Wednesday, May 21, 2008

THE TROUBLE WITH SUMMER SQUASH …


Article and recipe submitted by: Larry Hamby
larryhamby1@earthlink.com




THE TROUBLE WITH SUMMER SQUASH …

is that, generally speaking, only Southerners know how to cook it properly. Yankees tend to mcut up anything labeled “summer squash,” dump it into boiling water, boil it until it’s soft, then drain it, over-butter it and serve it up as a tasteless, shapeless mass. Or else, it's stewed with tomatoes and onions -- which is not much better. As a result, after the first cooking people will avoid summer squash as being a bland vegetable, and try to give away every zucchini and yellow summer squash they grow. Why grow them under these circumstances? This is one of the great mysteries of gardening! And it explains the plethora of books on what to do with all that zucchini!

Actually, summer squash properly prepared is delicious and satisfying. And it isn't difficult once one has discarded the idea of boiling summer squash.

However, there is one additional first step.

This additional step is having the right summer squash on hand to begin with. This is easy if you garden and almost impossible if you don't. The commercial zucchinis and yellow squashes are mostly hybrids developed for productivity, shipping and keeping qualities, which means they are probably tasteless. In the home garden, though, one can raise the old Black Zucchini, and the Yellow Crookneck, both of which have flavor! Even the zucchini, believe it or not. I have grown and cooked many other varieties, including the hybrids, and have not yet discovered one which had any taste at all.

Having acquired the proper summer squash, what does one do with it? My favorite recipe for yellow crooknecks when I'm not dieting is to cook it the way it was prepared in the South when I was a child. One simply cuts the squash into cubes, puts it into a large frying pan with some bacon grease, and enough water to start it to boil without burning the squash. Add large amounts of freshly grated black pepper. Cover and stew until soft, remove the cover and cook it down until it's almost dry. It will burn easily, so use a low heat toward the end. Mash, adjust salt and serve.

You’ll never boil summer squash again after fixing it this way.

Some people like to add chopped onion. I don't. When I'm dieting, I fix it with chicken bouillon in place of the bacon grease And if you don't like bacon grease, try butter. That's good too, and has an elegance bacon doesn't, but it isn't as hearty.

Zucchini doesn’t respond to this treatment, because it’s too watery. Try this: slice zucchini thinly (a mandolin or food processor is perfect for this), sprinkle it with a bit of salt and let rest in a colander or sieve. Slice several cloves of garlic thinly and heat them in extra-virgin olive oil till they are faintly beige. Add the drained zucchini and stir fry till the zucchini is limp and beginning to brown. This makes a great side dish, or you can increase the oil and put it over pasta; add romano or parmesan.

An exception to the “no boiling” rule is pattypan squash, which can be cut in wedges, boiled (better steamed) briefly, buttered, salted and peppered and served.

Here’s a delicious way to cook summer squash, taken from Mrs. S. R Dull’s Southern cooking. Don’t expect the kind of soufflĂ© you get from the usual methods. This one is heavier, more like a casserole.

Plain Squash Soufflé


2 cups squash, cooked, mashed and measured
1 cup dried bread crumbs
1 cup milk
3 T bacon drippings or butter
2 eggs
salt and pepper to taste


Melt butter in hot milk; pour over bread crumbs, mix well, add to squash. Add seasoning, beat all together and add to mixture. Pour into a baking sish and bake 20-30 minutes in moderate oven. Serve from the dish. The top may be covered with buttered crumbs, using extra crumbs for topping.

Mrs. Dull recommends boiling the squash and draining it for precooking it. I have found that shredding it, salting it and letting is sit in a colander for about an hour, then rinsing and draining it works better so far as flavor is concerned.

Here are some of my variations:

1. Add about 3 oz. of shredded sharp cheddar (or any cheese for that matter, but remember that some are saltier than others.
2. Add oregano and/or cumin, or Old Bay Seasoning or Spike.
3. Use cooked eggplant instead of squash.
4. Dieters can use egg substitutes and fat free milk and low fat cheese, but the results aren’t as good.
5. Use crumbled saltines instead of bread crumbs (In which case, you may have to adjust the amount of liquid).
6. Use buttermilk in place of sweet milk.



Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Hay Fever


Any Southerner who knows a thing can tell you that no farmer would ever let fescue or orchard grass go to waste when there's livestock to feed during the winter months. And so, we cut it and bale it and store it for later! Back when I was a kid it got laid out nice and neat in those little bitty square bales that had to be pitched onto a trailer and into a barn by sweaty young men who did it because that was the only way. Nowadays, the process has been streamlined a bit. First pass of Summer '08 went into play this week and I was privy to the entire process just by driving down the road.

After the hay is cut and dries for a day or so, this young lady comes up with on her tractor pulling a big old rake that pulls the cut grass into neat long piles. She seemed to be loving every minute of her work!
Then the guy with the baler comes along behind her... sometimes they cross paths...and when there's enough in the back of his rig, a big fat round roll of hay drops out onto the ground behind him.
These bales are way too big to throw up on a trailer, so my brother spears a couple with his John Deere and takes off down Pecan Lane toward the main road.This year we've got a brand new pole barn to store the bales in. It beats the heck out of having to maneuver the tractor into the ancient dairy barn on a cold winter's morn when the cows are hungry.


Gives a whole new meaning to the term "hay ride" doesn't it?

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Family Tradition


Lord ya'll...it's Mother's Day eve already and I just now started cooking for tomorrow's family gathering up here on the hill. Purple hull peas went into the crock post first and the rest of the sides are in progress. Deb and Ronnie are bringing the desserts and bread all the way from Kentucky and pickin' up Aunt Granny. I got the yard done and a few rays in the process so now it's time to create culinary delight in the kitchen.

Mama is one of those that everybody can't help but love. Smart and funny....generous with her time and talents which are many, by the way. Back in the day she worked for a newspaper doing society and home. Her recipe column was a highlight to many a reader of the weekly edition of The Dyersburg Mirror. Man..those were the days! After the paper shut down, she went to work for the umemployment office which was not a lot of fun, but helped to pay her share of the bills on the raising up of us three kids. Poor thang slept for six months after she walked out and said to heck with it, bless her heart. I think about that every time I enjoy the luxury of a long nap.

I was a good girl, or tried very hard to be. Growing up southern in the fifties and sixties was a real lesson in tolerance and patience. Every which way you turned there was some sort of drama going on, be it war protests or civil rights marches. I was color blind back then because I grew up in a racially mixed community where everybody respected everybody else and their mamas. Come Mother's Day, we donned a red or white rose and sat up in the pew next to her at church showing our respect for all she did in the traditional way.

As the oldest grandchild, I inherited many of the treasures that my Gaga left behind when she died. There is the dining room table and chairs with a china cabinet plus many little pieces that were all her and our family history. These will be dragged out and spit shined for Mother's Day because that's what good southern girls do in May. They cut peonies and iris and arrange them artfully in a special vase to sit on the sideboard as a tribute to motherhood and the sanctity thereof. There won't be any pickled peaches but there will be plenty of deviled eggs and sweet tea.

Wherever you may be or whatever you're doing, for the love of all that is good and right....call your mother. She loves you like nobody else ever did.

Good Morning from the World of a Geriatric Caregiver

Good Morning from the World of a Geriatric Caregiver

No.3 in a series
May 8, 2008

Sarah Bernhardt's Protegee

Mom and I had just settled in for a quiet evening last night when around 7 PM I heard a tap, tap at the front door and went to see who/what was there. A friend of our youngest son was in the neighborhood and had decided to drop by for a surprise visit, which was quite a thoughtful gesture. However, that sweet kid had no clue as to the foibles of his elders...thus he sat down at our kitchen table and talked and talked and talked nonstop until almost 9PM! Deep into the second hour I was getting rather concerned for Mom. Abruptly, at 8:30 PM, she staggered out of her cozy recliner and began pacing the floor in front on him, loudly tapping her cane with each step. She would sit down, get up, pace and repeat the procedure again and again; no doubt becoming quite weary of this young "Gatlin Gun tongued whippersnapper", who appeared completely unaware of her mushrooming frustration and continued his tirade as though she was invisible.

Suddenly, Mom grabbed her chest, sank down in the recliner and moaned, "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" (Remember Fred Sanford and the BIG one?). Her abrupt outburst neither frightened nor surprised me because, for the past thirty minutes, I had been watching the anxiety levels build up in her anxious body language. I told her that I would get her nebulizer so she could take a breathing treatment. Well...that dear little fellow just continued to sit and yammer away, totally obilivious to the award winning Tennessee William's drama unfolding right before his eyes. I handed the breathing apparatus toward Mom and when I got down close to her face she said (quite loud enough for him to hear ) "Isn't he ever going to leave?!" I shook my head at her and quietly shushed her, hoping he hadn't noticed my directive. Would you believe she repeated the statement, even louder the second time! It was all I could do keep from doubling over in laughter. I suppose the fellow was so busy talking and listening to himself that he never heard a word of her verbal explosion. It was absolutely an hilarious scene! Finally, ten mintues later he arose and calmly remarked that he must go. I showed him (promptly) to the door and when I came back into the kitchen Mom was sitting up straight as an arrow in the recliner, shaking her head in disgust with that square jaw of hers set, lips pursed and angrily muttering, "Boring, boring, boring!" Oh, and by the way...she was breathing just dandy.

Gotta love those elders.
Jane-Ann Heitmueller

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

The Bliss of a Bath


My husband asked me the other day what in the all-fire get out was so exciting about taking a bath. He continued to point out that a shower was quick and efficient and "got the job done". Why would I want to waste all that time soaking in a tub of cooling water with gunk in it.

So I decided to describe what exactly is so special to a gal about a bath.

Let's start from the first moment a bath enters your mind.

You are coming home from a hard day at work, dealing with constant squabbles, typos, deadlines and irrational people. Alternately, you are already at home with your children but have endured tantrums, tummy aches, spilled food, 4 loads of laundry and a dinner that suddenly is missing one key ingredient and the thought of piling 3 kids into the car for sour cream is too overwhelming for words.

You walk in the door, or downstairs, to bills, burning food, hungry kids, demanding voices, solicitors on the phone and 4,000 letters from teachers and the PTA wanting money, donations, time or a "talk about Junior".

Finally, dinner is done, Spongebob is on and your emails that followed you home from work are done. You head upstairs to your room.

The door is locked, your clothes magically fall off and you head to the tub. You are dirty, tired, achey, in poor mind and just overall done with your day.

The tub is an empty, cold, blank slate. Nothing that interesting. Nothing special.

But...

You turn on the water - super hot. You add bubbles, oil, good smelly stuff.

When you first climb in it's so warm, you stop and suck in your breath, just a little bit. You swirl the water with your toes to blend the temperature. You slowly sink down into the froth.

It hits in an instant - the warmth envelopes you. It sinks into your bones, muscles, aches, pains, worries and tiredness. It feels so good. The soft smell wafts up into your nose, it's extremely pleasing. The oil is slightly slippery, but that just makes it it flow smoothly over your limbs and moisturize your skin.

You sink into the water up to your neck, the warmth surrounding you like a hot summer's day. It's quiet and calm and best of all, solitary in your bath. All is good with the world again. Your worries and stresses slip away as the warmth sinks in . You lay your head back and think good thoughts. You are calm, relaxed, warm, enveloped like a baby in a blanket.

When the water finally starts to cool and you rise like a Phoenix out of the tub, you throw on your old, soft, ratty robe...................

and head out into the world to face yet another day/night/challenge with a warm heart and a calm soul.

Now, ask again why a bath is a waste of time.

Saturday, May 3, 2008

Shhhhh.......ya'll

Thom Shepherd and Layne Wrye at the Bluebird Cafe.


Way back in 1982, The Bluebird Cafe was born as the brainchild and lifedream of Amy Kurland. The place had been home to a pizza parlor, pharmacy and sewing machine store after the game room closed down. Amy's original plan was for her venue to be a gourmet restaurant with occasional live acoustic music during dinner. She built a little stage that later hosted some of the greatest songwriters and singers of our time. The Bluebird is a listening room which means ya'll need to shut up and listen to the tunes if you have any respect for music whatsoever. The stage usually sits empty because the main atraction of Bluebird is singers and writers in the round, doing what comes naturally. Kathy Mattea got her start there. So did Garth.

New writers go through an audition process on Sunday nights and there is a special guest songwriter every Sunday without fail. The waitstaff at The Bluebird consists mostly of aspiring writers and singers who savor every minute of their experience and have dreams of riding in the back of daddy's pickup to the fishing hole or going on a mission to claim true love with a song in hand.

"If you're willing to give up everything and come wait tables, we got tables that need waiting. You have to be willing to do it for free for the rest of your life and care about it." Amy Kurland

The audition process is rigorous and occasionally there's a find. Sunday seems to be the day-of-the-week to show up and play, especially on the first Sunday of the month. On "picks" night, anything goes. Kurland grades on a harsh curve and recognizes talent when she sees it with a warm invitation to visit again.


The Bluebird Cafe
4104 Hillsboro Road
Nashville, TN 615-383-1461