A SOUTHERN SOJOURN (AND THE TOMATO PUDDING TO GO WITH)

Ciao'd with a vodka and Jack Rudy tonic. 

At once invigorating (college football) and calming (bourbon on the rocks), the South captivates.  I grew up in the Northeast and my husband heralds from Southern California. East coast. Left coast. Opposite ends of the spectrum.

Our son gathered our wool and said, “I want to look at colleges in the South.” Cut to last week in South Carolina touring schools. Like most kids who are privileged enough to skate on their parents' indulgence, our son has had the opportunity to work with various college coaches – ACT prep, college prep, and tutors. You would think he would be good to go. The pressure on our kids is so intense, though. Good to go isn’t good enough.

When I was a kid in Connecticut, we took the SAT prep class during high school. We signed up for a test day, we went, we received our scores, and that’s all she wrote. We visited schools, we applied to them, we were accepted, denied, or waitlisted. Life went on. Everybody was happy. “Best four years of our lives” we sing as we wade through middle age. Regardless of where my son lands, I am sure he’ll be singing the same tune.

It turns out the South just may offer what our son desires. For those of you new to a progeny’s college exploration, as I am, you will be astounded at what our kids’ brains hoarded in the years they loitered in our houses.  Our family life centers on a love for sports, a house filled with friends, food, and laughter, and a belief in working hard to achieve goals and enjoy the result. Because the 'rents are “creative” (writer/designer), we’re big on aesthetics, too. For our son, the family mores translated into this checklist for schools: big-time college football, not only for the game but also for the ribald camaraderie it fuels; a fraternity, for the brotherhood that will enrich the deep friendships he cultivated from nursery school through high school; sports (in this case, lacrosse), for the joy of contributing to a team and the sustained expression of skills honed from second grade “bobblehead” games through the next 10 years of his life. And yeah, a beautiful campus. No block concrete buildings for him. Manicured lawns a plus. 

Academics are a given.  I’m looking forward to my son exploring his interests and talents on a deeper, more competitive level. But there's a more visceral consideration and it’s a powerful one. Let’s call it the vibe. The vibe riffs off the cultural microcosm of place and people. It plays out like this: walking onto campus and absorbing the energy, or lack thereof. Perusing the students and thinking, “Yes, these are my people (or not).” It’s a similar vibe to the one that’s infused in the town where you feel welcomed when you’re house hunting. It's the moment when you're standing on the kindergarten playground and you lock eyes with the woman who becomes your best friend. It vibrates through the group of people at a dinner party when you don’t know the whole bunch yet you connect with someone. Life is a mirror. It reflects the discrimination and judgment when we encounter a person or an idea that's unfamiliar or uncomfortable. It shines on the “welcome home” frisson when we find our tribe.

The Southern culture complements the place my family inhabits. The weather is warm but heavier. The people are polite and, truth be told, even more so than where I live.  Laughter and lightness ripple through the days. The food (and drink) is intoxicating, grounded in history and diverse ethnicity. Yes, grits. Yes, sausage and gravy. Yes, okra. And yes, yes, yes, wonderful, modern interpretations of these dishes by forward-thinking chefs and restaurateurs like Sean Brock and Brooks Reitz. They honor local ingredients and celebrate historic recipes while modernizing them for today’s palates. I defy anyone to visit Charleston and stick to a diet.

The South exemplifies la dolce vita.  Each day is a gift. Life is fun. That’s why I will deviate from the Italian recipes I usually offer and instead, share with you this recipe for Tomato Pudding from the Hominy Grill in Charleston. At once simple and complex, the recipe will charm you, just like the South.

And p.s. for those of you who are wondering, Clemson won the college tour. Go Tigers!

RECIPE

HOMINY GRILL TOMATO PUDDING

When you order the vegetable plate in the south, you will not be served bird food. At the Hominy Grill in Charleston, the spring vegetable plate consists of stewed snap peas with ham, cheese grits, and a rich yet sprightly tomato pudding.  It's down home and satisfying. As Hominy Grill says, "Beware of tarting up the dish with fresh herbs or fresh tomatoes. It is what is is." I couldn't get enough.

Serves 4

One 28-ounce can whole tomatoes

4 slices brioche or white bread, cut into small cubes

1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted + more for greasing the baking pan

3/4 cup granulated sugar

1 teaspoon Kosher salt

1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Brush a medium baking pan with butter.

In a medium bowl, coarsely crush the tomatoes with the back of a spoon. Add the bread and drizzle with the butter. Add the sugar, salt, and pepper. Gently stir to combine.

Bake until bubbly and golden brown, 35 to 40 minutes.  Recipe courtesy of Hominy Grill, Charleston.

ITALIAN EASTER LAMB WITH A MOROCCAN TWIST

Ciao'd with a cup of Cup o' Soup. 

An Italian Pasqua (Easter) is not complete without lamb. The tradition harks back centuries. A Christian culture with deep Catholic roots, Italians revere the  "lamb of God," as a symbol of Jesus, innocence, and sacrifice. On a more prosaic level, harking back to Italy's agrarian history, lambs are born in the spring and baby lamb (abbacchio) is a treasured accompaniment to the Easter festivities. 

My recipe features rack of lamb. Because it's so easy to prepare and lends itself readily to an impressive presentation, I serve rack of lamb frequently, varying the flavors of the crust with the seasons. Here, I've created a fragrant Moroccan rendition of the traditional Italian gremolata, which is a mixture of lemon zest, garlic, and parsley. I've substituted mint for the parsley and added orange zest and cumin to the mixture. It's a sprightly dish for a spring celebration.

RECIPE

RACK OF LAMB WITH MOROCCAN GREMOLATA

Have your butcher trim off, or french, the thin strip of meat and fat between each chop.  I served the lamb with couscous blended with orange zest, chopped green onions and a dash of chili oil. Orzo with parsley and butter and/or asparagus would make a great side dish, too. 

Serves 6

3/4 cup chopped fresh mint leaves
8 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/4 cup grated orange zest
1 tablespoons grated lemon zest
2 tablespoons ground cumin
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
3 racks of lamb (8 chops each), cut in half

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. 

In a small bowl, combine the mint, garlic, citrus zests, cumin, salt and pepper, to taste. Score (make small cuts) the fat sides of the lamb. Pat the mint mixture over the racks to form a crust. 

Place the racks on a baking sheet, crust side up, and roast until an instant-read thermometer registers 130 to 135 degrees for medium-rare, 25 to 30 minutes. Let rest 10 minutes before carving.

To serve, slice the lamb between the ribs and serve 3 to 4 chops per person. 

CRAYOLA CRAYONS AND A DANDELION YELLOW BOUQUET

Ciao'd with a mini doxie and black Lab snoozing beside me on the sofa. 

In the gray-tinged news last week, Crayola Crayons “retired” the color dandelion. Let’s be real.  Crayola put the crayon out to pasture. The company has gone dark (taking a cue from its outer space hue) about the crayon’s replacement, but it’s a safe bet that a blue player will assume dandelion’s place on the top shelf in the 64-crayon box with BUILT-IN SHARPENER.  The scrawl is to crayons what Megan Kelley is to the TODAY show.  No one is safe. 

To some, dandelion is a weed. To others, it’s a wish. While more a fan of sea green and Pacific blue, dandelion was my go-to color for my hair when I drew my family. It worked pretty well for the sun, too, when I wasn’t in the mood for the more prosaic yellow. Dandelion sketched a glowing halo for angels during the Christmas season. When it came to coloring daffodils in the spring, dandelion, not canary, cut it. Canary sang when coloring birds, though. Maize was the perfect hue for Halloween corn stalks. As for the base of candy corn, only dandelion would do. Maybe that’s why maize was sent back to the farm in 1990 and dandelion, a yellow upstart, took its place.

Lemon-yellow was logical for lemons and nice for glowing moons, but bananas required a deeper expression - dandelion mottled with raw umber (another retiree).  Black-eyed Susans (my mother’s favorite flowers): dandelion and black. Giraffes: dandelion and sepia. Sunflowers, spaghetti, bumblebee stripes. All dandelion. My mind drifts towards the Minions. I wonder. If dandelion can’t color their capsule bodies, will they be relegated to plain, old yellow? Note to Illumination Entertainment: you may want to consider unmellow yellow.

It seems to me that coloring books, butcher paper, and construction paper have issued a travel ban on the yellow family. Compared to the blue clan that offers 18 hues (not counting the purples) and the red group that offers 14 shades, yellow pales in comparison, coming in with only five variations. And here’s another vexing truth: goldenrod is still blooming. I hated that color! It never could decide if it was gold or orange (never mind yellow), plus it was waylaid with a tinge of brown that made the color look like mud with a yellow-ish afterglow. Yuck. 

Icons of our childhoods die hard. When they have influenced our development, in this case, the unleashing of creativity and the understanding of color as tangible and usable, the icons melt.  Were I to blow a wish into the dander of the dandelion, it would be this: that it seeds your heart to color outside the lines with whatever color moves you. Maybe you would like to express your color personality with a simple arrangement of dandelion yellow flowers. Here's how.

MARCELLA MONDAY: PASTA BOLOGNESE IT'S CRAZY (GOOD)

Ciao'd watching the CMA awards. Cue the beer and BBQ. With the pasta. 

Bolognese sauce is a rich, soul-satisfying cloak for pasta, best with fettuccine or pappardelle as they are wide and long and thus, perfect vehicles for ferrying the bulky, unctuous sauce from plate to palate. This is a simple recipe but it's not quick. Make it on a weekend when you have time for it to simmer and infuse your kitchen with its rich, pungent aroma. And then enjoy it with a glass of robust red wine. #dolcevitadelish.

1 tablespoon olive oil
3 tablespoons butter plus 1 tablespoon for tossing the pasta
½ cup chopped onion
⅔ cup chopped celery
⅔ cup chopped carrot
¾ pound ground beef chuck (or you can use 1 part pork to 2 parts beef)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup whole milk
Ground nutmeg
1 cup dry white wine
1 ½ cups canned Italian plum tomatoes, preferably San Marzano, cut up, with their juice
1 ¼ to 1 ½ pounds pasta
Freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, for serving at the table 

In a large, deep skillet over medium heat, combine the oil, butter and chopped onion. Cook, stirring, until the onion becomes translucent. Add the celery and carrot and cook for 2 to 3 minutes, stirring to coat the vegetables. Add the ground beef, a large pinch of salt and a few grindings of pepper. Stir well and cook until the beef is just coke through. 

Add the milk and let it simmer gently, stirring frequently, until it has bubbled away completely. Add a tiny dash of nutmeg, and stir.

Add the wine, let it simmer until it has evaporated, then add the tomatoes and stir to coat all ingredients well. When the tomatoes begin to bubble, turn the heat down so that the sauce cooks at the laziest of simmers, with just an intermittent bubble breaking through to the surface. Cook, uncovered, for 3 hours or more, stirring from time to time. While the sauce is cooking, you are likely to find that it begins to dry out and the fat separates from the meat. To keep it from sticking, add 1/2 cup of water whenever necessary. At the end, however, no water at all must be left and the fat must separate from the sauce. Taste and correct for salt.

Toss with cooked, drained pasta, adding the tablespoon of butter, and serve with freshly grated Parmesan on the side. Marcella Hazan, Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking, Alfred A. Knopf, 1982.

CUBED LAMB WITH SPINACH, EGGPLANT, AND WHITE BEANS

Ciao'd with a vase of yellow tulips keeping me company.

This recipe is the epitome of cucina povera or peasant cooking. It's home-based food that's not influenced by chefs or trends. Cucina povera is grounded in basic ingredients, historically gathered and grown on one's farm. Made with the freshest ingredients, whether truly fresh or preserved, the food manifests integrity and sings with flavor. In my recipe, I call for dried beans which would be used in traditional kitchens. If you're pressed for time, substitute 3 cups canned beans. 

Serves 4 to 6

1 cup dried cannellini beans*
Several sprigs each parsley, thyme, oregano
1 bay leaf
Kosher salt
5 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound fresh spinach, stemmed (about 8 cups), rinsed
1 pound boneless leg of lamb, cut into 1-inch cubes
6 cloves garlic, sliced thinly
1 pound eggplant, trimmed, cut into ½-inch wedges
1 ½ teaspoons dried oregano
1 cup beef broth
Freshly ground black pepper

Rinse and drain the beans, picking them over to remove any debris. Transfer the beans to a medium saucepan, add cold water to cover the beans by 1 inch or so, cover the pot, bring to a boil, and then remove from the heat. Let rest 1 hour. Set the pan over medium heat. Add the herb sprigs, bay leaf, 1 ½ teaspoons salt, and 1 tablespoon of the olive oil. Bring to a boil then uncover, reduce the heat, and simmer until the beans are tender, 1-1 ½ hours total. Test for doneness after 1 hour, adding more water as necessary to keep the beans submerged. Drain the beans and remove the herbs.

In a large deep skillet over medium heat, combine the spinach along with any water clinging to its leaves and a generous dash of salt. Cook until the spinach just begins to wilt, about 3 minutes. Transfer the spinach to a paper towel-lined plate. When the spinach is cool, wrap it in the paper towel and squeeze to remove as much water as you can. Coarsely chop.

Wipe the skillet dry and heat 3 tablespoons of the olive oil. Add the lamb and garlic and cook, adjusting the heat as needed to prevent the garlic from burning, until the lamb is browned but still pink inside, about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper, to taste.  Using a slotted spoon, transfer the lamb to a plate and loosely cover to keep warm.

Add the remaining olive oil to the pan. Add the eggplant and cook, stirring occasionally, until the eggplant is browned and tender, 5 to 7 minutes.

Add the remaining olive oil to the pan. Add the eggplant and cook, stirring occasionally, until the eggplant is browned and tender, 5 to 7 minutes.

Return the lamb and accumulated juices to the pan. Stir in the beans, spinach, oregano, and beef broth, and cook until warmed through. Season with salt and pepper, to taste. Serve immediately.

*For a quicker version of this recipe, substitute 3 cups canned cannellini beans and skip the dried beans cooking method and ingredients therein.

MARCELLA MONDAY: GRATINEED ASPARAGUS AND SWISS CHARD

Ciao'd after a March Madness weekend. And I do mean mad.

Continuing the asparagus theme from last week (spring is to asparagus what summer is to zucchini), here's a recipe that pairs the subtle flavor of white Swiss chard stems with the more pronounced one of asparagus. It's a brilliant marriage and, of course, Marcella Hazan offered the recipe to us. The vegetables are topped with Parmesan cheese and butter. As Marcella says, "It's a rare vegetable that cannot profit from this classic technique." She is so, so right. 

Serves 4

2 pounds Swiss chard
2 tablespoons Kosher salt
1 pound asparagus
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Trim the Swiss chard stalks of all leaves. Reserve the leaves for another use. Cut off any discolored portion of the bottom of the stalks but shorten them no further. Wash the stalks in cold water.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil with one tablespoon of the salt. Add the stalks and cook until tender when pierced with a fork, 3 to 5 minutes. Transfer to a colander and rinse with cold water. Transfer to a plate and pat dry. 

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. 

Trim the ends of the asparagus, leaving only the moist tender parts of the stalk, about 1 inch or so. Peel the tough green skin from the base of the spear to the end of the stalk. Bring the chard water to a boil once again, add the remaining tablespoon of salt and asparagus spears. Cook until just tender, 2 to 3 minutes. Transfer to a colander and rinse with cold water. Transfer to a plate and pat dry. 

Grease a shallow, medium-sized baking dish with 1/2 tablespoon of the butter. Line the bottom with a layer of chard stalks, and then top with a layer of asparagus. Repeat until you have used up all the vegetables. Sprinkle the grated cheese on top, distributing it evenly. Dot with the remaining butter. Place the dish on the top rack of the oven and bake until golden brown, 15 to 20 minutes. Remove from the oven and let rest 5 minutes before serving. Recipe by Marcella Hazan, Marcella's Italian Kitchen, Alfred A. Knopf, 1986.