Archives for category: Food

The season of spooktacular pumpkins is upon us, an October ritual that brings back so many family memories. When a friend of Sam’s visited for a week, she brought her own memories of making pumpkin pie with her father.

So Tessa and Sam baked pumpkin pie last weekend. They walked over to the pumpkin patch at the Immanuel Church-on-the-Hill Church (“Buy a pumpkin, help the world”) and picked out a sugar pumpkin. They cut up the pumpkin and boiled it and then pulled out my tried and true, battered and splattered Betty Crocker’s Cookbook that my mother gave me when I was a teen.

This is a basic pie recipe that I have prepared since I was 10. I am still drawn to this cookbook for nostalgia – whenever I use it, I think about my mom. There are no fancy recipes in it. Nothing like the fabulous pumpkin desserts that our friend Sandy bakes every Thanksgiving. Or the touch of genius that Laurie puts in her pumpkin pie — diced crystalized ginger. Just solid American cooking.

It was fun watching Sam and Tessa cook together in the kitchen. It was quite a team production. The pie was delicious and a few days later we begged them to make another. As if on cue, the bottom heating element of the oven broke down. We concocted a plan to cook the pie using the broiler – we put the pie pan on the lowest rack, and turned the broiler on for 5 minutes, then off for 5 minutes. Pie turned out great. A cloud of whipped cream cured any small imperfections.

Betty Crocker’s Pumpkin Pie

2 c. cooked pumpkin (see note)

2 eggs

¾ c. sugar

½ t. salt

1 t. cinnamon

½ t. ground ginger

½ t. ground cloves

1 can evaporated milk

Note: Cut a sugar pumpkin in half, scoop out the seeds. Place the halves cut-side down in a baking pan. Add 1 cup of water so the pumpkin doesn’t dry out. Bake at 350 for about an hour, or until a knife inserts easily. Cool, then scrape the pumpkin flesh and discard the skin. Puree pumpkin in a food processor until very smooth.

Beat the eggs. Add the pumpkin. Then add the other ingredients and mix until smooth. Carefully pour the custard into a prepared 9-inch pie crust. Cover the edges of the pie crust with foil so they don’t burn. Bake at 425 degrees for 20 minutes, lower temp to 350 and bake another 40 minutes or until a knife inserted comes out clean.

Sandy Johnson is a journalist and a gardener, equally passionate about both. She lives in Alexandria, VA.  Visit her on her blog, Grassroots & Gardening

CRR and I finished our circuit of the Del Ray farmer’s market, a Saturday morning ritual. It can be hard on your wallet – the vendors demand, and get, top dollar for their organic, pesticide-free fruits and veggies and the homemade focaccia and apple cider donuts. Today’s take was pretty light for us – new potatoes, leeks and onions.

We jumped into the car and drove around the corner. There, little more than a block away from the happy buzz of the boomers and Gen-Xers at the market, a hundred people quietly stood in line outside the Alexandria social services office. The line stretched around the block. They were waiting for food assistance.

Almost one in 10 Virginians doesn’t know where their next meal will come from. The government has a bureaucratic name for it: food insecurity.

Also known as hunger.

There are dozens of ways to help those who are hungry in this land of bounty. The Boy Scouts have a food drive every year. So do the postal carriers and AARP. My church publishes places you can volunteer to help people who are hungry. Next Saturday, for example, church members are ‘gleaning’ produce that will go to food banks.

In Alexandria, 11.9 percent of the residents are food insecure. That’s 16,600 of my neighbors. Curious about your community? County-by-county hunger stats here.

Sandy Johnson is a journalist and a gardener, equally passionate about both. She lives in Alexandria, VA.  Visit her on her blog, Grassroots & Gardening

I am a big fan of lasagna, an amazingly adaptable dish that I have tinkered with for years. It can also be assembled ahead, a bonus for a working mom.

When no-boil lasagna noodles hit the market, I thought I’d hit the jackpot. No more boiling! No more tearing the wet noodles! I have used them for several years, to great success. A lasagna made recently with whole wheat no-boil noodles elicited a rare “best ever” comment from my son.

Then I saw “Barefoot Contessa” Ina Garten describing her lasagna trick – just soak regular noodles in super hot water for a few minutes. That got me wondering, do they have to be cooked at all?

A quick Google search of chat boards convinced me that, no, you don’t need to boil even regular lasagna noodles if you provide enough moisture in the other ingredients to “cook” the pasta while it is baking.

Why does this matter? $$$ The pasta industry is selling the no-boil sheets for about double the cost of regular lasagna noodles.

I won’t inflict my lasagna recipe on you, mostly because it changes every time I make it. Sometimes I sub thin-sliced sautéed mushrooms for the meat. Sometimes I add spinach for the extra nutrition. I’ve substituted small curd cottage cheese for the ricotta (just drain off the extra liquid).

Last weekend’s lasagna used my fresh-made tomato sauce (a little on the thin side, so 4 cups was perfect with the ‘regular’ noodles) and 1 cup of blanched chopped spinach folded into the ricotta. The noodles cooked perfectly.

Makes me wonder: What other cooking tricks have eluded me all these years?

Sandy Johnson is a journalist and a gardener, equally passionate about both. She lives in Alexandria, VA.  Visit her on her blog, Grassroots & Gardening

In another century, 1986 to be precise, I made a beet puree that guests and CRR swooned over. I clipped the recipe from Parade magazine and cooked it several times before the business of life intervened, the recipe was lost and I moved on to other concoctions.

When we started gardening again in 2008, we grew a bumper crop of beets, which forced me to stretch my beets repertoire beyond the tried and true: boiled, skinned, cut into one-inch cubes, spritzed with butter, salt and pepper.

A few years ago, CRR asked about the beet puree. I couldn’t find the recipe in my files anywhere. But the miracles of the Internet brought forth a PDF of the old Parade magazine recipe (see here). I was a little aghast – it called for two sticks of butter! – but I set out to recreate a healthier version. I’ve since made it a dozen times because we always grow plenty of beets. We served it again last night for friends, who loved it.

Coriander Beet Puree

4 medium beets or 3 large

1 medium onion

4 T butter

¼ c. cider vinegar

1 T. sugar

1 T. ground coriander

1 t. salt

Boil the beets til just tender, let cool, then slip off skins and roughly chop. Set aside. Meanwhile, melt the butter in a saucepan over medium-low heat. Roughly chop the onion and slowly cook it in a saucepan, covered, with the melted butter for 20 minutes. Add the beets and remaining ingredients, stir to coat, and simmer for another 10 minutes. Puree in batches (I like a little texture to it, but puree it smooth if that is your preference.) Return to saucepan with an extra pat of butter and heat to serve. If it is too thick, just add a little water.

Sandy Johnson is a journalist and a gardener, equally passionate about both. She lives in Alexandria, VA.  Visit her on her blog, Grassroots & Gardening

I’m not much given to hyperbole (a lifetime of journalistic training) but I am head over heels crazy about this year’s garden discovery: Malabar spinach.

My friend Kyle told me about Malabar two years ago when we were exchanging garden gossip. I haven’t had much luck with regular spinach in our organic garden – the bugs chew it up whether we plant it in early spring or fall. I hadn’t been able to find Kyle’s elusive Malabar spinach until this summer, when I stumbled upon a package of seeds at our local nursery.

Malabar spinach vines

Malabar spinach vines

I planted six seeds in a large container in our garden and topped it with a 4-foot pillar for its vines to wend around. Fast forward to today: We have spinach vines growing every which way out of that container.

What is this stuff? Malabar spinach is of Indian or Ceylon extraction, so it loves the hot weather here in Virginia. As the Cornell University website says, “It creeps when temperatures are cool, but leaps when the mercury hits 90 F.” Indeed.

This spinach has a slightly different consistency than cool-weather spinach. The smaller leaves are fine for a salad, but the bigger ones are best used in dishes that require chopped spinach. So bring on your creamed spinach or Indian spinach recipes – we are deliciously flush with Malabar !

 

Sandy Johnson is a journalist and a gardener, equally passionate about both. She lives in Alexandria, VA.  Visit her on her blog, Grassroots & Gardening.

Oh joy! The tomatoes are finally ripening, after months of (our) impatient waiting. It’s time to get creative with tomato recipes.

When I looked at the big plateful of tomatoes, I had a flashback to our trip to France last September. At a restaurant in Giverny where Monet used to hang out with his pals, I had a wonderful appetizer called something like “freshness of the summer.” It certainly tasted like summer. Mary and I tried to deconstruct it, and I came home with a scrap of paper with the words “tomato (gazpacho?) cucumber sour cream feta.”

All these months later, I can no longer envision it. But essentially it was a tomato parfait presented prettily in a glass. It was delicious. With my tomato bounty, I tried to re-create it. Here is my version, sorta kinda the same.

Tomato Parfait

2 c. of ripe tomatoes, seeded and diced

Balsamic vinegar, reduced to a syrup

2/3 c. creme fraiche (you can substitute plain Greek yogurt but it will lose some of the silkiness)

2 seedless mini cucumbers, diced

1/4 c. feta cheese, cut into small cubes

1 T. chives, minced

Divide the diced tomatoes among four stemmed glasses. Drizzle with the reduced balsamic vinegar syrup. Mix the creme fraiche and diced cucumbers, and spread on top of the tomato layer. Scatter the feta cubes on top. Sprinkle with minced chives.

Note: I don’t think this needs salt, because of the balsamic and the feta, but add if you think necessary.

Sandy Johnson is a journalist and a gardener, equally passionate about both. She lives in Alexandria, VA.  Visit her on her blog, Grassroots & Gardening.

I grew up only vaguely aware of my heritage. Unlike some of my college friends who were raised in communities that were overwhelmingly German or Norwegian, my hometown was a mishmash of early 20th century European immigrants – German, Scandinavian, English, a smattering of Dutch.

My father was 100 percent Swedish (though he and his brothers loved to tease us that Grandma was part Indian, which we believed for an unreasonable number of years). So I grew up eating Swedish meatballs with cream gravy, rice pudding, a fried dough called fattigmand, and sweet yeast rolls fragrant with cinnamon that replaced the cardamom traditional to Sweden. Lingonberries couldn’t be found in South Dakota, but berry jam was a good substitute.

In 2006, CRR and I traveled to Sweden to check out my ancestral homeland. I didn’t really give the food much thought, given what I grew up with, until I started reading up for the trip. The guidebooks explained why pickled herring played such a prominent role in the salad bars of my youth, and the difference between salmon lox and gravlax. I became enamored of a dish with the whimsical name of pyttipanna, a hash with beets. When we arrived in Stockholm, we made a beeline for a restaurant specializing in pyttipanna in the cobblestoned old town district.Pyttipanna

I don’t remember what CRR ordered but I was besotted with … hash. I think the beets made the difference from an American hash, adding a natural sweetness that complemented the onion.

So when I harvested a bunch of beets this week, memories of our Sweden trip flooded back and pyttipanna came to mind. It is a perfect supper or brunch dish.

Pyttipanna (recipe courtesy of the Berns Hotel, the 1860s hotel where we stayed)

Saute diced onion in olive oil until translucent. Then add equal amounts of cooked diced potato, diced beet and diced meat (I used Italian sausage because I had some on hand; I have also used leftover beef and pork). Saute on mid-to-high heat until browned to taste. Season with salt and pepper. Place into bowls, top with poached or over-easy eggs that will run into the hash when broken. Close your eyes and dream of fjords and Vikings.

Sandy Johnson is a journalist and a gardener, equally passionate about both. She lives in Alexandria, VA.  Visit her on her blog, Grassroots & Gardening.

It’s a tradition at our house. The first tomatoes are eaten out-of-hand, standing in the garden while the fruit is still warm from the sun. The honor this year went to the Juliet, which began producing its egg-sized tomatoes a week ago.

The next step, after a large tomato ripens, is a BLT built with thick slices of tomato.

BLT

BLT

This season’s BLT debut featured the Sioux varietal, which we bought for sentimental reasons — our native South Dakota being home to the Sioux tribes. DeBaggio’s promised sweet, tangy, 6-ounce orbs – and that’s exactly what we got.

The BLT was actually a BBT – I substituted big broad leaves of Genoa basil (can’t go wrong with basil and tomato, after all!) for the lettuce. I lacquered wheat toast with mayo, followed by stacks of basil, tomato slices and bacon slabs.

Messy … and a heavenly taste of summer.

Sandy Johnson is a journalist and a gardener, equally passionate about both. She lives in Alexandria, VA.  Visit her on her blog, Grassroots & Gardening.

 

If you lived in the Washington, D.C. area on June 29, 2012, you remember exactly where you were when the derecho steamrolled through.

We’d never heard of the meteorological term until afterward. The National Weather Service had warned of severe thunderstorms, and I stood in the doorway mesmerized by the trees swaying and the rain pounding the patio with a fearsome backdrop of lightning. Then I heard a loud crack, and jumped back into the house. It was a transformer blowing, and so we joined 4 million people who lost power for days.

One good thing came out of that storm. A fledgling craft brewery in Alexandria, Port City Brewing Company, lost power and thought its full tank of beer would go bad. Instead, the beer simply fermented at a higher temperature. Thus was born the Derecho Common beer. The brewery smartly marketed the beer as “the storm’s gift,” and just this weekend released the third annual Derecho beer.

CRR's Growler

CRR’s Growler

For you beer aficionados and home brewers (JJJ take note), here’s how Port City describes it: “Deep golden in color, and has toasty, biscuit malt flavors. It is medium bodies with an assertive hop profile. It is dry hopped with Amarillo hops, which give it a spicy, citrusy hop kick on the finish.” Alcohol 4.8 percent.

It took us some time to find our way to Port City, which turns out to be practically in our back yard in Alexandria. Sam got CRR a growler of Port City brew for Christmas, and we’ve been back several times since.

Take the tour: for $10, you can schedule a tour of the backlot of the brewery and get five tickets for 6-ounce pours of their microbrews. My current favorite: Tartan ale, a hearty beer that falls between the lighter IPAs and the stouts. CRR recently came away with a growler filled with Colossal Two, a smoked imperial stout. “Hints of bacon”, for real!

Port City’s fame is growing — Chef Geoff of the eponymous restaurant chain just commissioned a beer named Northwest — so go soon before the line is out the door.

Sandy Johnson is a journalist and a gardener, equally passionate about both. She lives in Alexandria, VA.  Visit her on her blog, Grassroots & Gardening.

 

As we begin the 90-90 season in Washington (90 degrees, 90 percent humidity), it’s an appropriate time to introduce a refreshing drink from the Middle East.

When I visited Sam in UAE, we toured an ancient neighborhood of Dubai. After several hours we were hot and sweaty and parched. He suggested a local drink, mint lemonade, as a sure pick-me-up. I wasn’t so sure, but readily agreed. Getting out of the sun was my priority.

We sat silently in the late afternoon shade while the waitress slowly made her rounds and eventually produced our drinks. The mint lemonades in tall icy-cold glasses were curiously green. Herbaceously green.

Mint Lemonade

Mint Lemonade

I took a sip. Mmm. It was so refreshing. The mint, the lemon, the ice all combined to create a drink that washed away the heat. After a few sips, we were alive again, talking, enthusiastic about our evening plans.

Since we have an abundance of mint (ie, the worst winter in half a century didn’t make a dent in it), I decided to figure out why this drink was so restorative.

A quick Google search brought these qualities to the fore:

Mint: astringent, antiseptic, antibacterial, antimicrobial, decongestant, expectorant, antiviral.

Lemon: antibacterial, antiviral, immune-boosting, digestive aid, liver cleanser.

I decided to give a home version of mint lemonade a try. I chose a warm Sunday when Chris and Jeff were visiting, after a walking tour of the super-cool Del Ray neighborhood of Alexandria.

A purist would make the lemonade from scratch. I took a shortcut and bought a no-bad-stuff lemonade, Newman’s Own Virgin Lemonade, which is made of filtered water, organic sugar and lemon juice/pulp. I harvested a bunch of mint, plucked the leaves and chucked the rest. Here’s the basic recipe:

Mint Lemonade

Pack a blender container with a handful or two of mint leaves. Add enough lemonade to cover. Whirl for a minute or two until the mint is pulverized. (This is no muddled julep!). Spoon a teaspoon or two of the mint pulp into the bottom of a tall glass, add ice, fill with lemonade. Top with a twist of lemon. Serve with a straw, which you use to stir and sip.

Ratio is the tricky part. CRR likes less mint puree; I like more. It’s a personal thing. You’ll have to find your bliss.

The four of us sat on the patio, slowly sipped and felt the antibodies (see above) take effect. Jeffrey declared himself relaxed. You had to be there to believe it.

If you troll Mideast foodie websites, some make the lemonade from scratch, others add a teaspoon of orange blossom water (which has a heavenly smell) or perhaps top it off with sparkling soda. Others whirl it into a frozen drink, and the racy ones suggest a splash of rum or vodka.

After experimenting for several weeks, I think I’ll freeze some mint puree in ice cube trays. Then I’ll plop a mint cube into a glass of lemonade at the end of the languid summer nights to come. And dream of Arabian nights.

Sandy Johnson is a journalist and a gardener, equally passionate about both. She lives in Alexandria, VA.  Visit her on her blog, Grassroots & Gardening.