If it’s possible to still be a Daddy’s girl at 52, then I’m as guilty as the six year-old that wears him like a badge of honor on my heart, then as I do now. He enforced strict discipline and never tolerated lies he was somehow able to sniff out like a dog on the hunt. He taught unconditional love at every turn, returning from arduous week-long business trips, always ready to give his energy to his pack of four children and our mother on weekends. These often involved long rides on our horses, tag football, and summer evenings spent watching fireflies on our country front porch. When we were really lucky, these nights ended with him recanting imagined tales of Cookie to all of us, under a “tent” in the living room. And, when the summer heat really turned on, Saturday afternoons meant cherished and rare trips to Dairy Queen for ice cream. I favored the soft serve vanilla twist cones dipped in confetti peanut/candy, but sometimes one of us, Dad included, went whole hog and indulged in a hot chocolate sauce banana split. So, even now, I can’t think of ice cream sundaes without thinking of my Dad.
Time may have softened the lines of these memories, erasing the tears from an overly tired child or admonishments from a frustrated Dad, but at their core, they remain true to the man he was and is. The best Dad I could ever hope to have and my eternal night in shining armor, still shining at 84 years of age. The recipe that follows is an adult version of a very, very indulgent sundae that far surpasses DQ’s confetti candy and moves into the realm of butter, mashed bananas, brown sugar, walnuts and rum, though the latter can be wholly omitted without really missing a beat. From my cookbook Mashed – Beyond the Potato (Gibbs Smith), it might be just the right treat for your Dad this Father’s Day.
Mashed Bananas Foster Sundaes
(Yields 8 sundaes)
The classic brown sugar, butter and rum sauce wrapped around flash-cooked and flambeed ripe bananas was created by Chef Paul Blange at Brennan’s restaurant in New Orleans in 1951. The dark brown sauce is just the right foil for the sweetness of bananas. Lightly mashed and served warm over commercial vanilla ice cream with a crumble of chopped walnuts, it is sublime and comes together in minutes. To flambe, carefully tip the saute pan to meet your stovetop gas flame, or quickly hit with a lighter flame. The flambe is important to cook off the burn of the alcohol and increase flavor, although the rum can be omitted altogether. This is best served straight from the pan, but will store refrigerated and covered for a day or two. Reheat before serving over a few scoops of ice cream.
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 8 tablespoons
1/3 cup lightly packed dark brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon real vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
4 ripe bananas, peeled, halved vertically, and halved again horizontally
1/3 cup dark rum (optional)
1/2 cup coarsely chopped walnuts
1 1/2 quarts best quality vanilla ice cream
In a large saute pan, melt the butter over medium heat and add the brown sugar, nutmeg, allspice, cinnamon, canilla, and salt. Cook together over medium-low heat, stirring, about 2 minutes. Carefully add the bananas and gently stir to coat, cooking for 3 minutes. Add the rum, stir to combine, and flambe, standing back to avoid the flame. Gently mash into large chunks using a manual masher or wooden spoon. Remove from heat and cool slightly for 1 – 2 minutes. Serve warm in individual bowls over 2 or 3 scoops of ice cream. Garnish with a tablespoon or so of chopped walnuts. Serve immediately.
Happy Father’s Day!
As we all look towards 2017, just hours away, I want to send my best wishes to all of my readers and the world for a healthy, happy, joyful, peaceful and prosperous New Year. Towards that end, I’m sharing one of my favorite recipes from Mashed – Beyond the Potato (Gibbs Smith, Sept. 2016) as my gift to you as we move into the future. Happy New Year!
Lucky Prosperity Soup
(reprinted with permission of Gibbs-Smith, Publisher)
Yields 8 to 10 servings
New Year’s Day in the South ushers in a call to wealth and prosperity, which are symbolized by black-eyed peas (representing coins) and collard greens (representing greenbacks). Often, they’re cooked separately, usually with some ham hock for flavor, and put together on the same plate with rice. This delicious soup takes the best of the bunch and puts them all in one pot, with the exclusion of rice. If you can’t find collard greens, substitute kale or another sturdy green. This soup is finished with a traditional sweet and onion splash from a southern garnish known as chow-chow. If you cannot find it, substitute a tradtional relish, but modify the results as suggested in the recipe.
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 stalks celery, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, smashed and diced
3 teaspoons kosher or sea salt, divided
1 1/2 teaspoons ground black pepper
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
4 cups (1 1/4 pounds/ 565g) rehydrated black-eyed peas, rinsed
3/4 pound (340g) smoked ham hock
8 cups (1.9l) water
1 large bunch collard greens, rinsed, tough stems removed and discarded, and cut into 1/4-inch (6-mm) strips
1 teaspoon hot pepper sauce or Tabasco
1/3 cup (80g) chow-chow or 2 tablespoons traditional relish
Melt the butter with the olive oil in a large soup pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion, celery, garlic, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. Stir to coat. Cook until the vegetables have softened, about 5 minutes. Deglaze with the vinegar and reduce quickly to a glaze.
Add the peas, ham, water, collard greens, and remaining salt and pepper. Bring to a boil over high and reduce to a simmer. Cook, uncovered, for 1 hour, until thickened and the greens have cooked down and the peas are soft, but holding their shape. Remove the ham hock from the pot and set aside to cool.
Meanwhile, using an immersion blender, briefly mash the soup in the cooking pot to help incorporate the beans and the greens. When cool enough to handle, cut off and remove outer fat and skin layers from the hock. Cut off any visible meat, finely chop, and return to the pot; discard the rest. Just before serving, stir in the hot sauce and chow-chow. Adjust salt and pepper as needed. Serve steaming hot and sit back and count your lucky stars.
This is an absolutely award-winning soup that beats Hoppin’ John any day in my book. Bon appetit and best wishes for a wonderful 2017.
Love, me and Mr. Purrfect, the very handsome cat who thinks he’s a dog.
The older you get, the more you realize how important it is to be grateful for all that life, God and the universe have given you. When I was a kid (though always grateful), I think I took for granted that I would always have a warm house, a full refrigerator, parents who loved and disciplined me, and a merry future with a great education, hopefully marriage and children, and a rewarding career. And, except for children, all of those things were always there.
As I enter the early years of my 5th decade, I realize how lucky and blessed I have been and am grateful for that and all that still remains. First and foremost, health. I’ve witnessed many friends, my age and many much younger, lose beloved friends and family members this year, many to horrific and hard to understand circumstances. I’m grateful to have two parents who are still vital and healthy, even as they both move towards their mid-eighties. I’m grateful for my beautiful house, a house that has become a home in the first full year it’s been lived in by me and my little pet family. It now houses memories and shadows of faces and good, well-lived and sometimes sad days past. I’m grateful for my bed, which I embrace every morning and thank “it” for proferring such a delicious night’s sleep. I’m grateful for my wonderful neighbors. I’m grateful for a steady stream of work in an unpredictable business. I’m grateful for the beauty of the world that surrounds me in Charleston, my adopted home of almost seventeen years. She still stuns me and silences me with the glory of her sunsets and the wisdom of her old soul. I’m grateful to have made it through months and days of mourning the dual loss of my beloved Tann Mann and Chutney Cat last spring. Days and months that felt like I was walking through milk (no, make that bechamel, cold bechamel and not a well seasoned one) wearing a blindfold on my eyes and shackles on my feet. Finally the blindfold and shackles fell, milk cleared to bright and eventually happy, and for that I credit God, faith, family and friends, and especially Mr. Purrfect, my slate grey and pure white Tuxedo cat who thinks he’s a dog, walks on a leash, and curls up on my back as I sleep. He also loves yogurt and a nice bit of cheese and has been the source of much amusement and joy since he entered my life six months ago. I’m grateful to my darling Michael (affectionately known as The Adorable One, or TAO), a constant rainbow of love and laughter who walked with me every step of the way, good and bad, this year and for several past.
Finally, I’m grateful for Mashed – Beyond the Potato (Gibbs Smith, Sept. 6, 2016) which was a joy to create and write and I’ve loved watching people cook from it this fall and tell me how much they’ve enjoyed it. The recipe that follows is one of my top three favorites in the book, and one of the top ten I’ve ever created for any cookbook or anyone. It’s perfect. The celery trifecta – celery root, fresh celery, and celery seeds – is the idyllic foil to the creamy potatoes and offer delightful little bites of texture and flavor in each bite. And, what goes better with celery and potatoes than turkey? This is THE consummate side for your table. Make it today or on Thanksgiving, refrigerate, and reheat it over a water bath while the turkey’s resting and everyone begins to toast the holiday, giving thanks for all they love and value.
Triple Threat Celery Mash
(Yields 8 servings)
1 large celery root, rough outer skin and inner skin removed and discarded , and cut into 1-inch cubes (about 4 cups)
2 medium Russet potatoes, peeled, and cut into 1-inch cubes (about 2 cups)
2 stalks fresh celery, trimmed, cleaned and cut into 1”-lengths (Note: Reserve any fresh celery leaves for garnish)
Water to cover
1 tablespoon kosher or sea salt
1 cup heavy cream
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 teaspoon celery seed
1 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
Finely chopped fresh celery leaves for garnish
Place the prepped celery root, potatoes, and fresh celery in a medium pot. Cover generously with fresh, cold water. Add salt. Bring up to a boil over high and reduce to a simmer over medium/medium low heat. Cook, uncovered, for 30 minutes or until all ingredients are very tender when pierced with a knife or fork. Pour the potatoes, celery root, celery and water into a colander and drain well. Return to the warm cooking pot. Heat the celery/potato mixture over medium heat for 1 to 2 minutes, shaking to move around the pan and dry out the ingredients. Separately, heat the cream, butter and celery seed in the microwave or in a saucepan until warm and melted. Pour, in thirds, into the celery and potato mixture, mashing coarsely with a manual masher to combine and puree. Season with salt and pepper, tasting to adjust as needed. Serve hot, and garnish if desired with a few chopped celery leaves. (Note: The mash will store beautifully in a sealed container for up to 3 days. Reheat over water bath or microwave before serving.)
Love, Holly and Mr. Purrfect, The Cat who Thinks He’s a Dog
Recipe and Cookbook Giveaway
Here it is already. Time to tuck away the white shorts and Keds, pull out the grill, and celebrate the symbolic final hoopla of summer – Labor Day. When I was a girl living on our bucolic Massachusetts farm, it was a weekend to look forward to. Jammed with horse riding, touch football, and lots of burgers and dogs cooked (usually over-cooked) but always cooked with love by my darling Dad. For me, too, it was infused with the anticipation of returning to school. I loved going back to that elementary school, the smell of the paper and books, the sound of a pencil writing cursive on a piece of lined paper on a hard desk, even the slightly sweet, soggy spaghetti and meat sauce in the cafeteria. I remember laying out my first day of school outfit on my bed, right down to the knee socks and polished Mary Jane’s. Those were heady days!
This Labor Day weekend has a slightly heightened sense of joy, like back in those school days. My latest cookbook, Mashed – Beyond the Potato (Gibbs Smith) will be released Tuesday. Available in bookstores near you and online, practically by the time you read this. The recipe that follows is one of my favorites, because it is packed with one of my favorite summer foods – summer squash and zucchini. Still beautiful in South Carolina this time of year, they’re reaching the end of their season elsewhere and soon will here, too. Though this dish requires just a bit more work than placing the squash on a grill, it’s a lovely do-ahead that will impress and pair with anything from a steak to barbecue.
Cheddar Two-Summer-Squash Mash
Yields 6 servings
Summer squash, slightly sweet and squeaks-in-your-teeth fresh at peak summer season, is one of my favorite summer treats. Often, I’ll saute either yellow summer squash or zucchini in a little olive oil wiht some red onion, finish it with a sprinkle of fresh basil and grated Parmesan, and call it a summer’s night. However, the two squashes marry beautifully together in this beautiful mash casserole, which resonates with the lemony freshness of thyme and squash flavor. The texture is airy and light, almost mousse-like, topped with a buttery panko bread crumb crunch. While you can substitute unseasoned traditional bread crumbs, panko celivers a crunch edge and it’s really worth having in your pantry at all times. The casserole is delicious hot, warm, or even room temperature.
2 medium zucchini, ends trimmed and cut into 1-inch (2.5-cm) dice, about 3 cups (370 g)
3 medium yellow summer squash, ends trimmed and cut into 1-inch (2.5-cm) dice, about 4 cups (495 g)
3 1/2 teaspoons kosher or sea salt, divided
1 1/2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh thyme leaves
1 cup (240 ml) whole milk sour cream
2 cups (240 g) grated mild cheddar cheese
1 small shallot, finely chopped, about 2 tablespoons
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 egg, beaten
Pinch of ground nutmeg
3 tablespoon unsalted butter, divided
1 cup panko bread crumbs or unseasoned traditional bread crumbs
Pinch of ground black pepper and kosher or sea salt
Preheat oven to 350° F (175° C).
Place the zucchini and summer squash in a medium saucepan. Pour in enough water to barely cover and add 2 teaspoons salt. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cook, uncovered, until the squash is very tender, about 20 minutes. Drain very well in a colander, gently pressing out any excess water, and return to the pan.
Mash with a manual masher until the squash is chunky smooth. With a wooden spoon, blend in the thyme, sour cream, cheese, shallot, pepper, remaining salt, egg, and nutmeg. Pour into a medium (2-quart / 2-l) casserole that has been greased with 1 tablespoon of the butter, spreading with spoon to even the top.
Melt the remaining butter in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the panko and seasoning and toss to coat. Brown the crumbs to a golden brown, being careful to toss and avoid burning. Spread the bread crumbs evenly over the top.
Bake for 45 minutes, uncovered, or until bubbly and golden brown. Rest 10 minutes before serving and garnish with some fresh thyme sprigs. This makes a lovely meal with a green salad and fresh bread and butter. The casserole can be assembled ahead, refrigerated, and baked just before serving.
I told you what I love about Labor Day. Now’s your turn to tell me what you love about this holiday and transition from summer into fall. Favorite memories, foods, thoughts – they’re all welcome. Please leave your comment here and I’ll pick a winner on Tuesday, book release day.
I look forward to hearing from you and please have a safe, happy and delicious holiday!
I wrote this a few weeks ago in the wake of the passing of my pet loves. At the surface, it has little to do with food or cooking, but in many ways it does. Cooking, for me, is a way of nurturing and offering love. These sweet friends gave it to me freely and continuously every day for many years. I hope in some small way it will help those dealing with grief in the loss of someone loved, pet or human. Much love, Holly
Like all great love stories, this one has elements of beauty, joy and tragedy. It is the tale of a precious dog and a cat. As their Momma, I had the pleasure of watching their story unfold for the decade it lasted.
It begins with Tann Mann. A native of Fayetteville, NC, he came home to me and Charleston at five months of age. A handsome cocker spaniel sporting a velveteen, chocolate coat and amber eyes, both playful and wise, his early years were spent sashaying around the peninsula greeting his buddies. There were many: Angus MacGregor, Scarlett, Rex, Rebel, Sister, Blue, Ivy, Bucky, Houston, Daisy, Apple, and Scout, to name a few.
By the time he was two, he spent his Friday mornings at The Ralph Johnson VA on the fourth floor with retired vets in the nursing home there. He was good at it. Patient and calm, he would sit quietly while the patients petted him, always eager to offer his signature high five. At home, most days were spent watching me cook, or very close by my side, at all times. Doggie ice cream treats and loving petting was abundant. Life was good; very good, indeed.
Enter Chutney Cat, about the time Tann Mann was in his prime at age seven. We first saw her on one of our countless walks, crouching and scared behind a bush by an old Victorian on lower Rutledge Avenue. I talked to her gently but she would not approach and scattered when I reached out to her. Two days later, she showed up in my back garden, partially hidden by an azalea. I sat on the stoop for a long time, talking with her. Finally, a can of tuna did the trick and because she didn’t have any owners I could find, she became a part of our household.
The beginning was rocky, and Chutney Cat played very hard to get with Tann Mann. She wanted very little to do with him or anyone, for that matter. Whatever trauma she had experienced, it took her six months to “come out” and really join the family. At first, for the grey, white and apricot Tortoiseshell beauty, Tann Mann was an afterthought, a pest really. There was a whole lot of swatting and hissing going on. Tann Mann would take it and just sally forth, his pride a little worse for the wear.
But, little by little, the bond formed. I’d find them rubbing noses, exchanging long glances, climbing the stairs together, sleeping back to back on my bed. We spent ten years in that house and by the time we left, Tann Mann and Chutney Cat were approaching their twilight years.
I retired Tann Mann from the VA because it was becoming too physically demanding for him and we all moved to a house in the country on James Island. Chutney Cat especially embraced her new abode, relishing the lower, broader window sills which afforded easy access garden viewing. She relinquished her former huntress ways, and instead preferred sunning and frolicking inside the screened in back porch. She loved to stare into the new gas fireplace and Tann Mann the forest view from the front door. Their pace became slower, their snoring louder, and their back-to- back sleeping pose longer. They both loved to watch me cook, Tann Mann from under the coffee table and Chutney Cat from her favorite sofa perch, Tann Mann’s chocolate button nose often sniffing to inhale the aromas.
These were such happy days. It seemed like they would last forever. But sadly, they came to an end, or at least a new kind of beginning. Now fourteen and a half years old, Tann Mann got sick over the course of a few weeks and when he was finally diagnosed, I had to release him to death. He died in my arms with a cascade of love surrounding him. The goodbye was intensely difficult for me, as Tann Mann was my soul mate dog. I returned home to Chutney Cat, hoping we would enjoy many more days together where I could spoil her with one-on-one love.
But, this was not to be, either. Starting the very first day Tann Mann did not come home, Chutney Cat started slipping away. First, sleeping in his bed or other new places that he favored, increasing her sleeping time to practically full time and by the sixth day she stopped eating, which was one of her favorite things. Even tuna fish wouldn’t do the trick. At first I thought she was grieving, but a trip to the vet proved that sixteen year-old Chutney Cat was also terminally ill with a cancer that couldn’t be fixed. She died in my arms, her sweet head on my right forearm, eyes closed, purring and almost relieved.
While she and I were grieving together, I observed Chutney Cat a lot. Her eyes would open wide at times, as if she was seeing or sensing something I couldn’t. Maybe it was Tann Mann, maybe it was pain, or maybe just a broken heart.
While my heart remains broken for my departed and cherished loved ones, it gives me joy that they found true love not only on this earth, but also in Heaven. True loves, even or especially when shared between animals, is everlasting. They taught me that, perhaps their greatest gift of all.
Thank you, my darlings and sweet, sweet dreams. God bless.
Tann Mann December 24, 2002 – April 5, 2016
Chutney Cat birthdate unknown, 2000 – April 12, 2016
Much gratitude to the love, compassion and care provided by the staff at Ohlandt Veterinary Clinic and Charleston Veterinary Referral Clinic (West Ashley).