Ms. Cook's Table

Digestive Juices For Communion

Fri, 11 May 2012 00:00:00 -0500

May 11, 2012

For the love which from our birth over and around us lies
Folliot S. Pierpoint

I received communion again last Sunday. With a probability that my math is askew, I figure that since joining the church at age 13 - take away a few heathen years of college and intermit patchy attendance; I've chalked up somewhere near 1,000 such ceremonial moments.

With shame, I've often struggled with these bits of time which are designed for peace - probably my propensity for multi-tasking. And I confess that ingestion of the body and the blood has been a stressor.

The responsibility of communion has always turned my thoughts toward the church community, a group to whom I have been emotionally attached for decades. Overtime, I've registered physical transformations and the tole of personal trials. I've often dwelled on lost opportunities for those of us who linger with the topic of sin as the major preoccupation of a spiritual life.

But even after a lifetime of somber prayer and tile shaped bread surrogates - after decades of grape juice shots measured out by glass or plastic - after an eternity of suited cuffs and averted eyes, I had a moment of genuine elevation.

Relief came with some words of love from Reverend Joe Evans.

Something about �not the fear of punishment, but the desire to live in a way that honors the love that we have received,� opened my heart.

Over thinking ceased. Flailing for ceremonial words desisted.
With the mystery of it all, a word dropped into my exhausted brain - refresh.

Serendipitously about the same time, another ritual of rejuvenation had occurred. Elodie, her mother and I ventured to Susan and John Drury's Farm. We had new born strawberries on our minds.

In a joyous explosion of a two year old's discovery, my road weary soul recommitted. Navigating rows of berry plants with bare feet, we loaded cartons of lush red, expertly tested and marked with the imprint of tiny teeth.

From juice streaked peewee cheeks and fingers, a call went WAY up to Mr. Golden Sunshine, a friend who often seems to disappear as quickly as he is shown.

Thank God for ritual and the mental freedom of a restorative moment - be it the impossible beauty of the seasonal strawberry plucked straight from the earth or communion with the birthright of love.

Come On In Strawberries
Taken from the Jackson Junior League cookbook, Come On In, published in 1991.

Ingredients:

1 carton sour cream (8 ounces)
1/4 cup maple syrup
3 pints whole strawberries, washed and hulled
2 1/2 tablespoons firmly packed brown sugar

Steps:

Combine sour cream and maple syrup, cover, and refrigerate at least 1 hour.
Arrange strawberries in dessert bowls.
Sprinkle brown sugar evenly over strawberries and chill.
Pour sour cream mixture over strawberries and serve.

Aspara-gusto

Thu, 12 Apr 2012 00:00:00 -0500

April 12, 2012

Sometimes it is good to work not where you feel the most comfortable or the most ready.
Jerome Robbins

Luckily no one was there to issue commentary on the day three years ago when I planted purple asparagus in my back yard. I had no idea what I was doing. The event was a long time coming, first inspired by a gift from family friend Rufus Ross to my startled mother. Wide-eyed she later said, �He has his own asparagus bed.�

I was nonplussed - nothing had ever sounded so divine. In these parts during the sixties, at first bite, fresh asparagus could claim divinity. We all were unnaturally convinced that asparagus from a can had to suffice as the impostor that it was. Such a travesty.

Seeking more information, I utilized my untested driver's license for a jaunt to view the asparagus bed. As Mr. Ross showcased the plants; he delivered a caveat - �Three years from planting until harvest.�

I perked up. I knew better than to doubt his authority having once, in his presence, made a flirtatious dash away from his son Bob while shouting - �Get your son in control, Mr. Ross.� He shot back - �It looks as if you are doing that.�

I felt the silly girl inside me...simmer down.

Asparagus beds were not a dime a dozen. I surmised that getting one would require some feistiness and at the least, a background in delayed gratification. As a beginner in both categories, I chose to indulge my love of asparagus each spring by selecting an occasional bundle in the grocery, though I winced at its origin.

And so passed my twenties, thirties, forties until my fifties, at which time I received a second fresh asparagus prompt. It issued from my car radio in the voice of an elder master gardener. Before her soliloquy faded to music, she paid tribute to the fact that she had finally planted a crop of asparagus crowns.

�Don't put off planting as I have - I'm 76 and by now, I could have been eating from my own asparagus bed for many years but...better late than never,� she said.

That did it. I made a purchase of purple passion crowns on March 27, 2010. I know this by virtue of a garden journal that I started that same day which states that I also picked up a few rhubarb plants. All to say that though rhubarb is now a sad and distant memory, the purple passion rules. And just as Mr. Ross forecasted, three years later, the tiny edible spears are beginning to break soil.

Never think for a moment that my project was the low maintenance sort. I had to select a pleasing site and use a shovel. Then too, there was those one way morning coffee chats where I provided encouragement to each crown, investigating their latest incarnation from flowering ferns in late summer to straw colored bushes in the winter.

The commitment was hefty - but the reward, mighty.

Some say I'll be eating fresh asparagus every April and May for the next 20 years and during that time, I plan on startling some mothers with deliveries from my very own asparagus bed. I was taught that's the way to get the party started.

Steamed Asparagus with Vinaigrette

Steps:

Tiny asparagus are particularly delicious steamed. Secure two handfuls of asparagus. Snap the cut If you don't have a vegetable steamer (either metal or bamboo), place a colander inside a pan of boiling water and cover with foil for 5 minutes. Meanwhile whisk a heaping teaspoon of French mustard, 3 tablespoons of olive oil and a tablespoon of red wine vinegar. Add a little white wine or water to loosen. Toss steamed asparagus with vinaigrette. Top with chopped fresh herbs: parsley, mint or basil.

Freezer Artist

Thu, 22 Mar 2012 00:00:00 -0500

March 22, 2012

A minister has to be able to read a clock. At noon, it's time to go home and turn up the pot roast and get the peas out of the freezer. Garrison Keillor

Just because my freezer has been empty most of my adult life doesn't mean that I don't appreciate a well stocked larder. All the same, a quandary is present whenever I consider the order and the down right science that comes with freezing food.

My heritage is deplete of positive freezer therapy. One grandparent kept a gigantic freezer chest in an isolated hallway. Once the heavy top was flung back for all of its worth, I could peer inside to preview the cavity contents, darkened with net bags of unshelled pecans and rump roasts that were on special from the Jitney Jungle. This would leave me in a cold sweat.

But that was then and this is now. Today the thing that holds me back from enhancing my food preservation skills is my friend, the freezer genius. The contents of her appliance can provoke intimidation and down right tears of envy. Masterpiece comes to mind.

For many years she has tested various concoctions in icy suspension. Knowledge of her special powers have grown exponentially and she is now a trusted source for many who prefer consulting a live expert with their freezer queries.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that she is a sublime chef. Even so, the roles of exalted cook and freezer artist entail separate gifts. Her freezing penchant requires a obsession with being prepared, putting her in the category of Martha Stewartness. Only my friend doesn't have a staff. She prepares and freezes every single morsel on her own. Joyfully, I might add.

Anecdotal evidence is strewn about the country. Ask anyone who knows her and has experienced duress. She is often the first to assuage a furrowed brow with delivery of a complete meal, instructions taped to the top in her small, neat script. And by complete, I mean - main dish, sides and dessert.

I admire that her family is able to shop her stash - appetizers, casseroles, breads, and desserts. Her legacy is without equal. She has a deeply practical grip on life, most likely gifted to her by who else, but a grandmother.

She recently honored me with a peek at the family jewels, beautifully wrapped and labeled plates of food - gourmet TV dinners. With that I knew that I had no choice but to gather some self respect, up my game and learn to freeze like the artist.

Cottage Pie
The fact that this dish freezes for up to 3 months makes it the perfect vehicle to stow away. (Thaw in the refrigerator, cover with foil and bake for 20 minutes, then uncover and bake for 45 minutes more.) All ingredients can be interchanged for whatever is in season, creating an ever changing way to utilize the items that come with your CSA or with your farmers' market purchase.

Ingredients:

3 pounds new potatoes (about 30)
salt and pepper to taste
1 cup whole milk
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound chopped onions or frozen pearl onions, thawed
1 1/2 pounds ground lamb (or beef chuck)
1/4 cup tomato paste
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 cups low sodium chicken broth (or homemade)
1 medium butternut squash (about 2 pounds), peeled and cut into 3/4 inch pieces
1 cup frozen peas

Steps:

Heat oven to 350.
Place the potatoes in a large pot, add enough cold water to cover by 1 inch, and bring to a boil.
Add 1 teaspoon salt, reduce heat, and simmer until tender, 15 to 18 minutes.
Drain and return the potatoes to the pot; add the milk, butter, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper and mash.
Meanwhile, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a Dutch oven over medium heat.
Add the onions and cook, stirring often, until beginning to soften, 5 minutes; transfer to a medium bowl.
Heat the remaining tablespoon of oil in the Dutch oven.
Add the lamb (or beef), 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper and cook, breaking the lamb (or beef) up with a spoon, until no longer pink, 5 minutes; mix in the tomato paste and Worcestershire sauce.
Sprinkle with the flour and cook, stirring for 1 minute.
Add the broth, squash, peas, and onions and bring to a simmer.
Transfer the lamb (or beef) mixture to a 9 by 12 inch (3 quart) baking dish and top with the potatoes.
Bake until the potatoes are golden, the filling is bubbling and the squash is tender, about 45 minutes.
Let cool for 5 minutes before serving.

Past vanity

Thu, 08 Mar 2012 00:00:00 -0600

March 8, 2012

Skidamarink - a dink - a dink
Skidamarink - a do
I love you

The month of March brings in some rare air. In like a lion, out like a lamb - for me, March cradles the promise of birth and the finality of death highlighted with the dates of my beginning and my mother's passing.

Last week I officially outlived my mother. At the time of her departure, I considered this day, hovering in the future, a possibility not to be conjured.

She left abruptly. Frozen in exquisite detail, I caught up to her and snatched a glimpse of what we would be like as contemporaries, only to have a one way conversation. As usual, I did the talking.

During this past year as I approached her in age, I prepared to close the gap and give her a high five as if to say, �I did it without you, but it was not easy�.

The tears have come and gone. Now I'm moving on into older age, as I did once before, but this time, I head for uncharted waters.

During a 57 year life span, we shared anticipation of certain markers: a girlhood in Mississippi, marriage to a good man and devoted children. We are linked by the busyness of daily tasks and the exhaustion that comes from living out of others.

Unwilling to move on in a world without the defenses of youth and physical beauty, she unconsciously halted the march of time, but not before passing along some things that I needed.

I cling to her distinct brand of intelligence: a curious nature, a desire to make home a haven, delight in the world of miniatures, love of a good story, ambition for hand made gifts and the proper tools for appropriate dress and good manners to honor the day.

For contrast she lent me a modicum of stormy thoughts and a smidge of the paranoid to frame my hunger for a better world.

These matriarchal gifts often materialize into a scene where I go for mother love. Sitting at the kitchen table, we are eating bowls full of rice and vegetables that she made. I feel the security of her happy mood as she begins to teach me the words of a song.

She insists that I learn each word, as I will have to sing them, on my own, for a lifetime.

Sweet Potato and Barley Hash
This hash is tasty, topped with a couple of fresh eggs, poached or fried over easy. The addition of ham or chicken make it a heartier meal but it is a choice bowl, as is.

Ingredients:

1/2 cup pearl barley
2 tablespoons olive oil or vegetable oil
1 small onion, coarsely chopped
1 sweet potato, peeled and cut into 1/4 inch pieces
2 cups vegetable broth
salt
freshly ground pepper

Steps:

Put the barley in a saucepan over medium heat.
Cook, shaking the pan often, for 5 minutes, or until toasted.
Remove the barley to a bowl.
In the same saucepan, heat the oil over medium heat.
Add the onion and sweet potato and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes until lightly browned.
Add the barley and broth.
Bring to a boil over high heat.
Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer, stirring occasionally, for 30 minutes, or until the barley is tender but firm and the liquid is absorbed.
Season with salt and pepper.

Safety In Potatoes

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 00:00:00 -0600

February 23, 2012

From ghoulies and ghosties and long leggety beasties and things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!

Have you ever noticed that some people are magnets for children? I wonder if children, close to the creation source, instinctively are drawn to those souls whose grand purpose is the nurture of neophytes.

Such choice folk have a specialty; they are empowered with an effortless empathy for youngsters. In turn, these grownups are rewarded by attention from the ones who must crane their necks for tete-a-tete with adults.

That type person recently mailed a gift to my 2 year old granddaughter as a consolation prize in honor of her status change to big sister. The gift arrested her complete attention. Inside a small pink hat box was a crowd of hand knitted finger puppets.

As she pulled each colorful being out of the container, she squealed a laugh of happy discovery until the last one, who we all recognized as a mouse. The mouse, unlike the others, was resplendent in white - white body, white ears, white tail, white whiskers.

And... white granddaughter. She flung the mouse puppet from her tiny hand. �I do not like that one - it's scarey,� she said tearfully.

Well now, to me, that episode explains a lot about the human condition. As much as I would love to think that our evolutionary goal will someday present with international campfire singing and s'mores; we have to admit to the inherent lead of our reptilian brains, the part of us that smacks of survival with cries of 'no breaks for thems that are different'!

Undoubtedly Ms Cook prefers a message of expanding horizons, even so, today I submit a recipe for the survivalist in all of us. The 2 year old harbinger of what is safe and what is not will unconditionally vouch for mashed potatoes, as I am quite sure would the rest of the world.

Mashed Potatoes
Nothing is suspicious about this worthwhile comfort food.

Ingredients:

2 pounds potatoes (preferably yukon gold)
1/4 cup milk
1/4 cup chicken or vegetable broth
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 1/2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Steps:

Bring a large pot of water to boil over high heat.
Add the potatoes, reduce the heat to medium, set the lid ajar, and boil until the potatoes are tender when pierced with a fork, about 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, stir the milk and broth in a small pan and warm it gently over low heat.
Do not simmer.
Drain the potatoes in a colander set in the sink.
Place them in a large bowl or back into the pan you just used.
Mash with a fork or beat with an electric mixer if a creamier version is preferred.
Pour in the warm milk mixture, then add the butter, mustard, salt and pepper.
Mash or beat until smooth but with chunks of skin visible.
Serve warm.