Texas pulled pork

We don’t eat pulled pork in Texas. This isn’t to say that pulled pork isn’t delicious, but when you go to a Texas barbecue joint you order beef—be it brisket, shoulder, sausage or ribs. And if you do see pulled pork at a Texas barbecue joint you might inquire about the provenance of the pit master as pulled pork is just not found in our usual repertoire of smoked meat.

Yep, Texas is cow country and that’s why our barbecue is based on beef. But we certainly do eat pork—tender pork ribs are always on a barbecue menu; crisp, succulent carnitas fill countless tacos and a bowl of slow-simmered fiery red posole is a fine way to welcome in the New Year.

So why no pulled pork?



I don’t know the answer to this question. And while my first barbecue love will always be moist brisket piled high with pickles and onions, having traveled to other barbecue regions in the South that showcase the pig, I have come to appreciate a pulled pork sandwich. How could you not enjoy tender strands of lightly sauced meat that’s been topped with cole slaw and stuffed into a bun? It’s a fine sandwich indeed.
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Strawberry sheet cake

I have to say that it’s good to be in charge. Sure, I’m awfully busy—waking up at the crack of dawn and cooking until the sun sets. But as the boss I get to do anything I want, including making executive decisions. And when faced with the question recently of either pie or cake, I chose cake—strawberry cake to be exact.

Last week, the first local strawberries appeared at the farmer’s market and I went nuts. We have one farmer who sells strawberries that are jewels—each one loaded with juice with a deep red coloring that goes all the way to the core. These berries aren’t sprayed and don’t need any adornment; I can eat my way through a pint in about 10 minutes.

My preference for fresh in-season fruit is to eat it simply—with perhaps a light sprinkle of sugar to bring out some of the juice and flavor. And I find myself making a lot of strawberry shortcake this time of year as it’s a wonderful way to showcase my favorite spring berry. But sometimes you want to change things up a bit, which is how I found myself wondering how to make that Southern classic—strawberry cake.



When researching strawberry cake recipes, however, I noticed that most of them were made with boxed cake mix along with strawberry gelatin. I didn’t want to make my cake that way so I called my grandma to see how she made hers. Yep, she confirmed that her recipe was the same as well.
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The Homesick Texan Cookbook, an introduction

Here's my recipe on how to make a cookbook, The Homesick Texan Cookbook to be exact:

1. Be born in Dallas, the newest member of a long line of Texans that have been living in the state since the mid 1800s. But do you care about your esteemed Texan heritage? Heck no! You tell your parents at a very young age that you want to live in New York City. They take you to Herrera’s, order you tamales and pray for the best.

2. Now, how does a young Texan become enamored with New York City? Let’s blame Maurice Sendak, E.L. Konigsberg, E.B. White, Rhoda, Woody Allen and Sesame Street. At nine, your family moves to Houston and you fall in love with its green sauce, Gulf seafood, ice-house hamburgers and dewberries growing along the bayou. You even reconsider your desire to move to New York City, but in your early 20’s a job in Manhattan beckons and you heed its call.

3. In 1995, you arrive in New York and realize that you’ve been hoodwinked; there is no decent Mexican food in the whole city! And let's not even begin to discuss the lack of Ro-Tel, barbecue, chili, chicken-fried steak, queso and everything else you’ve been eating your whole life. You are hungry. So now what do you do?
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Frito pie with one-hour Texas chili

When my grandparents were in graduate school at the University of Kentucky, they were—of course—homesick Texans. But they soon figured out that they could feel a lot closer to home if they indulged in that Texan classic, Frito pie.

Frito pie—if you are a deprived soul that has never eaten one—is simply a pile of Fritos topped with chili, cheese, diced onions and sometimes, if you're feeling flush, pickled jalapenos and sour cream. In Texas, it’s a mainstay at Friday-night football games, county fairs, school-cafeteria lunches, church youth-group suppers and yes, even at home.

Typically, it’s served in the bag—you just open up an individual-sized Frito package, ladle on the chili and dip in with your spoon. Though I find when you’re eating it at home, a bowl is an acceptable vessel for serving it as well, though some people may argue that is just a bit too fancy for this humble dish.



Now, as my grandma recalls, Fritos weren’t widely available in Kentucky in the late 1940’s—it was still mostly a Texan brand. And forget about even finding that other common ingredient for Frito pie—canned Wolf Brand chili. But they had a Texan friend at school that on trips back home to Corsicana would load up his car with bags of Fritos and cases of chili and bring these treasures back to Lexington. A Frito pie feast would then ensue.
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