The Annual Golden Loaves

I needed Jeanne's welding gloves this year when I "walked Spanish" at the ad agency. If you don't know what the expression means, look it up in the Urban Dictionary or read Josh Ferris' book Then We Came to the End.

It's something about how pirates used to walk their hapless victims to the plank, forcing them to march on their toes toward the end of the line. Since I was making the toe walk, you can deduce I was scorched that day. It would have been magnificent to walk into the exit interview wearing a pair of red welders' gloves. I only wish I'd known about the gloves in time to wave them high on my way out the door. As it was, I only had time to get my office fridge moved to my friend Spicy Chicken Wing.

When a fridge door closes, somewhere a browser window opens, and that's what happened in 2009. Thanks to SUCCESS Magazine and their fine staff, some amazing people allowed me to tell their stories. Who better to learn from than successful achievers - people who sail under their own flags?

Here then are my annual Golden Loaves, presented to each individual who trusted this castaway and gave me more than the outer crust, enriching my spirit to move forward. If they will call me, I will personally bake their trophy.

Stan Richards, Founder, The Richards Group.
He built an ad agency from the dust up in Dallas. So-called experts told him his design style was all wrong for Big D, but he stuck with it and worked hard. Today you know his agency's work if you've ever heard Tom Bodett say "we'll leave the light on for you" at Motel 6.

What I learned: Hard work can trump talent. If you're willing to challenge yourself, you'll go places that amaze you. Keep ideas simple. People connect with simple ideas, like "Eat Mor Chikin." And never forget respect. Give it, expect it, cut loose from those who don't treat you with it. You deserve it.

Danica Patrick, IndyCar driver.
So I didn't get to interview her, but I understood why after reading her book for a sense of the tremendous pressure and media interest in her ability to perform in open-wheel racing. If she said yes to every request, she couldn't compete. Danica is different; that's obvious if you've ever seen her picture or one of her ads. She did call on me at a press conference; she gave a good quote.

What I learned: Embrace your differences. Believe in your passion, and be passionate in all you do. What makes you different makes you great. Race on, and be good in the pits.

Joel and Victoria Osteen, pastors of America's largest church.
They have such high media interest that they take a big risk every time they agree to open their mouth or be photographed. They are scrutinized on a global scale. They let me in their house, and I saw what's in their laundry room. I have a good idea of what they eat for dinner, which is often at home because fans are eager to swarm them when they go out. I saw, and I'm not telling. They can trust me.

What I learned: Don't be talked into having a down year, despite the economy, the wars, floods and flu. You are blessed with talents so incredible you don't even know all that you have. Hold the door for somebody else, don't be so busy you can't do the small things. Your best year yet is just ahead, and while you're at it, encourage someone else.

There are others who get loaves, too, but until their stories run, I'll have to keep their names a secret. They know who they are, and thanks to them, 2009 turned out much brighter.

That business on the plank is all behind me now. Ole!

Goodbye Oven Burns

Am so excited about a pre-Christmas present I got myself: a pair of welder's gloves. It was a big help when it came to preparing the holiday feasts (see picture). Cooking shops need to stock up on these marvels that I found at my local he-man supply store.

It all started when my friend Monica Bhide, author of Modern Spice, blogged about a burn she received while baking cookies. Fellow foodies immediately joined in on the bloggable conversation. I grumbled about my constant search for oven mitts that actually worked. They have to be able to protect my hands, wrists, and lower arms from the heat. But they also have to be flexible enough so that my fingers are still useable. I've tried many a mitt.

Food writer and blogger Babettefeasts replied, telling of a similar search that was ended when someone halfway across the world sent her a pair of welder's gloves.

Eureka! I immediately hopped in the car and headed to my nearest manly big box store and got the last pair. I must admit they are a smidge large. Apparently there are not many welders with petite hands, but as you can see, they were the perfect protection for me as I pulled the holiday roast out of the oven. And they make such a fashion statement with my red sweater!

Christmas in Connecticut

When I was just out of college and working for a small newspaper in Florida, I wrote a column using a child's point of view about Christmas in Connecticut. It went something like this:

When we were young, my brother, sisters and I, we had our Christmases in Connecticut. And there would be a flurry of activities encircling Christmas Day that remains warm in our memories, more so than anything we would ever find under the tree.

When we were very young, Mother would dress us in our holiday finery and make us sing in the Norfield Congregational Church in Weston. Sitting on the steps in front of the congregation, we would hold baskets of raisins, nuts and figs and sing "What Shall We Give to the Babe in the Manger?" Often we were caught nibbling on our "gifts."

Each year Father would fetch the Christmas tree, and its arrival at the house always signaled much fussing and excitement, for he would drag the tree through the snow, around the back of the house and in through the basement door. The swirling pattern in the snow left by the tree would become a trail of needles up the stairs and into the living room, where we would watch in hushed voices as Father twirled the lights around the tree limbs.

Each Christmas Father would also make his pilgrimage to Macy's Department Store in New York City, and he would fill an entire shopping bag with Christmas sweets. There were chocolate Christmas balls wrapped in colored foil to be hung on the tree, and we would always whisk them away as quickly as they were hung, popping them into our mouths long before Christmas Day.

There would be candy canes as thick as your wrist, these i nlong sticks that bulged from our stockings. On Christmas Day, we would scoop out the jewel-like candies - butterscotch, mints and "red hots" - from the bottoms of our stockings.

Some nights we would bundle up tightly against the glittering northern winter evenings and go Christmas caroling. Our neighbors, the Howards and Lutzes, would go with us as we trolled the ancient Yuletide carols throughout our tiny community. One child would be appointed to bring along the jingle bells and shake them appropriately.

Sometimes grateful listeners would give us steaming mugs of cocoa or a bit of chocolate for our caroling efforts.

Christmas Eve, we would stay up very late and be permitted to attend the midnight services at Norfield Church. These services were for singing, and as we sang our eyes would glisten with the lights of the electric candles burning in the church windows, as they did each year at Christmas time. Or we could stare at the imitation white doves that were the sole decorations fastened to the Christmas tree in the pulpit. After the services, we would scurry home to our bedrooms, being very still and straining to catch the whispers of the grownups as they rushed to and fro downstairs. The grownups were always the last to retire.

The next morning, dressed in long white flannel nightgowns our grandmother had made us, we would squirm through breakfast, anticipating the moment when Father would strike a fire in the fireplace - where the package wrappings would later be burned - and signal the opening of Christmas gifts. Mother or Father would dress up as "Santa Claus" and distribute gifts. We never had believed in the real merry old elf himself, but still we held fast to the magic of what lay before us under the tree, wondering how in one night, it could all be gathered there.

With the afternoon turkey, and always before its presentation, Father would read us the story of the Night Before Christmas in Texas That Is.

The tale always spoke of the prairie without snow; boots, not stockings, at the foot of the beds, and a Stetson-topped Santa Claus. The reading of the story was to become our own, unique holiday tradition, for we were all born in Texas, and although we had our Christmases in Connecticut, there was a certain responsibility to remember one's birthplace.

One season the book vanished - one of the children later confessing she had lent it away - and we carried on the tradition by reciting the story to the best of our collective memories. As with everything else mystical that surrounds Christmas, one year when we were very grown, we located another copy of the Night Before Christmas in Texas That Is, and the tradition was firmly restored.

My sister Charlotte sent me a tall, thin package this year, which I immediately unwrapped, already guessing its contents: my own copy of the Night Before Christmas in Texas That Is.

During the holidays and on through New Year's Day, no matter the lateness of the evening, we always gathered around the piano, and Mother would play the Christmas carols as we joined her in song.

Years later we would be home from college, still standing around the piano and still singing. One of us might shake a tambourine, another would play along on the guitar.

These Christmases in Connecticut were always white. People still scurried, with frosty breath and apple-colored cheeks, as they struggled homeward with their brightly wrapped bundles.

There were always roaring fires in the fireplace, Christmas sweets from Macy's. And always, hearts lifted in joy through song.

Now we're very grown.

My brother Curt is becoming a dentist. My sister Mary has Christmas in Colorado, and sister Charlotte works in Dallas. Mother and Father must trust the postal system to play Santa Claus for me.

There won't be any fires in the fireplace this year; the weather is too warm for scurrying.

But I know I'll be home again for Christmas in Connecticut.

If only in my dreams.


Postlude: As I re-read this column it strikes me as unbelievably mushy - clearly I was feeling sentimental in 1980 when I wrote it. Thing is, I was truly fond of the snow - the kind that sticks to eyelashes and mittens - the caroling, those bags of goodies from Macy's. The reading of The Night Before Christmas in Texas That Is was a real tradition we worked hard to keep up with, especially in the years when we had to recite from memory. Just a few years ago I actually tracked down the author, Leon Harris, living in Dallas. I told my Father I had talked with the author about the book's special place in our memories. He loved it! He loved this mushy column, too. He was a Texan, after all, keeping Christmas up north.

Read The New York Times story about Leon Harris' passing. And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

(photo of Rosemary Cranberry Christmas cookies tucked inside Dorothy's ruby slippers (almost), in the Singing Wheat Kitchen.)

When Life Hands You Lemons...

When life hands you lemons, make Lemon Chicken Lasagna. That's what friends got for Christmas this year. (I baked it in foil pans and delivered it yesterday.)

You can make a shortcut version by using a 16-oz. jar o' alfredo sauce and deli roasted chicken. I like to make my own garlicky alfredo because it's so easy: just butter, flour, milk (plus garlic). While that is bubbling to a creamy thickness, I cook up a couple of chicken breasts.

Lemon Chicken Lasagna

Cooking spray
1/4 cup butter

2 cloves garlic, squished through a garlic press
1/4 cup flour

3 cups milk

2 Tbsp. drained capers
6 lasagna noodles (give or take; you may have to cut off a couple inches of the cooked noodles to fit in the square pan)
1 cup ricotta cheese (cottage cheese works too, here in the Midwest)
1 3/4 cups shredded cheese (I like to mix it up: mozzarella, a bit of extra-sharp cheddar, and/or some crumbled feta cheese and maybe a smidge of Parmesan)
2 teaspoons lemon zest (use a fine grater and make sure you don't get any of the white pith)
12 ounces cooked chicken breast, cut into edible chunks

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Spritz an 8x8-inch or 9x9-inch baking pan with cooking spray; set aside. In a saucepan melt butter and add garlic, cooking over low heat for 1 minute. Stir in flour, cooking until mixture is thick and golden. Increase heat to medium, add milk and cook until thick and bubbly. Stir in capers and 1 teaspoon of the lemon zest.

2. Cook lasagna according to package directions; drain. Spoon 1⁄3 cup of sauce into baking pan. Top with 3 noodles. Spoon 1/2 cup of the ricotta cheese and 1/2 cup of the shredded cheese over noodles. Top with half the chicken. Spoon half the remaining sauce over chicken layer.

3. Top with 3 more noodles, remaining ricotta, another 1/2 cup shredded cheese, and remaining chicken. Add 3 more noodles, remaining sauce, and sprinkle with remaining cheese.

3. Cover with foil. Bake for 40 minutes. Remove from oven and let stand, covered, for 15 to 20 minutes before serving. Sprinkle with remaining 1 teaspoon lemon peel. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

Remembering the Spritz Cookie

I can still see the boxes, stamped with "Woodward & Lothrop," the first department store in Washington. Grandmother Daisy always carried two WL boxes into our house for Christmas in Connecticut. If you peeled back the layers of waxed paper, you'd find one box filled with cookies shaped like Christmas trees and dyed green. The other held flower-shaped cookies, no food dye. Two versions carefully made, both with sprinkles on top, usually nonpareils but sometimes those hard, BB-sized silver balls. The cookies were colored-coded - if you tasted the green trees (or sometimes pink), they were peppermint-flavored. The no-dye versions were always almond-flavored. Whether attracted by the color or taste, we seemed to go for the peppermints first. Grandmother Daisy might run out of sprinkles at times, so she'd try to cover with a pecan, but we never ate those - unless they were all that was left.

It was years before I understood that these were "spritz" cookies she made using a "Mirro Press," meaning the dough was shot through a tube with a pattern imprint to make the shapes. It was a very 1950s or '60s thing to do - you could make canapes shaped like card suits and other fanciful treats such as "Palate Pleasers," "Nibble Bait" and "Dagwood Delights." But it was the Christmas trees that we held vigil for, little understanding the manual dexterity necessary to pump the shortening, sugar and flour through a press. We just waited, anticipated and chased every crumb when they arrived.

Only the web can (arguably) deliver to more homes than Santa Claus, so here's a Christmas trees recipe using a cookie press.

Eventually Daisy gave me a Mirro Press as a gift, and I have stayed in business to this day, even though the product maker seems to have slipped away. She had to let go of the cookie-making because her hands could no longer grip and squeeze the press effectively. Now I have true insight into that twinge in the hands, but my kids still beckon for their favorite Christmas treat.

I only make the colored version, and only the peppermint.

When you're the main squeeze, you get to decide.

(Photo of Mirro Press spritz cookies lying on a childhood Christmas apron made with loving hands.)

Orange You Sweet!

We're into the full measure of holiday baking now - or in Jeanne's case, a rip-out of her kitchen floor due to measures beyond her control - but Jeanne and I continue to toss ideas and talk about what we love to do for season's greetings, and that's to keep our traditions fresh and sparkling sweet.

Enter candied orange peel, one of my top attractions. It started when I lived on the Sun Coast of Florida. My neighbor Anne Bailey would make candied orange and grapefruit peel, and I was fascinated because it felt very English Country Christmas, very old school. I adopted the tradition as my own, and now it's as much a part of the season as pralines and spritz cookies, which we'll get to in the next few days.

There are plenty of "how-tos" for candied orange peel on the web, but this the method that I stick and stay with. It's sweet, but it's also tangy, chewy and delightfully bright.

Candied Orange Peel, Grapefruit Peel

About 5 oranges or 2 large grapefruits, washed

Cold water

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup light corn syrup

1 cup water

sugar for coating

1. Cut the peel into four sections, then cover with cold water and a teaspoon of salt and bring to a boil.

2. As you chew a denuded orange segment, boil 5 minutes if you're doing oranges, or 10 minutes if it's grapefruit.

3. Drain, repeat the process three more times, but without the salt.

4. In a large saucepan, add the sugar, corn syrup and the cup of water. Stir them over low heat until the sugar dissolves.

5. While this is happening, use scissors to cut the peel into 1/2-inch strips.

6. Add the strips to the pan and boil gently, uncovered for about 40 minutes or until most of the mixture is absorbed.

7. Drain the peel in a colander.

8. Roll the peel in sugar. Place in single layer on wax paper and allow to dry for 2 days (Mama Mia turns her peel over after the first day).

9. Store in an airtight container.

Now that you have this recipe, throw yourself into making Florentines Cockaigne, a candy-like Italian cookie that calls for candied orange peel and an undercoating of chocolate. It's a Rombauer family favorite, according to the Joy of Cooking's All About Cookies. First peel out, then do the cookie.

Now pass the tea and hum a verse of "I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm."

Super Quick Chocolate Toffee

While Mama Mia is patiently shaping and rising and kneading dough for holiday gifting, I'm frantically tossing together a few ingredients to create a shortcut toffee before the guests arrive.

But, even the non-baker/candy-maker will be awed at the ease and elegance of this holiday chocolate toffee treat. It's a recipe I've been using for years that was handed to me scribbled on a piece of notepaper. (You'll probably find something similar all over the Web.) It's one of those happy surprises you put together when you have no time.

It's got a surprising ingredient that you really don't need to reveal.

Chocolate Toffee

40 saltine crackers (1 sleeve)

1 cup butter

1 cup brown sugar

1 1/2 cups dark chocolate chips and/or chopped bittersweet chocolate

1 tsp. vanilla

1 cup sliced almonds, toasted

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line a jelly roll pan (10x15x1) or rimmed cookie sheet with parchment paper (or foil). Line the crackers in a single layer on the parchment paper in pan.

2. In a saucepan, melt the butter and brown sugar. Cook and stir over medium heat until mixture boils. Let it bubble for 3 minutes, without stirring. Remove from heat and stir in vanilla. Immediately pour mixture over crackers. Bake for 5 minutes.

3. Remove from oven and sprinkle chocolate chips evenly over top; let stand for 5 minutes, then spread melted chips evenly over all. Top with sliced almonds. Cool completely, then cut or break toffee into pieces.

Bread for My Friends

Today in the Singing Wheat Kitchen I wrapped my arms around bread, because tonight is the annual "just the women" cocktail party on our neighborhood street. You've got to hoist something to the communal table, and I'm not one to make rum balls. I like a handcrafted bread you can dip into an herb-infused olive oil or top with a fine Montenebro from Molto Formaggio, our house of cheese in Dallas. Gimme the salty over the sweetie any day.

I wonder if the scent of baking bread slips through the cracks in our doors and windows and fills our street with irresistible aromas? Just yesterday a neighbor stopped in to place an order for croissants and crackers for a big party on Saturday. I'm not open for business, but my door is open for my gal friends, and from there it's an easy stroll to the kitchen, where dough can change hands. Anyone who has a passionate love for bread will get served.

I was on a mission to see what happens if you take the dough from the Pain a l'Ancienne recipe found in "The Bread Baker's Apprentice" and stuff it with proscuitto and pepper. This dough is a real hands-off kind of heavy dough that doesn't want much manual labor. It is supposed to stay in a gassy, bloated state. I'm crazy about this recipe because most of the work happens in the fridge, and the taste results are absolutement wonderful, like fresh bread for Madeline and Miss Clavell in their old house in Paris. You can freeze it or bake it off as a pizza, a baguette or a fine square of foccacia.

I won't really know the end results of the "proscuitto and pepper" experiment until I cut the baguettes into rounds for the cocktail party. First glimpse looks good, though. I did drop one of the baguettes in the oven - it rolled off the back of the inverted cookie sheet I was using, just rolled off. With quick hands, I hefted it back in place, spritzed everything with water and slammed the door. You can't let a minor slip define your success.

Here is a Pain a l'Ancienne recipe that is available via the web but is absolutely Peter Reinhart's work. And what marvelous work he does.

Pralines for the Holidays

Decorate all the sugar cookies you wish this holiday season. For me, nothing says "Christmas treat" like the old-fashioned praline.

My Grandmother Mimi had an incredible affinity for chemistry (and taught it). Her method of praline-making is unlike most you'll find today. As kids, we eagerly awaited the arrival of her pralines. She made them in Texas and would drive across the country to our snowy doorstep in Connecticut, box in hand.

When Mimi made pralines, she always melted some of the sugar separately until carmelized, then mixed it into the milk and sugar combination already on the stove. Why this step is important I don't know, but her pralines were always perfectly turned out and the first to disappear if we also had spritz cookies, divinity and those fried dough confections known as "rosettes."

There is a temperamental chemistry to pralines. For instance, a lesser grade sugar can ruin a batch. If you don't cook your mixture all the way to soft-ball stage, it can turn into syrup. Wait too long to spoon it out of the pan, and you can be stuck holding a fine batch of crystallized sugar. It's chemistry, it's timing, it's patience you need to get the feel for it.

My sister Mary believes she did not inherit the "feel," but she always gives me a big bag of shelled pecans every Christmas. My sister Charlotte did inherit the knack, and she's quite the family expert now. Here is her recipe, which doesn't require the separate carmelization step.

Charlotte's Pralines

2 cups of sugar (we recommend Imperial)
3/4 cup milk (Charlotte uses 5/8 cup Half and Half and 1/8 cup skim milk; Mama Mia has tried 2/4 cup of whole milk and 1/4 cup whipping cream, why not?)
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 and 1/2 cups pecan halves or pieces
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 tablespoon of butter

1. Combine sugar, milk and baking soda in a 2- or 3-quart saucepan.
2. Cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Keep your eye on it as mixture will rise to top of pan.
3. Continue cooking to soft-ball stage (about 238 degrees on candy thermometer).
4. When a little mixture forms a soft ball when dropped in cold water, remove from heat.
5. Add pecans, vanilla and butter. Beat until candy starts to take shape and lose its gloss.
6. Drop quickly by tablespoons on wax paper.
7. Allow to cool. Store in airtight container. Makes 18-30

Here's another version, pralines from Paula Deen, using more ingredients like brown sugar and dark corn syrup, which to me could get exceedingly sweet when sugar is already the largest ingredient in the pot. I think I will try it, though, since I've never heard of allowing the cooked mixture to cool 10 minutes before adding the nuts, butter and vanilla. Again this is a chemistry thing - vanilla can evaporate if you add it into hot liquid, but letting it cool? My concern is getting the mixture out of the pan before it can harden like a rock.

Today I didn't have pecans on hand, but almonds I've got, and they do well. In fact, if you read this history of the praline, you'll see that "sugar almonds" were an ancient, early form of the praline.

Be sweet now.

(Photo of almond pralines with vintage Santa Claus mug made by the Holt Howard company, getting along nicely together atop Mimi's marble turtle table.)

Soup's On

Jeanne's, what's on your stove today?

It's a wintry day in Dallas and for this, I like a hearty soup and loaves of fresh bread that can fill the air with warm aromas, promoting the senses that all is well. If you're facing high winds (as I know they are in Tennessee, according to the warnings for the Smoky Mountains region), a cold drizzling rain without the hint of snow or even a certain mistful feeling due to waning twilight, get out your big knife and get into a good roasted red pepper and eggplant soup. The one featured in Bon Appetit takes time and effort, but the results are a spoonful of something wonderful.

This soup is thick, it's loaded with veggies, it makes a goodly large batch to freeze or share with friends. It is a very charming soup - but do allow enough time to work your way through it. You'll be chopping eggplants, red bell peppers, leeks, onions, garlic and fresh herbs, but you'll feel thankful in the end.

There was real flour power in the Singing Wheat Kitchen today - I took dough from the Pain a l'Ancienne recipe featured in the "Bread Baker's Apprentice" book, made two baguettes and knocked back two balls of dough for the freezer (for future pizza dough) and set two more balls in the fridge to make foccacia tomorrow. What a wonderful, versatile bread dough for dividing and conquering. The baguettes turned out very rustic-looking but tasted marvelous, like French bread. They would be even more terrific if loaded with pepper and proscuitto. I must try this.

The bread recipe recommends using a plastic dough scraper, so I hauled my boots over to Sur La Table and nearly swooned with all the goodies they've got on their shelves for the holidays. If you're looking for Christmas ornaments shaped like wheels of cheese, an espresso machine or peas in a pod, this is the place. I had to force myself to focus on the scraper and look straight ahead, neither to the left or right. Have you seen the colors they're doing on immersion blenders these days?

You can work in a quick trip like that if you're allowing the dough to rise, but don't overdue it. Don't get lost in a Whole Foods aisle on the way home, browsing the chocolate like it's research.

Get back home and get the chopping done for the soup. Once those flavors are in the pot and filling the air, you can butter up your bread knowing that the soup's on, the day is done and good things will happen.

(Photo: Loafing around at Home Slice Bakery in Dubois, Wyoming. By John H. Ostdick)

Turkey Rice Chowder

I decided this year that I'm not really enamored of turkey. It always tastes the same, no matter whether you brine it, slather it with butter (under or over its skin), rub garlic and herb butter beneath its skin, stuff it or leave it unstuffed. However, it sure makes a delicious soup or chowder. You can use up a lot of leftovers in this soup including any uneaten veggies. This year I even stirred in some leftover gravy.

Turkey Rice Chowder

Start by Making Broth: Toss the roast turkey carcass into a pot. Cover it with cold water (about 8 cups). Add 2 onions, quartered; 2 stalks celery, chopped; 2 carrots, chopped; 3 cloves of garlic; 1 bay leaf; salt and pepper. Bring to boiling; reduce heat and simmer for 2 hours. Strain, saving broth.

Turkey Rice Chowder

2 1/2 cups water
3/4 cup wild rice (I used a wild rice blend), rinsed, drained
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 oz. sliced pancetta or bacon, chopped (about 1/2 cup after cooking)
1/2 oz. dried mushrooms (I'm in the Midwest, so I used a combo called Northern Blend) reconstituted in 2 cups boiling water or 8 oz fresh mushrooms, sliced
2 cups diced carrots and celery (2 stalks celery, 2 carrots)
1 medium onion, chopped
1/3 cup flour
10 cups Turkey Stock (I used turkey broth, plus water from soaking mushrooms; add chicken broth, if necessary to make 10 cups)
2 to 4 cups chopped cooked turkey meat
1 teaspoon dried crushed rosemary
1/4 cup leftover gravy, if desired
Salt and pepper

1. To cook rice: Bring water, rice, and salt to boil in medium saucepan. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 45 minutes. Drain; set aside.

2. In a large pot or Dutch oven, cook pancetta for 5 to 8 minutes or until crisp and brown, stirring occasionally. Remove pancetta and drain on paper towels. Add mushrooms to pot and cook for 5 minutes. Remove from pot. (Add a splash of olive oil, if necessary.) Add carrots and celery; cover. Cook for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add onion; cook and stir for 2 minutes. Stir in flour and cook for 1 or 2 minutes more. Sir in mushrooms

3. Carefully add turkey broth, turkey, rice, pancetta, and rosemary. Bring to boiling, reduce heat, cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Stir in gravy, if desired. Heat through. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Thanksgiving Dinner, Dorm Style

Ever wonder what Thanksgiving in a dorm room looks like? Here's a shoutout to the gals and guys at NYU's Third North for this delicious glimpse. Daughter Madeline's contribution was a first for her - the turkey gravy. My heart was in my throat for her. It has taken me years to get the hang of the process. There must be 50 ways to glop it up, and I should know, speaking from experience.

The NYU gang had the Macy's Parade in the morning, so in Texas, I was calmly stirring my gravy hours before Madeline would step up to the pan. This was good; I could time certain steps (how long should you cook the drippings and flour paste before adding milk?) and send her tips. My version was an especially good batch this year - practice does help. I wished Madeline was home to taste it, but I was glad she sampled her first Macy's Parade from the actual event, not the TV. I sent her a long, incoherent text message that probably read like a tearful mom being a sap.

In my head, I thought I'd just make another batch of gravy when it was time for her to start, so we could stir it up together. Well, it didn't work out that way. Madeline got started on her own, and that's how it should be - what time in the kitchen is all about. She did call mid-process, and it felt good to be on the other end of the line, like a Butterball Hotline counselor imparting the wisdom of the ages.

She took her lumps; I kept mine in my throat. She had to get off the phone; I couldn't expect her to listen to me while pouring and stirring - if you're the gravy maker you know what I mean. It is a delicate process.

I trudged outdoors for some firewood and kept telling myself "it's just gravy, it's not a college essay. Get the salt and pepper right, and what's not to like? Hungry people will eat it." I give her snaps for even attempting it.

Later as I was stirring the fire, she called to say that everything was fine.

Good gravy. Everything was fine.

So Thankful

Jeanne and Mamma Mia are in our kitchens today,

wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving

with all the trimmings and carefree gravy.

(Photo of Grandmother Daisy's matches from the Manor House in Moorestown, New Jersey in 1959, "Where Cooking is an Art . . . and Eating a Pleasure." Repurposed by John H. Ostdick)

The Great Croissant Tryout

Turkey and gravy are the stars of Thanksgiving, but oh, the look and feel of fresh homemade bread. Maybe you like rolls, cornbread, croissants, pumpkin bread, the options are endless. Sometimes I just make them all so everybody finds something they love.

This year I was thrilled to get the rare opportunity to make bread for someone else's table in a land far away. The Rules of Hoyle and a respect for privacy prevent me from saying who the bread is for, but know this - it was important enough that I needed to hold tryouts.

I knew the form would be croissants, but which ones? I usually make this showoff bread with a sourdough starter, and the results are deeply flavorful because sourdough starters involve long fermentation times, which give the flavor enough time to develop. For some reason the sourdough also makes a softer dough; it's easier to roll out and gives a nicer risen shape than a straight yeast dough, the results of which look more rustic. No idea why the chemistry works that way.

So which version would be good enough to produce bread that could be shipped overnight?

For the tryout, I practiced with a straight yeast method using active dry yeast, and I learned an important lesson. Good thing it was a practice run. I followed the croissant recipe exactly as given save for one key difference. If you substitute active dry yeast in a recipe calling for fresh yeast, you must proof the yeast first in warm water. You can't mix the dry yeast in with other ingredients, as the recipe states. I knew this; I knew it was wrong when I started. But I swear I'd seen bakers add dry yeast into other ingredients without proofing first. And here's why. Instant dry yeast (also known as "Rapid") can be added this way. Active can't. So my first batch of croissant dough never rose. You know it won't rise in the baking, either, because it feels like a wet book of pages. A dough that's alive has an energy you can feel in your hands; it's springy to the touch and much lighter.

I repeated the recipe using Rapid dry yeast (no proofing), and while that was underway, mixed a batch using the sourdough starter. The bakeoff was on - and the winner is shown above - the sourdough version.

I learned something else, too. I had a few croissants from the yeast batch and a few from the sourdough batch, so I placed them on the same baking sheet. The yeast recipe calls for baking at 350. The sourdough calls for 400. Could it make that much of a difference if they both cooked at the higher temp? As it turns out, it does. The sourdough was golden and swelled beautifully. The yeast croissants were charred and weathered. There's likely an explanation of why this happens in Peter Reinhart's definitive book The Bread Baker's Apprentice (Ten Speed Press, 2001). No croissant methods in there, but loads of "this is why" background that enrichs every baker's understanding of extraordinary bread. That's where I read about the differences in behavior for active, rapid and fresh yeast.

Now if I could just test out the effects of "cold in the hold" as a box of croissants flies north for the holidays.

Oh sure, I hedged my bets. Made a batch of flatbreads for the shipment, too.

No rising to the occasion.

(Photo: Pepper Croissants on Parchment. By John H. Ostdick in the Singing Wheat Kitchen)

Turkey Gravy

It's just gravy. But it's a requirement for Thanksgiving dinner. This is one of my go-to recipes. You can make it in less time than it takes to go to the grocery store and study the offerings of gloppy gravy in jars (usually laden with sodium and pretty flavorless.)

Admittedly this gravy recipe is from Better Homes and Gardens website. Again. Can't help myself. Used to be a food editor there and I know the amount of testing that is done in the Test Kitchen before a recipe is ready for public consumption. This one's a winner. I've never added the extra butter. And sometimes I skip the milk and just use broth.

http://www.bhg.com/recipe/sauces/rich-pan-gravy-for-turkey/

My Friend Pumpkin Bread

Let's get into pumpkin bread. It's one of my earliest memories of my Grandmother Mimi's cooking, rich, dense, good for the soul and great with a cream cheese icing. Mimi used to make it inside of coffee cans, so it came out round, like the shape of canned cranberry sauce. How I do miss the round shape - who saves coffee cans anymore?

There are many variations of the classic recipe that uses canned pumpkin. Dallas super chef Stephan Pyles makes a cross between a pumpkin bread and a gingerbread using candied ginger, molasses, oranges and dark corn syrup in his book The New Texas Cuisine. It's very good but Mimi's gingerbread is another classic recipe I've preserved; I like to keep the two separate.

Part of the attraction of using old recipes the way they were is to smell the air and remember how it used to feel standing by your grandmother's stove. Pumpkin bread this time of year is such a cheerful companion. It goes well beside a fire in the fireplace, or with a cup of tea in the afternoon as the light gently draws away. It never disappoints.

My wonderful friend Susie gave me an excellent loaf of pumpkin bread last year, and if memory serves, she wrapped it in a new dish towel, a grand idea that saves on wrapping paper and is reusable long after the loaf is gone. This loaf has the approval of both our college sons, and they both have good taste. I asked her to share it, and she did. Now that I see it, I realize it's nearly exactly the same as Mimi's.

The addition of chocolate makes it all Susie's.

Pumpkin Bread


31/2 cups sifted flour (tip from Mama Mia: If you don't have time to sift, use a whisk on it)

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

2 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon nutmeg

1/2 teaspoon cloves

1 teaspoon cinnamon

3 cups sugar

Sift together the ingredients above. Then add the following:

4 eggs

2/3 cup cold water

2 cups or 1 can pumpkin

1 cup oil (Mama Mia tip: use 1/4 cup oil and 3/4 cup applesauce)

Mix until blended. May add 1 cup chocolate Chips if desired. (Yes, yes!)

Pour into 2 loaf pans (9x5) that have been greased and floured. Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour or until toothpick comes out clean.


Mama Mia Tip: Don't try to bake this in one loaf pan or your son will graduate college before it's fully baked. If you have coffee cans, go for it, but use more than one.

(Photo from Peter's Market at the Weston Center in Connecticut)

Taste This Angel Food Cake

Spouse and I have recently gone on a bender with the chocolate from Newman's Own Organics. He snapped up the Milk Chocolate; I've waltzed with the Orange Dark, which I whistled over in the One Sassy Tart post. Remember that our willingness to consume large quantities of choc is all for the sake of research -with the view that life is too short to waste on lifeless and heartless imitators.

If you've got a dozen eggs and a good orange, may I make a recommend? Try this at home: a chocolate version of an angel food cake that was considered a favorite of OSCAR-winner Paul Newman's.

Toothfully, we thank the Newman's Own Organics team for another wonderful way to use their product.

DAD'S FAVORITE CHOCOLATE ANGEL FOOD CAKE


This cake is light as air, low in fat, and very easy to make. The trick is to prepare all the ingredients in advance.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

1 cup all-purpose flour

11/4 cups sugar

12 egg whites

1/2 tsp. salt

1 Tbsp. lemon juice

3 tsp. vanilla

11/2 3-oz. dark orange chocolate bars or 3 1.2 oz. Newman's Own Organics Dark Orange Chocolate bars

1 Tbsp. orange rind


Grate 11/2 3-oz. or 3 1.2-oz. Newman's Own Organics' chocolate bars on a cheese grater.

Sift 1 cup all-purpose flour. Then sift flour three more times with 1/4 cup sugar and 1/2 tsp. salt. Sifting onto wax paper makes it easier. Separate 12 egg whites (easily done by cracking egg into hand and allowing whites to run through fingers). Allow egg whites to reach room temperature (15 minutes). Beat whites until frothy. Add 1 Tbsp. lemon juice. Beat until soft peaks form. Sprinkle sugar lightly onto whites 1/4 cup at a time and continue beating at medium speed. Sift 1/4 cup flour/sugar mixture over whites and gently fold in by hand. Add

3 tsp. vanilla and 1 Tbsp. grated orange rind. Alternate flour/sugar mixture and grated chocolate until incorporated. Make sure to fold in gently to avoid reducing volume of egg whites.

Tip: I find it best to use your hand with your fingers spead to fold in the ingredients. It's more effective than using a spatula.

Pour into clean, dry tube pan and bake for 45 minutes until lightly browned. Knife inserted into center should be clean when removed.

Remove from oven and invert pan. Allow to cool 1/2 hour to 45 minutes. Run knife around edges and center of tube to remove.

Serve with strawberries and lightly sweetened whipped cream or for real decadence serve with hot chocolate fudge sauce and ice cream.


Mama Mia adds: You can finely chop the chocolate if grating gets out of hand. Sometimes when you get down to those last little hunks of choc, well, you know, it can be hard to grate all the way. Keep going. The results are worth it!

(Photo taken with Cosmos from our yard, atop Grandmother Mimi's antique marble turtle table, by John H. Ostdick)

A Rose Gets in a Jam

Remember our discussion about edible flowers? In the post "Please Don't Eat the Daisies," Jeanne told you which flowers are safe to use in foods. If you raise your roses organically, without synthetic fertilizers or herbicides, why not play with them? I said I would ask a certain woman I was interviewing as to whether she ate the flowers from her garden.

To my delight, Nell Newman gave me a wonderful tip.

"I do refrigerator jam, where you make a sugar syrup. I cut up strawberries, I put them in a pan, I put some sugar in, I put a little bit of water and maybe a little tiny bit of lemon juice in, and I just simmer it, I don’t jell it, and I turn it off. If I’ve got a good rose, I’ll take one rose bud and pull the petals off and just chiffonade them into the warm jam and push it under and mix it up. It makes the color even more red with the essence of rose, and it’s so delightful. It's lovely."

She makes it sound so beautiful, like life in an English tearoom, somehow. Nell is the president and co-founder of Newman's Own Organics, and she's chief taste tester for the more than 150 products her company makes, all with certified organic ingredients. She spends a lot of time visiting farmers markets and talking with growers; she's passionate about the natural world and living a "slow food" lifestyle, taking the time to sit down with the family and have a nice meal - cherishing the food as much as you cherish the people you serve it to. (By the way, you can learn more about "slow food," there's an organization.)

We talked about roses in particular, and she is old school when it comes to a good rose.

"I only plant roses that smell good. I am appalled that the rose industry has bred the scent out of every rose. It’s mind-boggling. They’ve actually finally now bred the scent out of the purple rose. It’s taken them 40 some-odd years."

Bloomin' idiots.


(Photo by John H. Ostdick)

Christmas in Connecticut

This time of year I love to go into my gleaming kitchen and pop in a tape of Christmas in Connecticut. Watching Barbara Stanwyck try to fake her way through a career in food writing lifts my spirits, and my bread dough seems to enjoy her capers. It always rises to this occasion. In another life, I actually had my Christmases in Connecticut, and none of it looked like anything depicted in the film, but who wouldn't be drawn to a horse-drawn sleigh and a home with a fireplace taller than the Christmas tree? I've never had a boss like Sydney Greenstreet - the publishing lions just weren't that entertaining - nor an Uncle Felix who owned a restaurant around the corner who could bring me mushroom omelets while I worked.

Sigh, I love this black and white and tinseled version of the holidays. Christmas always looks more beautiful in black and white, I don't know why.

Just the other day I was taking a whirl at making a pain de mie I'd seen Julia Child do on television. To get the loaf rectangular, or sandwich-shaped, Julia placed a cookie sheet on top of the pan and a brick on top of that to keep the dough from rising in the oven.

For this I knew I better watch Ms. Stanwyck try again to fool the public with her Martha Stewart expertise. As dough cleaved to my fingers, I heard her say "I took crisp lettuce, romaine, and crinkly endive from my own garden for my husband’s favorite salad. For this I made a rich, creamy blue cheese dressing." Oh my! She was growing her own salad greens, just like we encourage today. This isn't a new concept. And it was during the war years, so rationing made gardening a good idea.

Oh wait, she wasn't really doing it, she was inferring she was doing it. Barbara, Barbara. You don't really have a horse-drawn sleigh at your beck and call either, do you?

Some of the lines in the movie get past me, for example, I have no idea what a potage Mongol and a roast goose Bernoise with walnut stuffing are - and that's for a Connecticut Christmas dinner. I did a swift search on the web and found a blog called "Cooking With the Movies," and Leischa! What do you think? They've got a good overview of all the dishes mentioned in Christmas in Connecticut.

Why did I show an image of my Christmas cactus on top of my sister's skater skirt (really from Christmas in Connecticut), instead of Barbara Stanwyck flipping flapjacks on Christmas morning? Because images of Hollywood stars, whether they are real housewives who cook or not, are rights protected.

I gotta dash. I think there's a horse-drawn sleigh outside with a driver, some jingle bells and a quick exit strategy. I'll be back, though. I have more favorite holiday movies to flip through.

Turkey Talk

OK. I'm not a WalMart shopper, but they have cheapo turkeys this year, Butterball, no less. Since I'm on the recession budget, I couldn't resist. Bought two.

Last year I did a butterflied turkey. Well, actually, the butcher did the butterflying for me, but you can do it yourself with a good pair of kitchen shears. Mark Bittman says so in his 45-minute turkey recipe.


First I massaged the big bird with butter laced with garlic and herbs, spreading the mixture oh-so-carefully and grossfully between the skin and the meat. Then I put the flattened turkey in the roasting pan, sprawled out and gangly. It was done in 45 minutes, maybe an hour: the skin all golden and crunchy; the meat dribble-down-your-chin moist.

Served it with roasted chunks o' sweet potato and onion wedges, tossed with cooked-till-crisp prosciutto. And dressing, of course, and all the other sides. The turkey wasn't centerpiece worthy, but who carves the turkey at the table, anyway?

Pretty Cheeky

Don't you just love the soundtrack to "You've Got Mail?" Just watched that movie for the first time in years. Once owned the music on a cassette tape. Wow!

But, more to the point: I was recently issued a challenge...in the form of pork cheeks. Pork cheeks? Pork cheeks? Who could resist splitting 10 pounds of fresh Niman Ranch pork, umm, cheeks?

My friend and fellow food editor, Stephen Exel, had an orgasmic experience with Sugo while in New York recently. Nope. Not a person. A rich, slow-simmered sauce—Italian. So he HAD to recreate it. With pork cheeks. He bellied up to his porkiest pal, purveyor of the aforementioned Niman Ranch products. "You gotta buy it in 10-pound lots," the guy tells Stephen.

So Stephen calls me, knowing that I'm a sucker for a food challenge. He tells me the Sugo story. I'm intrigued, and agree to buy half of his cheeks. We talk about a pork-off, but somehow I'm the only one who cooked. Stephen stashed his cheeks in the freezer. Mine begged to be braised. I cobbled together a buncha different recipes I stumbled across and ended up creating a simple concoction that was fall-off-the-bone tender...except there was no bone. Eye-rollingly rich and fatty and saucy.

And, yes, Stephen was invited to dinner. No picture. In our haste to try it, I forgot to take a picture.

Jeanne's Pork Cheeks

2 lb. pork cheeks, boneless

2 onions, cut in wedges
4 cloves garlic, squished through garlic press
2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1 15-oz. can tomato sauce
1 cup red wine
1 teaspoon gray sea salt and five-pepper blend (or salt and pepper)
1/2 teaspoon oregano
1/2 teaspoon thyme

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Brown the pork in a large Dutch oven over medium high heat. Stir in remaining ingredients. Bring to boiling; cover and place in oven. Cook for 3 hours.
2. Serve pork and sauce over hot, cooked pasta or creamy polenta.

One Sassy Tart

It's a glorious day when the baking you want to do can be justified as "research" for an upcoming story assignment. I love rooting out details that enrich a story - I really love tasting the details, smelling the details, finding the essences that makes a story authentic.

Imagine my grinning jaw when I decided to test the "Drowning Pool of Praline in a Chocolate Tart" recipe tucked in the back of Paul Newman's book In Pursuit of the Common Good. The subtitle is: Twenty-five Years of Improving the World, One Bottle of Salad Dressing at a Time. Aha! So what's a sweet tart like this doing in a place like that?

Written with his partner A. E. Hotchner, Newman's book is a wonderful, witty read packed with delicious anecdotes and quotes like this one:

"Whenever I do something good, right away I've got to do something bad so I know I'm not going to pieces." The book reminds us that the famous salad dressing started out as a lark, a way to poke fun at how traditional dressings hit the stores in a tightly controlled and competitive marketplace.

This is not a book review, the subject is a sassy tart - and the reason I got into book was that I was scheduled to speak with Nell Newman, Paul's daughter, who co-founded Newman's Own Organics with Peter Meehan. The tart recipe contains one of her signature products - Orange Dark Chocolate - 100% premium organic chocolate.

Research time!

The buttery crust has a shortbread-style crunch that plays well opposite the chewy caramel - and the orange note in the chocolate a delightful counter to the caramel sweetness. This is an elegant dessert best served tableside, not for a tailgate, because you don't want it softening up. I've included the recipe's history here, exactly as it was provided to Dueling Margaritas (and we thank you!).

A DROWNING POOL OF PRALINE IN A CHOCOLATE TART


Our (Newman's Own Organics) organic chocolate came up the big winner when Kaija Keel of Los Angeles used it to win the $50,000 Grand Prize in the Ninth Annual Newman's Own/Good Housekeeping Recipe Contest. Kaija, a professional artist, created this heavenly dessert by combining her own creativity with the recipes handed down by her grandmother. She named it A Drowning Pool of Praline in a Chocolate Tart as a salute to Paul Newman's 1975 film. Kaija donated her prize money to the Delta Society in Los Angeles, an organization that trains therapy animals for the critically ill and physically challenged. She and her dog Garbo are enthusiastic volunteers. The Delta Society will use the prize to expand its training programs to reach even more people.


Tart Shell

3/4 cup butter ( 1 1/2 sticks) softened

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1/3 cup confectioners' sugar



Praline-Chocolate Filling

2 bars (3 ounce each) Newman's Own Organics Chocolate, (Sweet Dark Chocolate or Sweet Dark Chocolate or Sweet Dark Chocolate with Orange Oil), broken into pieces

3/4 cup heavy or whipping cream

1 bag (9 1/4 ounce) caramels, unwrapped

1 1/2 cups pecans, toasted and coarsely chopped


Preheat oven to 375 F.


Prepare Tart Shell

Pulse together all tart shell ingredients in a food processor until they form moist crumbs. Sprinkle crumbs in 9-inch tart pan with removable bottom. Press together to form crust on bottom and up sides; prick dough all over with fork. Line tart shell with foil and fill with pie weights, dried beans, or uncooked rice. Bake for 25 minutes. Remove foil and weights and bake for another 15-20 minutes until golden. Press crust with back of spoon if it puffs, and loosely cover dark spots with foil.


Prepare Praline-Chocolate Filling

Combine chocolate and 1/4 cup cream in 1-quart saucepan. Melt, stirring frequently over medium-low heat. Pour chocolate mixture, reserving 2 tablespoons, in bottom of cooled crust; spread evenly. Chill 20 minutes (chill reserved 2 tablespoons also).

In 2-quart saucepan over medium-low heat, heat caramels and remaining 1/2 cup cream until melted and smooth, stirring occasionally. Sir in pecans and quickly pour over chocolate layer. Spread evenly.

In 1-quart saucepan, over low heat, heat reserved chocolate mixture 1 to 2 minutes, stirring until melted, or microwave 10 seconds. Using a fork, drizzle in zigzag pattern over top of tart. Chill at least 1 hour. Store in refrigerator.

Makes 24 servings

Mama Mia's note: The bars are available in 3.25 oz. and 2.25 oz. sizes, so buy 2 bars if you're using the bigger bars for the chocolate sauce, or 3 bars if you're using the smaller size bar. Depending on your fridge, you may need more than an hour to "set" the tart, so make this recipe ahead of your serving schedule. We popped it in the freezer a few minutes to finish the job.

Zoot alors, Jeanne, you must "research" this recipe.

PS: Can't show you the tart. We "researched" it fully. Thus you get the alternate photo from my kitchen.

Road Food, Good Food

When we travel the USA by car, we usually have at least two sources of info on where to pull over when hunger strikes, Eat Your Way Across the USA and Road Food, Good Food. Before the Food Network show Diners, Drive-ins and Dives, these authors led the way on where to find a good diner. I've always felt there was room for even more guidance, though, because times change, and so should some of the diners featured in the books.

It's wonderful the diners have operated since the Jazz Age, but some out there are definitely showing that age factor, from the tired and slumping staff to the chipped coffee mugs and bruised eggs. Tradition is one thing, but flavor and a friendly face still matter, so we don't make return trips to "since 1937" diners who don't uphold their standards. (Disclaimer: My books may be old, so no disrespect intended to the authors.)

For a recent spin up through Arkansas to Tennessee, I took Guy Fieri's books, based on his TV show. This isn't shilling on my part here. His latest book More Diners, Drive-ins and Dives explains the lengths to which the research staff checks the background on diners - talking with local foodies, chefs and business contacts, looking at health department records, reading press coverage, vetting the freshness of the ingredients and reviewing the stories of the owners. Even after all the effort and due dilligence, if the food isn't good as Guy bites into it during taping, he just might walk out. It's happened.

"I’m not going to tell you on Triple D that something’s good if it’s not good. Why am I gonna lie to you? I don’t need to sell out for this. As soon as I start eating food that I can't support, the show suffers. I’m only going to give you the real deal," he told me. And why feel that way? Because he knows people like me are getting into cars all over this country and driving to places he's talked about. His credibility is on the line.

So if you motor to a place featured on the show, you have a reasonable expectation of tasty satisfaction. Just make sure before you leave home that you know where you're going. We had poor instructions (off the Internet) that caused us to miss not one but two potential barbecue stops in Memphis, Tom's Bar B Que and Marlowe's Ribs. We never could find the I-55 turnoff toward Jackson, Miss., as we traveled west on I-40, so this may be a signage issue. Memphis is often snarled up with traffic - then there's the "we're committed now" travel across the Mighty Mississip bridge that shoots you into Arkansas. No going back.

A longtime fave with some diner drivers that's off the highway in Nashville is Loveless Cafe, where the Grand Old Opry stars used to hang out after shows. Loveless is not in the Fieri books, but it is in Eat Your Way Across the USA. On this trip, I didn't have this book with me, or we wouldn't have wandered around in the dark at rush hour in NashVegas (as my son calls it), eventually giving up. Now that I'm home and I've looked it up again, I see that I wrote "Exit 199, Charlotte Pike" in my Eat copy. Apparently I've been lost before, and as I said, it is off the highway; you gotta know where to go. Eat called it a "country-western diamond in the rough," so it may never be up to the "freshness" standard of a Triple D stop, even with its "brittle-crusted fried chicken on red-checked tablecloths, and hot buttermilk biscuits served with homemade blackberry and peach preserves."

Apparently ham is the pride of the Loveless kitchen and yes, I do love a good slab of country ham. Wasn't to happen on this trip, though, ham it all!

I mention the Loveless because of a great quote I once got while stopping there (and not getting in, the crowd was so thick). At a nearby gas station, I asked the attendant, "Where do the locals eat?"

"They eat at home," he drawled.

Mama Mia! Pizza in the Parking Lot

Is what you see what you get when you visit one of the joints featured on the Food Network show Diners, Drive-In and Dives? That's the question we set out to answer while in Knoxville, Tenn., for Homecoming 2009 at the University of Tennessee. We had copies of Guy Fieri's books, which are based on the TV show. Guy raved about the freshness of the pizza dough - made from yeast and flour and left to rise overnight, none of this frozen business at Pizza Palace. Totally authentic, made-from-scratch Italian food, he said, made by the sons of the original founders, who were Greeks. But would we find the same thing? After all, having Guy Fieri at your drive-in could mean that he gets the absolute best. How would we fare, a carload of Texans? We picked up our own College Guy (age 20) and found our way to the Magnolia Avenue parking lot, where you really do pick up the phone and yes, order a pizza.

We asked for two things, based on Guy Fieri's lead: pizza (with pepperoni, that's the way my son Hunter rolls) and onion rings, which arrived covered in an amusing, tall foil wrap that made them look like a beehive. The verdict? Yes, s'wonderful. I've tasted a lot of pizza crusts in my day, and the difference in this version was remarkably fresh. All of us talked about the cheese, too, as good as if they'd made it on the premises, from goat's milk given by willing goats in the back yard. It was hot, it was cheesy, it was saucy, I could only eat two slices - it's that rich. Ever notice how with mediocre pizzas, you eat more than you should to fulfill a craving that never gets satisfied?

Onion rings - it's a bigger order than 3 of us could handle - and needed salt but that's personal preference. If you get 'em, bring a crowd to share them.

Our server wanted to know where we were from, since locals don't usually sit in the parking lot; they come inside. The seating is quite limited there, so you decide. I did march in and shout "ef-haristo" (Greek for "nice to meet you!"), but the new owners were in the back, behind the scenes. The line staff gave me a big smile and a wave, knowing I meant well.

Go again? Yes, definitely. Fresh taste, high funk factor, friendly staff, what's not to love?

Fieri told you so, and I concur.

BeautyBerry

My BeautyBerry Bush caught some snow last month. Was surprised to see you have that same bush, Mama Mia! One of my favorites!

Thinking Organically

Sometimes you follow a train of thought and find that it moves you. In reverse. As seasoned reporters we like to reach the end of the line and tell you everything we found, but sometimes we end up moving backward, gaining momentum the other way. That can be a good thing, because discovery doesn't have a fixed point like a hash mark on a ruler - you can find a morsel of news at the beginning, middle or end of a story. Sometimes you can't even find where the story begins.

Today I interviewed a woman who has built a thriving organic products business. I wanted to "warm up" on the subject so I didn't sound like a cabbage head when I talked with her. To get ready for the call, I started reading USA Today's story about how the First Family is bringing a new sense of flair to the White House. A simple phrase jumped out, that Michelle Obama is touting the benefits of organic food. Hold it! That's my subject. Let's go deeper.

I followed a train of thought to the White House blog, which carried a story about Michelle starting the White House Kitchen organic garden project with help from schoolchildren back in March. Yes, I remember seeing press coverage on that. Wonder how it's going? That led me on a Google search of how the garden grows, and according to the White House blog, in June it was doing well enough to host a harvest party. Lots of produce was making its way into the White House kitchen and to area centers via donations. Terrific!

Then I followed a thread to a story at the end of  July (moving forward in time here)  that this wonderful project, which Alice Waters of Chez Panisse fame has encouraged for a long time, has hit the proverbial muddy water. I found myself veering off onto Lesley Stahl's 60 Minutes interview with Waters, with a video link on the LA Times site, and I hung out in this delicious world for some time, thinking what a champion Alice Waters is to encourage consumption of foods grown locally and organically and to launch the Edible Schoolyard project.

But all too soon, I left Alice's Restaurant and found a story that reports the soil in the White House garden is full of sewage sludge, and this makes the garden's future a bit murky. That led me back to the White House blog, where I couldn't locate any story in response to the report about the garden's health.

Back and forth, back and forth this muddy story goes. You try to do a good thing at the White House like start a garden to demonstrate responsible eating, good stewardship of the land, nourishment of a nation, and it wilts. Or does it? Now I've found another story that challenges the quality of the story about the soil. Which is in better shape, the story or the soil? I don't know.

This is a shame. We outta be able to grow lettuce and turnips at the White House without a dustup. But here's something interesting: In the 60 Minutes interview, Waters made a statement that has stuck with me. She didn't get into the world of organics and sustainability as a mission when she started out, she says, she was just looking for products with flavor. Naturally, she found that products grown locally, without pesticides, and without long truck rides tasted remarkably better.

I say let's send Alice to Washington to sort out the garden. Even if it turns out the garden doesn't qualify to keep the label "organic," there's an important lesson here about supporting locally grown crops and teaching schoolchildren that underneath that frilly green top is a carrot underground worth going for.

Let's not lose the ground we've gained.