Kitchenography

Sher's Mother's Fried Okra

 I sometimes picture the internet, or at least the food blogging parts that I visit regularly, as a series of neighborhoods. There are some blogs and bloggers I visit so often they feel like near neighbors, and others who I know less well but who still feel as if they're in a nearby neighborhood.

One of the people who became part of my neighborhood in my earliest months of blogging was Sher of What Did You Eat. She commented on almost every post I wrote, and she was always enthusiastic and encouraging about a picture I'd taken, or something I'd written, or something I'd cooked. I looked forward to her warm and funny comments.

I was a regular reader of Sher's blog, and while she made wonderful food, I think what I really came for was the engaging way in which she wrote. Sher's writing was often funny. Daring Bakers's projects which had gone awry were amusingly described and her weekly posts for  Weekend Cat Blogging were written from her cat Upsie's perspective (or sometimes another cat's or even one of the orphaned squirrels she raised) and made witty observations about things that were going on in her cat's (and Sher's) life.

There were glimpses of her life: I knew she lived in Davis, California with her husband Bob and she had a mother-in-law named Bunty. She was an attorney who didn't seem to be practicing law, but she was also a wildlife rehabilitator who hand-raised a series of orphaned squirrels that she wrote about and posted pictures of on her blog.  She often mentioned her back yard vegetable garden which seemed amazingly productive. She had grown up in the south on the gulf coast and she wrote occasionally of her late mother who was clearly a fabulous cook.

There were also sad and touching posts when Sher's cat Sundance, and then her cat Upsie died. Upsie's death was particularly painful for Sher because not only had she lost her beloved pet, but she'd lost a tie with her sister, Antonia, whose life had been complicated by bi-polar disorder and alcoholism. Upsie had been Antonia's cat and when Antonia took her life she left a note asking Sher to take care of Upsie.

Sher had made references to various health problems -- she was being treated for severe anemia and had been writing about iron-rich foods she'd been eating to help address it -- but it was with stunned disbelief that I read about her death.  I'd never considered the possibility of a death in my internet neighborhood, and it was impossible to believe that a voice as full of life as Sher's was gone.

Sher's own internet neighborhood was large and filled with friends. She had lots of readers, she was a regular commenter on a number of blogs, and she was a regular participant in Weekend Cat Blogging and Weekend Herb Blogging. When the news of Sher's death began to circulate, people began leaving comments about Sher, first on the post that was up at the time of her death, and then on the post her husband wrote about her death. I noticed how many of them mentioned that Sher was one of the first first food blogging friends they'd made, how she'd been the first person to link to their blog, or she was the first person to begin commenting on their blog and how much that had meant to them.  Sher had an amazing ability to connect with people and welcome people through her writing.

These days in my internet neighborhood it's a little less bright, a little less warm. Sher's presence is much missed.

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Almost immediately after her death, I read a post suggesting that we honor Sher's memory by cooking a recipe from her site and posting about it. Rather than a recipe from the site, I thought it would be fitting to use a recipe that Sher emailed to me for her mother's fried okra.

Sher emailed me this recipe out of the blue two summers ago. I don't know what prompted her to do it and I never got it together to make it at the time. Part of the reason is that I've always been wary of okra -- it has a bad reputation for sliminess although having now made this I think frying really takes that away.

Here is the recipe in Sher's her own words:

I'm sending you my mom's recipe for fried okra. I like it better, plus it isn't fried in as much oil as the one I put on my blog. I'm going to go back and point that out.  

About 1 pound of fresh okra

1/2 tsp salt

pepper

1/2 cup corn meal

a couple tablespoons flour

3 tablespoons of oil, part bacon drippings, if possible

Wash okra; cut off tips and stem ends. Cut pods into 1/4-inch slices and leave them a little wet, so that the cornmeal and flour will stick better.. Sprinkle sliced okra with salt and pepper. Combine cornmeal and flour in a bowl; roll okra in mixture. Sauté okra until golden brown. 

Some people dip the okra in egg or buttermilk, but my mom never did that.

 

 

 

 

Apricot Upside Down Cake

One of life's great practical jokes is that in summer when I'm surrounded by fresh fruit, it's usually so hot I can't bear to turn on the oven. Summers in Baltimore are steamy and even with the air conditioner running our oven heats up the house. Consequently, I don't do a lot of baking in the summer.

But sometimes during the summer a day comes along when I don't mind turning on the oven. Early last week it was breezy and not humid, and the nighttime temperatures were low enough that the house was staying relatively cool with the air conditioner off and the windows open.

I spent a pleasant morning hanging out in the kitchen making an apricot upside down cake. Through the screen door there was a little breeze, and the sounds of birds in the trees drifted in from our tiny backyard. The house I live in was built in 1885 and the kitchen is in the basement. It helps that in summer this is the coolest room in the house.

I love the way apricots smell when they're baking, the way the fragrance fills the house. The apricots' flavor and fragrance intensify as they cook, and they have enough tartness to contrast with the sweetness of the cake. Plus, I like seeing all those little round apricots looking like so many egg yolks.

This recipe is slightly adapted from Deborah Madison. She puts a dab of almond paste inside each apricot and adds almond extract to the batter. I prefer this without the almond, to me it's a distraction, but if you are fond of almonds, add it back. I also think this would be good with raspberries between the apricots rather than cherries but I haven't tried it.

Apricot Upside Down Cake

apdapted from The Savory Way by Deborah Madison

10 apricots, halved, pits removed
3/4 cup (12 tablespoons) unsalted butter
3/4 cup light brown sugar
10 Bing cherries, pitted and halved
1/2 cup sugar
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/4 cups unbleached white flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup buttermilk or sour cream

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Melt 1/4 cup (4 tablespoons) butter with the brown sugar in a 10" cast iron skillet. When the sugar has melted, remove the pan from the heat and arrange the apricot halves cut-side up in the skillet. Fill in the area between the apricot halves with the cherry halves.

2. Cream the remaining butter with the sugar until it's light and fluffy. Beat the eggs in one at a time, then add the vanilla.

3. Sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt together. Add them to the batter, stirring by hand. Alternate with the buttermilk or sour cream. Mix in as few strokes as possible so as not to overmix.

4. Pour batter over fruit and bake until a toothpick comes out clean, about 40 minutes.

5. Let the cake rest for a short while, then cover the skillet with the cake plate and invert the cake onto the plate. If anything sticks to the skillet just press it back onto the cake.

It may seem like overkill but it's best with whipped cream.

Rick Bayless's Purslane, Tomato, and Tomatillo Soup

For the last several years I've had a garden plot in the community garden at Druid Hill Park in Baltimore, a place filled with thriving-looking garden plots full of big, strapping plants laid out in neat rows, the plots neatly bisected with little paths.  There are tomato vines laden with tomatoes, leafy plants of chard and collards, big sprawling zucchini plants, and bean vines of startling vigour. There is not a weed to be seen in these garden plots.

My garden plot? Not so much. My rows aren't particularly straight, I have an over-large patch of mint which looks perpetually messy, and I have weeds.  The only thing I can say in my defense about the weeds is that weeding becomes much more complicated when the purslane sprouts and all of a sudden I am weeding around the weeds.

Purslane, if you're not familiar with it, is the foremost known plant source of omega 3 fatty acids. It's a low growing, fleshy-leafed plant with a flavor that is mildly acidic and vaguely lemony. Raw, it has a pleasant crisp texture and makes a good addition to salads. Cooked, it is said to have a mucilaginous -- or to be less polite, slimy -- quality although this was not my experience with it in this soup at all.

 

Purslane is also among the most common of weeds -- walking around the city I see it almost daily growing from cracks in the sidewalk or in tree wells -- and if you have a garden there's a good chance you have purslane growing as a weed. In much of the world however, this is a cultivated and much loved vegetable. In this country, if you don't have it available to you as a weed, I understand it is sometimes sold in Mexican markets under the name  verdolaga. In Baltimore it is sold at the farmers' market by the Gardener's Gourmet folks. There is also a cultivated variety which can be grown from seed.  

 

Because purslane is currently my number one garden plot product, I'm on the lookout for ways to use it. This soup was a product of my garden plot (jalapenos and purslane), plus tomatoes from the farmers' market and tomatillos from the supermarket. As it cooked, I was questioning the wisdom of my decision to serve hot soup on a hot July day but the tartness of the tomatillos along with the slightly lemony flavor of the purslane actually makes this a refreshing soup for a hot day.

 

This recipe is adapted from Home Food: 44 Great American Chefs Cook 160 Recipes on Their Night Off  a book published in 1995 to support Share our Strength, an organization dedicated to fighting childhood hunger in America.

Rick Bayless's Purslane, Tomato, and Tomatillo Soup

1 to 2 tablespoons of olive oil
1 large white onion, diced
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 (or more) jalapeno peppers, deseeded and minced
2 ripe tomatoes, diced
10 oz (about 5 medium) tomatillos, husked, washed, roughly diced
3 sprigs of thyme
2 bay leaves
2 large boiling potatoes (I used Yukon gold), peeled and diced
1 quart chicken stock
2 cups packed fresh purslane, chopped into 1-inch pieces (I use leaves, plus the thin stems at the top of the plants_
Salt
Cilantro for garnish

1. In a 3-quart stockpot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until translucent. Add garlic and jalapeno and cook until they're softened. Add the tomatoes and tomatillos and cook until they are almost dry.

2. Add chicken stock, potatoes, thyme sprigs, and bay leaves. Simmer until the potato is tender.

3. Add the purslane. Simmer until tender. (Rick Bayless and I differ on how long that takes. He says six minutes, I cooked mine for half that amount of time.) Remove the bay leaves and thyme sprigs. Serve garnished with cilantro.

 

If you're looking for other purslane recipes, here's one for a salad  of chickpeas, purslane, and arugula.

 

And from other food blogs:

 

Purslane cooked with rice and tomatoes

 

Purslane salad with yogurt

 

Purslane Kootu

 

Summer Salad with Melons, Cashews, and Purslane

 

Chicken and Purslane Sandwich with Tarragon Mayonnaise