Live blogging from Stuy Town as I help Collie and Co. prepare Southern Thanksgiving.
Thus far I've made banana pudding, corn bread, corn bread dressing and breakfast casserole.
Why, pray tell, is the Yankee making the Southern specialties?
Who cares? Collie makes Kaluha and coffee while I cook, so I'm a happy happy Yankee. Even if I don't have the manners God gave a goat.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Showing posts with label Food Glorious Food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food Glorious Food. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Stuffing
Last night I made my first attempt at stuffing. Or dressing, really. Seeing as how I didn't stuff it into anything except my mouth.
It was...not bad. Though, how can bread, sausage, butter, onions, celery and spices be bad? Still, my technique could use some improvement and I win no points for execution. So you know what they say, if at first you don't succeed, perseverate. Or, in my case, try it again the next night.
So, tonight I try it again. This time sans sausage. Perhaps even sans culottes!
It was...not bad. Though, how can bread, sausage, butter, onions, celery and spices be bad? Still, my technique could use some improvement and I win no points for execution. So you know what they say, if at first you don't succeed, perseverate. Or, in my case, try it again the next night.
So, tonight I try it again. This time sans sausage. Perhaps even sans culottes!
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Sustinance
I have not had a piece of buttered toast in nearly 15 years.
Or, rather, perhaps I should say a properly buttered piece of toast.
My mother is the only person who can properly butter toast. I know. I know. This sounds fanciful, but still. My mother's buttered toast is second to none.
Lest you think I am alone in this personality quirk, I present to you the story of my grandfather. Poppy Stan never ate a single fried egg after 23 December 1965. Heart condition? Premature concern over his cholesterol? Nein. It was simply that the only person, to his mind, who could properly fry an egg was his mother-in-law, Big Nanny. And, Big Nanny, the former Martha Josephine Maxcy of Manhattan and Upper Montclair, went on to her great reward shortly before Christmas 1965. Thus, as she sloughed off her mortal coil so did my grandfather give up fried eggs.
Waffles, to me, remain the domain of my second brother, David. Perhaps it's because Eggo waffles constituted fully 1/5 of his diet for the first decade of his life (along with french fries, chicken fingers, pizza and "little rolls").Whatever the reason, no one, not a single person, can make waffles like the D-Man.
Or, rather, perhaps I should say a properly buttered piece of toast.
My mother is the only person who can properly butter toast. I know. I know. This sounds fanciful, but still. My mother's buttered toast is second to none.
Lest you think I am alone in this personality quirk, I present to you the story of my grandfather. Poppy Stan never ate a single fried egg after 23 December 1965. Heart condition? Premature concern over his cholesterol? Nein. It was simply that the only person, to his mind, who could properly fry an egg was his mother-in-law, Big Nanny. And, Big Nanny, the former Martha Josephine Maxcy of Manhattan and Upper Montclair, went on to her great reward shortly before Christmas 1965. Thus, as she sloughed off her mortal coil so did my grandfather give up fried eggs.
Waffles, to me, remain the domain of my second brother, David. Perhaps it's because Eggo waffles constituted fully 1/5 of his diet for the first decade of his life (along with french fries, chicken fingers, pizza and "little rolls").Whatever the reason, no one, not a single person, can make waffles like the D-Man.
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