Resolve to Extend Benefits of Black-eyed Peas Beyond New Year’s Day

Many cultures have the custom of eating some sort of bean on New Year’s Day—chickpeas in France and Italy, red beans in Japan. In the American South, the tradition of eating black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day is thought to ensure prosperity for the coming year; not to consume them on the appointed day is to invite financial calamity.

Adherence to this tradition is amazingly inflexible. One frigid January 1^st as my husband and I were driving home from a trip to another state, our car hit a patch of black ice, rolled and flipped before coming to rest in a hard frozen plowed field. We were unhurt but the day was bitterly cold and we were 90 miles from home with a heavy winter storm in the forecast. Luckily, a passing state trooper came to our aid. He drove us to a nearby small town where we called Bob, my husband’s law partner, and asked him to come get us—and to please do so quickly, before more snow arrived. “OK,” Bob said. “I’ll get there as soon as I can. But first I’ll have to eat some black-eyed peas.” We understood.

The black-eyed pea, along with its cousins purple-hull, Crowder, and Texas or Lady cream peas are all varieties of cow peas. Indigenous to Africa, these meaty flavorful legumes came to the US aboard slave ships. On New Year’s Day they are often served in the form of Hoppin’ John, a hearty stew of black-eyed peas and rice. But Hoppin’ John makes such a warming winter meal and is so delicious and easily prepared, don’t limit yourself to enjoying it only one day of the year.

I recommend using either fresh or frozen black-eyed peas. Although dried peas are widely available, it is time consuming to soak and cook them and they tend to be mushy and devoid of flavor. Luckily, fresh black-eyed peas often appear in produce sections in late December. And commercially frozen black-eyed, purple hull and cream peas are available in grocery freezer departments year round. These cook quickly and have good flavor. Rinse them in a colander and cook as you would fresh peas.

How to Make Hoppin’ John

Render the fat from 2 slices of highly flavorful lean bacon. I use an apple wood smoked bacon that comes from pork unadulterated by hormones or antibiotics. What you are after is the smoky flavor of bacon with only a small amount of its fat.

Remove the cooked bacon from the pan before sautéing a medium onion, chopped, in the rendered fat. Augment the fat with olive oil if needed.

In a colander, rinse 3 cups fresh or frozen black-eyed peas. Add the drained peas to the pan with the onion along with the 2 bacon slices cut into pieces.

Pour in enough broth (home made or canned) to cover the peas. Add dried red pepper flakes, black pepper, and Tabasco sauce to taste. Cook until tender. The cooking time will vary according to how fresh the peas are, usually between 15 and 30 minutes. Don’t over cook or they’ll become mushy. You want some resilience.

Meanwhile, if you don’t have any leftover rice on hand, prepare some now to give you between a ½ and ⅔ C cooked rice, either brown or white. The purpose of cooking the rice separately before adding it to the pot is to avoid over cooking the black-eyed peas.

I like to add okra though it may be omitted if you aren’t fond of it. In winter, the available okra is often frozen. I only thaw it enough to cut through the pods. Cut 12 to 15 okra into thick slices and add to the pot where they cook quickly.

You will probably need to add more broth as the peas absorb liquid and grow plump and the okra exudes a thickener. In fact, adjust the amount of broth to make the Hoppin’ John as soupy as you wish.

This is very good on a cold winter night accompanied by any sort of corn bread.

Marvelous Marinara!

If you haven’t been making your own marinara sauce, I urge you to do so.

The difference in taste between home cooked marinara and something out of a jar is huge. And this simple tomato sauce is not difficult to prepare. I even cooked a pot of marinara in that less than stellar kitchen in the Vermont condominium last January.

Here is a basic recipe using canned tomatoes that you can double or triple if need be.

Chop a small to medium onion and begin to sauté it in olive oil. Finely chop 4 or 5 (or more!) cloves of garlic and add to the pan. After the onions and garlic have softened, drain the juice from 28 oz. of canned whole tomatoes into the pan. I then cut the whole tomatoes into rough pieces before adding them. You may choose to chop them in a food processor or simply break them up after adding them to the pan. I don’t use canned diced tomatoes because I like the solid to liquid proportion of the whole tomatoes.

Bring the mixture to a simmer and season with a bay leaf, salt, some grinds of pepper, and even a sprinkle of sugar if you like a sweeter marinara sauce as the Sicilians do. Roughly chop 4 or 5 leaves of fresh basil and put that in along with 2 tablespoons of tomato paste. (As for the rest of the tomato paste in that little can, it will keep quite a while in a bowl in the refrigerator or you can freeze it.)

Stir well, reduce the heat and cook gently for 15 or 20 minutes to thicken and let the flavors develop. Use it right away or set it aside. It can wait at room temperature for several hours; longer than that, refrigerate it. The flavor intensifies as it waits, so if I have the chance, I make it a while before I plan to use it.

Marinara can be served over pasta, used in dishes like eggplant parmesan or as a topping for pizza.

Charlene likes to stuff manicotti with ricotta and grated parmesan then spoon this over and bake topped with more parmesan. Yummy!

Cooking in Vermont

Here's a picture of me cooking in a ski condo in Vermont.

We had battlefield conditions! There were no chef knives, inadequate pans, not even a measuring cup!

for Ilse

This month’s column is dedicated to my friend Ilse. A young working mother, Ilse is currently navigating life with a toddler and a baby, two deceptively angelic-looking little girls.

I recently came across this account from a day in my life over thirty years ago when my son was 22-months-old. It reminded me of the challenges of cooking (or accomplishing anything) with little ones around.

April 8, 1976

This morning my day began when David awakened me shortly after six to tell me that vandals had thrown a brick through the back window of his car last night while he worked late at the office. He’s on his way out of town and he’ll have to take my car. As he will be away the rest of the week, he told me to rent a car from H.D.’s Car Rental or Hertz.

We breakfast and bid each other good-bye. The baby is still asleep.

This is the day for my housekeeper to come and a good thing, too, for I have a host of errands, among them grocery shopping, taking a gift to the new baby of one of David’s secretaries, and an appointment for a haircut. I also plan to make soup, Parmesan bread, and ice cream that I will take to my friend Mary Ann. Her 6-year-old daughter is having a tonsillectomy early this morning, and I want to give little Susan the traditional post-tonsillectomy ice cream treat as well as provide a meal her whole family can enjoy when she returns home from the hospital this evening.

I decide to settle the car situation before the baby wakens. I call H. D.‘s rental agency. They are out of cars. Before I can call Hertz, the housekeeper rings. She can’t come today. My heart sinks. The house is a shambles and all those errands!

Geoffrey awakens and I dress him. Since the baby seems happy enough toddling around, I run to my dressing room to complete my own grooming before we go downstairs. While combing my hair, I hear an ominous sound from the bathroom. I go to check and find that Geoffrey has emptied a large sack of bird seed onto the carpet.

I take several deep breaths. The damage is done; he can’t do any more harm so I return to the dressing room, leaving him patting the pile of seed.

I quickly finish putting myself together and return to the bathroom to get the baby. He has not been idle. He has poured birdseed down the sink and tub drains and they are clogged. He has taken water from the commode and added it to the bird seed and painted the walls with gritty mix.

No time to clear up. I brush the seed off him, wash his hands, take him downstairs and put him in his high chair.

Handing him cereal and milk, I put an egg on to cook and call Mother, explain the situation and ask if she will keep Geoffrey for an hour or two so I can run errands. She agrees. I tell her I will have Hertz deliver a car to me before then so I can bring him to her house. I hang up. The egg has burned.

I call Hertz. Hertz has no cars available. I call the Chevrolet dealership. They do not rent cars.

I take Geoffrey out of the high chair; clean him up, give him a banana, sit him in his chair, and turn on Sesame Street.

Back at the phone, I see the hospital phone number and call to check on Susan. Mary Ann reports that she is out of surgery and doing fine. Mary Ann is relieved and ready to chat. I recount my morning’s adventures. Mary Ann says she has the solution. Her husband Jay is at the hospital with her and his car is in their driveway, keys in the ignition. “Go get it and keep it the rest of the day,” she says.

Great! I call H.D. who felt bad he didn’t have a car for me and has offered to help anyway he can. Would he be able to come get me and take me to pick up Jay’s car? Yes! I rush upstairs, make a pass at cleaning up the bird seed, rush down, start the dishwasher, and put a load of clothes in the washing machine. I pack Geoffrey’s lunch and diapers.

H.D. arrives. I pick up Geoffrey and his parcels, my purse, and we’re on our way. I’m grateful to have the use of Jay’s car, but it doesn’t have a car seat, and the baby, who is used to riding in one, rolls around like a ball bearing. Enjoying this unaccustomed freedom, he grabs his lunch and amuses himself throwing lima beans.

I deliver him and what’s left of his lunch to Mother.

I go to the hair dresser (I needed that!), then to the grocery store. I take the groceries home then pick up the baby. He’s sleepy, thank goodness. I take him home, chat with him a minute, then put him to bed for a nap.

Downstairs I scald the milk and beat the eggs for the custard that will form Susan’s ice cream. While the milk cools, I open the bags of ice for the ice cream freezer and find that though I specified crushed ice, the bagger at the grocery store loaded my car with sacks of ice cubes—which won’t work in my ice cream freezer.

While I’m trying to figure out the most efficient manner to crush the cubes, someone knocks at the door. I open it to a smiling but nervous young man who informs me that while driving along looking at my house, he ran into my mail box, knocked it down and then ran over it.

Resisting the impulse to slam the door (it might wake the baby) I march out to survey the damage. The mail box and its post lie twisted like an avant-garde sculpture of a tormented soul. Magazines, advertisements, letters and bills are strewn across the lawn and flutter gently in a light breeze. My incipient anger flutters, too, then floats away. My heart goes out to the shabby-looking man standing beside me. His dented old car holds a bedraggled wife and an assortment of pallid children. He didn’t have to stop, confess his deed, and notify me that my mail was in danger of blowing away. I thank him for that, and reassuring him that no real harm has been done, send him on his way with a smile and a wave.

Gathering up the mail, I return to the house. The kitchen clock reveals it is not yet 1:30, and it becomes suddenly clear to me that the remainder of the baby’s nap time could best be spent with a quiet cup of tea.

I resist that inner voice suggesting a slug of scotch might be a better choice.

For present day frazzled mothers as well as anyone else interested in a quick and easy yeast bread, here’s the recipe for the Parmesan bread I mention above. It’s a no-knead casserole bread that is my variation on a recipe from a very old Better Homes and Gardens Bread Cook Book. These days I make this in the food processor. Just give the dough a whir whenever the recipe says to beat or stir.

Parmesan Bread

Soften 1 pkg dry yeast in ¼ C lukewarm water.

Scald ¼ C milk; cool to lukewarm.

Mix 1 ½ C flour (part of which may be whole wheat), 1 T sugar and ½ t. salt. Cut in ⅓ C butter.

Add a beaten egg, the yeast and milk; beat well.

Stir in ¾ C grated Parmesan or other cheese such as Havarti or cheddar. Combinations are particularly good.

Turn into an 8 inch round pan greased generously with melted butter. Cover with damp cloth and let rise until double, about 40 minutes. Sprinkle the top liberally with additional cheese.

Bake at 375º for 20 to 25 minutes.

A final note to readers. Protective car seats of the type mandatory today had not yet been invented in the 1970s so don’t send messages taking me to task for not strapping my baby into a car seat. The “baby” is now a six foot four inch adult who somehow managed to survive these and other unsanitary and freewheeling adventures—fortified no doubt by my cooking.

A Gift of Food: Vivian Wayland’s Cookies

Many years ago when the ingredients she had at hand fit no cookie recipe, Vivian Wayland created her own and shared them with friends. The result was declared a real winner and she jotted down the recipe for all who asked. I still have the small page from a tear-off recipe pad on which her penciled instructions have faded to pale grey.

Though it wasn’t December when Vivian Wayland turned out her experimental cookies here in the Arkansas Ozarks, they are well suited to the Christmas season, and her dried fruit cookies quickly became a part of our family Christmas. They make a good foil to the more standard sugar cookies. Packed with dates and raisins and pecans, they are also a good alternative treat for children careening into colored sugar overload. Plus they taste terrific! I include the Vivian Waylands in my Christmas cookie gift plates and have been asked for the recipe many times.

Like the breakfast muffins I wrote about earlier, this is a very forgiving recipe. You can tweak the proportions of dried fruits and nuts without damage.

Here are the instructions pretty much as Vivian Wayland wrote them, but I’ve added some parenthetical comments as well as suggestions at the end.

Vivian Wayland Fruit Cookies

Cream
1 C light brown sugar
2/3 C softened butter

Add
2 eggs
to make a batter

Add
1 C flour with 1 tsp spices*
1 tsp soda dissolved in 1 T hot water

Mix fruits and nuts with 1 C flour so they won’t clump.
1 ¼ lbs. chopped dates (use some of the flour to facilitate chopping**)
1 lb. raisins
2 C chopped pecans

Mix into batter.

Drop by spoonfuls onto greased cookie sheets and bake at 350º for 10 to 12 minutes. Be sure and don’t over cook. Makes approximately 10 dozen.

*This is left up to the cook’s taste. I use more than a teaspoon total—probably a tsp of cinnamon, ¾ tsp nutmeg, two shakes of ginger, and one to three shakes of cloves. The amount of dates, raisins, and nuts don’t have to be exact. I often use 1½ lbs dates because they come in 8 oz. packages.

**Because of their stickiness, dates can be difficult to chop, but don’t let that tempt you into purchasing them pre-chopped. Those packaged chopped dates are rolled in sugar and who knows what else to keep them from clumping together. This increases the sweetness of the already sweet fruit and affects the taste of any recipe to which you add them. Those date pieces are also tough, unlike the softer, more flavorful whole dates.

You can use the 2^nd cup of flour to make the task easier. Chop the dates in batches. Spread them on a cutting board and sprinkle liberally with some of the flour. Chop into chunky pieces; I tend to average three cuts per date. Whenever your knife starts to get sticky, add more flour. As each batch is chopped, scrape it into a large bowl along with any flour left on the cutting board. Add the raisins and pecans to this bowl as well as any flour remaining in the measuring cup. Mix with your hands to distribute the flour.

Not every kitchen experiment is a success. Not every food gift brings more than momentary pleasure. But some take root in the lives of the recipients, become part of family ritual, and are baked and passed on by an ever-widening circle of cooks. Vivian Wayland’s gift is one to treasure.

Happy Holidays!

What to do with that leftover turkey

One of the Thanksgiving treats at our house is the pot pie I make using leftover turkey. I’ll tell you how I make it but this won’t be a precise recipe as amounts and ingredients will vary with your circumstances.

From the Thanksgiving meal leftovers you may use turkey, dressing (the term for stuffing cooked outside the bird), gravy, and reserved pan drippings, but only the turkey is indispensable. And you don’t have to use cognac or even the wine though the pie won’t be as rich tasting without them. I make my own stock the Friday after Thanksgiving from the turkey carcass and various scraps but if hearing me say that makes you weary, use store-bought stock. For the pastry, I make a standard pâte brisée, but whatever recipe you customarily use will be fine.

Thanksgiving Turkey Pot Pie

Sauté 1 small onion, chopped; 3 or 4 sliced carrots; 1 or 2 ribs of celery, sliced; and 1 small turnip, cubed. I usually don't include potato, but if you want to, add a cubed potato now.

Deglaze the pan with two tablespoons of cognac. (Deglaze: pouring a small amount of liquid into a hot pan after sautéing then scraping to release any browned bits stuck to the pan) Add a bay leaf and 3 or 4 chopped sage leaves. Pour in stock to come to top of vegetables. Simmer until tender.

Meanwhile in another pan sauté a bunch of green onions, sliced, in a tablespoon each of butter and olive oil. Add 2 or 3 cups of mushrooms and cook until they begin to wilt. I like the combination of sliced shiitake mushrooms and chunkily cut portabellas. Deglaze the pan with ½ cup red wine.

Add any leftover drippings you’ve saved from the Thanksgiving turkey’s roasting pan. Pour in stock to come to top of mushrooms. Stir and add this mixture to the cooked vegetables. Grinds of pepper and salt if needed.

Dissolve 3 tablespoons of corn starch by stirring into ½ cup of room temperature stock (not hot). Pour this into the vegetable/mushroom mixture and bring to boil while stirring to thicken. Reduce heat and add any leftover giblet gravy. Remove from burner and set aside to cool, at least until close to room temperature. At this point add however much of cut up turkey meat you have and stir to distribute.

Line a deep baking dish with pie pastry. If you have any leftover dressing/stuffing, spread some on the bottom of the pie. Pour in the turkey and vegetables. Sprinkle more dressing on top if you have enough. Top with pastry, trim edges, fold over bottom pastry and crimp to seal. Cut a few slits in the top for steam release. Bake at 375º for 50 minutes or until golden.

You may serve this at room temperature, in fact we prefer it that way. It won’t cut into neat slices so use a large spoon for serving.

This makes leftovers something to look forward to!

The Frost is on the Pumpkin!

Pumpkin Bean Soup, that is.

Fall is my favorite season. And though frost hasn’t yet arrived this far south, I’m looking forward to brisk mornings and brightly colored trees. With October here, it’s a great time to make Pumpkin Bean Soup, a delicious combination that is very easy to prepare if you make use of canned ingredients.

Pumpkin and beans along with tomatoes are foods that don’t suffer from the canning process and are readily available without additives. I also often rely on prepared broths—chicken, beef, or vegetable. There are a number of these on the market that are simple and good for cooking. Some brands come in 32 ounce cartons while others are available in 14 ounce cans. For the recipe below, use 2 cans or 1 carton. Half a cup won’t make that much difference. But don’t be afraid to juggle the proportions to suit yourself. Though I prefer chicken broth here you could use vegetable broth.

Pumpkin Bean Soup

Chop into small dice 1 small onion, 2 bunches of scallions, 2 carrots, 1 small turnip, 2 celery stalks. Sauté them in a small amount of olive oil until they begin to soften.

Pour in chicken broth and a dash of Tabasco. Cook a few minutes. Add 3 cans of drained white beans such as navy or great northern, 4-5 fresh sage leaves finely chopped or a fat pinch of dried sage, and 1 can of pumpkin. (This should be plain pumpkin, not pumpkin pie mix which has sugar and spices.) You might need to add more broth as this cooks.

When vegetables are nearly tender, add 2 or 3 large Portabella mushrooms, cut into chunks. Shiitake mushrooms are also very good if you like their strong flavor, but chop them more finely than the Portabellas. Add several grinds of black pepper and salt if needed.

Pumpkin has an affinity for the flavor of Gruyère cheese so I grate some over the surface of the soup after I’ve ladled it into the bowls. We have a bakery nearby that bakes a rough, crunchy 8-grain loaf that is particularly good with this hearty soup.

When I served Pumpkin Bean Soup to an informal gathering last winter, a friend brought a simple salad that was the perfect accompaniment. She assembled the salads directly on the plates. Here is what she did.

Sandy’s Salad

For each salad: On a bed of leaf lettuce slice a quarter of an unpeeled pear. Scatter on a few pine nuts. (You may roast the pine nuts for fuller flavor.) Strew some Gorgonzola over the top. Sprinkle with a very few drops of an excellent Balsamic vinegar. Top with a grind of pepper.