10:47 AM |
My mother never made hoppin' john. In fact, my mother never made anything. My grandmother was the cook in our house. She had a very simple system. Put everything in pots of boiling water at 4 o'clock and cook until dinner. Whatever time that may be. Can you say grey meat and algae-colored broccoli? My sister and I learned to cook out of necessity. I used to read cookbooks at the dinner table, maybe for inspiration, maybe to imagine this was actually on the table.
We had a few regular dinners, and rarely strayed from those. Baked chicken (a small one for five of us) came with carrots with a pat of butter added in the serving dish, and rice fried with onions and butter. We also had a "roast" which was usually very chewy beef, but could have been pork sometimes. In either case, there was no crust, just more grey meat. I wonder how they could tell if it was done. Probably didn't care. Baked potato, string beans with pat of butter in the serving dish. Scalloped potatoes from the box. Mashed potatoes from the box. Breaded pork chops in the frying pan. Breaded eggplant in the harvest gold electric frying pan. I'm not sure we had any herbs or spices. Oh, and meatloaf with milk-soaked saltines and eggs. We occasionally had very small bowls of cu-CUM-bers (that's the way my grandmother pronounced it) in sour cream and onions. Salad with one tomato for the five of us.
And when Gramma was ready to watch Lawrence Welk, we were all finished. The plates were whisked from the table, our forks still in the air. Best diet ever.
So today I am making hoppin' john. I need all the New Year's luck I can get. I had planned to make an orange pound cake (good luck in some culture or another), but I forgot to buy almond paste. Like poppy seed filling, almond paste is one of those things I don't normally keep in my pantry.
"Super Saints meet Slumdog Millionaire." Sorry, it's like a car wreck, you just can't stop watching the Mummers. "There's a lot of green here, Carol. Must be the environmental thing."
I chop the red pepper and the onions. I don't wash my vegetables, although I probably should given my predilection for hand sanitizer and paper towels on the doors at the movies. I usually grow my own and have no problem with a little dirt as I know where my microbes come from. Ditto the produce I get from my local farmers.
An aside. I was at the Pebble Beach Concours D'Elegance this summer. As the crowd is pretty upscale they have those port-a-potties that are in trailers with real sinks and some form of flush light. I absolutely will not touch those sinks. There is a set of metal steps that go up to the potties. The steps have no risers, making them aluminum grates. My Chanel ballet flats did not come with Vibram soles. I had my hand sanitizer in one hand and my fancy hat on, and I went face first down the stairs, hooking one of my feet, and tearing a chunk out of my ankle and shin.
I was basically okay, but needed to see the fancy first aid crew. I went into one of the hotel suites and waited while they cleaned and bandaged my swelling shin. They said they didn't want to scare me but I should look for swelling as flesh-eating bacteria may appear. For a germ-sensitive person like me, could there be a worse place to get injured than a mobile toilet? I did make a fetching tableau, though. I had this huge hat on, with my one shoe off, ice on my foot, all supported by the running board of a multi-million dollar Bugatti. They asked to take my picture. I summed up the event.
Back to the hoppin' john. I rarely do a mise en place, strategizing instead as to what things I could do while other things happen. For example, if I set the rice on first, I could be chopping vegetables while checking on the bacon in the oven. I always let the rice boil over, and the white liquid burns into my stove top. Luckily I have the kind of stove where you can take the grate off and just wipe up the stuff with a paper towel. This always happens the day after the housekeeper has been here. The other issue in my house is that I have a soapstone sink and a septic system. Thus, no sloped sides and no garbage disposal. I clean as I go. I hate to have a bunch of icky stuff hanging around. I can't enjoy the meal unless everything but the food is cleaned up. So, I have to scrub the stuff in the sink into the perforated sink dish (I forget what you call that; the drain basket?). Then I bang the stuff into the garbage pail. I don't know why people are grossed out by this. It's the same stuff you put in your mouth.
The recipe I am using is veg, but I just can't do it without bacon grease. Yikes! I may not have any hot sauce. A few weeks ago, the refrigerator with the 12 year warranty quit. Out of warranty. They had to take the whole inside out. I took the opportunity to throw out the hosin sauce, half jars of capers, anchovies in a tube and whatever else had probably been there since I moved in five years ago. Maybe my hot sauce. Panic. Nothing is open today. Gotta find another bottle somewhere. I'm hoping to go to to New Iberia, home of Tabasco, on my road trip with my imaginary boyfriend.
This is hoppin' john. Not the one I made.
I found the hot sauce.
"And they're talking about the noodles, not the poodles." Mummers.
We had a few regular dinners, and rarely strayed from those. Baked chicken (a small one for five of us) came with carrots with a pat of butter added in the serving dish, and rice fried with onions and butter. We also had a "roast" which was usually very chewy beef, but could have been pork sometimes. In either case, there was no crust, just more grey meat. I wonder how they could tell if it was done. Probably didn't care. Baked potato, string beans with pat of butter in the serving dish. Scalloped potatoes from the box. Mashed potatoes from the box. Breaded pork chops in the frying pan. Breaded eggplant in the harvest gold electric frying pan. I'm not sure we had any herbs or spices. Oh, and meatloaf with milk-soaked saltines and eggs. We occasionally had very small bowls of cu-CUM-bers (that's the way my grandmother pronounced it) in sour cream and onions. Salad with one tomato for the five of us.
And when Gramma was ready to watch Lawrence Welk, we were all finished. The plates were whisked from the table, our forks still in the air. Best diet ever.
So today I am making hoppin' john. I need all the New Year's luck I can get. I had planned to make an orange pound cake (good luck in some culture or another), but I forgot to buy almond paste. Like poppy seed filling, almond paste is one of those things I don't normally keep in my pantry.
"Super Saints meet Slumdog Millionaire." Sorry, it's like a car wreck, you just can't stop watching the Mummers. "There's a lot of green here, Carol. Must be the environmental thing."
I chop the red pepper and the onions. I don't wash my vegetables, although I probably should given my predilection for hand sanitizer and paper towels on the doors at the movies. I usually grow my own and have no problem with a little dirt as I know where my microbes come from. Ditto the produce I get from my local farmers.
An aside. I was at the Pebble Beach Concours D'Elegance this summer. As the crowd is pretty upscale they have those port-a-potties that are in trailers with real sinks and some form of flush light. I absolutely will not touch those sinks. There is a set of metal steps that go up to the potties. The steps have no risers, making them aluminum grates. My Chanel ballet flats did not come with Vibram soles. I had my hand sanitizer in one hand and my fancy hat on, and I went face first down the stairs, hooking one of my feet, and tearing a chunk out of my ankle and shin.
I was basically okay, but needed to see the fancy first aid crew. I went into one of the hotel suites and waited while they cleaned and bandaged my swelling shin. They said they didn't want to scare me but I should look for swelling as flesh-eating bacteria may appear. For a germ-sensitive person like me, could there be a worse place to get injured than a mobile toilet? I did make a fetching tableau, though. I had this huge hat on, with my one shoe off, ice on my foot, all supported by the running board of a multi-million dollar Bugatti. They asked to take my picture. I summed up the event.
Back to the hoppin' john. I rarely do a mise en place, strategizing instead as to what things I could do while other things happen. For example, if I set the rice on first, I could be chopping vegetables while checking on the bacon in the oven. I always let the rice boil over, and the white liquid burns into my stove top. Luckily I have the kind of stove where you can take the grate off and just wipe up the stuff with a paper towel. This always happens the day after the housekeeper has been here. The other issue in my house is that I have a soapstone sink and a septic system. Thus, no sloped sides and no garbage disposal. I clean as I go. I hate to have a bunch of icky stuff hanging around. I can't enjoy the meal unless everything but the food is cleaned up. So, I have to scrub the stuff in the sink into the perforated sink dish (I forget what you call that; the drain basket?). Then I bang the stuff into the garbage pail. I don't know why people are grossed out by this. It's the same stuff you put in your mouth.
The recipe I am using is veg, but I just can't do it without bacon grease. Yikes! I may not have any hot sauce. A few weeks ago, the refrigerator with the 12 year warranty quit. Out of warranty. They had to take the whole inside out. I took the opportunity to throw out the hosin sauce, half jars of capers, anchovies in a tube and whatever else had probably been there since I moved in five years ago. Maybe my hot sauce. Panic. Nothing is open today. Gotta find another bottle somewhere. I'm hoping to go to to New Iberia, home of Tabasco, on my road trip with my imaginary boyfriend.
This is hoppin' john. Not the one I made.
I found the hot sauce.
"And they're talking about the noodles, not the poodles." Mummers.