ode to the noonday onion

O little, bulbous vegetable of Noonday,
How desperately I love thee!
How satisfying your papery sheath,
How perfect your promise to me!

Deep in the summer you are bestowed upon me
By grandparents lovely and generous,
And rich is the flavor that awaits my mouth
It makes the Vidalia, well, onerous.

Your layers offer sweet temptation,
Your flesh with its crunchiest bite.
Your diminutive size is a true treasure,
Your scent a piquant delight.

Never shall I forsake your pearly skin!
Never your luscious taste!
For whether on burgers or straight off the grill,
But for you, my mouth shall be chaste.

not quite there

I like pie.

I’m a custard pie fiend. A brown sugar pie master. And the forerunner of maple pie in the Randall-Boone culinary lineage. But fruit pies… thou hast thrown the gauntlet down.

A clump of strawberries and rhubarb, already chopped, has been tucked in my freezer door since the Great Jam Day of ’08, especially reserved for my first attempt at crafting a wholly-from-scratch, kick-butt fruit pie. And for once, my fierce independence in the kitchen (i.e., my refusal to stick to a recipe) served me wrongly.

The one recipe I followed, from the latest issue of Better Homes & Gardens, produced a crust that was passable but flavorless. Thus, I will not reveal that recipe here but vow to continue a dedicated search for the perfect homemade crust, because I simply cannot believe that Marie Callender has upstaged me so easily.

My method for the filling was pulled from a bunch of different recipes, and while the flavor was lovely and rich, the texture was two steps away from gluey. So the recipe I’m providing now is much improved from what I originally followed, and it should produce lovely, rich, juicy results.


Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie Filling

3 cups chopped strawberry and rhubarb
2 tablespoons flour
1 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar

Stir it all together and, what the heck, just pour it in the boxed M.C. crust from the supermarket.

melon goodness

Watermelon itself is sweet, cool, summery, and totally cliché; watermelon pudding is sweet, cool, summery, and totally bizarre. I don’t know about you, but I’m the type to consistently choose unusual over normal. When I spotted the recipe for Sicilian watermelon pudding in the August issue of Saveur, I knew it was a dessert destined for my mouth.

Beware: the recipe sounds très simple, but it will ruin your entire kitchen. I mean, fat, pink, sticky globs everywhere. You can fix this problem by cleaning as you cook, but that just sucks all the joy out of creating a big, beautiful mess. Don’t even try this without a large, fine sieve and a lot of time. As with most pudding, you’ll be hunched over a big pot, forced to watch and stir til it boils, for about 40-45 minutes.

But I’m giving you the pessimism before optimism. Truth be told, once the pudding has attained a lovely coolness in the refrigerator and is topped by a quivering dollop of whipped cream, it bursts in your mouth with its gorgeous, forceful watermelon flavor. The texture is certainly odd at first, but the taste is unbeatable.

Gelo di Melone

6 cups watermelon, seeded and in chunks
2/3 cup sugar
1/2 cup cornstarch
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
Whipped cream, for garnish

Purée watermelon in a blender until liquefied, and set aside. Whisk together sugar and cornstarch in a big pot or saucepan. While whisking, drizzle in liquid fruit. Bring the mixture to a boil over medium heat, stirring constantly and scraping bottom with a spoon. (Easier method: stir very regularly, occasionally cover pot with top to speed boiling.)

Boil, stirring constantly to prevent scorching, for five minutes or until it thickens slightly. Remove from heat and whisk in the vanilla. Using a rubber spatula, push and scrape the pudding through a fine sieve into a bowl. Cover bowl tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 4-6 hours.

To serve, spoon pudding in small bowls and top with a hearty amount of whipped cream.

BBKing

My husband is incredible for a million reasons. He lets me order stuffed-crust pizza on a regular basis, inhales everything I cook with true appreciation, and cleans the dishes every night since I’m the chef. Rarely does he venture into the kitchen, unless it’s to microwave salsa or brew iced tea.

But he had a hankering to try making his own barbecue sauce, and spent hours pilfering through recipes before he settled on a favorite. (Many tweaks were made, so it’s his recipe now.) I swear I didn’t say a word, look over a shoulder or pick up a spoon while he cooked it up, and it turned out to be a masterpiece. Rich and salty (none of that sweet, molasses-y barbecue in my house), it gets a considerable boost from fresh garlic and a big splash of beer.

We debuted the stuff smeared all over shredded chicken for a party a few nights ago, and he got rave reviews. In fact, we’ve decided our last name deserves to be in the very title of the sauce. Therefore, here is the world premiere of… Bar-Boone-Que Sauce!


BBQ sauce

2 tbsp. vegetable oil
Small onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 tsp. cayenne pepper
1 tbsp. chili powder
20 oz. bottle of ketchup
1/2 cup Shinerbock
3 tbsp. apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup brown sugar
2 tbsp. coarse-ground Dijon mustard
4 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
S&P

In a saucepan, cook onions in oil over medium heat til tender. Stir in garlic, cayenne, and chili powder and cook for one minute. Add ketchup, beer, vinegar, water, brown sugar, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, S&P. Partially cover and simmer until slightly thickened, about 15-20 minutes. Taste and adjust seasoning, if you like, with Tabasco.

blender salsa

Any true Texan will tell you that close behind (or sometimes in front of) a love of home cookin’ falls the brilliant, gut-stuffing adoration of Tex-mex. We hold that the best Mexican food is not just found in our state, it’s got a heavy dose of Texan in it, too. Hence the abundance of orange cheese and salty, salty chips.

Like most good Texans, I cherish a good, bracing salsa. My husband is a bit more devoted… he consumes at least one gallon of salsa every two weeks. It’s an addiction which I feed gratefully. (Hey, at least no empty bottles or video games are involved.)

So when Nanny and Daddy Tom loaded me down with a Wal-mart bag full of tomatoes from their garden, my gut reaction was to try something new and something for him — homemade salsa. Typically I don’t use a recipe when I make something simple, and this time was no exception, so forgive me if the measurements are a bit loose. Salsa should cater to your tastebuds anyway. This variety (cleverly fixed in a blender) has a robust tomato taste with a subtle cilantro and onion aftertaste and a final kiss of jalapeño.

Salsa

8-9 ripe, fresh tomatoes
3 jalapeños
2 small Noonday onions
2 cloves garlic
7-8 sprigs of cilantro
Generous amount of salt
Big sprinkle of garlic powder

Cut tomatoes in wedges and pulverize in a blender. Set aside. Trim and halve the peppers, removing the seeds of two of them. Finely dice the onions, garlic and peppers (a food processor works wonders here). Trim and roughly chop the cilantro leaves. Add all ingredients to the tomato mixture, give it a good stir, and season to your liking with salt and garlic.

Eat up!

Sidenote: I apologize in advance if you don’t have Noonday onions, which are the greatest in the world, but market varieties will suffice. I suppose.

noonday delights

Admittedly, my husband and I are not the richest people in the world. So the weekends we spend at Tulgey Wood, my parents’ sprawling, gorgeous ranch-estate in Noonday (population: 512), are like precious little getaways. And they’re always chock-full of delicious food, because I’m fortunate enough to count my veggie-loving, French mama and my casserole-touting, Texan Nanny as part of my culinary heritage.

Friday night’s meal was fresh, homegrown butternut and acorn squash, sliced tomatoes, and bread-and-butter, which cancelled out the ample spread Nanny prepared after church on Sunday. Devilled eggs, tuna salad, chips and dip, more tomatoes, peach cobbler and another… more interesting… dessert.

Tomato cobbler.

I’ll give you a few seconds to let that one sink in.

Apparently Nanny’s love of the sweet flesh of summer tomatoes prompted a years-long desire to try her famous cobbler recipe, just with cut-up tomatoes instead of fruit. The result got mixed reviews, but you have to appreciate an adventurous spirit in the kitchen. (As long as there’s a tried-and-true alternative for your guests… peach cobbler never fails!)