The Last Shrimp

Don’t you love it when someone saves the last shrimp for you? I do. On our recent trip to San Francisco’s Fog Harbor Fish House, Kelly and I shared an order of shrimp cocktail. Doused in lemon juice, and dunked in perky sauce, each bite was delicious—the texture so flavorfully, chewably perfect; so fresh! But, the best part was that even though I’m a slow eater—a savorer, my thoughtful husband made sure I got the last one.

After nearly 40 years of marriage, it’s that kind of consideration that still makes a big difference to me. It’s something Kelly doesn’t really have to think about, a level of kindness he’s practiced every day. Maybe I’ll never munch on the last shrimp again without feeling grateful.

Sharing Seafood by the Seashore

Fresh Green Beans

Grandma Al and Uncle Dick Hill  lived next door to me when I was growing up in South Gate, California.  I started addressing them by those names when I was four-ish even though they were a married couple, and they graciously accepted the titles. Here’s a picture of Grandma Al, finishing my wedding dress–just one of the many kind things she did for me, In this post, 

After my mother died when I was 17, in July of 1972, Grandma Al invited Dad and me over for dinner, not just once, but every night. 

The Hills had a good-sized garden where they grew, among other things, green beans. Grandma Al boiled them with a little bacon, and that’s the taste I think of when I look back on that difficult summer of ’72 when I lost Mom. I picture Grandma Al, Uncle Dick, Dad, and me in their little kitchen enjoying those beans.

In the garden my husband Kelly and I grow, behind our Centerville home, there are three rows of beans this summer. Kelly likes to plant one row of wax beans for variety, and two of green. As I pick them, I often think of Grandma Al and her generosity.

I’ve canned a bunch of beans at this point in the season, frozen a few, and cooked up big batches fresh with bacon,  The savory chewiness brings on such pleasant nostalgia, and it reminds me, even when life seems rough, to look for the good and find it in the order of the seasons, the bounty of the harvest, and the loving support of good friends.

Raspberries: Summer in Utah

I was around 10 when my father sold his business in Wilmington, CA and we took our first family road trip: to Utah and Wyoming, visiting my parents’ birthplaces. It was a trip I’ll never forget for many reasons. On the way we stopped in Springville, UT to visit my Uncle Wes and Aunt Rena. The raspberries were “on”, they said, and I got my first introduction to the delicacy of raspberries and cream. The memory of that exquisite flavor and texture is still clear fifty years later. Today I live in Utah, grow my own raspberries, and look forward each spring to the time they come “on”.

Raspberries are delicate. Picking them can be tedious, and sometimes prickly. But, they are amazing. I once read: “Eating raspberries is like having a hundred tiny cat paws walk on your tongue.” I wouldn’t want to be eating cat, but those delicious little raspberry paws, bursting with tangy juice, are sort of like that.

Sadly, raspberry season has come and gone this year, but I  enjoyed it by the handful between the bushes in the early mornings. I turned them into jam and smoothies, ice cream and shortcake, and savored a few bowls with cream.

Summer tastes like many things. I’d hate to narrow it down to my favorite, but I can no longer imagine summer without raspberries. They’re just too darn good.

Mom’s Chili

A rainstorm on this summer night brought back a favorite food memory from the fall afternoon I had drill team practice after high school, for what seemed like hours. In the rain. I drove my orange VW bug home through the puddles, and opened the kitchen door. Instantly, the warm, savory aroma of Mom’s chili pulled me in. It wasn’t the kind of stuff that wins cook-offs. It was simple comfort, a cure “for what ails you”. The windows of the kitchen grew steamy, where the warmth of the kettle met the cold, damp outside world. 

Mom ladled the chili over a slice of sour dough toast and cheese. Crunchewy, hearty goodness. Delicious? Satisfying? Those words don’t suffice. In fact, maybe there’s no adjective big enough to cover the sensation of the first bite.

My brother-in-law sent me the recipe, not long ago. Thanks, Ron. When I made it I put a little more zip in it than called for, a nod to my current preferences, but otherwise it recalled the memory of that high school evening perfectly.  I closed my eyes to eat it and was transported back to Mom’s kitchen, with the cares of the world locked outside. 

MILDRED EGAN’S CHILI RECIPE

2 cans Hunt’s small red chili beans [not prepared chili, no meat, etc.]  (28 oz. each)

2 cans tomato sauce (15 oz. each)

1 small onion (to taste)

1 to 1 1/2 lb. hamburger, browned with onion [I added garlic powder too]

1 to 2 TBSP. chili powder (to taste)

[my addition] 1/2 tsp. cayenne pepper (to taste)

Combine and simmer for 10+ minutes.

Christmas Cookies as Therapy

Trying something new in the baking department for no particular reason except that it’s Christmas? I hadn’t done that in years!  But, I cut an interesting looking recipe out of the newspaper at least ten years ago, and decided it was time to make it or purge it from my collection.

Faye’s Cherry Bells, it was called. The illustration, as I remembered, had looked so cute. I thought they’d be darling on a plate for the neighbors. But that was before I entered the workforce. These days I don’t do much of that stuff, and I knew if they failed I’d be mad at myself for wasting the time. But I decided to throw holiday caution to the wind. It was sort of empowering.

Luckily, they turned out pretty darn delicious, and quite cute. Plus, the mixing and baking gave me that old Christmassy warmth and excitement my kitchen used to have at this time of year. My heart grew like the Grinch’s on top of Mt. Crumpet. I shared the cookies all around and began to feel the spirit of the season for the first time this December. “Dah-who-doray. Christmas day is in our grasp so long as we have [cookies] to clasp.”

FAYE’S CHERRY BELLS

3 cups flour                                                     1/4 cup dark Karo syrup

1/2 tsp. baking soda                                        1 egg

1/2 tsp. salt                                                      1 Tbsp. heavy cream

1 tsp. ginger

1/2 tsp. vanilla

1 cup butter, softened

1-1/4 cups brown sugar

*Nut filling:

1-1/2 cups finely chopped pecans                   3 Tbsp. maraschino cherry juice

1/3 cup brown sugar                                        About 72 maraschino cherries

**Sift dry ingredients and set aside.  Cream butter with mixer.  Add brown sugar; mix well.  Blend in Karo, egg and cream.  Add dry ingredients and mix to make dough.  Chill well.  *To prepare filling: combine nuts, brown sugar and cherry juice; set aside.

**Roll out 1/3 of the dough to 1/8-inch thickness; cut into 2-1/2 inch rounds and place on an ungreased baking sheet.  Place 1/2 tsp. of filling in the center of each cookie, then shape into a bell by folding the sides over the filling, making the tops narrower than the bottoms.  Place cherry at the wide end for the clapper.  Bake in a pre-heated 350 oven for 12-15 minutes.  Cool for 1 minute on a baking sheet, then transfer to a rack to cool.

 

A little more peachiness

In my recent college poetry class this tribute to the peach fulfilled one of my assignments. I thought it fitting …

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Tasteswrite Peachy Poll

Peach Cobbler Quest

Growing up in Southern California, I had a generous neighbor with a peach tree. At least twice per summer my mom made cobbler extraordinaire. It’s become my quest to duplicate that amazing dessert, and it’s been a long road. My children have grown tired of seeing the disappointment on my face each time I fall short. But I keep trying. Through the years, some batches have come fairly close, while a few have been miles away from Mom’s.  Sadly, none of them were exactly on target.

I now have a peach tree in my own yard, but the season is short, and I can’t eat cobbler every night until I get it right. So, it is with great pleasure (and relief from my whole family) that I announce: last Sunday a near miracle occurred. My newest attempt was the one closest yet. Ta da!! It’s almost exactly like mom’s.

The actual stuff

I’ll give a little description below. Please dear readers let me know what great peach cobbler is made of in your own tastebuds’ memories, and how you’ve fared in your own quest to duplicate it.

In Mom’s version the filling is cooked on the stovetop before going into the oven:4 cups sliced peaches, 1 tablespoon of lemon juice, 1 1/2 cups water, 1 1/2 cups sugar, 1 tsp. cinnamon, 3 TBSP. instant tapioca, dash salt. Bring it just to a boil, and let it simmer a few minutes until the tapioca starts to soften. I love the starchy, smooshy texture of the little tapioca balls combined with the sweet but tangy, chewably solid texture of the peaches.

The crust is basically baking powder biscuit dough (Mom used Bisquick, but I’ve never been successful with that. Grr), with extra sugar and cinnamon added. The hot peach mixture is poured into a 9X13 pan, and covered with the crust that’s been rolled out and trimmed to fit. Bake at 425 until peach mixture is bubbly and crust is lightly browned on top. It smells like heaven.

4 of us nearly ate the whole thing 🙂

Welch House Breakfast

Since I’m writing this blog about tastes, I had to include a breakfast from the B&B where we stayed in Boothbay Harbor, Maine. Every breakfast at the Welch House was beyond delicious. My mouth waters to go back.

Breakfast perfection

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