Tag: Food

Warm Saltine Crackers Are Delicious

Every once in a while I stumble upon a grand idea. I realize others may have already discovered the same thing, but when I actually experience it, somehow it becomes more real. Isn’t that the way with almost anything? A physical experience writes knowledge on you in a way that reading about it cannot fully convey.

So, read this article to get the idea, but then go do it for yourself. It is quick, easy and painless. Unless you burn your fingers.

My experience started with a stale sleeve of saltines.

I was making soup, and what goes best with any kind of soup? Crackers. Not fancy water crackers, or wheat thins or even Ritz crackers, but plain basic saltines.

Since the invention of this iconic cracker, saltines have classically accompanied soup.

Many have used these inexpensive crackers to extend a simple bowl of soup into a meal. In the Great Depression, many a cracker was crumbled into a thin broth soup to fill hungry bellies. The habit of crumbling crackers into soup continues as a comfort food, even when food is plentiful.

But stale saltines?

Somehow, it just isn’t the same. 

Filling, yes. Satisfying, no.

There have been times in my life when stale saltines went out for the birds. As I became more conscious of food waste, I could not think of throwing out an entire sleeve of crackers. After cursing the packaging breach that allowed moisture to render the crackers unpalatable, it was time to pivot.

What to do?

Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I recalled crackers could be crisped in the oven. There was nothing to lose and everything to gain by giving it a shot.

I couldn’t remember any directions about how long it might take to crisp up stale crackers, so as I often do, I guessed. By monitoring color change through the oven window and paying attention to the aroma in the air, I hit upon a success.

Another technique I use often is starting food in a cold oven, allowing the food to come to temperature along with the oven. This saves a bit of time. Plus, if moving a glass baking dish straight from the refrigerator to the oven, it helps prevent the pan from shattering because of the sudden temperature change.

Back to the saltines.

Pour out an entire sleeve of crackers onto a small baking sheet. It doesn’t matter if they are in a single layer or not; dump out the crackers and shake to semi-distribute. Pop them in the oven on the middle rack. Set the temperature to 350º and turn it on. Monitor closely until the crackers reach your desired color. Remove from the oven, and slide into a serving bowl. 

Eat warm.

Easy as this is, there are a couple of things to keep in mind. First, you need to get to know your oven. In my electric oven, the crackers are nicely browned and crispy at exactly the same moment the oven reaches 350 degrees. Second, it is quite handy to have a window in the oven door. I am not sure why windowless ovens were ever created, but I will never buy one.

One step better.

If you want to raise your game one more step, before baking, shake the crackers in a baggie with a small amount of melted butter and the seasoning of your choice. I recommend 1 1/2 tablespoons of melted butter and 1 teaspoon of seasoning to one sleeve of crackers. Open up your spice cabinet and think outside the cracker box. Try a bit of freshly cracked pepper. Paprika comes to life and offers a warming addition. I like steak seasoning on almost anything, not just for meat. Think chili-seasoned crackers to accompany a hot bowl of chili soup.

Now I crisp saltines every time I make soup. Not only when they have gone stale. Even without any additional seasoning, the slight browning gives crackers a new flavor profile that is distinct from the bland saltines straight from the box. It is possible this even makes the cheap saltines better so you can save money not buying an expensive name brand.

This simple technique elevates the humble saltine into an ethereal experience. Imagine warm, lightly browned crackers spread with soft butter beginning to melt. Delicious and simple.

Now, go straight to the kitchen and warm up your saltines. You know you want to.

Does Your Favorite Food Have A Deeper Meaning?

If I had to guess, I suspect your favorite dish has something to do with a happy childhood memory. A time of gathering around a table with people you love and who love you. At those special times, this food will be present. A dish that everyone knows is required at a family gathering. It somehow reinforces that this is a place where you belong. Something would be off, out of sync, if your favorite food was not on the table. 

I would further guess that your favorite food is also a culturally relevant dish. And I mean culturally relevant in the most micro sense of the word. Your family culture. Yes, it may be part of a larger identifiable cultural group you belong to, but your family does it in a way you have made your own.

For me, this cultural food that invokes special memories is ham and beans.

Once a year, in the heat of the summer, everyone gathers for Reunion. Family members travel from across the United States to reconnect with their siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins and relations so many times removed we just refer to each other as “related”. Reunion has been a ritual since the 1980’s. 

In the early days of Reunion, everyone knew that my Grandma and her siblings would cook a big cast iron pot full of ham and beans over a fire. They started early in the morning and simmered the beans until lunch time. No matter who arrived late or who might need to leave at a certain time, the meal would not start until Grandma announced the beans were done. 

Forty years ago, I could count on finding Grandma in her webbed lawn chair at the edge of the woods. Her basic cotton dress covered by an apron and her long-handled spoon in hand. Her surviving siblings circled the campfire, each in his or her own folding chair, watching her tend the pot of beans. 

They reminisced about former days and caught up on family news. They leaned first to one and then the other to note an item of interest. 

Who had moved since the last reunion? Who had babies? Who had been married? 

At the behest of some internal clock, Grandma would stand up at regular intervals and reach into the pot with her spoon. She would stir and answer the inevitable question from the circle: 

“How close are they?”

“Oh, just a bit longer,” she would answer. 

Grandma would give an approximation, but everyone knew she could time it down to the minute.

Meanwhile, relatives continued to arrive, arms laden with food. Cold dishes nestled into the ice-filled kiddie pools. Hot dishes in crockpots plugged in to the many extension cords. Flatbed wagons and makeshift tables of sawhorses and sheets of plywood filled with the pride of everyone’s kitchen. Pans of cornbread and tubs of butter arrived.

The aroma of ham and beans mingled with wood smoke filled the air. 

Rumbling bellies responded.

At long last, but always according to Grandma’s plan, twelve noon arrived, and she announced the beans were done. Children were called from the fishing pond and games to wash up. Adults stopped their conversations and looked expectantly toward the table. 

After the obligatory group photo and prayer, the lines began moving around the food.

We ate salads and sliced tomatoes. Potato casseroles and sweet corn. Pickles, and beets, and noodles. We jostled for desserts, swooning over chocolate cake and fruit cobblers. 

But always the feature was those beans, poured to the brim of a bowl with cornbread crumbled in.

After all family members, from old to young, were filled to what should have been capacity, many of us returned for another bowl of beans and cornbread. 

Yes, after dessert.

That’s right. In my family, we finished the reunion meal with more beans and cornbread.

I know, this humble dish created from cheap beans seasoned with scraps of ham bone and bits of meat, boiled in plain water, was a staple meal for our ancestors in hard times. They survived the Great Depression after all.

Now that generation is gone. 

The entire group of siblings that included my grandma, who prepared the annual pot of beans, have passed on. Even though we no longer need to eat cheap because of hard times, we continue the tradition. 

We honor them by keeping faith with their food. Filling each other with warm stories and a bowl of beans. Remembering as we do, the generations who came before and brought us to the brink of where we are today.

Why do these special dishes mean so much to us? I know that my family is not alone in its own food culture.

What makes us refer to these special foods as “comfort foods”? The dictionary defines “comfort” as: a state of physical ease and freedom from pain or constraint; or alternately the easing or alleviation of a person’s feelings of grief or distress. 

For me “comfort” is found in the memories of happy times. Times when both body and soul are full. A time to be unconcerned, even for the span of a mealtime, about all the pressures of the world. A time to simply enjoy what is before me. 

Ham and beans do that for me. This humble meal reminds me of my connections to traditions and the place in a family where I belong. It is my place in the world.

While I go start a pot of ham and beans, here is my challenge to you:

Spend some time today thinking about your favorite food. 

What memories accompany this dish? 

Where were you and who was with you the first time you remember eating your particular favorite? 

Does it bring you comfort?

Now, go make that dish.

 

The Air Fryer Is A Revelation In Cooking

Why did I wait so long to get one?

When air fryers became a thing in the late 2010s, everyone wanted one. Not me. I was determined not to adopt this new technology. Now I’m all for new kitchen appliances and I have a vast array. A bread machine, counter top compressor style ice cream maker, three kinds of blenders, an electric griddle, and a myriad of hand tools.

But when the air fryer came out, I thought of it as only a countertop convection oven. Essentially, a convection oven includes a fan to circulate air, allowing for an even temperature and potentially crisper edges on everything.

I had no need for one of those. My kitchen is equipped with double convection wall ovens that meet all the same checkpoints offered by an air fryer.

So why would I use valuable counter space for a separate appliance to do what my convection oven already does?

Then came along an opportunity to trade a toaster for a brand new air fryer. This was a deal I couldn’t refuse.

The model I gained is a Gourmia brand with a bottom liner tray to catch crud, a solid pan with a rack, and a mesh basket. Plus, attractive French-style doors.

The first thing I tried were homemade fries. I love french fries. 

Who am I kidding? I love potatoes of any kind! 

But to make fresh fries at home is ideal.

Following the manufacturer’s directions, I hand-cut strips from large white potatoes. Lightly spritzed with avocado oil and seasoned with salt and pepper, spread in a single layer of the basket and popped in the air fryer the second the preheat bell signaled the machine was ready. 

The beauty of this air fryer and probably all air fryers for all I know is the series of preset buttons. One of which is fries.

These fries were delicious.

Crispy on the outside, tender and fluffy on the inside, all from the air fryer without the mess of hot oil on the stovetop.

I was hooked.

Then a friend stopped by and I was singing the praises of my new air fryer. She recommended trying mini tater tots and crispy crowns. These pre-formed nuggets of shredded potatoes are designed to become crispy, but in my experience, for whatever reason, never quite did in the convection oven. 

Oh my goodness! Crunchy deliciousness, just like out of a deep fryer, but without all the greasy residue.

I’ve been using it for all sorts of things, from boneless chicken wings to bacon, to warming up scones and chocolate chip cookies.

One word of caution, however. I tried some frying cheese in the basket. Even though the packaging said it was possible, mine dripped through the basket and was a horrible mess to clean up. 

I am also not a fan of using the toast function to make toast. My standard toaster does a much better job of evenly toasting bread, bagels and English muffins than the air fryer. Plus, I can store it in the cabinet.

The air fryer has earned its counter space in my kitchen.

Now, what other kitchen appliance can I add to my collection?

Black Raspberries Always Trigger Good Memories

 A black raspberry pie always makes me think of my grandma.

Usually I don’t make a whole pie, just one crust. A pile of berries, sugar, and flour dumped into the middle, and the edges folded up over the top.

Something on the order of a galette.

I love black raspberries. 

When I was a child, I thought these were the only berries worth eating. We didn’t have the red variety. Warm, sweet, seedy berries picked from the edge of Grandma’s garden.

As a snack, Grandma would allow me to add equal amounts of berries and sugar in a jar to eat with a grapefruit spoon.

Why a jar?

Because that was a convenient vessel to take to the field when they were cutting, raking, and baling hay. My job was to sit in the truck and eat berries.

Why a serrated spoon?

Because it was different, therefore my favorite. Plus, Grandma allowed it.

What is so special about Rubus Occidentalis, the black raspberries of my childhood?

Rubus occidentalis is a species of Rubus native to eastern North America. Its common name black raspberry is shared with other closely related species. Other names occasionally used include bear’s eye blackberry, black cap, black cap raspberry,[3][4] and scotch cap.[5] ~Wikipedia

Unlike blackberries, black raspberries do not have a stem that grows through the middle of the berry. Shaped more like a tiny stocking cap, it plucks off the stem completely. The stem in the middle of blackberries kind of freaks me out. (Don’t try to make sense of why. You have your idiosyncrasies too.)

Both blackberries and black raspberries grow wild here. It felt like a bonus to discover these that first spring. Like a little confirmation that this property was the place to be.

Picking them can be a challenge. Both types of berries grow on thorny canes that will grab your skin if you aren’t careful. Blackberry thorns are the most ferocious, with an extra hook on the barb. 

These glistening black raspberries grow in clusters of five, with the middle one usually ripening first. The season is from about the second week of June until the first of July. 

Each year, I make seedless black raspberry jam, home canned pie filling and at least one fresh pie. 

Delicious.

While I savor the rich color and flavor, I think of my grandma all those years ago, occupying her grandchild with berries and sugar so she could get some work done.