rendering several slices of bacon.  Before adding the onions, I crispy fried a few thin slices of the patty pan squash.  I intended to use the bacon and crispy squash to garnish the top of the soup.

I wanted to intensify the squash flavor in the soup, but didn’t want to cook the yellow squash too long.  I cubed the patty pans; I had a total of three.  I added this to the onion, garlic mixture.  I let it all cook down until the squash was very soft.  I wanted a thick and creamy soup, so at this point I added some wheat flour creating a thick rue.  I browned the rue for about 10 minutes or so then I added a quart of organic stock.  Now I had a gravy that was really tasty.  I could taste the squash clearly at this point so I was happy.  

I added another quart of stock a few bay leaves and the yellow squash sliced into rounds.  I had about 3 pounds of yellow squash.  I let this simmer for about 15 minutes until the squash was tender, but not too soft.  Then I fished out the bay leaves and added about a cup of cream.  This soup was marvelous!  All that I love about creamy potato soup without all the carbs.  The fresh squash flavor came through mingling with the richness of the bacon and cream.  There was just enough spice at the end to wake up my taste buds.  I know I will be making this again.

This weekend once again took me back to the summers of my youth and my Dad’s bountiful garden.  Today, I don’t have my father or his garden, but I do have access to the farmer’s market.  This Saturday, I will set my alarm and once again make an early trip to Norman.  Once I’ve gathered the vegetables grown by people who love them, I will come home and with loving intent prepare to nurture my family and friends.

Flamingos and Frogs Forevermore

This past weekend, we had the great pleasure of receiving a dinner invitation to the home of some new friends.  Sarah and Sue are a delightful couple and are planning to be married soon in Iowa.   I am so excited for them!  When we arrived, Paula and Chris went into the living room with Sue and I joined Sarah in the kitchen.  Watching her prepare our dinner, I knew I had met a kindred spirit.  It was obvious that she cooks from her heart and with an eye for beauty.

She was chopping sweet potatoes adding them to some other vegetables for roasting and on another counter was a chocolate cake next to a bowl of fresh raspberries promising a scrumptious ending to our feast.  I asked if I could help and she told me that she didn’t know what I could do.  I understand that.  When you’re in a flow with cooking, it can be more disruptive than helpful to have someone step in.  I decided to join the others in the living room. 

Sharon arrived shortly after.  She will be travelling with the happy couple to be a witness to their wedding.  It wasn’t long before the tempting smells wafting from the kitchen became such a distraction that all conversation was about how hungry we were.  Sarah called us to fill our plates.  The plates were a simple pattern accented with the same pink of the flamingos which abounded all around the house.  Sarah collects flamingos and I think they are a perfect complement to her graceful nature.

I was struck by the beauty on my plate.  The Parmesan Chicken was succulent and moist with a salty flavorful crust.  The roasted vegetables were caramelized to sweet perfection.  The sweet potatoes created a great contrast to the turnips and cauliflower all having the dark brown edges indicating intense flavor.  Along side was a most beautiful Summer Salad.  The greens were tossed with the sweetness of strawberries and blueberries along with the tang of blue cheese.  My plate looked like a work of art.  I knew it was going to taste just as beautiful.  And it did.

As we were enjoying our meal, Sarah and Sue were sharing with us their plans for travelling to Iowa.  They received their marriage license by mail and had their hotel reservations made.  Sue was so excited to have found a hotel with an outdoor pool.  She was planning on spending her time by the pool while Sarah and Sharon went shopping.  I thought this was funny especially since Sue collects frogs and it seems very “froglike” to be drawn to the water.  Their house is filled with frogs and flamingos of all kinds and I loved it.  I thought it fit them very well.

Visiting with them about their plans certainly brought back memories of when Paula and I married.  That was certainly an adventure!  I am not a particularly political person, nor am I an activist.  I just live my life and you can think of me what you will.  I have to admit, though, the marriage equality issue is one that is close to my heart. 

I remember going to Dallas to get our marriage license.  We had all kinds of documents in a bulky folder to support our claim to the license.  We arrived in the appropriate office bright and early one Friday morning.  There was one other couple waiting and we let them go first.  We were ushered into the inner office as the young woman explained that she was substituting for the regular person who was off sick that day.  I thought “Oh honey, you are going to be glad you’re here today.”

We sat down, started spreading out our documents: my birth certificate and driver’s license and Paula’s birth certificate, passport under her former name, change of name documents, and driver’s license. The young woman politely looked at us pushing away all of the documents and simply stated “I’m sorry, we don’t recognize same sex marriage here in Texas.”  We started to explain that Paula was transgender and she interrupted us saying that she was going to call upstairs.

We were instructed to go upstairs to another office.  This office was a large open area with lots of hustle and bustle.  We were met at the counter by a woman obviously not so happy to be there.  We explained our situation and she quickly deferred to her supervisor.  This next woman was as diminutive in stature as she was huge in attitude.  She was stuck on the fact that both of our driver’s licenses had “F” for female therefore we could not obtain a marriage license. 

We asked to speak to her supervisor, a very quiet man who stood by as she continued her argument.  Paula started quoting a lawsuit ,Littleton vs Prange, and it was obvious the woman had neither heard of nor cared about this lawsuit. Littleton vs Prange was a 1999 lawsuit that voided the marriage between a man and a transsexual woman, thus establishing a precedent of recognizing only the birth sex of a transgender person as applied to marriage. Both Paula and this woman were becoming polarized in their arguments and Paula began to lean over the counter raising her voice, the woman standing toe to toe with her asserting her rightness about our driver’s licenses.  As the pressure mounted, I felt tears of disappointment sting my eyes with the regret that were would not be able to get our license.  Then a thought occurred to me.

I did research online before we went to Texas and remembered that you only needed certain documents to obtain a marriage license.  I interrupted these two and swept all of the documents aside on the counter.  I said “What if I give you this” handing her my drivers license “and this” handing her Paula’s passport along with the document changing her name.  “Would this work?”

The woman looked over the documents, thought for a moment and said “Yes, that would work.”  She walked away going about what ever process it took to get the license.  Paula and I did not look at each other, we did not speak.  The woman came back, handed over the document.  I said “Thank you” and we turned to go to the elevator not saying a word until we reached the sidewalk outside and finally able to breath.  It was quite an experience for sure! 

We were married the following weekend in the gardens in front of Cathedral of Hope Dallas.  That ceremony changed my life.  It changed our relationship and it changed me.  It was then that I really came to realize the importance of being able to be legally married.  There is something about having a legal document recognizing your relationship.  I realized then that this is why the fight for marriage equality is so important.

I wish for Sarah and Sue a wonderful experience in Iowa.  I’m looking forward to hearing about all of there adventures, shopping or sitting by the pool and getting married.  I’m sure we will share these stories and many more over shared dinners as we get to know one another better.  Congratulations to you both! 

Chili Today and Hot Tamale

The other day, I received an email from my friend Rae.  Her daughter and son-in-law were coming for a visit and she wanted me to meet them.  She told me that Charlotte was going to give a lesson in making tamales and I was invited.  Tamales are definitely one of Paula and Joey’s favorite Mexican foods and I had been researching recipes.  I knew enough to know that making tamales is quite an undertaking.  I excitedly accepted the invitation.

The plan was to meet at Rae’s house about 3:00 in the afternoon, make the tamales and then stay for a wonderful Mexican feast in the evening.  When I arrived, Charlotte and Rae were already mixing the first batch of masa.  They started with 5 pounds of masa and a pound of butter.  They had it in a big bowl and were using Rae’s KitchenAid stand mixer to blend this stiff dough.  Rae had already prepared the fillings for the tamales, shredded pork for some and then cheese and chiles for others.  After a time, Rae got the cooking liquid from the pork out of the refrigerator.

This cooking liquid was thick and rich, making my mouth water when the spicy aroma reached my nostrils.  I could just imagine what a great addition it would make to a spicy green chili pork stew.  But, we were here to make tamales, so this went into the masa to bump up the flavor.  After the mixer ran for what seemed a really long time, Charlotte took a marble size ball of the dough and dropped it in a cup of water explaining that we would know the masa was ready if the ball floated.

With the masa complete, we were ready to assemble.  There were 5 of us sitting around the table assembling the tamales.  When it came time to start with the chile and cheese filling, I took the liberty of a taste.  Rae told me she roasted the jalapenos bought from the local farmer’s market.  After de-seeding the jalapenos, she added them to some caramelized onions and chili peppers.  The mixture smelled heavenly and as I brought the spoonful to my mouth I was transported back to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

A couple of summers ago, Rae, another friend of ours Rita, and I travelled to Santa Fe School for the Deaf for an ASL Immersion Week.  What an adventure!  We spent our days immersed in a world of American Sign Language and our evenings exploring the food of Santa Fe.  Rae was on a quest to explore the world of chili peppers and I gladly joined her.  No matter what meal or where you were, there were chilis to be sampled.  In bread, on eggs, in stews, in chocolate, chilis permeated the air and culture of Santa Fe.

One evening, we went to a restaurant some of the other students had recommended.  We were seated outside in a very pleasant area lush with flowers and alive with the smells and sound of Santa Fe.  Rae is Deaf and was thrilled to be immersed in a world of Sign Language.  I was just learning and struggled a bit with communication.  This dinner was quite comfortable, though.  We signed, ate and laughed, generally having a wonderful time.  We rose from our table, bellies full and our hearts overflowing with the laughter of blossoming friendship.  As we were leaving, Rae realized she had left her receipt on the table.

Rae went back to the table and I went on the meet Rita at the front of the restaurant.  She was standing next to the host who was leaning on a podium looking a bit bored.  He was a rather tall man with extremely curly salt and pepper hair.  He was dressed in black slacks, a white shirt and was wearing the biggest turquoise cross necklace I’ve ever seen.  I rounded the corner and was signing to Rita explaining that Rae had gone back to the table to get her copy of the receipt.  Rita signed back to me that she needed a copy of hers, too but had left hers on the tray.  I suggested maybe she could get a copy of it from the cashier.  I said she should ask the host if this was possible.  All of this communication took place using Sign Language.

Rita then turned to the host and said out loud “Could we get a copy of our ticket?”  This man about jumped through the ceiling exclaiming “Oh good Lord I thought you were Deaf!”  I burst out laughing at his exaggerated reaction, Rita followed suit as did the host.  The three of us were recovering when Rae came around the corner signing that she had not found her ticket.  The man looked at her and said “Now don’t you start!” which just started Rita and me on another fit of laughter.  We had to explain to Rae what had just happened and to the man that Rae was truly Deaf.  Oh my goodness, that was such a fun time!

Rae, Rita and I were still laughing when we returned to the school that evening.  We staggered up the sidewalk towards our dorm rooms.  In the distance, we saw a woman from our cottage and she made the sign for “drunk” with an inquiring look on her face.  Of course, this just made us laugh harder having to lean on each other for support.  No, we weren’t drunk on alcohol, but our souls were drunk on laughter and good times.  I suppose to the bystander it looks the same.

These were the memories evoked by that spoonful of chili filling.  As I looked around this table of women stuffing and rolling tamales I was struck once again with the importance of preparing meals in our lives.   This time together allowed opportunity for us to get to know each other better and for Rae’s daughter to catch a glimpse of her mother’s rich life.  I can picture a family spending all day preparing tamales and bonding during the process.  Hours later we all sat outside enjoying the summer breeze and wonderful meal of tamales. 

Flowers on the Table and Stew in the Pot, It's all good

Before Paula and I met and married, I was a florist.  I loved my job and felt very blessed to be able to wake up and go to work every day doing something that I loved.  I was surrounded by beauty and interacted with so many wonderful people on a daily basis.

Then a bitter break up forced me to sell my family land and close my business, I was left feeling empty.  The one bright spot in my life was Paula. The profession that had once filled me with pride now left me feeling bitter and depressed.  It was now a chore to drag myself out of bed in the morning to fulfill my obligations for the day.  I had lost my love for flowers.

My passion turned to building a new life and home with my new family.  Slowly, my brokenness began to heal as I redefined myself.  I was no longer defined by my job, but by the total of life.  Paula and I got married and life was once again good. 

One evening I was sitting on our couch visiting with one of our new friends, Christa.

Christa worked as a Sign Language Interpreter and was sharing with me that her boss was looking for a new scheduler.  This was just a casual conversation as I wasn’t particularly looking for a new job.  The more we visited, though, the more interested I became.  The clincher was that the position offered benefits rarely offered in flower shops.  I contacted Stephanie and we agreed to meet the following week.

The thought of working in an office environment was a bit alien for me.  More than motivated by the benefits the new job offered, I felt lead by God that this was the path for me.  I have grown so much as a result of this decision.  Three years later, I have a renewed passion for my work.  Stephanie has taught me so much about advocating and Deaf Culture.  I have met many wonderful and interesting people through my job.

Stephanie is not only my boss, but my friend.  I have much respect for her and have grown to love not only her, but her family as well.  Stephanie’s birthday is in May.  As I often do for my friends, I prepared a meal in honor of her birthday.  We share a culinary passion, so we prepared this meal together.  The dish she chose is Beef Bourguignon.  It’s a little complicated, but well worth the effort.

I went to the new Uptown Market in Edmond to do the shopping.  I love this store!  My first impression was the wall of fresh flowers as you come in the front door.  I chose a mixed bouquet of orange purple and bright green flowers for my dining room table.  I knew just the vase I was going to use.  A bell shaped green art glass left from my florist day.  Slowly my love for flowers has started to re-emerge recently.  As I rounded the corner, I was startled as someone called my name.

A young woman I had met recently was working behind the cheese counter.  We spoke for a moment and as I meandered on, I looked up to see an old friend working in the deli.  I haven’t seen her for a number of years and she rushed up and hugged me so tight, it was wonderful!  She reminded me of some of the best times in my former life.  We exchanged numbers and said our goodbyes.  I gathered my ingredients and as I headed to check out, I ran into yet another friend who works there.

This is a new friend who lives in our neighborhood.  As we walked out to my car, she told me about a medical condition which was causing her to lose her hearing in her left ear.  She was very distressed about it.  I was pleased to be able to share with her my work, and my experience with my own hearing loss.  We too, exchanged numbers and I’m sure this conversation will be ongoing.

Having gathered the ingredients, I was ready to start.  I begin by rendering a few slices of thick cut bacon in a dutch oven.  While the bacon is browning, cut a nice thick chuck roast into about 2” cubes.  When the bacon is brown I take it out of the pan and set aside.  Make sure that the cubes of beef are dry by patting all sides with paper towels.  Add a little olive oil to the pan with the bacon fat.  Season all sides of the beef with salt and black pepper and brown in the mixture of olive oil and bacon fat.  This will have to be done in batches.  If you crowd the pan, the meat will steam, not brown. As the meat is browned on all sides, set it aside with the bacon.  This process takes a bit of time, but be patient.  It is well worth the effort and this is a crucial step.

After the cubes of beefy goodness are all browned to perfection and set aside, brown the mushrooms and set them aside, too.  Soften a large chopped onion in pan before adding a few cloves of crushed garlic along with some salt and pepper and red pepper flakes.  When the onions are just beginning to turn brown add several carrots cut into 2 inch pieces and a bag of frozen pearl onions then stir everything together.  Let all of this cook together for 5 minutes or so before you add a tablespoon or two of tomato paste. 

Incorporate the tomato paste into the vegetables then deglaze the pan with a bit of the wine.  I think any full bodied red is fine.  Just make sure it’s not a sweet red wine.  Now it’s time to add everything back in.  Place the meat on top of the onions and carrots, then the mushrooms and bacon on top of that.  Now pour most of the bottle of wine, adding some beef broth to bring the liquid level almost to the top of the meat.  Leave the top exposed.  Bring this all to a simmer, replace the lid and braise the stew in a 350 degree oven for 1 ½ hours.

Set out 4 tablespoons of butter at room temperature.  After 1 ½ hours, bring the stew back up to boil on the stove top over medium high heat.  Combine 4 tablespoons of flour with the room temperature butter and drop this mixture a spoonful at a time into the boiling liquid to thicken the sauce.  Then turn the heat down to low and simmer for at least half an hour with the lid off.  At this time, we could hardly wait as the savory aroma from the stew was wafting throughout the house.  Serve with nice crusty bread for a very satisfying experience.  It is also very good with a side of mashed potatoes or egg noodles.  This is such a heartwarming, belly satisfying dish, every spoonful is filled with comfort and complexity and is only improved by the addition of a glass of Irony Pinot Noir. 

While we were preparing the stew, the doorbell rang and there was a floral delivery for Stephanie.  A friend had sent her a beautiful bouquet of brightly colored flowers.  The red tulips, yellow snapdragons, pink lilies, bright red spray roses and chartreuse mums were designed artistically in a window box garden style.  I must admit I felt a pang of nostalgia looking at them.  Yes, I loved my time being a florist.  But life does move on and so have I.  I once again wake up in the morning thankful to have a job that I love.  

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.