Good fortune soup for the New Year

Collard greens? Check.
Black-eyed peas? Check.
Ham? Check.

With these three ingredients, I’m now set to eat a meal filled with good fortune on New Year’s Day. And lord knows, I need all the help I can get. Don’t get me wrong, 2007, for the most part, was a fantastic year, and a large portion of this year’s goodness was because of you.

For instance, this blog made it possible to make new friends and correspond with a ton of interesting people from all over the world. This blog also gave me the opportunity to create new recipes and share them with you, my dear readers. This blog also enabled me to return to Texas more times than I normally do. And so, thanks to all of you and your comments and conversation—writing Homesick Texan and interacting with fellow food lovers has made 2007 a year filled with joy.

The past couple of weeks, however, have been a bit of a trial. Sadly, I lost my dear cat Lily. And last Sunday, while attempting to cut some vegetables with a not-so-sharp paring knife, the knife slipped and ended up in my thumb. With some skin flapping and the blood gushing, I realized that a simple Band-Aid wouldn’t suffice. So I grabbed a roll of paper towels and wrapped them around my thumb, threw on my coat, and hopped on the subway to ride the two stops to St. Vincent’s emergency room. Two hours and four stitches later, I was back in my kitchen, but an important lesson was learned—keep your knives sharp!
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Praise the pralines!

I come from a divided family. Yes, it’s true—half of us are Aggies and the other half are Longhorns. This makes for some interesting dynamics, especially on the occasion of the two teams’ annual scrimmage.

My family gathered at a Tex-Mex restaurant the day after Thanksgiving, traditionally the date of the big game. The room was filled with people sporting the two teams’ colors of maroon (Aggies) and burnt orange (Longhorns). Our group leaned towards the latter, though my grandmother sitting at the head of the table shook her head at her progeny’s disloyalty to her beloved Aggies. There was much anticipation over who would win, and we ate our food quickly in order to be able to watch the kick-off. In order to keep the peace, however, we avoided talking much about the two teams, though occasionally slight tempers would rise if there was a bit too much boasting.

But there was one thing everyone saw eye to eye on: the excellence of my aunt Julie’s pralines.

Throughout my brief trip to Texas, I kept hearing nothing but high praise for Julie’s version of this beloved confection. “They’re the best praline I’ve ever eaten,” said my cousin Jessica, and both my grandmother and other aunts concurred. As we concluded our meal, Julie pulled out a bag of the candy for me to take back to New York and after one bite I had to agree—she does indeed make the best pralines.
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Menu for Hope

Food bloggers from all over the world rally at this time of year to raise money for those less fortunate in a campaign called Menu for Hope. Created and organized by Pim Techamuanvivit of Chez Pim, Menu for Hope raffles off a ton of food-related prizes for just $10 a ticket, with proceeds going to the UN World Food Programme. Last year, Menu for Hope raised an impressive $62,925!

For my part, I am offering the prize of a Homesick Texan Care Package. Missing your favorite Texan foods? This Homesick Texan Care Package is a wonderful way to get the tastes of Texas, no matter where you are. It includes three Robb Walsh cookbooks—The Legends of Texas Barbecue Cookbook, The Tex-Mex Cookbook and The Texas Cowboy Cookbook—so you can whip up your favorite recipes whenever you get a craving. There's also a tortilla press and a bag of masa harina so you can make your own tortillas; a bag of Kerbey Lane gingerbread pancake mix so you can pretend that you're in Austin on a Saturday morning; a molinillo and Mexican chocolate for cups of frothy hot chocolate on cold winter evenings; a few cans of Ranch Style beans and Ro-Tel Tomatoes and other Texas treats. And all this could be yours for just $10!
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Homesick Texan holiday gift guide 2007

It’s that time of year when people are scratching their heads trying to come up with gift ideas. Here are some options sure to warm the hearts and fill the bellies of any homesick Texan. And if you're looking for more inspiration, check out my list from last year, which includes how to order Blue Bell ice cream, kolaches and Ro-Tel tomatoes among other delicious Texan treats.

Grapefruit: Everyone knows the juiciest, largest and sweetest ruby red grapefruit comes from the Rio Grande Valley. And while there are many farms that ship, South Tex Organics has a leg up on the competition by being the only grower to not use pesticides. Prices start at $22.00. South Tex Organics

Dr Pepper: Sure, Dr Pepper is widely available, but what you see in the stores is an imposter made with high-fructose corn syrup. Enter Dublin Dr Pepper, a Texas bottler that produces Dr Pepper from the original recipe made with pure Imperial cane sugar. One sip and you’ll never drink that other stuff again. Prices start at $10.00 a case, peanuts not included. Dublin Dr Pepper
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'Tis the season to start baking

My Holiday Baking Song (with apologies to “Deck the Halls”)
’Tis the season to start baking,
Fa la la la la la la la la.
Making sweet treats for the taking,
Fa la la la la la la la la.

Don we now our cups and spoons,
Fa la la la la la la la la.
Days are short now, hello Moon!
Fa la la la la la la la la.

Stir the butter with the flour,
Fa la la la la la la la la.
Wipe off that frown, don’t be sour,
Fa la la la la la la la la.

Turn on the oven, grease your sheets,
Fa la la la la la la la la.
Drop balls of dough to make your treats,
Fa la la la la la la la la.

Cookies will make people happy,
Fa la la la la la la la la.
Genuine joy, never sappy,
Fa la la la la la la la la.

It’s cold outside, but my kitchen is warm,
Fa la la la la la la la la.
Baking for others, night to morn,
Fa la la la la la la la la.
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A badly burnt bird, but great giblet gravy

One of the best things about Thanksgiving dinner is the leftovers. But since I’m traveling to Texas for my feast, I sadly won’t have pounds of turkey calling on my culinary creativity the days after Thanksgiving. Enter a turkey sale at Whole Foods last weekend. There, nestled amongst the mega-birds, was one little 10-pound free-range, vegetable-fed, never-been-frozen turkey, and I impulsively decided to buy it and roast it so I’d have enough for my own leftovers in New York City. How hard could it be? While I’d only roasted a turkey once before many years ago, with questionable results no less, these days I’m now much more capable in the kitchen. Besides, I roast chickens all the time and a turkey couldn't be that different. I was clearly deluded.

After scouring my neighborhood’s cooking shops for a roasting pan, I found a decent one on sale at Macy’s that was part of the new Martha Stewart line of cookware. It wasn’t coated in any nonstick nonsense, and was sturdy and attractive to boot. I was on my way! Now I just needed a method. But instead of calling the turkey pros in my family, I opted to (foolishly) figure it out on my own.

I read about 30 recipes on the proper way to roast the bird, and that’s where I got into trouble. Applying just about every technique I could find—brining, breast-side down, breast-side up, no basting, coating the skin in a chile puree and continuous cooking at a very high temperature—I was left with an over-done bird with meat as tender as sun-baked leather. Sure, some of the meat was edible, but if you decide to leave a tiny turkey in the oven at 400 degrees for 4 hours, don’t expect it to be juicy and succulent.

But one bright spot in my ill-conceived turkey adventure was the giblets. What many consider optional offal, (I was shocked at how many recipes said in reference to these innards, "Discard") is the highlight of my dad’s Thanksgiving. For generations, he and his family have been making some of the finest tasting gravy out of these ugly bits, a concoction so savory and rich that no vehicle is even necessary—you can eat this with a spoon.

There are countless giblet gravy recipes out there, but I find that my dad’s is the best as it’s simple to make yet sophisticated in taste. He’s tweaked his mother’s recipe a bit, as Grandma is known to also always include hard-boiled eggs in hers, which can be a bit much. You don’t often see giblet gravy in the Northeast, as its provenance hails from a time when poor Southerners wanted to extract every last ounce of goodness from their birds. But if you enjoy the earthy, creamy flavors of chopped liver, paté or fois gras, you’ll also enjoy giblet gravy.
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For Thanksgiving, sweet potato cheesecake

My uncle’s special Thanksgiving dessert is sweet potato pie. My brother’s special Thanksgiving dessert is pumpkin cheesecake. And since I’m going to see both of them on Thanksgiving, I decided to make a hybrid of the two—sweet potato cheesecake.

Growing up, cheesecake was a rare treat—considered extremely fancy and not something you ate at home. Mom instead made a berry yogurt pie with a granola crust, which while not as rich and dense as cheesecake but was still a creamy sweet treat. But still, it wasn’t quite the same.

One day our next-door neighbor made a cheesecake from scratch. It was a plain cheesecake with tall sturdy sides topped with a thin-layer of sour cream. Each bite was luscious and I thought she must have some special skills to make something so satisfying. A few years ago my dad gave me a generous Williams-Sonoma gift certificate. I raided the store, splurging on items I wouldn’t ordinarily buy and one of those was a spring-form pan. I had decided it was time to teach myself how to make cheesecake.

I went through a myriad of recipes, and some were super complicated, insisting you separate your eggs, folding in the yolks and whites at different times. Some called for baking it for an hour and then leaving it in the turned-off oven to cool for another half hour. Some used crusts while others didn’t. What I soon learned, however, was that cheesecake doesn’t have to be a lot of work—given the right circumstances you could whip one every night, which I practically did when I lived with a guy who was on a low-carb diet.

The basic formula is simple, 1 egg per 1/2 pound of cream cheese. If you don’t have time to get your cream cheese and eggs to room temperature (as every recipe will recommend), then just rest them on top of the oven as you preheat—they’ll soon be warm enough. Then just throw your eggs, cream cheese, sweetener, some vanilla, some spices and some lemon juice into the blender, and in minutes you’ll have a batter. If you’re forgoing a crust, you’re pretty much done save for baking it for a half hour or so, and then chilling (though warm cheese cake is just as appealing as cold). Sometimes they’ll crack on top, and I reckon the experts would say that I pulled it out of the oven too fast or over beat the batter. But an ugly cheesecake isn’t a problem because I always spread on top some sour cream mixed with a bit of sugar, lemon juice and vanilla, which deliciously masks all imperfections.
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Adios, October! But first, some green chili

Was October a strange month for y'all? It sure was for me. Every time I turned around, it seemed something had gone awry. Whether it was the computer meltdown we had in Phoenix, my erasing almost 200 photos when I accidentally formatted the wrong memory card, gifts I had ordered being sent to the wrong people, important emails ending up in the junk-mail folder or just the endless games of phone tag I played with my friends, almost nothing I did this month was clear and simple.

Now some people chalked up these bizarre twists and turns in communication to Mercury being retrograde. And my being a Gemini, I was doubly doomed as this planet is my ruler. But I don’t believe in that stuff. Not really, anyway. But since Mercury is supposed to un-retrograde soon (I’m not quite sure what a planet going retrograde really means), let’s hope that the rest of the year proceeds without too many more hiccups.

As I’ve been fiddling with one mishap after another, I’d forgotten that October was National Chili Month, an occasion I’m always eager to celebrate. And now that we have proper jacket-and-scarf weather happening in New York City, spending a few hours at the stove is a welcome prospect. Heck, downright necessary as it can get quite nippy inside my apartment.

Last year I discussed the merits of Texas Red. That will always be my benchmark chili—the one to which all others will be compared. But a few years ago I got it into my head to start making green chili as well. I thought it would be festive, especially around Christmas, to have big bubbling pots of red and green chili side by side. I didn’t hail from a green chili tradition, however, so I turned to a friend from New Mexico on how to make it since that state is known for its green chili.

We were at the movies and I didn’t have a pen or paper handy, so I asked him what he put in his chili just hoping I’d remember. He told me a list of ingredients and his method, which after watching the film I promptly forgot. No matter, I didn’t use a recipe for my red so I reckoned I didn’t need one for my green.
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Tex-Mex in the Times (and more)

I apologize for the silence. I've been a bit stressed and sad as my 17-year-old cat Lily has a lemon-sized tumor on her side, and today I find out the prognosis. For a cat her age, I've been warned it's not good. I have some green pork chili I'm eager to share with you but until my mind is more settled, here are some links I've been savoring from the recent papers:

• The New York Times has a celebration of Tex-Mex written by a non-Texan, a job I would have gladly offered my services. That said, my favorite restaurant from childhood, Herrera's in Dallas, receives major kudos and the author quotes Robb Walsh, so I'll cut the Times some slack. Have you ever been to Herrera's? I have fond memories of lining up with my parents outside this Maple Avenue hole-in-the-wall back in the '70s, where after passing through the kitchen you'd find yourself at a tiny table piled high with tamales, Crazy nachos and enchiladas smothered in brown chili gravy and orange cheese. This place is a classic, and Herrera's definitely helped define my Tex-Mex palate.

• Also in the Times is a look at legendary editor Judith Jones. If you're not familiar with her, she shepherded into print classic books by authors such as Julia Child, Claudia Rosen, Edna Lewis and Marcella Hazan. She has a new memoir out this week, and if you're in New York, she'll be doing a reading and a wine tasting at Bottlerocket tonight at 6:00.

• October has been deemed official chili month, and while I've been a bit of a laggard about posting about the state dish of Texas this year (though I wrote a series of posts about Texas Red last October), you can read about the saga of Texas chili and Terlingua in today's Dallas Morning News.

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Comfort me with banana pudding

For me, last week was probably one of the worst weeks ever. Now, I’m very thankful to have my job, but when I was in Phoenix last week producing a daily newspaper for a conference, I felt like everything was conspiring against me as production bounced from one miserable headache to another.

I won’t bore you with details, but let’s just say that everything that could go wrong did. And because I was spending countless hours on the phone with New York tech support, I hardly ever stepped out of my hotel room to soak in the cacti, mountains, palm trees and piercing Arizona sun. I know, I shouldn’t complain—at least I have a job that sent me to Arizona, but still—it was frustrating fiddling with technical difficulties when God’s natural beauty beckoned to me right outside.

That said, there were some highlights to the trip. First, I finally got to experience the marvelousness that is Phoenix Ranch Market. If you ever have the opportunity to go to Phoenix, this is a must stop. Imagine a gigantic grocery store, filled with all sorts of Mexican ingredients. Everything from quesillo to cow heads. Not to mention aisle upon aisle filled with chiles, chocolates, chorizo and a host of kitchen tools such as tortilla presses, molinillos and molcajetes. But even more exciting, there’s a huge food court within the store, with a torta stand, a taco stand, people frying up gorditas, huraches, quesadillas and hot plates filled with simmering meats and lardy-refried beans. And right beside this bountiful buffet is a stream of freshly made tortillas flowing along a conveyer belt—even though it was behind glass, they were so close I was tempted to pluck one and eat it warm. But I restrained myself and instead ordered a carnitas taco, spiced with a bright and fiery tomatillo sauce that made me smile.

Another bright spot in the trip was getting to see Al Gore speak at the conference on Saturday, the day after he was named the winner of the Noble Peace Prize. Now this was a conference for marketers, and Gore was there in the guise of salesman not statesman, so sadly he uttered nary a word about his recent honor. (Though he wasn’t above poking fun at his participation in a "recovering-politician"10-step program. He conceded that he’s on step number nine.) Instead he touted the benefits of Current TV, his cable network comprised of much viewer-created content, including some of the ads. The speech felt a bit odd in light of recent events, and he looked tired, but nevertheless it was a thrill getting to see and listen to him in a small venue.
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Purple sage and colorful cauliflower

I’ve been leery of cauliflower for most of my life. Despite my early penchant for devouring white foods, there was just something about cauliflower that seemed a bit wrong. To me, it looked like albino broccoli and no matter how much cheese you added to a steaming plate of it (because growing up that was the only way it was served—smothered in cheddar cheese), it felt like an imposter, a genetic mistake that no amount of dairy could improve.

Then a few years ago, I dated a guy who was on a low-carb diet. And if you’ve ever spent time preparing low-carb menus you know that mashed cauliflower is a highly recommend substitute for the off-limit potatoes. I’d puree them with roasted garlic, fresh rosemary and a bit of butter, and if I closed my eyes I could pretend that they were almost as good as the real deal. But I always felt this seemed unfair to the cauliflower—making it work as something it wasn’t. Surely there had to be a way to eat this vegetable where its essential cauliflower-ness was retained and yet would still be satisfying.

Enter pan-roasted cauliflower. After tossing a couple of chopped heads with olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper, and cooking it at a high heat in the oven for about half an hour, the cauliflower came out tender but with a bit of a snap, nicely caramelized in spots which added a sweet depth to the flavor. I was hooked. But I was still a bit put off by the color.

So imagine my surprise last Wednesday when I went to the farmers’ market and they had purple and orange cauliflower on display along with the usual white heads. I was struck by their beauty, but was even more impressed by the name for the orange: Cheddar cauliflower. A vegetable named after cheese? Now that’s something I can support! The farmer said they wouldn’t be in season very long, probably for just a few more weeks, so I grabbed one of each, brought them home, threw them in the fridge and then forgot about them.

Such is my life that from Wednesday onward, I’m working late hours at the office and too tired to come home and cook. But Sunday after having a marathon baking session (I was trying to find a perfect cookie recipe for my homemade banana pudding) I was in sugar shock. I needed something fresh, flavorful and healthy, yet a dish that would be a cinch to prepare as well. I peeked into my fridge and there in the back of the crisper drawer sat my two colorful cauliflower heads, forlorn and forgotten and quickly going bad. I then knew what I would have for dinner.
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King Ranch Chicken Casserole

Casseroles are an ancient dish, found all over the world. Yet for some reason, whenever I hear the word, I don’t think of France (the origin of the name), I think of church suppers, potlucks and home.

We Texans, like most Americans, love our casseroles. Though what usually sets a Texan casserole apart from its neighbors is the spices used. Not shy with the peppers, most Texan casseroles have a bit of a kick. And one of the most popular casseroles we make is King Ranch Chicken Casserole, a soft, slightly spicy, cheesy mixture of tomatoes, corn tortillas, chicken, cream and peppers. It goes down easy and is the ultimate comfort food.

Casseroles today have a sort of retro appeal, yet I find they’re a terrific dish to prepare in the cooler months. Not only can you make them ahead of time, they can also feed many, freeze well and taste terrific as leftovers.

The rise of the casserole’s popularity occurred in the mid-part of the last century, an advent that coincided with the introduction in 1934 of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom Soup—that ubiquitous ingredient found in almost every casserole recipe. It was the rare pantry that didn’t have a few cans of these on the shelf when I was young. And I know people that still swear by it as a secret ingredient, such as my Cajun friend who throws it into his etouffee in place of using a roux.

Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom Soup used to get me in trouble as a kid. Why? Because I was the rare person (maybe the only person) who actually enjoyed eating it as it was intended—as a soup. I liked to alternate eating cans of it with Graham crackers topped with melted chocolate chips as my after-school snack. So when my mom needed a can for a casserole, sometimes she’d find her supply depleted because I’d had the urge to whip up a pot of liquid, mushroomy joy. It was not a pretty scene.
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So Goode: jalapeno-cheese bread

Raise your hand if you haven’t made no-knead bread yet. Yep, that’s what I thought—I’m the only one in the world who hasn’t baked this miracle of yeast, flour and water. Heck, my mom, the person who taught me how to knead at a very young age, even she now bakes it. That’s my loss, I suppose, because having had the pleasure of eating it I do find it quite delicious. But Sunday I wanted a loaf of fresh-from-the-oven bread and just couldn’t wait overnight for the dough to work its magic: this meant I’d have to bake bread the old-fashioned way—by kneading.

I grew up with homemade bread and mom always had a jar filled with sourdough starter living the in the fridge. Though she didn’t just make sourdough bread—she also made cinnamon-raisin bread, dark whole-wheat bread, dinner rolls, saffron rolls, hot-cross buns, and a multitude of other baked goods that involved yeast, kneading and patience. When I was young I hated being the only kid with a sandwich on homemade bread, but over time I grew to love that toasty, yeasty smell that filled the house as a loaf baked, and the way butter just tasted better on a soft slice of bread straight out of the oven.

When I graduated from college and realized I’d have to cook for myself otherwise I’d go broke, bread baking became one of my passions. The first loaf I ever baked was a French baguette from The Joy of Cooking. It wasn’t very crispy and the crumb was a bit dense but it didn’t matter, I was hooked. I started spending my weekends experimenting with all sorts of different breads—one in particular that was a big hit with my friends was an olive-rosemary recipe I found in The New Basics Cookbook.

Now that I’m older, I don’t bake bread as often as I’d like—but last Sunday was a lazy day perfect for reading and waiting as my bread dough rose. Laurie Colwin has an amusing chapter about bread baking called “Bread Baking Without Agony” in her book Home Cooking. As she recounts the first time she baked bread with a friend, she expresses frustration with all the time involved for just one loaf. She writes: “The result was a perfectly nice loaf of bread, but after spending an entire day in its service, I expected something a little more heroic.” She has a point—there is a lot of downtime when baking bread, but on certain days I don’t mind being abiding as the yeast does it work. I find it peaceful that so much is happening without my exerting too much energy—save for the mixing and the kneading.
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Breaking the fast with tacos

Breakfast tacos are one of those simple things you don’t really think about much, until you can’t find one. Take New York City. Most New Yorkers’ quick breakfast of choice is either a bagel or an egg sandwich—a scrambled or fried egg with a slab of American cheese (and sometimes bacon or sausage) on a Kaiser roll. Every deli, bakery and street cart sells these (well, not all carts make eggs), and while quality varies, there is no shortage of supply. If that’s what you want to eat for breakfast, then your desire will be fulfilled

That’s how breakfast tacos are to Texans: they are our go-to breakfast, so ubiquitous you don’t think about it much. Sure, it may be from an authentic taqueria that has carnitas or babacoa to add to the eggs, or it may be from Whataburger, where the meat on offer is the less exotic (but no less satisfying) bacon or sausage. And while quality varies, you always know you’ll find one and even a not-so-good one is never that bad.

Tacos have taken New York City by storm, but it’s still not a breakfast taco town. A couple of places do sell them, but none of them are close to me—and that’s the key to a breakfast taco: it should be ready and available; it’s just not quick and convenient if it becomes destination food. (Though in Texas there are breakfast-taco joints that become destinations due to their excellence, but it’s not for the everyday.)

Lots of New York restaurants offer breakfast burritos, but sadly, that’s not the same thing. They’re always in that overstuffed, football-sized Mission style, which, despite my having a hearty appetite, is just a bit much for breaking the fast. Not to mention, these can run you $7 to even $13, which is expensive for a quick, morning meal.

Breakfast tacos on the other hand are nimble and efficient. They easily fit in your hand and your mouth, with all your breakfast needs self-contained in one neat, little package. While I don’t advocate eating and driving (or eating and walking) these are up to the task, though they are equally as delicious in a more proper, sit-down forum.
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Trip to Texas part 2: A farm-fresh meal

As I exited the highway and drove towards Chambersville, I marveled at how long I’d been making this journey—every twist and turn on the country road as familiar to me as the shape of the letters in my own name.

It was sunset, and while driving to my grandparents’ farm I decided to take a detour along a gravel road lined with old trees. These bois d’arc trees (pronounced boe-dark—this tree is the bearer of horse apples, that inedible knobby green fruit) are made of super-strong wood and were planted as a sort of natural fence before people put up barbed wire. Through the years, as these trees along the road have grown tall and wide, their leaves and branches have met above the road creating a green canopy. It’s breathtaking. Sadly, the owner of that estate has sold the land to a developer who plans to build a subdivision. That road’s days are numbered and so I try to take a drive down it any chance I can.

I arrived at my grandparents’ farm as always, trailing a big cloud of white dust as I raced along the rocky road in anticipation of arrival. It’s a good feeling to know that when you arrive somewhere people will be happy to see you. And while my visit was short, there were enough stories told and lived in the next couple of days to fill this blog for a month or two, or at least write a really long article for Progressive Farmer. So I won’t bore you with all the details, instead, as it’s Eat Local Month, I’ll share with you a meal I made almost exclusively from the fruits (and fish and vegetables) of their land.

Early the next morning, my grandmother and I went apple picking. There has been a record amount of rain this year (and actually for the first time in recent history, not one place in Texas is suffering a drought) and while the water was welcome, it left all their Golden Delicious apples covered in black spots—yes, it was mildew. The apples actually looked pretty cool—like speckled green eggs—but Grandma thought it wise not to eat the skins, so after filling a couple of huge tubs and a bucket, a peeling session was in order.
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Trip to Texas part 1: so many salsas!

Howdy! I’m back—how I missed y'all! I don’t think in recent years I’ve spent this much time off-line, and while I’m a bit behind with so many interweb-machine activities—such as e-mail, blog reading, or catching up on the latest trashy celeb news—it was still very relaxing hanging out with friends and family in the warm and welcoming Lone Star State.

My first stop in Texas was in Austin. I was only there for less than 24 hours, but I got my fair share of solid food and an array of salsas. I stayed with my friends Monica and John, and as Monica's baby girl is due any day now, instead of grubbing at a BBQ joint or grabbing a chicken-fried steak, we opted to have a multi-course meal at a fancy restaurant that she’d be less inclined to bring her soon-to-be newborn to in the near future. (And while we're on the subject of newborns, be sure and stop by Good American Wife and say hello to Anne's first child, Walter—he's super sweet and cute!)

Monica chose Wink, a place I’d never heard of but I was delighted with how fresh and delicious our food was. Granted, when I travel to Texas my focus is pretty singular—only foods from the Texan Trinity of bbq, Tex-Mex or home cooking will do. But I've been closed minded, and this restaurant had an exquisitely creative menu with most of the meats (save for the Hudson Valley fois gras), seafood, cheeses, fruits and vegetables sourced from local farms and fishermen. One of my courses featured Gulf shrimp, and it had been so long since I’d had the real thing I’d forgotten the sweet, mineral flavor these contain, especially when right off the boat. For dessert we shared a goat-cheese plate with the cheeses coming from Pure Luck Organic Farm in nearby Dripping Springs. If you have access to their cheeses, you must try them—these were some of the creamiest, most flavorful (without being too earthy) goat cheeses I’d ever had the pleasure of eating. They paired equally well with fruit or honey, but were also a joy to eat straight off the knife.
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No story, just salsa

I'm going off the grid! First, I'm flying to Austin to be a preliminary judge at the Austin Chronicle Hot Sauce Festival on Sunday, and then I'm headed to North Texas for a few days to spend time on my grandparents' farm. If I'm lucky, my grandma will teach me how to make fruit preserves; I hear the pears are already in season in Chambersville, and my grandma has tempted me with a recipe for pear honey. I don't even know what that is but it sure sounds delicious! And my grandparents are due a few batches of my biscuits, which always pair well with fresh jam.

Since I'm afraid my sensitivity to chile heat isn't what it used to be, to prepare for the hot-sauce judging I've been taking daily doses of habanero salsa like medicine. I leave you now with one of the salsas I made—a fruity, spicy mix made with fresh, ripe peaches, yellow tomatoes, cilantro and a habanero. It's terrific on seafood, chicken, pork or simply as a dip for tortilla chips.
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Mexican corn on the cob: A light in August

August can make me grouchy. Doubtless it’s because I’m jealous that I’m stuck in hot, humid New York City when half the world seems to be relaxing on the beach or lounging under shade trees in the country. And I’m not alone in my testiness, it feels like everyone in the city—save for the happy-go-lucky visitors—are all walking around with scowls on their faces, pushing and shoving and looking plain miserable.

But underneath all the oppressive heat and haze is a ray of joy: the farmers’ market. The growing season is at its peak right now and I am in awe of the glorious explosion of fruits, herbs and vegetables. There is so much bounty I have a hard time deciding what to buy as I want it all!

I like to shop for food so I end up at the greenmarket at least twice a week. And yet with my frequent visits, I’d somehow managed not to buy corn this year. Perhaps it’s because corn gets such a bad rap these days, or perhaps it’s because there’s such an abundance it didn’t feel precious to me. But like all fruits and vegetables, its season is finite and while its presence is inescapable in a myriad of processed products, I try to avoid those so I probably don’t have too much corn flowing through my system. (By the way, if you have access to Whole Foods, its house brands of ketchup, mayonnaise and Worcestershire sauce are all made without high-fructose corn syrup and they taste good, too!) Plus, there’s nothing like eating fresh corn on the cob. After all, I come from a family of corn growers and I have fond memories of running through fields filled with tall, waving stalks; shucking bucket after bucket while sitting on the front porch; sinking my teeth into the colorful varieties my family had harvested; or sharing with college friends my grandfather’s popcorn on the cob.
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Chocolate and peanut butter ice cream sandwiches

The other night I was craving an ice-cream sandwich. Not just any ice-cream sandwich, mind you, I was craving a Big Wheel. As I walked home from work, I stopped at my local 7-11 and went straight to the freezer section. There were numerous pints of the usual brands of ice cream and some popsicles but no Big Wheels. I asked the guy working where they were. He gave me a blank look. “Don’t you have Big Wheels?” I asked. He said he didn’t know what I was talking about. Dejected, I left the store empty handed.

When I got home, I did some noodling around on the Internet and discovered that the Texas-based 7-11 stopped making Big Wheels about 12 years ago. Sadly, it was a quiet death, with nary an obituary or tribute to be found. And that’s a pity because they were the best store-bought ice-cream sandwich ever. What was 7-11 thinking?

Does anyone else remember Big Wheels? No, I’m not talking about the red and yellow plastic tricycle—though when I was little I had one of those, too. These Big Wheels were comprised of a thick patty of creamy ice cream in flavors such as chocolate, vanilla, chocolate chip or mint-chocolate chip, nestled between two large round and rich chocolate cookies—so huge it took two hands to hold them. They were an exclusive item at 7-11 and my friends and I would ride our bikes (no, not our Big Wheels, as we had outgrown them) there almost every day in the summer to grab one. Plus there was a period when my parents kept a steady stash in the freezer, always available for when I had a craving. Like most ice-cream sandwiches, when it was too warm they could turn into a mess as the ice cream melted and the cookies softened, but you just didn’t care if part of it dribbled down your chin because they tasted so good.
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Well hello, dolly bars!

Birthdays at the office used to be grand affairs with cakes, cards and parties thrown for each person on their special day. Unfortunately, a couple of years ago the birthday budget was slashed and no longer was there an endless stream of cupcakes, ice cream and/or pizza provided on the company dime.

Not to be deterred, my colleagues and I are a friendly bunch and decided to take matters into our own hands, either buying or making sweets to commemorate one’s birthday. Ice-cream cakes purchased at the local Hallmark store spent a long period in vogue, as one colleague noted, “What’s not to love—it’s cake and ice cream all in one package.” Meanwhile, some of the more kitchen-friendly folks have been known to whip up their own creations, such as one man’s recent offering of a triple-layer lemon-curd cake to celebrate his gaining another year of experience.

On my birthday, our lovely deputy art director brought in an array of cupcakes, sourced from a delicious bakery near her home in Forest Hills. The large box was filled with flavors ranging from German chocolate to red velvet. I was extremely touched, most especially since I’ve become one of those “I’ll just keep my birthday to myself” kind of people and reckoned no one would remember I was gaining another year. So when her birthday rolled around recently, I wanted to return the generosity.
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A hat, a skirt and some squash blossoms

I was on the hunt for a cowboy hat in San Miguel de Allende’s outdoor market. As my friends and I weaved our way through the various stalls, we spied a woman sitting on the ground, her long full skirt topped with a display of squash blossoms. “Look, squash blossoms!” one friend said. As we were on a road trip through Central Mexico—three women in search of excellent Mexican food—I stopped and admired the squash blossoms. It was, after all, the first time I’d ever seen them fresh. “How would you eat them?” I asked my friend. She said her favorite way to cook them was deep fried, though when stuffed with cheese or tossed in a salad they were tasty as well. I was intrigued, but since we didn’t have access to a kitchen, I did not purchase any squash blossoms that day and continued on my quest for a hat.

It would be two years until I saw fresh squash blossoms again. This time I was in Union Square’s Greenmarket. As I made my way through the market, a basket lined with the bright orange flowers was like an exclamation point after the long passage of bins filled with produce green, yellow and red. While not quite as picturesque as being splayed out on a woman’s skirt, I didn’t hesitate to buy them, eager to finally try this summertime delicacy.
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With patience comes pickles

Working for a weekly magazine, my Friday nights at the office are very late. We don’t put the issue to bed until 9:30, so I often don’t get to leave before 10. I’m usually too tired at this point to do anything but sprawl on the couch—forget about mustering the energy to eat.

This past Friday was no different, and while the couch beckoned my empty stomach more loudly insisted that I fill it with food before I lounge. As I stood staring into my fridge, I was dismayed that I had no leftovers, which left me with only a few easy choices: scrambled eggs, peanut butter on a spoon, or salad. None of these options called out to me, but ordering take-out didn’t appeal either. I recently read Anthony Bourdain’s thoughts about bad food, and to paraphrase—bad food is anything made without love. Perhaps it’s the influence of these words, but it’s true, you can really taste that lack in so many restaurant’s offerings. Not all restaurants, of course, but many of my late-night delivery options are not, shall we say, the pinnacle of carefully prepared, creative cuisine. I just couldn’t bear to suffer through an over-priced, mediocre meal.

As I was nibbling on a curly red lettuce leaf, a Mason jar on the lower shelf in the fridge caught my eye. How could I forget? There sat my first attempt at making refrigerator dill pickles and after six days of shaking the jar and keeping them cool, they were finally ready.
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Claudia "Lady Bird" Johnson: 1912-2007

We lost another great Texan today, Lady Bird Johnson. No matter if you agreed with her or her husband’s politics or not, all could concur that her mission to beautify the country and the state of Texas with wildflowers was a glorious, wonderful thing. Whenever I see bluebonnets, I think of Lady Bird, and I’m thankful her legacy of gorgeous, blooming flowers will continue far into the future. Not to mention, she was an excellent cook and some of her recipes are now a staple in many a Texan’s and homesick Texan’s collection alike.
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An anniversary served with fried chicken

Sixty years ago, my dear grandparents were married. A few days before the wedding, my grandfather’s mother wrote a letter to my grandmother’s mother. In her correspondence with her future in-law she said, “If there is anything in the old saying that a boy who is good to his mother will make a good husband, you have nothing to fear concerning your little girl’s future happiness for there has never been a kinder, more thoughtful appreciative son than Jack has been...We are looking forward to having Jean as our daughter.”

No truer words have ever been spoken. Witnessing my grandparents’ mutual respect, love and kindness to each other my whole life has always been a testament to what a good and healthy marriage should be. Not to mention, I’m very grateful they were married, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing these words today!

I asked my grandmother how they celebrated their wedding and she said that it was a simple affair, with just cake (that came all the way from Plano) and punch served at the reception. And she had an exquisite white dress from Neiman Marcus. Likewise, my grandfather has written that there weren’t many photos taken, “but the scene is etched in my memory: My beautiful bride, dressed in white coming down the aisle of Melissa Baptist Church...Five-year-old David [my cousin] said, ‘She looks just like Jesus!’” Though I’ve also heard the story told where another cousin, David’s sister Susan, thought Grandpa looked like Jesus—I reckon this means it was holy matrimony indeed!
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Cafe de olla ice cream, mom's hot fudge sauce

Fourth of July as a kid meant hot-fudge sundaes. Sure, at my parents’ annual bash we had other things to eat, most notably my dad’s barbecue brisket, which he got up at the crack of dawn to start smoking so it would be ready to feed the multitude of guests arriving later that day. And we had potato salad, baked beans, corn on the cob and coleslaw as well. But dad’s homemade ice cream topped with my mom’s hot fudge was always the highlight of the day—a smooth, rich treat that set off fireworks in my mouth.

Now that it’s summer, it seems not a day goes by that I don’t read about someone’s homemade ice-cream concoction. I’m not usually one to jump on the bandwagon, but after reading about so many mouth-watering frozen treats (many coming from David Lebovitz’s delightful and excellent new book, The Perfect Scoop) I could no longer deny myself the pleasure and joy of making my own ice cream.
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The good, the bad and the puffy tacos

New York City is shaping up to be a terrific taco town. There are taco trucks scattered throughout the five boroughs, with one even parked just a few blocks from my apartment on Sundays. There are numerous Mexican delis that serve tacos from crowded counters in the back of the store. On weekends, there are the Mexican vendors at the Red Hook Ball Fields offering tacos to both hungry soccer players and taco-aficionados alike. I enjoy these tacos, but there’s only one problem—these are authentic Mexican tacos, two soft corn tortillas stuffed with juicy pork, beef, goat, chicken, chorizo or tongue, topped with cilantro, salsa, onions and a squirt of lime. They are delicious, but they’re not Tex-Mex tacos, which can be soft, crisp or puffy tacos, and sometimes that’s what I really want.

Classic Tex-Mex tacos fall into two categories: soft tacos, which are made with fluffy flour tortillas, and crispy tacos, which are fashioned from deep-fried corn tortillas. The stuffing in Tex-Mex tacos tends to be less exotic than their Mexican counterparts, with spiced-up ground beef the most ubiquitous. Of course you’ll also find stewed chicken, fajita meat and fried fish along with barbacoa de cabeza on Sundays and eggs, potatoes and breakfast meats in the mornings. I love all of these, but that crispy taco filled with ground beef, shredded iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, cheddar cheese and salsa is the true Tex-Mex classic. And when done well, it can be just as flavorful and complex as its more authentic brethren.
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Uncle Albert, Juneteenth and lima beans

On June 18, 1878, my great-great-great-uncle Albert was sitting on the front porch of his lovely Austin home, Las Ventanas, surveying the bounty of his garden. In a letter to his dear wife, who was visiting kinfolk in Tennessee, he wrote that the honeysuckle and roses were in full bloom and that there was “a good many butter beans on the vines, in fact the vines are loaded.”

Don’t butter beans sound lovely? So creamy, rich and smooth. But unfortunately, growing up I knew them by their less-delicious name, lima beans. And like many people, I was never a fan.

So what exactly is it about this much-loathed legume that make people go, “Blech!” when it’s mentioned? Could it be the word lima? The bean, which hails from South America is named after the capital of Peru. Yet instead of pronouncing it lee-ma, as that city is known, we instead say lie-ma, which sounds like either a disease, “Sorry, I’m not going to be at work this week, I’ve got a nasty bout of lima,” or a crazy old aunt whose name is invoked to discipline unruly children: “If you don’t eat your beans, you’re spending the day with old Aunt Lima!” Or perhaps it’s the texture, which can be both tough and mushy; the taste, which is bland; or the color, which is the sheen of old green linoleum circa 1968.
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Cole slaw: taking sides with barbecue

The room was silent. Barbecue expert and writer Lolis Eric Elie, author of Smokestack Lightening, had just been asked what he thought about New York City barbecue. He paused for a little too long and then said, "Well, to give the city its due, the sides are much better in New York than they are in the South."

Unfortunately, he is correct. Barbecue is about the meat, not the sides and, well, it’s hard to find brisket and sausage here that can compare with their Texan brethren. But this weekend I had the good fortune to eat Elgin hot guts and juicy, smoky brisket right here in my own urban backyard thanks to the Big Apple Barbecue Block Party.

I have to admit, while this block party has been happening for five years, I’d never attended. I don’t like lines, I don’t like crowds and I’d much rather eat barbecue in its native environment. But my magazine was sending a reporter to cover it and my boss asked if I’d like to take the photos. Curious what all the fuss was about, how could I refuse? I only had one request: the chance to eat lots of barbecue. My wish was not denied.
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Texas sheet cake for a birthday

Anytime is a fantastic time for a birthday, but I’m particularly partial to those birthdays that fall in the month of June. In my family, I have my dear cousin Andrew, a soon-to-be sophomore at North Carolina School of the Arts. In the city, I have my old cosmic buddies, Lisa and Jeanette. In the food blogging world, we have Christine, Sam, Ronnie, Valentina, Meena and Meeta celebrating birthdays this month. One of my favorite writers (and a fellow Texan) Larry McMurtry is a June baby and well, yes, yesterday was my birthday, too.

I’m kind of shy about my birthday (OK, obviously not that shy if I’m writing about it on the internet for thousands of people to see!), and haven’t had a big bash in a few years. I’m more prone to thoughtful contemplation about the nature of aging, all shared with good friends, good food, good songs and good cheer. Melissa recently wrote about the choices people make on their birthdays and how this defines them. She divided people into two groups: those who go for the new and those who go for the familiar. I tend to fall in the latter category, wanting my birthday to be about comfort and treasured favorites since getting older is enough of an adventure. And growing up, it wasn’t my birthday unless I was eating a certain chocolate cake known as Texas sheet cake.
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An asparagus sandwich and a new attitude

The small Texas town where I went to college had a surprising bounty of good restaurants despite its size. While I ate the majority of my meals either in Slater’s (what we called the cafeteria) or at home, once a week my friends and I would treat ourselves and go out to eat. Most of the time, we’d frequent joints that served those favorites that we hadn’t quite mastered in the kitchen yet—dishes such as chicken-fried steak, cheese enchiladas or fried catfish. But even though it was a small Texas town, contrary to the state’s beef-loving stereotype there was also a vegetarian café called The Tiffin Shop, which was housed in the back of the local health-food store. And in spite of my notions about health-food stores, I grew to love this little place, especially its asparagus sandwiches.

When I left home to go to college at 18, after a childhood filled with carob milk, gnarly sprouts and wheat germ, I had had my fill of health-food-store fare and vowed to never step foot in one again. But in the spring semester of my freshman year, some fellow classmates and myself decided to take our English professor to lunch so we could get to know her better. And being benevolent, we let her choose the spot. So what did she choose? But of course—the dreaded Tiffin Shop. I groaned to myself about the prospect of eating a meal at a health-food store, but I also knew that to make a fuss or, even worse, to not attend the luncheon would be bad form. So I went, but was convinced I would hate the food.
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Ramping up some gnudi

I don’t have Italian blood flowing through my veins and I have to admit when I was little, my knowledge of that country’s vast cuisine ended (and began) with pizza, lasagna, ravioli (usually canned) and spaghetti. But when I was in my teens and started venturing beyond my limited culinary sphere, I discovered the joy of many new Italian flavors, including butter-and-cream sauce, which I became obsessed with creating at home. My mom has called this my white phase since most of what I ate was, of course, white. And one of my favorite snacks was baked ricotta cheese smothered in the cream sauce, garlic and freshly chopped rosemary, no pasta necessary (though it’s also sort of white and wouldn’t have been completely unwelcome). It was so rich, creamy and delicious, it could make me weep. And heck, I was still a kid so I had no concern about either my heart or my waistline and could indulge guilt free in such a decadent dish.

I’ve since moved beyond the white-food phase, and fortunately am now an equal-opportunity eater of foods of all colors. And while nobody would have predicted this 20 years ago when thoughts of fruits and vegetables were anathema to my diet, I now not only frequently shop at the farmer’s market but also am even (gasp!) toying with the idea of committing to a CSA share for the summer and fall. I’m excited about the prospect of getting a ton of fresh vegetables every week while also helping out a local farm, but I hesitate to sign on the dotted line because I’m afraid I’ll miss shopping at the market, which I’d be less inclined to do if I already have a fridge full of vegetables at home.
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Mom's ginger scones for Mother's Day

Dear Mom,

It’s Mother’s Day and unfortunately I couldn’t spend the day with you. But that doesn’t mean you’re not in my thoughts! Of course, as always, I’m a bit tardy with your card and gift. We could chalk that up to my working at weekly magazines and always being a bit out of sync with the calendar. Though I’m usually thinking ahead, and by using that logic I should have thought last Sunday was Mother’s Day. No matter, it’s a bad excuse.

In any case, I just wanted to thank you for being such a generous, thoughtful and patient mom—I know that growing up I could be quite the handful. And while I didn’t appreciate eating healthy when I was a kid, I’m now very grateful for the education you gave me on organic and local foods. You’ve provided me with a solid foundation for making the right decisions with what I eat. Plus, I have fond memories of getting ladybugs for our organic garden and learning to savor the nuances of carob.
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Chess pie recipe

Baking has never been my strength. Perhaps it’s because I’m impatient or perhaps it’s because I have a hard time following directions, but when it comes to pastries, where precision is key, I leave those culinary tasks to the experts, namely my mom and my grandmother.

I’ve mentioned before my grandmother’s skill with pies. For as long as I can remember, I’ve stood by her side and watched her effortlessly roll out crusts and whip up fabulous fillings with seldom a measuring cup or spoon in sight. I’d like to have her ability as pies are one of my favorite desserts. But even when I use her recipes for guidance, mine always fall a bit short. Of course, with practice comes perfection. And if I had been baking pies for as long and as often as she has, I would probably be more proud of my efforts. But since I attempt one only a couple of times a year, I still have far to go in my pie-baking development.
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Cinco de Mayo? Yo tengo tinga!

Coming up this weekend is Cinco de Mayo, that popular holiday where much Mexican food is washed down with cerveza and tequila. But even though the day commemorates a Mexican victory, it has become more of a North-of-the-border fiesta with not as much attention paid to it in its native land.

Cinco de Mayo is often mistaken as Mexican Independence Day but that happens later in the calendar on September 16. Instead, this event marks the Mexicans’ incredible triumph (lead by the Texas-born Commanding General Ignacio Seguin Zaragoza) over the French in The Battle of Puebla (where the Mexicans were outnumbered almost two to one) on, of course, May 5, 1862. And while the French continued their attempt to take over Mexico for a few more years, this accomplishment not only boosted the Mexicans’ morale but was also a key factor in thwarting Napoleon III’s attempt to aid the Confederate states in the American Civil War.

In the early 1900’s, Mexican immigrants to the United States brought the celebration with them and in the 1960’s it grew in popularity as a day to honor ethnic pride. And for good reason as the day has long symbolized the strength of the Mexican spirit. But today, much of that original sentiment is lost behind the marketing. Sadly, it’s been demoted to just an excuse to sell more beer, tequila and tortilla chips. And you don’t even have to be of Mexican descent to join in the hype. In my neighborhood, the Irish pubs are also touting the day with signs and specials, and I noticed that even a French restaurant is having a Cinco de Mayo celebration. (Clearly, they either have an excellent sense of humor or have no idea what the day really means.)
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Everything's better with biscuits

I make good biscuits. Are they the best biscuits? I have no idea. But I enjoy them and when others are around they seem to rapidly disappear. For instance, one time when I had people over for breakfast, I made a batch and left them out on a plate while I busied myself with other things. When I returned, a friend had eaten them all! I asked him why he didn’t save any for the rest of us, and he said they were just so tasty he couldn’t stop. Fortunately, they don’t take long to make, so I quickly whipped up more so my other guests could eat some, too.

Last spring, my grandfather was in poor health. While his spirits were high and his mind sharp, his body required round-the-clock care. My grandmother had taken on the task of tending to him, which left her little time to do other things, so I flew down to Texas to help out for a few days. While I’m not much use outside on a farm (my tractor-driving skills notwithstanding), I can cook and clean, which is how I decided to ease her load. Before I started preparing meals, however, a trip to the grocery store was in order. As I surveyed what was needed, I saw a suspicious-looking cylinder in the refrigerator.


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In the kitchen with Robb Walsh

I have been a longtime reader of Robb Walsh. Starting when I lived in Austin in the early ’90s and he was the food critic at the Austin Chronicle, I’ve followed his byline as he moved to my former stomping grounds (where I was a young intern), the Houston Press. In the meantime, he’s come out with several books that all occupy prime real estate on my bookshelves. So imagine my surprise a few months ago when I found a certain Robb Walsh had left a comment on my blog.

I was convinced it was a joke, a reader playing a prank. Nevertheless, I emailed Robb and it was indeed he who had stopped by my site. I was shocked: one of my favorite writers is reading me? Needless to say, I was honored. So we began emailing each other occasionally, which lead me to take the bold (and perhaps somewhat rude) step of inviting myself into his home to watch him cook. I had noticed he had a new book coming out and its release date nicely dovetailed with my trip to Houston. So I asked him if we could meet to chat about the book and perhaps let me take photos of him preparing a dish from it. Unbelievably, he said yes.

And that’s how I found myself a couple of weeks ago in the home of Robb, his lovely wife, adorable baby and playful dog. And with my only restriction being I couldn’t photograph his face (he is a restaurant reviewer, after all), I spent a few hours watching him prepare a recipe from his excellent new book, The Texas Cowboy Cookbook: A History in Recipes and Photos.
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