Pot Luck Jello Salad

This week's comfort food post was submitted by Lynette Setzkorn, a reader, blogger, and my first blog follower brave enough to send me her memories and recipe.  I hope my images do her memories justice.

Pot Luck Jello Salad

by Lynette Setzkorn

On pot luck Sundays after church, all of us church folks would gather in the basement of the Lutheran  elementary school my sister and I faithfully attended, Just across the street from that bastion of conservative faith, First Lutheran of Ponca City, Oklahoma.  That grand old church, a classic rock built house of worship of simple design, was ornamented with jewel like stained glass windows and beautifully tended walnut pews and woodwork.  It's the only thing I miss about religion, the beauty of the old buildings, and the rituals of the faithful.  One of those rituals was the quarterly Pot Luck Sunday.  When people speak of a church family, this is what I think of:  serious, mostly German, Lutheran people coming together to share home cooked food in a linoleum-floored basement on a Sunday afternoon.  Of course no men contributed fifty years ago, and the women worked to outdo one another with there well considered offerings.  A bucket of chicken, had that even been available  in a tiny Oklahoma town in the 1960's, would have been an insult.  everyone knew they the best food was always cooked at home.

Years of exposure to those marvelous meals has left me with an ever-present hankering for what I call "church supper food".  Grandma Wolfe, she of the rock hard corset and ankle length black dresses, always brought her homemade noodles with creamed chicken.  Oleta Gonterman, Queen of the Gonterman Dairy, invariably appeared with a sweetened fruit dish with clouds of exquisitely rich whipped cream.  Aggie DeBolt, my mother's best friend, constantly searched for new and modern recipes, generally something exotic, and usually some combination of fruit and meat was her preference.  My own mother's contributions were varied, but at least once a year, Miss Audrey's baby daughter's favorite lime jello salad would make an appearance.  When I mention the ambrosia to friends nowadays, those who can refrain from sneering at the idea of jello, simply say that it sounds nasty.  But I can tell you, the sweet richness of that mom food remains one of my lifetime favorites.  I make it still for the holidays, absent the marshmallows and apples, but chock full of pineapple, milk, pecans, and a good quality rich mayonnaise.  With finely chopped nuts, it is addictive and delicious!  Not too sweet, but cheesecake rich, its the perfect accompaniment to a home cooked meal.  Since my church supper days long past, I've only ever encountered this recipe in cafeterias.  Don't be fooled if you've experienced the faker;  its just not the same.  Make it yourself and see.  It's heaven in a jiggly pale green form, and if you can serve it in a milk glass daisy bowl like Miss Audrey, you'll have achieved perfection.

Recipe:

2 pkg Lime Jello + 1 T sugar

2 C hot water

1 carton large curd cottage cheese

1/2 cup small marshmallows

1 C mayonnaise

1 Tall can of conduced milk

2 apples chopped

1 C chopped nuts (pecans or walnuts)

1 C crushed pineapple, well drained

Preparation:

Add 2 cups of hot water to lime jello and sugar, and whisk until dissolved.  Let rest 15 minutes while you prepare the other ingredients.  Add the other ingredients in the order listed, last addition being the pineapple.  Pour mixture into a casserole or serving dish, and chill for three hours in the refrigerator.  Best served the same day you prepare it.

My thanks to Lynette for her recipe and memories, something that is essential to most comfort food.  I too, remember church pot luck suppers, and this dish, or one very much like it was always on the salad table.  I loved that I got to eat a "salad" that was actually delicious and kid friendly.  If you would like to submit a recipe and memories from your childhood, feel free to email me at tate@tatehunt.com

Strawberry Shortcake

Yesterday was mom's birthday, so in honor of her, I present her favorite comfort food dessert of all time:  Strawberry Shortcake.  Being of southern stock, my mom's favorite strawberry shortcake isn't angel food cake or those little round sponge cakes that are soft and very sweet, with berries and whip cream from a can.  Her favorite, and the recipe she always made for us, was the real deal.  A biscuit like shortcake with a hint of sweetness, and berries macerated with sugar and a bit of lemon juice, topped off with hand whipped heavy cream.  What I enjoy most about this recipe, is that the wonderful sweetness of the berries predominates the palate, while the shortcake adds a firm, slightly savory base to absorb the juices, and has the perfect texture to hold everything together.  Likewise the whipped cream is unsweetened, and the buttery richness completes the flavor and helps subdue any tartness.  Happy Birthday mom, and I promise to make this for you on your next visit.

Shortcakes:
3 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 t salt
1T baking powder
1/2 t baking soda
3T sugar
1/2 Cup of butter (1 stick) or shortening.  *a blend of both can be used, and is my preference.
2 t vanilla
1 large egg
1 cup buttermilk

Strawberries:
3 quarts of fresh strawberries hulled and sliced
1/2 to 2/3 cup of sugar depending on the sweetness of the berries and your preference
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1 cup of heavy whipping cream for topping

Preheat oven to 425*F.
Whisk together the dry ingredients and cut in the cold butter or shortening.  Whisk together the egg, buttermilk, and vanilla, then add to dry ingredients all at once.  Fold wet into dry briefly, then turn out on a floured work surface.  Knead a few times until you get a ball, then roll out or press to a disk of about 1/2 in thickness.  Use a sharp biscuit cutter to cut out your cakes, and place them on an non-greased cookie sheet or sheet pan.  Brush tops with egg white and lightly sprinkle with sugar.  Bake for around 12 minutes, or until you see the edges begin to brown.

In a bowl, add sugar to sliced berries, add lemon juice, and stir together.  remove a cup of the berries, and mash them with a fork, or in the blender, and pour it back in with the rest of the berries.  Cover bowl, and place in refrigerator to macerate for an hour.

Whip heavy cream to a light peak.

Split open the cooled shortcakes with a fork, spoon berries on bottom half, and top with whipped cream.  Cover with other half, and add more berries and whipped cream on top and serve.

Makes about ten servings.

Steak Tacos

Growing up in a family of six, with a mom used to tight budgets meant that good cuts of beef were not often on the menu.  There were many times when I was tricked by the aroma of cooking beef which met me at the front door after soccer practice.  I could feel my mouth salivating, and my stomach gurgling, as I threw my stuff in a pile by the door, and raced into the kitchen to see what was cooking.  More often than not, I went from cloud nine to hell, as I discovered to my horror, that what was sizzling in the pan was calf liver and onions, not steak.  My mom insisted that liver was good for us, that it had lots of iron, and that it was delicious.

 I just couldn't eat it.  It instantly triggered my gag reflex.  I tried holding my breath while chewing, and then washing it down quickly.  I tried hiding it under other food on my plate.  I tried slipping it to the dog underneath the table, and I tried a combination of acting like I was eating it, then coughing it into a paper napkin and throwing it in the garbage.  I felt the same way about lima beans and canned mushrooms, but liver was always the biggest heartbreak.  How could something that smelled so good, leave me retching and gagging, and turn me into a subversive food waster?  I can't even remember how often I was left alone at the table, staring at the now cold liver on my plate, kitchen timer set, with the threat of no dessert and banishment to my room, if I didn't finish my meal by the time the buzzer went off.

Sometimes our tastes change as we become adults.  Brussel sprouts become tasty caramelized goodness when cooked right, fresh mushrooms become a prized ingredient, and lima beans can even be can even be consumed when not part of a frozen and reheated succotash.  The closest I have come to liking any form of liver, is when it is made into something else, like foie gras, or braunschweiger.  To this day, liver and onions is forbidden on my plate, in my home, and I walk past it in the market holding my breath like a kid passing a cemetery.  All this from the ghosts of liver dinners past.

The following recipe is for my mom, one that I wished she had had and utilized in my childhood.  It is made from an inexpensive cut of beef (the glorious SKIRT STEAK), has iron and other nutrients good for kids and concerned mothers, is easy to trim very lean, and is bursting with flavor.  I present skirt steak tacos:

Ingredients:
1-2 lbs skirt steak, depending on the desired number of servings
3 fresh tomatoes
1 head of lettuce
Tomatillo salsa
1 bunch fresh cilantro
2 limes
1 package Queso Fresco
Tortillas of your choosing
Salt
Pepper
Coriander, ground fine
Vegetable oil

Preparation:
Trim fat off the skirt steak to desired leanness.  Skirt steak is very easy to trim.  If your cut is too large for your skillet, cut it down to two manageable pieces.  Sprinkle both sides of steak with salt, pepper, and ground coriander, and rub in.
Heat a heavy bottomed or cast iron skillet over high heat.  Swirl in a few T of vegetable oil, and add steak to pan.  Sear on one side for two minutes, developing a nice crust, then turn and sear second side for two minutes.  If your cut is thin (1/2 " or less), you can remove it to a cutting board to rest for five minutes, and you will have a nice medium rare steak.  If your cut is thicker, turn down heat to medium low, cover and let cook an additional two minutes.
When meat has rested, slice it thinly against the grain with a carving knife and fork.  The grain is very noticeable.  Cutting against the grain delivers the most tender cut.  You can use the slices for your tacos as is, or you can chop the slices into smaller pieces.

Prepare your fresh toppings:

I like the simple ingredients of diced tomato, shredded lettuce, chopped fresh cilantro, crumbled queso fresco, a drizzle of tomatillo salsa, and a squeeze of lime juice.

Clean your skillet, reheat over medium, and brush the pan lightly with vegetable oil.  Heat your tortillas on both sides, transfer to plate and build your taco.  Enjoy!

This is my favorite taco recipe.  The simple seasoning and fresh ingredients, allow the wonderful flavor of the beef shine through, without weighing it down.

Easter

My favorite item in the Easter basket was always the brightly colored, chocolate and candy shell malted ball eggs.  Some call them Robin Eggs, and Brach's continues to produce them.  They were always the first to disappear from my horde, and I would gladly trade all peeps and jelly beans for a few of these.

This chocolate egg container is fun and easy to make.  All you need to do is get a packet of small balloons and some of your favorite chocolate chunks.  I used Ghiradelli milk chocolate.  Melt the chocolate in the microwave or double boiler, blowup a balloon to your desired size, and paint the balloon with melted chocolate, stand it up on wax paper, and pop it in the freezer to harden.  When it is good and chilled, crack it open with a knife, peel out the balloon, and fill the shells with your favorite easter candy.  Try to save it for the kids.

Buttermilk Biscuits

Saturday mornings were golden when I was a kid, especially in late spring and summer.  Saturdays were usually unmapped and allowed to unfold as we saw fit.  Homework could be put off until Sunday afternoon, alarm clocks were silent, no church bells summoning the reluctant in their itchy finest, and of course, cartoons.  Hours of cartoons.  Saturday mornings were a time of peace and togetherness, a gentle sigh of relief, from a busy week.

I would usually stir when I heard my mother in the kitchen, getting out her sheet pan and rolling pin.  The scent of coffee tickling my nose as I heard it percolating, keeping time for my mother's Saturday ritual.  Cabinet doors opening and closing as she gathered ingredients, the tiny clinking of measuring spoons, and the shuff-shuff-shuff of the sifter hovering over her rolling cloth as the flour floated down like snow.  Sometimes I would stay curled up and snug listening to her, half dreaming as I awaited her call to breakfast.  Often I would slide off the bunk bed, pad softly down the stairs to the kitchen, and sit at our round wooden table out of the way.  I would sit with my feet dangling off the floor, my chin resting on my crossed arms, and watch my mother go.

She always started with the biscuits, and they were always from scratch (my mother wouldn't be caught dead with biscuits on her breakfast table which started off in a can you had to peel and pop open).  Usually too early for coherent conversation, we would mumble  our good mornings as she went about her business.  Cutting in the fat to her dry ingredients with a pastry knife, pouring in the buttermilk and mixing it to a shaggy dough, and upending her mixing bowl onto her floured rolling cloth.  The sifter would shuff its flour on top, and with a few quick strokes of the metal rolling pin (whose sound I can hear as I write this), she would have a 3/4 inch round of dough ready for the biscuit cutter.  Sometimes it was an actual biscuit cutter, and sometimes a drinking glass used upside down and dipped in flour.  She would cut out her dozen, transfer them to her sheet pan, and then take the leftover scraps and make a small hand formed biscuit;  the ugly duckling biscuit that I was usually quick to snatch from the basket when it was set down on the table.

When these were popped in the oven, she would move on to cooking eggs and frying bacon.  Awake now, she was a blur of motion.  Flipping, turning, seasoning, and stirring, between trips to and from the table setting places and delivering jelly jars, pouring milk and juice, and laying out silverware.  Sometimes we were directed to assist, but I most often remember just watching this weekly scene unfold.  By the time the biscuits were ready to take from the oven, she was calling everyone to the table.

My favorite Saturday breakfast was poached eggs with bacon, and buttermilk biscuits with my mother's homemade plum preserves and melted butter.  I liked to place the crispy bacon on top of the poached egg, and mash them together, a trick I learned from my father.

My family was at its best at Saturday breakfasts, all of us together, all of us relaxed, savoring my mother's cooking, and fueling up for cartoons, chores, and then a day of freedom.  I am forever grateful for those meals, and the hard work and purposeful love that my mom poured into them.

Buttermilk biscuits:

2 cups All Purpose flour

1 cup cake flour

1 T  baking powder

1 t salt

1/2 cup butter, chilled

1/2 cup shortening chilled

1 1/2 cups Buttermilk

Preheat oven to 375

Sift together dry ingredients

Cut in fat with fork or pastry knife

Add Buttermilk to dry ingredients and mix briefly until a shaggy dough is formed.  Mix sparingly to ensure the gluten is not developed, resulting in a tough chewy texture.  Flour the rolling surface and place dough down.  Pat or roll into a slab 1/2 inch to 3/4 inch in thickness, and then cut out biscuits and place on parchment lined or greased pan.  Brush tops of biscuits with buttermilk, and bake until they start to brown (around 20 to 30 minutes).  Serve warm with butter and jam, or honey.

Pizzelle S'Mores

We grew up in a crowded house.  Four kids, two parents, a variety of pets, an occasional cousin, and a ton of books, music, and love.  My father's artwork adorned the walls, his wood carvings the shelves, and when we needed extra room, he built on the additions himself.  We were two to a room, and never lonely for company.  Vacations?  Money didn't allow the white beaches of the gulf coast, the Magic Kingdom, or a gleaming hotel property off Central Park.  Our chariot was a station wagon, the highway dashes our yellow brick road, and our castle was an 80 lb. six person canvas tent, complete with heavy gauged aluminum poles to keep it all from falling down around our shoulders.  We strapped it to the roof rack along with our duffle bags, and said the occasional prayer that when we reached a stop on the road, everything would still be in it's place, safe and dry.  We had the backseat folded down, and sleeping pads and bags all laid out for my brother, sisters, and Susie, the beagle /hound mix.  We were less concerned with seat belts in those days, and more concerned with  carsickness and dog farts.

This was how we rolled.  There would be a cooler in the back of the wagon, a few boxes of provisions, and we would pick places along our route to pull over and prepare a meal.  My mother was a trooper.  Looking back I now see she was a mixture of Mother Theresa, Gandhi, with a little JC thrown in.  She was map reader, trip organizer, cook, nurse, housekeeper, referee, mender, and hug provider, when feelings were raw.  In contrast, my father's job on these trips was much more succinct.  He was the driver, decider, and enforcer.  When one of us got too carried away with our cleverness, loudness, or complaining, that arm resting deceptively atop the front bench seat of the station wagon, could spring to action like a snake, and find it's target with pinpoint accuracy.  I think all of us kids have a mark somewhere, a slight indentation from the weighty college ring on his right hand.

We traveled to the north woods of Wisconsin, Minnesota, and the mountains of Colorado with this well oiled system of car camping.  It was what we could afford, and I wouldn't have changed a thing (with the exception of a lighter tent and gear).  We learned to live closely and love fiercely.  We hiked, camped, fished, swam, and sang songs by the campfire.  We learned about the natural world, and our places in it.  We learned teamwork, problem solving, and at times, patience and compassion.  We also became more self sufficient, creative, and most of us even learned how to use the bathroom in a rainstorm without tracking mud on each other's belongings on the return run.  Imagination in the outdoors was way more entertaining than gadgets of distraction, and my father's guitar, song repertoire, and good voice made a fine substitute for evening television.

My mother brought a touch of home with us wherever we went, with her camp cooking.  She could make magic happen with hot coals, a fire grate, and other rudimentary tools.  She could fry up fish when we caught them, and always had the ability to prepare a balanced diet for six on a shoestring budget, no matter the difficulties.  The most amazing memories I have of her talents, was the ability to surprise us with a treat from time to time.  Something she could make from a secret stash of tasty ingredients, squirreled away from the scrounging paws of her kids.  Sometimes we would be surprised with a simple pudding with the fresh berries she had had us pick earlier,  sometimes it was a bag of snicker doodle cookies she brought from home, but my favorite was when she would break out the marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers for S'Mores.  S'Mores remain as one of my favorite comfort foods of all time.  Like all good comfort foods, it isn't just full of taste, but of memories and warmth.  The sensation of eating a S'More, feels a whole lot like being embraced with a warm chocolatey hug from a loving mom.  To kick off this blog right, I present a warm hug to all my fellow comfort food junkies with a slightly more adult Pizzelle S'More:

Ingredients:
Vanilla pizzelle cookies,
Marshmallows of choice
Dark chocolate bar with sea salt and almonds

To make:
Hike somewhere where you can see the stars at night with some friends or loved ones.
Build a campfire.
Find a green stick and sharpen to a point.
Do not lose temper and use stick on friend or loved one, but reserve for cooking marshmallows over coals.
Eat a good dinner and enjoy a beverage of your choice.
Tell some stories while roasting Marshmallows, preferably embarrassing ones of a personal nature.
Unwrap chocolate bars and break into pieces which reflect your individual love of chocolate.
Place chocolate on vanilla pizzelle cookie.
Place oozy roasted Marshmallow on top, using another Pizzelle to help scrape marshmallow off stick.
Press down top cookie until melted chocolate and marshmallow ooze out the sides.
Consume, lick your fingers, and decide how many more you can eat in good company without appearing gluttonous.

Welcome to the blog.  I invite you to share your own memories and recipes that bring you comfort in these times of stressful living.  My goal is to share my work and a little something personal.  I would like to share my comfort foods and yours, accompanied with photos, recipes and stories.  I will aim to recreate what you provide, and hope to spread comfort and a sense of family.  I have quite a few on my list, and I am sure you do as well, so don't be shy.