A Menagerie of Recipes

Food has the power to hook a memory and reel it in to the present. Have you ever bitten into a piece of cake only to see a vision of your grandma standing at the kitchen counter hand-mixing a batter? Does a mouthful of buttered mashed potatoes bring to the table your grandpa shaking a hefty amount of black pepper over the white mass?

“. . . I had leftover ingredients from the weekend to work with: a bowl of overripe tomatoes, an onion, some garlic, two lemons, a handful of linguine, a bottle of Chardonnay, and one and a half pounds of squid. The squid was left over from the paella Bill had made Saturday night . . . As the tentacles hung in front of my nose, I murmured, “I’m a heck of a long way from Iowa.” (p. 133-134, Cornfields to Codfish)

This menagerie of recipes has that effect on me. I make some of these dishes often, and there are some that I’ve never made – and probably never will. The latter remain too tightly sewn to another family member’s kitchen.

In parentheses is the title of the essay that the recipe relates back to in my new book, Cornfields to Codfish. I’ve either specifically mentioned these recipes in the essays, or they were inspired by what I wrote.

In some cases, it may be helpful to reread the essay before making the dish. Plus, definitely read through the entire recipe before making it: a useful lesson I learned in home economics class in high school.

Here are a few other potentially helpful notes:

• Iowa’s state bird is the goldfinch. Iowa’s marketing slogan is “Iowa: Fields of Opportunity.” Iowa’s state flower is the wild prairie rose. Iowa’s state oven temperature is 350 degrees.

• In Iowa, a pan is a pan, whether used on top of the stove to make risotto or to bake a cake in the oven. As a friend from Iowa recently pointed out, pot is something people smoke. However, in recent years, I have incorporated stockpot into my kitchen vocabulary. And, of course, Crock-Pots are standard winter cooking vessels.

• I have yet to successfully soften butter in the microwave; I’m capable of only melting butter in that powerful box. Consequently, for recipes calling for softened/room temperature butter, I highly recommend leaving it out on the counter for a few hours or overnight.

Cook with love!

***

Lefse

(Inspired by the “Preface,” p. ix, Cornfields to Codfish)

Unlike the traditional making of lefse, I don’t use a potato ricer, a lefse grill, or a lefse stick to flip the lefse. I have a potato masher, a cast-iron skillet, and a big hamburger-flipping spatula. My lefse is only as big as what will fit in my 10-inch skillet.

The ingredients are from the card in my circa 1982 brown sturdy plastic recipe box – with a couple adjustments: I go light on butter and don’t add sugar to the dough since the final step before eating lefse is to top it with those two ingredients.

There’s no name in “From the Kitchen of . . .” but I know this recipe is from a college friend’s grandmother who was about 80 years old when I received the recipe in the late 1980s.

Ingredients

2 pounds peeled potatoes

2 T. unsalted room temperature butter (at room temperature

only because it melts into the potatoes quickly and easily)

¼ c. heavy cream

1 t. salt

1 ¾ c. flour

At least a cup of additional flour for rolling the lefse dough

Soft butter and sugar for serving

Boil the potatoes until mashable, then drain and return to the pan. Turn the heat off but keep pan on the hot burner while mashing the potatoes. The residual heat helps make the spuds fluffy while mashing them.

Stir in butter, cream, and salt. The potatoes will look dry and gummy. Transfer them into a big bowl to cool. Over the course of an hour or so, I make several cuts through them with a stiff spatula to let heat escape. Once completely cool, cut in 1 ¾ c. flour with the spatula. Use hands to knead in the last bits of flour and to form a ball of dough.

“When home for Christmas my freshman year, I added a Norwegian food tradition to my family’s celebration: lefse. Following the recipe of a college friend’s grandmother, I boiled potatoes, not for dinner but rather to mash with flour, sugar, a little salt, and a splash of cream . . . (p. 9, Cornfields to Codfish)

Preheat a cast-iron skillet on a medium-high burner before rolling out the first piece. Generously sprinkle flour on the counter, and pull off a large walnut-sized piece of dough. Roll it into a ball, flatten it into a patty, and flour both sizes before rolling. On the first or second roll, the dough will stick to the rolling pin; peel it off and reflour both sides of the dough. Roll it into a very thin circle, similar thickness to that of a flour tortilla.

Carefully move it from the rolling surface to the palm of your hand; then gently flip it from palm to palm to shake off excess flour.

Dry fry the lefse, checking it after about 30 seconds to see if it has browned. It will bubble a bit as it cooks. Flip and repeat on the second side.

Stay near the stove to watch the lefse, and reduce the heat to medium if it browns too quickly. We are really cooking flour here, so no flash browning – that won’t give the lefse enough time to actually cook.

As the lefse cooks in the skillet, roll out the next one. This recipe makes around 20 pieces of lefse, so be prepared to stick near the stove for a good half hour. When burned flour accumulates in the pan after dry frying a few pieces of lefse, I carefully hold the pan over the sink and wipe the flour out with a dry paper towel.

When both sides of the lefse are covered with brown spots and it smells toasted, remove from the pan and place on a dinner plate. The hot pieces of lefse can be stacked on top of one another.

For the buttering and sugaring, put the lefse on a flat surface (the counter) to spread the butter edge to edge and sprinkle on the sugar. Fold the lefse in half, and then in half again. This pie-wedge shape keeps the butter from leaking out as it would if the lefse were rolled like a wrap.

For any lefse not eaten directly from the pan, cool, cover, and refrigerate. To eat later, pop a piece of lefse in the microwave for about 45 seconds to reheat.

We’ve tried cinnamon and sugar as well as jam on lefse, but I always revert to the way I first ate it . . . with butter and sugar.

“This Norwegian culinary phenomenon became a holiday tradition with my family for several years. Until I introduced them to Irish Potato Chowder . . .” (p. ix-x, Cornfields to Codfish)

Irish Potato Chowder

(Inspired by the“Preface,” p. x, Cornfields to Codfish)

Over a decade ago, our family went from all adults – my parents, me and my three siblings, plus our spouses – to a lively family with seven grandkids.

For many years, we celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve. All afternoon, Mom would be at the helm in the kitchen making a wonderful roasted turkey, beef, or ham dinner. We would eat, then wash dishes and pans and china and dessert bowls and more pans. Then, we would put to soak the scalloped corn pan and the roaster. When the grandkids came along, all of this washing took place while they hovered like hungry beasts – despite having just eaten – asking when we were going to open Christmas presents.

Now that there are seventeen of us, there are more holiday schedules to consider. Fortunately, Mom and Dad say they don’t mind when we celebrate Christmas, just that they want us all together at some point. We approached the food the same way: We needed a meal, but did it need to be the traditional Christmas dinner?

We landed on the idea of a soup supper that involves far fewer pans to wash up after we eat. Now those traveling to Mom and Dad’s that day contribute in a smorgasbord fashion, bringing shrimp cocktail, deviled eggs, homemade pies, and rolls for dipping in the soups.

Usually Mom, my sister, and I make the soups: chili, oyster stew, and potato chowder. I introduced Terese Allen’s Irish Potato Chowder the first year of the soup supper. Since then, I have occasionally wondered if I should switch it out – if after a decade, perhaps people are tired of it. Yet every year before I even step foot on a plane at Logan bound for the Midwest, my brother and I have the same phone conversation. “Hey, Linda, about Christmas. . . . Are you doing that potato soup this year?” I hear the want in his voice. “Yup!”

I like to make a double batch of potato chowder the day before our Christmas celebration. Like many other soups, this one tastes even more delicious if the flavors are left to meld a day before serving it. When the chowder is done, I transfer it to a Crock-Pot to free up the pan for the next soup; then I stash the covered Crock-Pot in the van outside overnight – a benefit of winter in Iowa – so as not to take up fridge space. The next morning, about seven hours before we eat, I bring it in and let it set for an hour or so to get over the deep-freeze chill. Then I turn the Crock-Pot on high to reheat. Once it’s heated through, I turn the temperature to low and let it hold there until we eat.

This layered creation has become one of the smells I now associate with Christmas. Some soup recipes are all-ingredients-in-the pan, stir, and forget it. This dish comes together in sweet layers of time and patience, beginning with the mingling of vegetables and herbs in the deep well of the stockpot and followed by the release of a meandering bouquet up those steep metal walls.

I follow this recipe to the letter, for the creator, Terese Allen, has it refined to perfection. We keep the basil, parsley, chives, and ground white pepper in an “Irish Potato Chowder”–labeled baggie in Mom’s pantry so they are at hand in December, making it easy to check inventory before cooking. Don’t be afraid of the word roux or the hot pepper sauce. The roux is easy- peasy and beautifully golden brown when it comes off the heat. As for the hot pepper sauce, in this big of a batch of chowder, it does not make the chowder spicy; rather, it makes people think, Hmm, there’s something in here I can’t quite put my finger on. That little ingredient works the same as the last splash of cream in Mushroom Risotto and the final pat of butter in the sauce for Swordfish with Tomatoes and Capers.

Recipe for Irish Potato Chowder reprinted with permission from The Ovens of Brittany Cookbook by Terese Allen (Amherst Press, 1991).

Braised Roast Beef

(Inspired by “Meat and Potatoes,” p. 2, Cornfields to Codfish)

I do not have a recipe for Braised Roast Beef, nor do I make it. It’s one of those meals that I associate with seventeen people sitting in Mom and Dad’s kitchen/dining room. In this big open room, the oval oak kitchen table, with a wide claw-footed pedestal, can seat nine.

Great-Grandma Whittier’s oak dining room table slid up next to the kitchen table can seat eight. The four legs on Great-Grandma’s table have casters that no longer easily roll. However, this table has a beautiful gleaming dark oak shine; the wood was refinished about ten years ago by an Amish woodworker who lives near Mom and Dad. Usually it’s a square table in the dining room against the far west wall under the windows, where it soaks up the late afternoon sun.

For family dinners, we gently lift and shuffle the table into place next to the oval table. From underneath Mom and Dad’s bed, we slide out two leaves individually wrapped in blankets. We pull the tabletop apart, and, being careful to match pegs to holes, we insert the leaves. Then, with smooth pressure, we push together the sides of the table and make the cracks as small as possible. This slow and steady maneuver results in the creation of a rectangular table.

I know this much detail about the tables because I help set the table, but I do not braise the beef. Here’s the recipe in the form of an email dialogue between Mom and me.

Me: Hi, Mom. A few people have suggested I include a recipe section in my book. Could you send me instructions on making your roast beef? And what breed are the beef cattle – Angus, right?

Mom: Oh! What a cool idea! Angus cattle. I use garlic powder and pepper on the beef. Also, bay leaves with it is good, too. I like to cook it the day before I am going to use it; that way it slices really well. You can cover it with gravy and reheat it 45 minutes to an hour. It is really tender with or without gravy, as long as it has some liquid.

Me: About the beef . . . What cut? How big? How much water do you put in? Do you cover it? How long do you cook it? 350?

Mom: I like the arm roast, usually 3 lbs. Thaw and bake at 350 degrees for three hours. Leave it open to brown, and then cover it about halfway through. It should reach temperature of 165. I would say about 3 cups of water.

A couple notes . . .

Notice that Mom thaws the roast before baking it. If you, like Mom and Dad, raise your own beef and keep those beautiful white packages of various cuts in your ginormous deep freeze, you, too, would start by thawing the roast. For the rest of us, buy the roast at the store and continue on with the directions after “Thaw.”

“Boiled and mashed spuds remind me of my grandpas on either side of the family. Potatoes were a supper staple for those two farmers. Sitting at that table with potatoes on my plate, it was a strange way to feel close to those who are no longer with …

“Boiled and mashed spuds remind me of my grandpas on either side of the family. Potatoes were a supper staple for those two farmers. Sitting at that table with potatoes on my plate, it was a strange way to feel close to those who are no longer with us. But potatoes can pull my memories of my grandpas so close to the present that it makes my eyes water.” (p. 47, Cornfields to Codfish)

Cranberry Scones

(Inspired by “Cream,” p. 16, Cornfields to Codfish)

Making clotted cream from scratch is not an adventure that’s in my near future, especially since Devonshire clotted cream is readily available online and in specialty food stores.

As for scones, I tried this recipe years ago, and it was delicious. Made with cranberries, these scones have more flavor than the typically plain scones I’ve had with cream tea in England. This seems a fitting recipe to share since cranberries are a major crop in Massachusetts.

Regarding the buttermilk in this recipe, I never buy it. Since my elementary school friend gave me her recipe in school for Salad Oil Coffee Cake with the instruction to “make” buttermilk by adding 1 Tablespoon of white vinegar to a cup of milk, that’s the only “buttermilk” I’ve ever used.

Recipe for Cranberry Scones is reprinted with permission from Savor the Flavor of Oregon by Junior League of Eugene (Oregon) (Koke Printing Company, 1990).

Ingredients (Yield: 1 dozen)

1 c. cranberries, fresh or frozen

3 c. flour

½ c. sugar

1 T. baking powder

¼ t. salt

½ t. baking soda

¾ c. butter or margarine, softened

½ c. chopped pecans or walnuts

1 ½ t. grated orange rind

1 c. buttermilk

**

1 T. milk

1 T. sugar

¼ t. cinnamon

⅛ t. nutmeg

In a large bowl, blend flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and baking soda. Cut butter into flour mixture until it becomes a coarse crumb texture.

For this photo shoot, my local grocery store had neither fresh nor frozen cranberries, so I opted to make blueberry scones. With the switch to blueberries, I chose to substitute lemon peel for orange peel. Blueberries for cranberries was a successful swap! I made half the batch with pecans by sprinkling them on top of the rolled out dough and pushing them gently into the top.

Stir in cranberries, nuts, and orange rind. Add buttermilk and mix with a fork until moistened. Gather dough into a ball and place on a floured board. Roll or pat into a circle ¾-inch thick. Cut into 12 pie shaped pieces.

Place on a greased baking sheet 1 ½ inches apart. Brush tops of scones with milk and sprinkle with sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg mixture. Bake at 400 degrees for 12 to 15 minutes until lightly browned.

“It’s debatable which is spread first on the scone, the sweet strawberry jam or generously portioned clotted cream, but either way, a cream tea is the combination of sweet and rich atop a fresh scone and accompanied by English tea.” (p. 17, Cornfields to Codfish)

Mushroom Risotto

(Inspired by “Morels,” p. 30, Cornfields to Codfish)

Rice, whether brown, jasmine, basmati, or Arborio, was not part of my diet growing up. Throughout the year, we ate primarily what we grew or raised. Mom didn’t have a rice paddy, but she did have a garden filled with rows and rows of potatoes. When dug up, those hearty spuds would last for months spread out on the cool floor in the basement. It wasn’t until well into my thirties that I discovered the soulful cooking of Arborio rice, named after the town where it was first grown near Milan, Italy.

Similarly, aside from morels in the spring, the only other mushrooms we had growing up were small cans of sliced, shrunken button mushrooms that Mom used on pizza. I had my first sautéed fresh button mushrooms when I was a student at Luther College in the mid-80s. While I do not recall the main dishes served in the on-campus restaurant, Peace Dining Room, those buttered mushrooms remain vivid. When I lived in Illinois, I slowly discovered other fresh mushrooms – shiitake, cremini, and portobello. Then when we moved to the East Coast, I found more exotic mushrooms in specialty grocery stores and public markets.

No matter the type of mushroom, simply slicing and frying them in butter, sprinkling them with a little salt and pepper, then serving them alongside a juicy steak is delicious. However, exotic mushrooms perform well in bigger productions, like Mushroom Risotto, which is a symphony of flavors.

My rule of thumb: With mushrooms that feel as sturdy as or sturdier than a button mushroom when I slice them, I sauté them, remove them from the pan, and add them back with the wine as the rice is starting to cook. For more delicate mushrooms, I sauté them briefly (separately from the sturdy ones) and add them back to the pan with the last ladle of broth that finishes off the risotto.

Ingredients

3 c. chicken stock (see Waste-Not-Want-Not Chicken Stock recipe, p. 246 – or use canned)

Large pinch of saffron

Olive oil

Stick of butter (may or may not need all of it)

2 pounds of mushrooms, brushed off with a paper towel and sliced or pulled apart into small pieces

½ c. chopped onions

1 c. uncooked Arborio rice

¾ c. medium or dry white wine

⅛ c. half-and-half or cream

¾ c. Parmesan cheese

In a medium-sized pan, combine chicken stock and saffron, heat to a simmer, keeping the lid on so the stock doesn’t evaporate. Saffron will dissolve in the chicken stock.

From bottom to top: Hen of the wood; King oyster; Lion’s mane, one that looks like a fluffy cauliflower; Shitaki; and, finally a clump of Gray mushrooms. When sautéed, the sturdy King oyster resembles the texture of a firm scallop, and the delicate Lion’s mane looks like small pieces of crab meat.

In a large pan over medium heat, add 3 T. of olive oil and 3 T. of butter; then sauté the mushrooms until they are shiny (refer to note above about sturdy vs. delicate mushrooms). Add more olive oil and butter if they seem too dry to cook down. When softened and slightly browned, transfer mushrooms to a bowl and set aside.

To the pan, still over medium heat, add 3 T. olive oil, 3 T. butter, and the chopped onions. Stir and cook until the onions sweat and start to become translucent. Do not brown. Add the sturdy mushrooms and the Arborio rice. Stir to coat the rice with the oil. When the rice sounds a bit like glass clicking on the side of the pan, add the wine. Stir frequently as the rice soaks up the wine.

When the wine has been absorbed, ladle in ½ c. of chicken stock and cook, stirring frequently until most of the liquid is absorbed. Adjust heat to keep the rice at a constant simmer; this may mean reducing heat to medium-low if it starts a rapid boil.

mushroom risotto after wine.JPG

Add another ½ c. of chicken stock, again stirring frequently. Continue adding stock in this manner. When adding the last ½ c. of stock, gently add the more delicate mushrooms to the risotto.

Throughout this entire half-hour-ish process, keep a lid on the simmering chicken stock but no lid on the risotto.

When most of the moisture has been absorbed, the risotto will be creamy. Remove risotto from the heat and stir in the half-and-half/cream and the Parmesan cheese. To serve comfort style, dish up in soup bowls rather than on a plate, and eat with a spoon.

Devil's Food Chocolate Cake

(Inspired by “Black Dirt,” p. 38, Cornfields to Codfish)

I remember Mom making devil’s food chocolate cake for birthday celebrations as well as an any-day dessert. She used a recipe out of her standard household cookbook. I wasn’t able to get permission to reprint that recipe, but after digging around in my stash, I discovered a “recipe” for Devils Food Cake in Grandma Mills’s handwriting.

It was just a list of ingredients, no directions. Finding this card reminded me of how solitary life on the farm was for Grandma Mills when she was raising her family and farming with Grandpa. She and Grandpa did not go out to dinner with friends on Saturday nights, nor did they go to church on Sundays. She did not have a best friend or set of neighbors she regularly visited. The women’s voices that I remember in Grandma’s kitchen came from the AM radio show The Open Line. This program was on WMT, a Northeast Iowa radio station, and Grandma listened to women call in to talk about and read off their recipes. This was a one-sided social outlet for Grandma.

I can envision Grandma quickly jotting down this list of ingredients as they were broadcast by another farm woman.

The instructions weren’t important; they were known: Mix all ingredients together, pour into a greased 9”x13” pan, bake at 350 degrees for approximately 30 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Frost or serve unfrosted with vanilla ice cream.

In a large mixing bowl, I added one ingredient at a time and hand-whisked it into the batter. I upgraded the cocoa to Dutch process and the vanilla to Mexican, 35% alcohol; then I baked it for exactly 30 minutes.

As for the topping, I discovered that mint chocolate chip ice cream made by the Connelly brothers on their dairy farm in Temple, New Hampshire, works just as well as the vanilla ice cream did from the Schwan’s man years ago.

“. . . I knocked down a weedy mess so I could plant a red climbing rosebush against the barn’s old stone wall. Surrounded by maple trees that were fully leafed out and bordered by the fence, this 20 x 20-foot spot had the makings of a secret garden. My shovel slid through that dirt as if the ground were a devil’s food chocolate cake . . .” (p. 40, Cornfields to Codfish)

Mom's Buns (My Aunt's Dinner Rolls)

(Inspired by “Carbs! Glorious Carbs!” p. 45, Cornfields to Codfish)

I could have included a dozen recipes from that hot summer day when our family got together for a potluck in the park. However, I chose to share my biggest guilty pleasure: my aunt’s freshly made dinner rolls, or as she calls them Mom’s Buns, as the recipe was passed to her from her mom.

Ingredients

¾ stick butter, divided

1 c. milk

4 ½ – 5 c. flour, divided

½ c. sugar

¾ t. salt

2 pkgs. rapid-rise yeast

1 c. hot water

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Heavy-duty mixer such as KitchenAid is helpful.

“. . . my aunt brought her famous homemade rolls “because that was the easiest thing I could make.” I know no one else who would let those words flow so easily over her lips. Her rolls were still warm, and butter melted so beautifully on my split roll that I ate it without any meat. The first one, that is.” (p. 46, Cornfields to Codfish)

Melt butter in milk in microwave. In a mixer bowl, combine 1 c. flour, sugar, salt, and dry yeast. With mixer on low, slowly add milk with butter and hot water. Allow to mix 3–4 minutes; scrape down bowl. Add another 1 c. flour. Mix for 3–4 minutes; scrape down bowl.

Slowly add additional flour ½ c. at a time. Allow dough to become smooth between additions. The dough should pull away from the sides of the bowl. Allow to mix until smooth. Total mix time is about 15 minutes.

Place dough in a large greased bowl; cover with a towel. Place bowl on rack over bowl of hot water to rise, 30–40 minutes. Punch down. Form into 24 rolls and place in a 9” x 13” greased baking pan.

Cover and allow to rise again for 30 minutes over bowl of hot water. Bake for 15–20 minutes or until tops are nicely brown. Melt remaining ¼ c. butter and brush over rolls.

Waste-Not-Want-Not Chicken Stock

(Inspired by “A Fowl Story,” p. 54, Cornfields to Codfish)

Never do I feel so connected to Great-Grandma Whittier, Grandma Bauer, and Grandma Mills as when I boil chicken bones in water. For it is then that I practice “waste-not-want-not” – more than any other time in my kitchen. The aroma of that bubbling pot echoes their kitchens and brings those farm women back into my life. The hands of cooking time slow to a lifetime ago.

I buy a roasted chicken, and my husband Bill, knowing my dislike of handling whole chickens, pulls it apart. He saves the meat in one container and plops the bones and skin into my deep stockpot that easily holds 11 cups of water. Then I take over. I dump all the residual juices from the chicken container into the stockpot; add 11 cups of water; add 1 quartered onion – skin and all; and add two unpeeled carrots and two celery stalks that I’ve broken in half by hand. Finally, if I have it on hand, I stir in 1 heaping teaspoon of chicken stock base, a paste found in the chicken stock aisle; it’s a power boost for the chicken stock. I cover the pot and crank the heat up to bring it to a rolling boil; then I reduce it to a moderate simmer and leave it for 1 hour.

After the hour simmer, I turn off the heat and let the pot hang out for an hour or so on the stove. Then I put a large colander in my huge stainless steel bowl, carefully pour in the stock, and then dump the bones and vegetables into the colander. I carefully lift the colander up to rain all the stock; then I set it in the sink to cool. When cooled, I throw away the bones and vegetables, for their job is done.

From here, I either put the stock back in the pot to make Chicken Soup (p. 248), or I let it cool in the bowl, then pour it into quart containers to freeze for later.

Chicken Soup (Rice or Noodle)

(Inspired “A Fowl Story,” p. 54, Cornfields to Codfish)

Everyone should have a go-to chicken soup recipe. I didn’t realize that until the end of 2009 and the beginning of 2010 – when friends and neighbors delivered chicken soup to me each week that I had chemo. Throughout those eight rounds of chemo, I was amazed that every single person’s soup was slightly different. Studying recipes and chatting with friends about how they make chicken soup, I’ve landed on this as my go-to recipe.

While it calls for “cooked” noodles, I often cook the noodles right in the soup. One of the best things about this recipe is that it freezes well at various stages: cooked only through veggies, or through chicken, or after adding rice. It doesn’t freeze well with noodles; they wilt and disintegrate. Add lime juice after reheating it, not before freezing it.

A batch of Waste-Not-Want-Not Chicken Stock (p. 246) or 10 c. canned broth

1 ½ c. sliced carrots

¾ c. sliced celery

1 onion, chopped

1 bay leaf

¾ t. freshly ground black pepper

1 t. dried thyme leaves

Roasted chicken (skinned, pulled off bone, and broken up into bite-size pieces)

3 c. cooked rice OR 3 c. egg noodles, cooked al dente

2 T. lime juice from little green squeezy bottle

Salt to taste

In a big stockpot, add chicken broth, carrots, celery, onion, bay leaf, and black pepper. Pour thyme leaves in palm of your hand and crush with other palm in a twisting motion, letting crushed leaves fall into the pot. Bring to boil, then simmer for 15 minutes.

Add chicken and then rice or noodles, and salt to taste. (If I make it with rice, I start with a teaspoon of salt and season to taste from there. With noodles, I start with ½ teaspoon of salt.) Heat through. Take off heat and stir in lime juice.

Grandma Bauer's Homemade Noodles

(Inspired by “A Fowl Story,” p. 54, Cornfields to Codfish)

This is another recipe I’ve never made but decided to share. I have a weakness for thick homemade noodles. So, much like goose fat roasted potatoes in England, it’s best that I not make noodles at home.

One of my great aunts made the best tuna and noodles. I used to rave about her thick homemade noodles. Some thirty years later, she pulled me aside at a family gathering and – with a smile that never left her face – quietly confessed, “You know, Linda, I don’t make those noodles. They’re frozen!” I was shocked. Still, I’m guessing when she was younger, she, too, probably made noodles from scratch.

This recipe has been transcribed and passed along to us grandkids by my aunt, my grandma’s youngest daughter:

Makes 6–7 cups of cooked noodles. Recipe doubles easily; noodles freeze well, cooked or uncooked. Allow 4–5 hours total preparation time as they have to dry. If using egg yolks, more water may be needed.

Ingredients

Slightly more than 1 c. flour, plus more for rolling out

¼ t. salt

2 eggs or 4 egg yolks

Scant 1 T. water

Whisk eggs or egg yolks and salt until slightly frothy. Stir in flour until blended well. Next stir in water, which will make dough sticky. Then stir in a little more flour until dough is drier and forms in a good ball.

Divide dough into two balls. Roll each ball into about a 9” x 15” oval, making sure to roll it about as thin as cereal box cardboard. You’ll need to add quite a bit of flour under it as you roll it out thin and flip it over several times. If it sticks, use a knife to loosen it.

When you have it thin enough, take one thickness of clean newspaper (not newsprint but rather the Sunday newspaper) and drape it over the back of a straight-backed kitchen chair. Then pick up the dough oval with the rolling pin and drape it over the newspaper.

Let dry in room air, 1–1 ½ hours until surface of dough feels dry. Flip oval over so the other side can dry for 40–50 minutes more. Dry until dough just starts to get stiff and holds its shape when picked up.

Transfer dough to cutting board and, starting with narrow end of oval, roll dough up tightly in jelly roll fashion. Slice roll into ⅛-inch strips. Grandma always said, “The thinner the noodle the better.” (An aside: I beg to differ – the thicker the better for me!)

Uncoil each noodle strip and spread out on a cookie sheet or kitchen table to air dry for another 1–2 hours until noodles feel pretty dry to the touch. Cook immediately or freeze for up to 3–4 months in bags or airtight containers. This batch makes about a 1-quart freezer bag of noodles.

To cook noodles with chicken: Bring 3 ½ c. lower-salt chicken broth and pieces of cooked chicken to a boil. Then add half a batch of noodles; the other half may be frozen for later use. Return to a boil, cover, and lower heat.

Gently boil 25–30 minutes until noodles are tender and most of the broth is absorbed, stirring occasionally.

These noodles are also good cooked in beef and beef broth. In addition, they can be added to other soups and stews.

Corn on the Cob

(Inspired by “Corn’s On!” p. 75, Cornfields to Codfish)

Over many years, and through Iowa and Illinois and finally to Massachusetts, I’ve moved from boiling vegetables to more often roasting, sautéing, or steaming them. It’s taken a while to find the sweet spot for cooking corn on the cob, but I’ve finally found it. I consider this a bit of a cross between boiling and steaming.

Husk corn and place it in a pan big enough so that the ears can be mostly covered by water. Cover and bring the water to a boil, then turn off the heat and leave the pan covered on the burner for 10 minutes.

With tongs, remove ears from water to a plate. To butter hot corn on the cob, put a big pat of softened butter on a piece of bread and roll the ear of corn back and forth in the bread.

“In the corn patch, which was probably a hundred yards long and twenty rows deep, Dad picked corn and filled five-gallon buckets while I carried full buckets to the little Chevy S-10 pickup and emptied them into the truck bed. The cornstalks shot way over our heads and were thick enough to hide Dad among them.” (p. 75, Cornfields to Codfish)

Baked Cod

(Inspired by “Midwest Girl Goes Shopping for Codfish,” p. 115, Cornfields to Codfish)

When I buy a lump of fresh fish, I like to cook it immediately. No overnight reservation in the Malcolm fridge. June, Bill’s mum, also loved fish, and she preferred to taste the fish over any other ingredient in a fish dish. I think of her when I bake cod or similar flaky whitefish. This is a light version of baked cod – no butter.

A sprinkle of lemon pepper over a pound of skinless cod fillets on my seasoned round metal pizza pan. Put a light coat of cooking spray on unseasoned pans.) Bake at 375 degrees for about 15 minutes or until the fish flakes with a fork. Top with a squeeze of lemon when it comes out of the oven . . . lovely, as June used to say.

“I couldn’t find cod in the frozen section of my local supermarket. I approached the fish counter. “I’m looking for frozen cod. Where would I find that?” The look and the pause from the man at the fish counter was more telling than the words “Why would you want that?” uttered in his Boston accent.” (p. 115, Cornfields to Codfish)

Swordfish with Tomatoes and Capers

(Inspired by “Swordfish with Tomatoes and Capers,” p. 151, Cornfields to Codfish;

and Ina Garten’s recipe below)

Be not afraid of the fennel bulb. Until this recipe, I had rarely used fennel, but now we are friends. Chop the fronds off the top; then treat it much like an onion. I wash the bulb and do not trim any outer layers away. Cut the bulb into quarters, top down as the fennel bulb sits upright on its haunches, and then trim the core out, much like you trim the core out of an onion.

Smell the anise? When the onions and fennel go into the pan, stand by to stir, yes, but smell. . . smell . . . smell the changes through those ten minutes before the garlic is added. The onions and fennel morph into a mellowed-out version of their intense individual raw aromas. Then, with a little help from the oil, they sweat and start looking like one another – as if the oil emulsifies them into one visually indistinct vegetable. . . the fennion or the oniel?

Maintain this inhaling of ingredients with every addition from tomatoes to chicken stock and wine, and finally, basil and butter. Experiencing the stratospheres of aroma in this sauce is a cook’s joy. Honestly, it just may be for this selfish reason that I make Swordfish with Tomatoes and Capers for guests.

“A few hours before dinner, in a large high-sided skillet, flavors are coaxed out over time through layers of ingredients – onions and fennel pop in olive oil, followed by the mingling of garlic. Then tomatoes, salt, and pepper. Minutes later, wine and chicken stock join the orchestra. I cook the sauce through a ten-minute simmer; then I take it off the heat. Later, when the swordfish goes on the grill, I bring the tomato and fennel magic back to a simmer and finish it off with basil and butter.” (p. 152, Cornfields to Codfish)

I’ve considered making two batches of this sauce at the same time – one for that day’s dinner and another to freeze for a future easy dinner. To freeze a batch, I would stop cooking the sauce after adding the tomatoes and cooking them for 15 minutes. Then, when I thawed it out and reheated it, I would proceed with the last two layers: chicken stock and wine, followed by butter and basil.

We have only a gas grill, not a charcoal grill as Ina refers to in her recipe. I grill 1-inch thick fillets on medium-high heat, 5 minutes per side. The fillets will continue to cook a bit when they come off the grill, particularly if you tent foil over them. Be careful not to overcook as overly done swordfish loses its flavorful juices.

(Reprinted from The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook. Copyright ©1999 by Ina Garten. Published by Clarkson Potter, an imprint of Random House, LLC.)

Swordfish with Tomatoes and Capers

Serves 4

1 cup chopped yellow onion (1 onion)

1 cup chopped fennel (1 bulb)

3 tablespoons good olive oil

1 teaspoon minced garlic

28 ounces canned plum tomatoes, drained

1 teaspoon kosher salt

¾ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons chicken stock

2 tablespoons good dry white wine

½ cup chopped fresh basil leaves

2 tablespoons capers, drained

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

4 1-inch-thick swordfish fillets (about 2 ½ pounds)

Fresh basil leaves

For the sauce, cook the onions and fennel in the oil in a large sauté pan on medium-low heat for 10 minutes, until the vegetables are soft. Add the garlic and cook for 30 seconds. Add the drained tomatoes, smashing them in the pan with a fork, plus the salt and pepper. Simmer on low heat for 15 minutes. Add the chicken stock and white wine and simmer for 10 more minutes to reduce the liquid. Add the basil, capers, and butter and cook for 1 minute more.

Prepare a grill with hot coals. Brush the swordfish with olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Grill on high heat for 5 minutes on each side until the center is no longer raw. Do not overcook. Place the sauce on the bottom of a plate, arrange the swordfish on top, and garnish with basil leaves. Serve hot or at room temperature.

Notes from Ina:

This sauce is also delicious with other grilled fish, such as cod or red snapper.

When it is too cold to grill outdoors, I use a cast-iron stovetop grill.

Grandma Bauer's Pie Crust and Apple Pie

(Inspired by “Scrabble Grandma,” p. 161, Cornfields to Codfish)

This recipe has been passed along to us grandkids by my aunt, Mom’s sister, who still makes pies using Grandma Bauer’s recipes. Homemade pies are our holiday treat – whether Easter, Christmas, or any other time we come together for dinner. These are my aunt’s written directions for Grandma’s Pie Crust and Apple Pie.

Ingredients

(Makes 2 crusts, aluminum foil pan size)

¼ c. shortening

2 T. butter

¼ c. water (just mix in enough to hold together)

1 c. flour

¼ t. salt

Cut shortening and butter into flour and salt until dough feels greasy and has lumps the size of small peas in it. Cut in more shortening if needed; better a little rich as you can add more flour when rolling. (The trick is you can mix the flour and shortening as much as you want, but you don’t want to do much mixing after adding the water.) Slowly add the water, mixing with your hand just until dough holds together and you can form all of the crumbs into one smooth ball.

I prefer to roll out crust immediately; dough may be refrigerated 1 week or frozen 1 month. For 2-crust pie, break dough into equal halves.

Put dough on table on about 3 T. flour, spread out. Smash dough down with palm of hand, flip over, and press down again, trying to form dough into a circle. Now lift up piece of dough and spread flour underneath, maybe adding a little more, to the size of the pie plate. Roll with rolling pin that has been dusted with flour. Start in the middle and work evenly, trying to form dough into a circle. Flip dough once while rolling and put more flour underneath as needed to prevent sticking. Roll to size of about 2” beyond diameter of top of pie plate, and crust should be less than ¼” thick.

Lay rolling pin 2” from edge of circle; using table knife, loosen edge of crust, pulling it up over rolling pin, and then roll crust fully onto rolling pin. Center crust so edge is 1” past edge of pie plate and roll off into plate. Can lift crust gently to center it after it is down. Before adding filling to plate, roll out top crust to size 1” bigger than pie plate. Continue with the following Apple Pie recipe.

“My cousin called her “Apple Grandma” because they often made apple pies together. I remember making pies with Grandma, too. But to me, she was “Scrabble Grandma.” After Sunday dinners, the Scrabble board would come out, dictionary and all.” (p. 161, Cornfields to Codfish)

Christmas Sugar Cookies

(Inspired by “A 25-Year-Old Piece of Oak,” p. 178, Cornfields to Codfish)

A day baking Christmas cookies must include a frosted cutout sugar cookie. My sister-in-law shared these recipes for cookies and frosting with me many years ago; now they are the only recipes I use for sugar cookies.

I think the almond extract gives the cookie a bit more interesting taste than traditional cookies made with vanilla flavoring. The almond in the cookie and the vanilla in the frosting complement each other really well . . . really, really well.

Christmas Cookies

Ingredients

1 c. sugar

1 c. margarine

2 eggs

3 T. milk

3 c. flour

1 t. baking soda

2 t. cream of tartar

1 t. almond flavoring

Combine flour, baking soda, and cream of tartar in a large mixing bowl. In a separate bowl, mix sugar, margarine, eggs, milk, and flavorings. Add to flour mixture. Combine and form a ball, cover, and let stand in fridge overnight. Roll out and bake at 375 degrees for 7 minutes.

Christmas Cookie Frosting

Ingredients

¼ c. butter at room temperature

2 c. powdered sugar

1 t. vanilla

2 T. evaporated milk

Cream butter and sugar. Stir in vanilla. Add milk gradually until frosting is right consistency. I at least double this frosting batch for one batch of cookies, but it is easier to mix one frosting batch at a time, then put together if you want.

“At a Christmas cookie swap . . . the resplendency of that Christmas table confirmed for me that although its joints are loose, the solid wood should carry us through another twenty-five years.” (p. 180, Cornfields to Codfish.)

Kolaches

(Inspired by “Skiing with a Beast, ” p. 208, Cornfields to Codfish)

The combined efforts of Mom and her two sisters resulted in a beautifully orchestrated cookbook of Grandma Bauer’s recipes. Grandma’s quilts were used as backgrounds for the recipes. What resulted is a treasure: a vivid tribute to Grandma Bauer’s life through photos of family, quilts, and her recipes.

Granddad Bauer worked in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, where there was a large Czech population. Grandma often made these kolaches, which are a traditional Czech dessert. I have a feeling kolaches came into Grandma’s repertoire via some connection with the Czech community. This is a perfect recipe for people who do not like overly sweet desserts.

Swiss Chard with Cod

(Inspired by “Swiss Chard with Cod,” p. 216, Cornfields to Codfish)

The essay of the same name sums up what this panful of joy means to me. Here’s the link to where I found a wonderful version of Swiss Chard with Cod.

Layers of joy . . .

“The tomatoes waltz with the onions and fennel, uncovered, for ten minutes. Great harmony rises in the steam. Popping bubbles make me think of a web of people…” (p. 218, Cornfields to Codfish)

“. . . And then, on the very top, those ingredients newest to my repertoire: fresh cod from the Atlantic and Swiss chard from my CSA. Local ocean, meet local farm. The cod waits patiently covered with a squeeze of lemon juice. Finally, the buzz of a ten-minute timer. Cod nestles on top of potatoes . . .” (p. 218, Cornfields to Codfish)

“ . . . and an enormous bunch of chopped chard fills the pot to the top. Lid on for ten more minutes. Then the layers come out in reverse order. A plop of chard on each plate; a flaky, moist piece of cod next to the chard; then potatoes fished out of the sauce complete the trio . . . “ (p. 218, Cornfields to Codfish)

Peas with Mint

(Inspired by “Sand Dunes,” p. 220, Cornfields to Codfish)

Much like Bill’s mom June loved to taste fish without a lot of interrupting ingredients, I like to treat peas the same way: simply. When I met Bill and we started cooking together, we often boiled frozen peas as an easy accompaniment to meals that we cooked together. While boiled peas are tasty on their own, Bill’s English method of adding a sprinkling of dried mint to the pan as they boil gives them a gentle nudge of additional flavor.

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