she eats.

I suppose it’s a good sign when the food you make for your coworkers is eaten far too quickly for you to even take one picture.  In the words of our (far younger) temp: “Yo, K, they tore that shit up!“

So you see how sticking my face in there even for one picture would have been dangerously similar to sticking your arm in a piranha tank.  I should have just taken a few before I left the house this morning…

Since the food was such a smash, I figured I could at least post the recipes here, if not the pictures.

The breakfast strata is a straightforward recipe that we’ve all seen a million times, but I tweaked this one based on the ingredients I had on hand and my coworkers’ predictable tastes.  It ended up a million times better than any other strata I’ve made before, and will now be my go-to breakfast casserole.  Hope you enjoy!

Sausage and Cheese Breakfast Strata
Serves: 8 to 10

1lb. ground sausage
8 slices white bread, cubed
2 c. potatoes, diced
1 small onion, diced
2 Tbsp vegetable oil
2 c. shredded cheese
8 eggs
3 c. whole milk (none of this skim milk crap!)
2 Tbsp Worcester sauce
2 tsp Potlatch seasoning (if you don’t have this, just use seasoned salt)
4 to 5 big pinches of koshering salt
several good grinds of black pepper

Don’t preheat your oven!  This strata — like all others — needs to be refrigerated overnight to set.  You’ll bake it tomorrow…

Cook your ground sausage in a pan over medium heat.  I prefer hot Jimmy Dean sausage, but my weenie coworkers don’t.  While it’s cooking, dice that onion.  After the sausage is cooked, remove it from the pan to drain on some paper towels but leave the drippings in the pan.  Saute the onion in the sausage drippings until translucent.  When done, combine the onion and sausage in a bowl and set aside.

Add the vegetable oil to the sausage/onion pan (see? all cooked in one pan!) and heat over medium.  Once the oil is hot, add the diced potatoes and cook until slightly browned, turning often.  When finished, remove the potatoes from the pan and drain on paper towels.

Cut the bread into cubes.  Take half of the cubed bread and toss into a greased 13×9x2 casserole dish.  Toss in half the cooked potatoes and half the shredded cheddar cheese on top of the bread.  Spread the sausage and onion mixture evenly across the top of the bread/potato/cheese mixture.  Then take the rest of the bread, potatoes and cheese and toss on top.  Basically, you’re making three layers here (I’m seriously terrible at writing recipes…).

In a separate bowl, beat the eight eggs together well.  Add the three cups of milk, Worcester sauce and Potlatch seasoning.  Add salt and pepper to taste.  Pour egg and milk mixture evenly over the three layers in the casserole dish.  Cover tightly and refrigerate overnight.

In the morning, remove the casserole dish from the fridge and let stand for 30 minutes.  During this time, preheat the oven to 325 degrees F.  After 30 minutes has passed, put casserole dish into oven and bake for one hour (60 minutes) or until set and cooked in the center.  Enjoy!

Buttermilk Apple Cake
Serves: 6 to 8 

This recipe would normally be used to make muffins.  However, upon remembering last night that I loaned out my muffin tins, I made this into a coffee cake-style recipe at the last minute.  Although still delicious as muffins, I rather liked the cake instead.  It was a unique twist on what everyone initially thought was coffee cake until they got to the sweet little nuggets of apple inside…

1 large Granny Smith apple, diced
1 c. brown sugar, divided into 1/4 c. and 3/4 c.
3/4 c. walnuts
1 tsp. cinnamon, divided into 1/2 tsps. (please use real cinnamon here, not cassia!)
1/2 c. buttermilk
1/3 c. vegetable oil
1 egg, beaten
2 tsp. vanilla
1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/3 tsp. salt

Preheat oven to 325 and grease a square baking dish.  Combine 1/4 c. brown sugar, walnuts and 1/2 tsp. cinnamon in a small bowl and set aside.

Combine flour, baking soda, salt and remaining cinnamon (I added just a smidge more cinnamon here than 1/2 tsp.).  In a separate bowl, combine remaining brown sugar, buttermilk, vegetable oil, beaten egg and vanilla.  Add dry mixture to wet mixture a little bit at a time until just barely blended.  Add the diced apple and mix well.

Pour batter into baking dish and top evenly with brown sugar/walnut/cinnamon mixture.  Bake for 20 to 25 minutes.  If desired, sprinkle top with confectioner’s sugar after it has cooled off.  Enjoy!

Image courtesy of Flickr user StarbuckGuy, who does awesome nature photography.

The ever-canny Swamplot called my attention to a mystery today which I might have otherwise overlooked: Cafe Artiste has surreptitiously closed.

Many a Houston restaurant has quietly shuttered overnight, leaving patrons confused and hungry the next day when they show up to an empty parking lot.  But Cafe Artiste has been a fixture in the Montrose / University of St. Thomas area for almost as long as I’ve been alive.

I’m frankly not too concerned, since I was never impressed with Cafe Artiste or their service.  But some people apparently feel as though they’ve lost a loved one.  Were you a Cafe Artiste patron?  If so, how are you mourning its loss?

And, of course, if you have any insight as to its untimely death, be sure to pass it along to Gus over at Swamplot!

If I thought that my husband was repulsed by the giant lump of pasty saltpork that was sitting idly on the counter yesterday, just minding its own little salty business, it was nothing compared to his nearly-hysterical reaction to the sight of the frog legs marinating on the counter behind him.

As I watched him, utterly bemused by the sudden tumult caused by my pile of frog legs, it occurred to me then — between his frantic pacing around the kitchen and beleaguered cries of “You can’t be serious!” and “They look like peoples’ legs!!!” — that there are two types of people in this world: people who were brought up on Houston cuisine and people who weren’t.

Purple hull peas.

Sometimes I am appalled — in hindsight, of course — by my own cultural naivete in assuming that since I grew up eating _____________, then everyone else must have, too.  Hushpuppies, liver and onions, catfish, boudin, pickled okra, grits, crawdads, chicharrones, oxtails, cornbread, tripas, beets, nopales, chicken and dumplings, migas…

All the magical, nostalgic dishes of my youth, which I have only realized as an adult are the product of a childhood spent in southeast Texas, in Houston.  A product of growing up in a complex confluence of cultures: southern, Cajun, Mexican, all flowing together as one.  All mingling and bubbling and stewing to create the unique cuisine of Houston.

Fresh skillet of cornbread.

Someone mentioned in the comments section recently that Houston doesn’t have an “indigenous” culture of its own, nor does it have any specific ingredients that can be pegged as “Houstonian.”  I agree, heartily.  Because what we have — what we’ve cobbled together — is greater than any one cuisine.  We’ve taken the best of all the many people and many cultures that have settled here and made it our own.

Dinner.

So, on Sunday, I unassumingly set about making a dinner that — to me — was normal.  But what it represented, now that I look back on it, was everything that I love about Houston: the fresh ingredients, the unapologetic mixing of cultures and the idea that you should eat what you love, no matter who or where it comes from.

Grilled Frog Legs with Cornbread and Purple Hull Peas

The cornbread and peas could, in reality, be eaten as a meal by themselves.  The creamy, fluffy cornbread is the perfect counterpart to the rich meatiness of the purple hull peas.  However, if you’re going to add an actual meat to this meal, something light and delicate like frog legs (or shrimp, or catfish) is ideal.

The cornbread recipe that follows is one I adapted from none other than Alton Brown, whch is essentially the exact same recipe that he adapted from generations of old southern ladies.  The cornbread which results remains unchanged from the dreamy, golden manna that my mother and grandmother have always made.

You’ll want to use buttermilk. Homo milk has an altogther different taste. 

Creamy Cornbread
Serves 4 (at 2 pieces each)

2 c. stone-ground yellow cornmeal
1 tsp kosher salt
1 Tbs sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 1/4 c. buttermilk
2 eggs
1 1/2 c. creamed corn
1 1/2 Tbs vegetable oil

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.  Place a well-seasoned (read: good and juicy) cast-iron skillet into the oven while it preheats.

In one bowl, combine the cornmeal, salt, sugar, baking powder, and baking soda and whisk to combine.  In a another bowl, combine the buttermilk (I cannot stress enough how important it is to use buttermilk), eggs, and creamed corn and stir until combined.  Slowly add the dry ingredients (I do three separate additions, stirring well in between) to the liquid ingredients and stir to combine.

Remove the cast-iron skillet from the oven.  Carefully add vegetable oil to the cast iron skillet and then pour the batter into the skillet. Bake until the cornbread is golden brown and springs back upon the touch, about 25 minutes.  Because your skillet is well-seasoned, the cornbread will slip right out and onto your plate.

Cooked peas.

Purple Hull Peas

This is the loosest recipe in the world, but cooking peas isn’t brain surgery…

If you happen to see purple hull peas in your local store or farmers market, BUY THEM.  If you live in the city, this might be your only chance this year to get any.  You don’t know how lucky you are to have found some!  They aren’t black-eyed peas.  Don’t buy black-eyed peas and think that they’re the same thing.  They aren’t.

If the peas aren’t already shelled, shell them.  Wash them well.  Put in a pot with water that more than covers the peas.  Simmer on low and skim off any scum that rises to the top.  If your peas are well-washed, this shouldn’t happen anyway.

Once your peas are scum-free, add a chunk of salt pork and a few good pinches of kosher salt.  Bring the peas to a rolling boil and then reduce to medium.  With the lid on the pot, let the peas and salt pork cook for 15 to 20 minutes, or until done.  Remove salt pork before serving and take time to enjoy the lovely purple shade that it’s turned.

Fresh froggies.

Grilled Frog Legs

I take it back: this, indeed, may be the loosest recipe in the world.  I’ll let y’all be the judges…

Buy some fresh (not frozen) frog legs from your local butcher. Remove them from their packaging and pat dry. Season on both sides with a little seasoning salt (I prefer Lawry’s) and allow to sit for a while, but not too long (about fifteen minutes should do it).

Take your froggies out to the grill and grill them over medium heat, about two to three minutes per side. You don’t want the meat overdone, since it will lose that delicious juicyness if you cook them for too long, so watch them carefully. When the meat starts to turn opaque white with just a hint of browning, they’re done.

Froggie goes a grillin’.

You’re ready to serve dinner now!  If you have a bunch of people, you can make this an even bigger and better meal with the addition of some greens (collard or mustard, your call) and some squash boiled down with butter and sugar and a little bit of salt.  For dessert, if you haven’t eaten all the cornbread, split a piece in half and drizzle a bunch of honey over it.

Enjoy your Houston meal, and toast the fact that while we may not have any cuisine of our very own, we’ll happily appropriate someone else’s, incorporate it into our crazy, mixed-up culinary family and love it every bit as much as they did.

P.S.  My husband gamely ate the frog legs, even though he claimed to feel like a contestant on Fear Factor.  He admits, however, that the meat is delicious…if you can just get past the visual above.

P.P.S.  Upon seeing the pictures from our dinner last night, my boss remarked, “Your poor husband.  Did he know what he was getting himself into with you?  It’s like Beauty and the Geek.“  …with the clear insinuation that I was the Geek in that little equation.

This could get ugly.

Then you might want to direct them over to Wrights of Texas.  Every delicious jar is locally handcrafted and made from scratch by Texas native Peggy Wright, a Houston transplant from San Antonio.

No, this isn’t an ad.  And, no, Peggy Wright didn’t ask me to do write-up on her.  In fact, she doesn’t know me from Adam (or any other person who sampled her salsa this afternoon in Whole Foods).  But when I stumbled across her at her salsa table today while Richard and I were shopping, I was impressed with not only her salsa (which is seriously good), but also her hard work.

It takes a lot of effort to create a recipe, to market it yourself every day, to scout a commercial kitchen to cook out of, to put yourself out there and — most of all — to develop a product that’s worth selling.  I commend people like Peggy who have found something they love doing and do it well.  Her enthusiasm and joy is evident when you speak to her, and I think it comes across in her well-crafted salsas, too.

Her salsa comes in two flavors — original and habanero (my favorite; nice and hot!) — and two sizes.  She makes new batches every week, each one full of nothing but tomatoes, peppers, herbs and spices.  None of it has preservatives, so it will last about a month as long as you keep it constantly refrigerated (no keeping a jar on hand in the pantry, folks).  That’s it.  Simple, straightforward and, most importantly, fresh.

I can’t think of anything better on a hot Houston afternoon than a bottle of Corona and some chips and salsa.  Peggy Wright’s salsas taste like summer, home and fresh air — all odd descriptors, I know, but true.  So if you’re like me and always looking for good, homemade, super-fresh, locally-made salsa, I encourage you to give Wrights of Texas a try.

…I might possibly be both old and Jewish.  I do love me some latkes, kugel and lox.

Though, to be fair, my shameful love of buffets stems from my lean, college-and-post-college days when quantity was all that mattered.  One day I will shake this.

Jessica over at Indexed uses index (a ha!) cards to visually and mathematically demonstrate relationships between items or concepts that — I promise you — you didn’t know to exist.  Fun times.  One of my favorites:

And another:

Happy Friday, folks!

Images courtesy of Jessica at Indexed, of course.

…even if he is down a couple berries now:

Want to see the extended cut?

That lobster looks awfully familiar, too.  How many celebrities in the commercial can you name?

Thanks to Sars for the original Ewan-as-tomato link.

If it were possible to have a crush on a website, I would carry a huge torch for Serious Eats.  I’ve waxed rhapsodically about them plenty of times before, but today’s example really nails why I so completely adore them.

Ed Levine, that clever cat, has taken the already-beloved (even though it only came out yesterday) Grand Theft Auto IV and dissected each of its in-game Liberty City eating establishments in an attempt to corrolate them with their respective New York City counterparts.

Yes!!!  My inner gaming nerd and inner food nerd are giving each other sloppy, dorky high-fives while grinning like morons as I type this.

While I haven’t yet purchased the game (because when that happens, no one will hear from me or my husband for days, so we have to make the proper notifications first), I’ll be out roaming the streets of Liberty City myself once I do, laughing as I make the patrons of The Bean Machine spill coffee on themselves and attempting to get Niko Bellic blitzed at the Steinway.  Games truly bring out the worst in us, no?

Read more of Ed Levine’s fascinating and hilarious article over at Serious Eats, and check out all the New York City restaurants and landmarks that have unwittingly made their way into gaming history.

Image courtesy of www.seriouseats.com.

UPDATE:  Even more locations spotted!

MSN.com offers up an article today on U.S. cities that are considered the “capital” of a particular food.  Some are familiar and expected, while others come out of left field.

It should come as no surprise that Cincinnati is the chili capital of the world.  Even though chili is often though of as a Texan or southwestern dish, it was actually invented by a man from Cincinnati named DeWitt Clinton Pendery in 1890.  Granted, he moved to Ft. Worth shortly afterwards and brought his recipe with him, but Cincinnati’s claim to chili fame was thus born.

Cincinnati chili is wildly divergent from Pendery’s original recipe and from the more standard meat-and-beans based dish known around these parts.  People (yours truly included) may argue that the three-way, four-way or five-way sludge served by Skyline Chili and Goldstar Chili and their many competitors isn’t “chili” so much as strangely-sweet meat stew with spaghetti, but you can’t deny the fact that Cincinnati is all about chili.  After all, Cincinnati has more chili restaurants per capita than any other city in not just the nation, but the world.

More surprising entries in the food capitals article?  San Francisco is apparently the burrito capital of the nation — although one could argue that it’s more accurately the capital of Godzilla-sized burritos the size of a toddler, and not the burritos that Tex-Mex fans know and love — and that Hammonton, New Jersey, holds the widely-contested title of blueberry capital of the world.

Locally, several Texas cities have made boastful claims including the tiny town of Friona, Texas proclaiming itself the cheeseburger capital of the nation.  However, as the article points out, perhaps the boldest claim of all comes from Lockhart, the supposed barbeque capital of the world.  I’m not knocking Lockhart, by any means, but I hear that Luling would like a word with them outside…

What do you think?  Is your town a capital of a random food item?  Do you think barbeque is too great a conquest to be claimed by one master?  Share your opinions below!

Images courtesy of www.netitor.com and www.nataliedee.com.