Some of my fondest childhood memories are of time spent in my grandmother's kitchen. She and I had a very special bond, and I could talk to her about anything. Nanny was a fabulous cook, and we had many meaningful conversations in her little kitchen while she chopped and stirred and I watched and learned. Many of her recipes stemmed from her Southern roots, but she also tried her hand at many ethnic cuisines. Her spaghetti with meatballs was fabulous (my uncle and aunt requested it every time they visited, and she always had it waiting for them when they arrived). My sister and I frequently requested that she make chop suey when we were visiting, and I also remember several occasions of sitting on her countertop watching her and my grandfather flip delicate crepes before filling them with delicious almond/chicken/cream or seafood fillings. Her very best dishes, though, the ones that family and friends requested time after time, were things like chicken and pastry (what she called her version of chicken and dumplings, because she rolled out the dough and dropped it into the pot in long strips rather than making little dumpling shapes), a meat (usually roast chicken or pork chops) with three or four vegetables and fried cornbread, gumbos, and creoles (she must have had a little Cajun in her blood somewhere!).
My job, from the time I was tiny, was to "sit and watch." Whenever we were visiting, I'd ask, "Nanny, can I help?" and her reply was always, "No, but you can sit and watch." When I was very young, she'd plop me on the counter next to her. As I got older, I'd pull up a stool. And watch I did. I wanted to learn how to make all of these wonderful foods. Nanny taught my own mother, her daughter-in-law, how to cook, and I wanted to learn too. I was an avid pupil, asking questions and taking furious mental notes. "Why doesn't the pastry fall apart when you stir it?" "Because you don't stir it dahlin', you just give it a little push down with the spoon so the ones on the bottom can float up and have a turn on the top every now and again." ... "What's the secret in your spaghetti sauce?" "A dash of Worchestershire and a little sugah, Sugah." ...
In that tiny galley kitchen, I learned many things. Now, many of my husband and children's favorite dishes are things Nanny taught me how to cook. In addition to cooking, though, boy, could she bake. Every year, each of her three children (even into adulthood until she died two years ago) asked for a homemade, from scratch, red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. And she made the three cakes every year (nevermind the fact that their birthdays fell on March 26, April 10, and April 11 -- that's a lot of cake in a two-week time period!). She made pound cakes that were the envy of the church ladies. For a long time, she had a sourdough starter going and made bread a couple times a week -- three loaves at a time, shared with friends and neighbors. My favorite, though...the cake that brought me to my knees and that had my husband exclaim "Holy S!#t that's good cake!" the first time we tried it, respectfully, was her carrot cake. After that particular incident, "Nan's Carrot Cake" was re-named "Holy S!#t Carrot Cake," which, thankfully, was re-christened once again when we had to censor ourselves in front of our children. We called it "Holy Mackerel Carrot Cake," which they remember and request as "Hodey Mackel Cake." It's delicious, by far the best carrot cake you'll ever put in your mouth. I keep three copies of the recipe -- one in my recipe folder, one online, and one in my safe deposit box -- that's how important it is. It's well worth the time and effort (and expense) involved. I hope you'll try it. Nan will smile down on you if you do...
Nan's "Hodey Mackel" Carrot Cake
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 large eggs
2 cups sugar
3/4 cup vegetable oil
3/4 cup buttermilk
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 cups grated carrots (about 3 large carrots)
1 (8-ounce) can crushed pineapple, drained
1 (3 1/2-ounce) can sweetened flaked coconut
1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts
Buttermilk Glaze (DO NOT SKIP THIS)
Cream cheese frosting
Stir together first four ingredients.
Beat eggs and next four ingredients at medium speed until smooth. Add flour mixture, beating at low speed until blended. Fold in carrots and next three ingredients. Pour batter into a greased and floured 9x13 inch pan.
Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes; cover pan loosely with foil to prevent excessive browning, and bake 13 more minutes or until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Poke 20-30 holes in top of cake with toothpick or wooden skewer. Drizzle buttermilk glaze over cake; cool completely in pan. Spread cream cheese frosting evenly over cake.
Buttermilk Glaze
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 cup butter or margarine
1/2 cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Bring sugar, baking soda, butter, buttermilk, and corn syrup to a boil in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Boil, stirring often, 4 minutes or until mixture is golden brown. Remove from heat and stir in vanilla extract.
Cream Cheese Frosting
1/2 cup butter or margarine
1 (8-ounce) package cream cheese, softened
1 (3-ounce) package cream cheese, softened
1 (16-ounce) package powdered sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Beat butter and cream cheese at medium speed until creamy. Add powdered sugar (a little at a time) and vanilla extract; beat at high speed until smooth.
Enjoy!
(C) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published on Open.Salon.Com, May 9, 2010.
Recipe adapted from an ancient issue of Southern Living.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
The Census: Another Sadie Story
Remember our friend Sadie, of "Firecracker Chocolate Cake" fame? She was Claxton's finest specimen, a hilarious little old lady with a heart of gold and a mind of mixed metaphors. Well, I have another tale for you.
In 2000, the last time the United States government took a census of the population, I was living in Jacksonville, Florida, not far from my grandmother. Sadie lived across the street and over one. My husband worked out of town a lot, and I spent a lot of time at my grandmother's house. We both needed the company, so we were a good pair.
*****
One afternoon, Sadie came wandering in with Clem in tow. "Elner," she said. "Is Jenafa here?"
"Well hello to you, too, priss."
"Sorry...hi Elner. Is Jenafa here?"
"No. Why?"
My grandmother wasn't really mean, but she could be quite blunt, and she had little patience for Sadie most days, although the two were close friends and neighbors and had been for a long time.
"I got some papers in the mail and it says my cooperation is required by law. Problem is, I can't read the rest."
"Hold on. Let me see that," Nanny replied, snatching the envelope from Sadie's hands. "Lordhavemercy, you've gotten the long form. Lisa, call Jenafa and tell her to come over here." (Never mind that my aunt, JENNIFER, had a job and a young daughter and a house of her own 10 minutes away.)
******
"Aunt Jen, hey."
"Hey Lulu, what's up?" (Sorry for the nicknames and mispronounciations that abound in this story....just trying to keep it real.)
"Sadie's here and she's got the long form of the census. Nan wants you to come over here and help."
"Oh Lordy. All right. Tell them I'll be over there in a little bit."
******
[20 minutes later, the two biddies are poring over the forms with their glasses perched on the ends of their noses. I've offered to help but have been deemed "not old enough," despite the fact that I'm married and hold down a full-time editing and fact-checking, so I'm standing back to observe the show.]
"Oh THANK GAWD she's hea!"
Jen walks in, puts her bag down, and surveys the scene.
"Okay," she says. "Sadie, this is the census."
"Why does it take 12 pages for me to tell them it's just me and Clem living at the house?"
"Well, you got the long form, so they want to find out a little more about you."
"Why? There's not much to tell. I wake up, walk Clem, check on my yard. I might do some baking or cooking. I watch my stories. I help at church on Thursdays and I get my hair done on Friday afternoons. Sometimes I go to the garden club meetings, but that's only on the second Monday of every month. That's about it."
Jen asks me to fix her a diet coke and bring her a couple of Advil. I oblige. She sits down and props her feet up.
"Sadie," she says. "Let's pretend I'm a reporter interviewing you. I'll ask some questions and you just tell me the answers. Then I'll fill out the form."
"Okay. Can I call you Orpah? I just love her!"
"Sure."
******
[A few examples of questions and answers]
Sadie, do you speak a language other than English at home?
Well, Orpah, I can usually speak Gullah for a few weeks after I've been to Charleston. Wanna hear?
That's okay. Maybe another time. Next question!
Do you have any of the following conditions: blindness, deafness, or a severe vision or hearing impairment?
What?
Because of a physical, mental, or emotional condition lasting six months or more, do you have any difficulty in doing any of the following activities?
Learning, remembering, concentrating?
I'm sorry...what? There's the cutest little squirrel outside. Or maybe it's a cat. I can't tell. Look over there! Can you see it?
Was this person under 15 years of age as of April 1, 2000?
Under 50? Why do they need to know that? A lady never reveals her age. [I believe she was about 84 at the time.]
When did this person last work, even if only for a few days?
I work every day. I work in my yard. I work at the church. I work on keeping my house clean. I work on being a good Christian woman.
[This went on for a while.]
*****
Then they got to the multiple pages of questions about income, living expenses, dividends, pensions, and interest.
*****
"Ed always took care of that."
Nan piped in. "Sadie, Ed's been dead for 8 years! Who's been paying your bills?!"
"My brother up in Claxton. His name's Ed, too. I guess you'll have to call him for the answers to those questions. See you later, Orpah. Thanks for your help. Let me know when the show will be on tv so I can set the tape." She picked up her macrame purse, said "C'mon, Clem," and wandered home.
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published on Open.Salon.com, March 2010.
Census questions taken from: http://www.census.gov/dmd/www/pdf/d-61b.pdf
In 2000, the last time the United States government took a census of the population, I was living in Jacksonville, Florida, not far from my grandmother. Sadie lived across the street and over one. My husband worked out of town a lot, and I spent a lot of time at my grandmother's house. We both needed the company, so we were a good pair.
*****
One afternoon, Sadie came wandering in with Clem in tow. "Elner," she said. "Is Jenafa here?"
"Well hello to you, too, priss."
"Sorry...hi Elner. Is Jenafa here?"
"No. Why?"
My grandmother wasn't really mean, but she could be quite blunt, and she had little patience for Sadie most days, although the two were close friends and neighbors and had been for a long time.
"I got some papers in the mail and it says my cooperation is required by law. Problem is, I can't read the rest."
"Hold on. Let me see that," Nanny replied, snatching the envelope from Sadie's hands. "Lordhavemercy, you've gotten the long form. Lisa, call Jenafa and tell her to come over here." (Never mind that my aunt, JENNIFER, had a job and a young daughter and a house of her own 10 minutes away.)
******
"Aunt Jen, hey."
"Hey Lulu, what's up?" (Sorry for the nicknames and mispronounciations that abound in this story....just trying to keep it real.)
"Sadie's here and she's got the long form of the census. Nan wants you to come over here and help."
"Oh Lordy. All right. Tell them I'll be over there in a little bit."
******
[20 minutes later, the two biddies are poring over the forms with their glasses perched on the ends of their noses. I've offered to help but have been deemed "not old enough," despite the fact that I'm married and hold down a full-time editing and fact-checking, so I'm standing back to observe the show.]
"Oh THANK GAWD she's hea!"
Jen walks in, puts her bag down, and surveys the scene.
"Okay," she says. "Sadie, this is the census."
"Why does it take 12 pages for me to tell them it's just me and Clem living at the house?"
"Well, you got the long form, so they want to find out a little more about you."
"Why? There's not much to tell. I wake up, walk Clem, check on my yard. I might do some baking or cooking. I watch my stories. I help at church on Thursdays and I get my hair done on Friday afternoons. Sometimes I go to the garden club meetings, but that's only on the second Monday of every month. That's about it."
Jen asks me to fix her a diet coke and bring her a couple of Advil. I oblige. She sits down and props her feet up.
"Sadie," she says. "Let's pretend I'm a reporter interviewing you. I'll ask some questions and you just tell me the answers. Then I'll fill out the form."
"Okay. Can I call you Orpah? I just love her!"
"Sure."
******
[A few examples of questions and answers]
Sadie, do you speak a language other than English at home?
Well, Orpah, I can usually speak Gullah for a few weeks after I've been to Charleston. Wanna hear?
That's okay. Maybe another time. Next question!
Do you have any of the following conditions: blindness, deafness, or a severe vision or hearing impairment?
What?
Because of a physical, mental, or emotional condition lasting six months or more, do you have any difficulty in doing any of the following activities?
Learning, remembering, concentrating?
I'm sorry...what? There's the cutest little squirrel outside. Or maybe it's a cat. I can't tell. Look over there! Can you see it?
Was this person under 15 years of age as of April 1, 2000?
Under 50? Why do they need to know that? A lady never reveals her age. [I believe she was about 84 at the time.]
When did this person last work, even if only for a few days?
I work every day. I work in my yard. I work at the church. I work on keeping my house clean. I work on being a good Christian woman.
[This went on for a while.]
*****
Then they got to the multiple pages of questions about income, living expenses, dividends, pensions, and interest.
*****
"Ed always took care of that."
Nan piped in. "Sadie, Ed's been dead for 8 years! Who's been paying your bills?!"
"My brother up in Claxton. His name's Ed, too. I guess you'll have to call him for the answers to those questions. See you later, Orpah. Thanks for your help. Let me know when the show will be on tv so I can set the tape." She picked up her macrame purse, said "C'mon, Clem," and wandered home.
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published on Open.Salon.com, March 2010.
Census questions taken from: http://www.census.gov/dmd/www/pdf/d-61b.pdf
That's Amore!
When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie,
That's amore!
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine,
That's amore!
Love Dean Martin, love the song, love pizza even more...
*******************************************
For multiple reasons, mainly the economy and for our health, my family has been trying to eat at home more in recent months. I enjoy cooking, so this really isn't a problem, except that we're busy people! Coordinating the schedules of two active boys plus work and volunteer commitments for both parents makes cooking dinner difficult on some nights.
We've come to rely on pizza and tacos. A lot. Not takeout though -- homemade of either of those meals can be accomplished quickly and affordably. We'll put anything on a pizza or in a taco.
This brings me to this week's Salon Kitchen Challenge. What better way to usher in the spring than with a pizza topped with goat cheese, ham or prosciutto, and fresh, tender asparagus. Add a drizzle of balsamic vinegar and some fresh basil, and it's a simple meal fit for a warm spring evening. Make it even quicker with store bought crust (or dough from the deli department) and bottled sauce.
Asparagus, Goat Cheese, and Ham Pizza
1 pizza crust (store bought or homemade)
Simple marinara sauce or bottled pizza sauce
Shredded mozzarella (about a cup and a half)
2-3 ounces crumbled feta
Around 4-6 ounces fresh asparagus
2 ounces smoked deli ham or prosciutto, cut into thin ribbons
4-5 fresh basil leaves
drizzle of balsamic vinegar
Prepare pizza crust. If using fresh dough, stretch onto pizza stone, drizzle with olive oil, and bake at 450 for about 5 minutes, just to get it started. If using a bought crust, omit the prebaking, but do drizzle with a little olive oil. In the meantime, blanch asparagus in boiling water for one minute, then immediately drain and shock in iced water to stop the cooking and maintain the vibrant green color. Drain again, chop into 1-2 inch pieces, toss with a drizzle of balsamic vinegar, and set aside. Top pizza crust with sauce to taste (start with around half a cup and add more until you're satisfied). Top with mozzarella, ham or prosciutto, feta, and asparagus. Bake at 450 until crust is golden and cheese is bubbly -- about 10 minutes, but watch it carefully. Tear basil into small pieces and toss on top. Cut into wedges and serve.
To finish off the spring theme of the evening, we included a salad of spring greens, feta, and strawberries topped with a balsamic vinaigrette and accompanied the meal with a crisp Chardonney.
Buon appetito!
(C) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
Song lyrics (C) Dean Martin/Capital Records
That's amore!
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine,
That's amore!
Love Dean Martin, love the song, love pizza even more...
*******************************************
For multiple reasons, mainly the economy and for our health, my family has been trying to eat at home more in recent months. I enjoy cooking, so this really isn't a problem, except that we're busy people! Coordinating the schedules of two active boys plus work and volunteer commitments for both parents makes cooking dinner difficult on some nights.
We've come to rely on pizza and tacos. A lot. Not takeout though -- homemade of either of those meals can be accomplished quickly and affordably. We'll put anything on a pizza or in a taco.
This brings me to this week's Salon Kitchen Challenge. What better way to usher in the spring than with a pizza topped with goat cheese, ham or prosciutto, and fresh, tender asparagus. Add a drizzle of balsamic vinegar and some fresh basil, and it's a simple meal fit for a warm spring evening. Make it even quicker with store bought crust (or dough from the deli department) and bottled sauce.
Asparagus, Goat Cheese, and Ham Pizza
1 pizza crust (store bought or homemade)
Simple marinara sauce or bottled pizza sauce
Shredded mozzarella (about a cup and a half)
2-3 ounces crumbled feta
Around 4-6 ounces fresh asparagus
2 ounces smoked deli ham or prosciutto, cut into thin ribbons
4-5 fresh basil leaves
drizzle of balsamic vinegar
Prepare pizza crust. If using fresh dough, stretch onto pizza stone, drizzle with olive oil, and bake at 450 for about 5 minutes, just to get it started. If using a bought crust, omit the prebaking, but do drizzle with a little olive oil. In the meantime, blanch asparagus in boiling water for one minute, then immediately drain and shock in iced water to stop the cooking and maintain the vibrant green color. Drain again, chop into 1-2 inch pieces, toss with a drizzle of balsamic vinegar, and set aside. Top pizza crust with sauce to taste (start with around half a cup and add more until you're satisfied). Top with mozzarella, ham or prosciutto, feta, and asparagus. Bake at 450 until crust is golden and cheese is bubbly -- about 10 minutes, but watch it carefully. Tear basil into small pieces and toss on top. Cut into wedges and serve.
To finish off the spring theme of the evening, we included a salad of spring greens, feta, and strawberries topped with a balsamic vinaigrette and accompanied the meal with a crisp Chardonney.
Buon appetito!
(C) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
Song lyrics (C) Dean Martin/Capital Records
The Hot Walter
I come from a family with a history of alcoholism. Three out of four grandparents were alcoholics. One almost died as a direct result of it (passed out one night and almost couldn't be revived...luckily he had a very good friend who made it to the house just in time to save his life). The second one died from liver and colon cancer many years later. The third died from completely unrelated causes but spent her life battling the bottle nonetheless. The fourth grandparent never touched the stuff, as far as I am aware, and she's the only one still living. Although, she's slowly fading away to the evil that is Alzheimer's....maybe a drink would do us all a little good right now.
Nanny had been sober for many years by the time I was born, but never touched alcohol and we all knew why. One of my treasured possessions is one of her Al-Anon coins. The only alcoholic drink Nan ever served me was one afternoon about 10 years ago. At the time, I lived in the same town she did, and I was a newlywed. A newlywed living 350 miles from her mama with a husband who had a job requiring 90% travel (no, he didn't drive a rig...his job in sports technology sounded far more glamorous than that, although, really, it wasn't...not then). So, I spent a lot of time at Nan's house. A few nights a week after work I'd go over and have dinner with her, and sometimes I'd even stay the night. When I was sick, she was the first person I called and she always invited me over.
That afternoon, I had the beginnings of a cold. I was puny and drippy and had that dragged-out, greasy, cloudy feeling. Nothing was helping. I went to her house. She offered me something to drink, then looked a little closer. She leaned in, and with a slight twinkle in her eye, she said "I've got a drink that'll make you feel better, if you promise not to tell your daddy I gave it to you." I wondered what on earth it could be. I was of age...was she brewing moonshine in her garage, by chance?!? That would explain why she never opened the door.
That afternoon, she, my 25+ years sober grandmother, made me a Hot Toddy. She told me she liked to call them Hot Walters (after my grandfather, because he was so cute, and also because with her thick Southern accent, it sounded a little like Hot Waters, lest she alarm anyone who would think she'd fallen off the wagon). The drink was warm, and I could feel it working its magic all the way down. Was I instantly cured? No, of course not. But did I feel at least a little better? Of course. With the burn of the whiskey and the warmth of the love that she poured into that steaming mug, how could anyone not appreciate a Hot Walter?
Hot Toddy
In a large mug, place one teabag (any kind will do...I usually use either green or black tea). Fill about 3/4 full with almost (not quite) boiling water. Add a teaspoon or so of honey, depending on how sweet you want it. Let it steep for 3-4 minutes and remove the teabag (don't squeeze it). Add a slice of lemon or orange, 3-4 whole cloves, and a shot of whiskey. Stir, sip, and feel better soon.
(c) 2010
*Originally published as part of the Salon Kitchen Challenge on Open.Salon.com, March 2010.
Firecracker Chocolate Cake
Claxton, Georgia, is famous for its fruitcakes, and I had the pleasure of knowing the nuttiest one of all of them. Her name was Sadie. She lived across the street and over one from my grandmother (we called it caddy-cornered), and she was a 4-foot-11, 86-year-old firecracker of a woman.
Sadie reminded me a bit of Rose Nyland (made famous by Betty White in the Golden Girls series). She loved to tell stories of growing up "over in Claxton" (she lived in Jacksonville, Florida when I knew her), and her stories rambled and wove much like she drove on a late night after a few too many juleps.
Any time any of my grandmother, Elner's, "kids" (be they her children, nieces, nephews, cousins, grandchildren, or urchins she picked up off the street) came over, Sadie had to drop by and visit. She LOVED my grandmother and she loved our extended family. She loved to talk, and we were happy to listen. When Sadie came by, she talked about the latest church gossip (she did NOT like that new woman preacher), the latest beauty parlor gossip (can you believe what Faye said about Beverly's daughter?), and what everyone who lived on the street was up to. She enjoyed asking my dad about his trips to "Codorado" and my mom if she had seen the latest of "Orpah's" shows. She was so cute (and stubborn) that we didn't bother to correct her.
Sadie had a little dog named Clem. Clem was her baby, mainly because he was the main connection she had to her deceased husband. Clem had been Ed's dog, and she honestly believed that a little piece of Ed resided in Clem somewhere. So, she cooked him a steak dinner every Saturday night.
Sadie did love taking care of people. Even after her mind started to go and her eyesight was blurred by "cadillacs," she still loved to bake cakes for people. Which brings me to my recipe...
We were there visiting my grandparents one summer, and Sadie came waltzing in with one of her chocolate pound cakes. Now that was an amazing cake! But, this time, something was a little off. My grandmother, while a wonderful woman, was not known for giving people the benefit of the doubt, or for cushioning feelings.
"Sadie, WHAT is wrong with this cake?"
"What do you mean? It's not good??"
"No...it's hot!"
"Oh, well, when I went to measure the cinnamon, the phone rang and I dropped the container. A little more than was called for went in. I figured it would be okay though."
"Sadie, this doesn't taste like cinnamon."
"Oh...well...maybe it was cayenne. Sorry 'bout that. I'll go home and make you another one." And with that, she was gone.
Firecracker Chocolate Cake
1/2 pound butter
1/2 pound shortening
3 cups sugar
4 tablespoons cocoa powder
5 eggs or 6 (sorry...this is Sadie's recipe!)
1 cup milk
3 cups sifted cake flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp cinnamon, or cayenne -- your choice (feel free to add more if startled by the telephone)
1 tablespoon vanilla
Cream butter, shortening, and sugar. Add cocoa and eggs (one at a time, beating after each addition).
Mix flour, salt, baking powder, cinnamon or cayenne.
Alternate adding flour and milk mixture, beating well after each addition. Start and end with flour (I typically do 3 rounds of flour separated by 2 rounds of milk). Beat in vanilla.
Bake 1 hour 20 minutes at 325 degrees in a greased and floured bundt pan.
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published as part of the Salon Kitchen Challenge on Open.Salon.com, February 15, 2010.
Sadie reminded me a bit of Rose Nyland (made famous by Betty White in the Golden Girls series). She loved to tell stories of growing up "over in Claxton" (she lived in Jacksonville, Florida when I knew her), and her stories rambled and wove much like she drove on a late night after a few too many juleps.
Any time any of my grandmother, Elner's, "kids" (be they her children, nieces, nephews, cousins, grandchildren, or urchins she picked up off the street) came over, Sadie had to drop by and visit. She LOVED my grandmother and she loved our extended family. She loved to talk, and we were happy to listen. When Sadie came by, she talked about the latest church gossip (she did NOT like that new woman preacher), the latest beauty parlor gossip (can you believe what Faye said about Beverly's daughter?), and what everyone who lived on the street was up to. She enjoyed asking my dad about his trips to "Codorado" and my mom if she had seen the latest of "Orpah's" shows. She was so cute (and stubborn) that we didn't bother to correct her.
Sadie had a little dog named Clem. Clem was her baby, mainly because he was the main connection she had to her deceased husband. Clem had been Ed's dog, and she honestly believed that a little piece of Ed resided in Clem somewhere. So, she cooked him a steak dinner every Saturday night.
Sadie did love taking care of people. Even after her mind started to go and her eyesight was blurred by "cadillacs," she still loved to bake cakes for people. Which brings me to my recipe...
We were there visiting my grandparents one summer, and Sadie came waltzing in with one of her chocolate pound cakes. Now that was an amazing cake! But, this time, something was a little off. My grandmother, while a wonderful woman, was not known for giving people the benefit of the doubt, or for cushioning feelings.
"Sadie, WHAT is wrong with this cake?"
"What do you mean? It's not good??"
"No...it's hot!"
"Oh, well, when I went to measure the cinnamon, the phone rang and I dropped the container. A little more than was called for went in. I figured it would be okay though."
"Sadie, this doesn't taste like cinnamon."
"Oh...well...maybe it was cayenne. Sorry 'bout that. I'll go home and make you another one." And with that, she was gone.
Firecracker Chocolate Cake
1/2 pound butter
1/2 pound shortening
3 cups sugar
4 tablespoons cocoa powder
5 eggs or 6 (sorry...this is Sadie's recipe!)
1 cup milk
3 cups sifted cake flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp cinnamon, or cayenne -- your choice (feel free to add more if startled by the telephone)
1 tablespoon vanilla
Cream butter, shortening, and sugar. Add cocoa and eggs (one at a time, beating after each addition).
Mix flour, salt, baking powder, cinnamon or cayenne.
Alternate adding flour and milk mixture, beating well after each addition. Start and end with flour (I typically do 3 rounds of flour separated by 2 rounds of milk). Beat in vanilla.
Bake 1 hour 20 minutes at 325 degrees in a greased and floured bundt pan.
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published as part of the Salon Kitchen Challenge on Open.Salon.com, February 15, 2010.
Thin Mints: A Love Story
My love affair with Girl Scout cookies started out when I was 6 and became a Brownie. How I loved wearing that little uniform to school on troop meeting days, especially the little orange elastic "flashers" that held the knee socks up. I LOVED being a girl scout. I actually stuck with it until tenth grade, although by that time, I had sworn everyone who knew about it to secrecy, for fear word would get out at school that I was still a "girdle sprout." How humiliating that would have been!
I had tons of badges on my uniform sash, but the one that always, always eluded me was the "100 boxes" patch. I could never manage to sell that many cookies. I blamed my parents...my dad was the only father who refused to take the order form to work. My parents patiently explained that someone in my dad's position (he happened to be CEO at the time) couldn't be asking his employees to buy cookies from his daughters. I said to hell with decorum, I NEED that patch! But, alas, it was never meant to be.
************************
I will give my parents credit for always buying several boxes themselves, at least. Dad's favorites were Samoas, which mom hated...she couldn't stand anything with coconut. She was more a Thin Mint girl herself. They always bought a box or two of the Trefoils/Shortbread, because, for whatever reason, that box actually contained 48 cookies instead of the average 15 that $2.50 got you in most other varieties. My favorites were the Tagalongs, also known as Peanut Butter Patties, depending on where you were from. A vanilla cookie topped with a layer of peanut butter and then draped in chocolate. Ahhhh... what could be better?
**********************
Fast forward to my freshman year of college. I met my husband the very first day I set foot on campus. But, I was still stuck on an old boyfriend back home, a year younger than me and left behind to finish high school (and later, come out, but that's another story for another day). So, I met Chris the first day of college, back in September. We didn't start dating until March, though, when he had all but given up on me. My roommate finally shook some sense into me and encouraged me to give him a chance. So, she talked to me, and she talked to Chris, and miracle of miracles, we finally went on that first date. I trusted him because he had nice hands.
After going out to dinner, we ended up back in his dorm room to watch a movie. He offered me a snack, so I said something along the lines of "Sure, what do you have?" He was a college boy living in a dorm, so I didn't have high hopes for anything gourmet. Maybe some chips and some warm soda...possibly, if I was lucky, some microwave popcorn. But, no, it was the first of what was to be many surprises from my future spouse. He pulled a sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies out of his tiny freezer. Swoon! What a precious commodity, and he was sharing with ME!
I was never one to kiss on the first date, and I'm also not really one to kiss and tell, but let me tell you this: cold thin mints in your mouth right before a smooch make for some mighty fine kissing indeed. So fine that I married that boy 3 1/2 years later, and we always, ALWAYS, keep Girl Scout Thin Mints in our freezer.
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published as part of the Salon Kitchen Challenge, OpenSalon.com, February 2010.
I had tons of badges on my uniform sash, but the one that always, always eluded me was the "100 boxes" patch. I could never manage to sell that many cookies. I blamed my parents...my dad was the only father who refused to take the order form to work. My parents patiently explained that someone in my dad's position (he happened to be CEO at the time) couldn't be asking his employees to buy cookies from his daughters. I said to hell with decorum, I NEED that patch! But, alas, it was never meant to be.
************************
I will give my parents credit for always buying several boxes themselves, at least. Dad's favorites were Samoas, which mom hated...she couldn't stand anything with coconut. She was more a Thin Mint girl herself. They always bought a box or two of the Trefoils/Shortbread, because, for whatever reason, that box actually contained 48 cookies instead of the average 15 that $2.50 got you in most other varieties. My favorites were the Tagalongs, also known as Peanut Butter Patties, depending on where you were from. A vanilla cookie topped with a layer of peanut butter and then draped in chocolate. Ahhhh... what could be better?
**********************
Fast forward to my freshman year of college. I met my husband the very first day I set foot on campus. But, I was still stuck on an old boyfriend back home, a year younger than me and left behind to finish high school (and later, come out, but that's another story for another day). So, I met Chris the first day of college, back in September. We didn't start dating until March, though, when he had all but given up on me. My roommate finally shook some sense into me and encouraged me to give him a chance. So, she talked to me, and she talked to Chris, and miracle of miracles, we finally went on that first date. I trusted him because he had nice hands.
After going out to dinner, we ended up back in his dorm room to watch a movie. He offered me a snack, so I said something along the lines of "Sure, what do you have?" He was a college boy living in a dorm, so I didn't have high hopes for anything gourmet. Maybe some chips and some warm soda...possibly, if I was lucky, some microwave popcorn. But, no, it was the first of what was to be many surprises from my future spouse. He pulled a sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies out of his tiny freezer. Swoon! What a precious commodity, and he was sharing with ME!
I was never one to kiss on the first date, and I'm also not really one to kiss and tell, but let me tell you this: cold thin mints in your mouth right before a smooch make for some mighty fine kissing indeed. So fine that I married that boy 3 1/2 years later, and we always, ALWAYS, keep Girl Scout Thin Mints in our freezer.
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published as part of the Salon Kitchen Challenge, OpenSalon.com, February 2010.
Bread Pudding to Remember Our Humble Beginnings
I met Chris my first day of college. He was a sophomore; I was a freshman. A lonely freshman. Only three people from my high school went to the same college I did, and they weren’t close friends. So, my first night there, my roommate asked if I wanted to go eat pizza at her boyfriend’s dorm and meet some people. “Why not?” I thought. We went, and Chris was there. Six months later, we went on our first date. Fast forward three and a half years from that, and we were getting married. I was 22 years old, had a diploma and an entry-level job, and no money saved up. He was 23, didn’t have a diploma because he left college a year early. He had a job that required extensive travel (about 98%, I’d guess) and didn’t pay nearly enough to make it worth it. But we both had work and we were in love, and that’s all that mattered to us.
My parents gave us our wedding. It was the wedding of my mother’s dreams, if you get my drift. But, she and my dad were accustomed to both hosting and attending lavish parties, so they threw us a fantastic one.
The honeymoon was up to us. Being very young and just starting out, we didn’t have much in the way of funds. So, we sat down one night and started making rules. We chose our location by gradually whittling down our options: “No international travel.” “Must stay east of the Mississippi.” (We lived in Florida at the time.) “No beaches.” And so on. Eventually we settled on New Orleans. Neither of us had ever been. It wasn’t too far away, but it sounded like there would be plenty there for us to enjoy.
We set our budget, trolled Travelocity and chose a great hotel in the middle of the French Quarter, and started planning our itinerary. On vacations, I like to squeeze in as much as possible. Chris likes to relax as much as possible. So, we compromised and decided on one set activity a day, plenty of hanging out in the hotel, wandering the streets of the Quarter, and possibly exploring more of the city.
Every night, we’d have dinner in a different restaurant, trying to sample all of the traditional, famous recipes of the Crescent City. One of our favorite meals was at The Gumbo Shop, a little restaurant on St. Peter Street. The gumbo is divine, the etouffee melts in your mouth and warms your soul, but it’s the bread pudding that, well, “takes the cake.” We have been back to New Orleans many times, and we always make time to eat dinner at The Gumbo Shop. The meal is always finished off with their Bread Pudding with Whiskey Sauce. On off years, when we can’t make the trip, I make the dessert at home, and we sit and enjoy it, remembering “letting the good times roll.” Très magnifique!
Bread Pudding with Whiskey Sauce (from The Gumbo Shop cookbook)
¼ cup butter
3 cups milk
2 quarts day-old French bread, cut into 1-inch cubes
½ cup cubed pineapple
½ cup raisins
Pinch of salt
½ cup sugar
½ tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. nutmeg
1 tsp. vanilla
3 large eggs, beaten
Combine the milk and butter in a saucepan and heat until the butter is melted. In a large mixing bowl combine the bread, pineapple, and raisins and toss to mix. Add the milk and butter mixture, mix, and let stand for several minutes, allowing the bread to absorb the liquid.
Mix the sugar, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Add the vanilla to the beaten eggs, then mix in the sugar and spices. Pour all this over the bread and milk mixture and mix well.
Transfer the pudding to a greased 1 ½ quart baking pan and bake at 350 for 40 minutes or until golden brown. Serve warm, topped with about 3 tablespoons of Whiskey Sauce.
Whiskey Sauce
¼ cup butter, softened
2 cups confectioners sugar
1 jigger bourbon
Using electric mixer, slowly cream the sugar into the butter. Slowly beat in the bourbon.
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published as part of Salon's Kitchen Challenge on Open Salon, January 24, 2010
My parents gave us our wedding. It was the wedding of my mother’s dreams, if you get my drift. But, she and my dad were accustomed to both hosting and attending lavish parties, so they threw us a fantastic one.
The honeymoon was up to us. Being very young and just starting out, we didn’t have much in the way of funds. So, we sat down one night and started making rules. We chose our location by gradually whittling down our options: “No international travel.” “Must stay east of the Mississippi.” (We lived in Florida at the time.) “No beaches.” And so on. Eventually we settled on New Orleans. Neither of us had ever been. It wasn’t too far away, but it sounded like there would be plenty there for us to enjoy.
We set our budget, trolled Travelocity and chose a great hotel in the middle of the French Quarter, and started planning our itinerary. On vacations, I like to squeeze in as much as possible. Chris likes to relax as much as possible. So, we compromised and decided on one set activity a day, plenty of hanging out in the hotel, wandering the streets of the Quarter, and possibly exploring more of the city.
Every night, we’d have dinner in a different restaurant, trying to sample all of the traditional, famous recipes of the Crescent City. One of our favorite meals was at The Gumbo Shop, a little restaurant on St. Peter Street. The gumbo is divine, the etouffee melts in your mouth and warms your soul, but it’s the bread pudding that, well, “takes the cake.” We have been back to New Orleans many times, and we always make time to eat dinner at The Gumbo Shop. The meal is always finished off with their Bread Pudding with Whiskey Sauce. On off years, when we can’t make the trip, I make the dessert at home, and we sit and enjoy it, remembering “letting the good times roll.” Très magnifique!
Bread Pudding with Whiskey Sauce (from The Gumbo Shop cookbook)
¼ cup butter
3 cups milk
2 quarts day-old French bread, cut into 1-inch cubes
½ cup cubed pineapple
½ cup raisins
Pinch of salt
½ cup sugar
½ tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. nutmeg
1 tsp. vanilla
3 large eggs, beaten
Combine the milk and butter in a saucepan and heat until the butter is melted. In a large mixing bowl combine the bread, pineapple, and raisins and toss to mix. Add the milk and butter mixture, mix, and let stand for several minutes, allowing the bread to absorb the liquid.
Mix the sugar, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Add the vanilla to the beaten eggs, then mix in the sugar and spices. Pour all this over the bread and milk mixture and mix well.
Transfer the pudding to a greased 1 ½ quart baking pan and bake at 350 for 40 minutes or until golden brown. Serve warm, topped with about 3 tablespoons of Whiskey Sauce.
Whiskey Sauce
¼ cup butter, softened
2 cups confectioners sugar
1 jigger bourbon
Using electric mixer, slowly cream the sugar into the butter. Slowly beat in the bourbon.
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published as part of Salon's Kitchen Challenge on Open Salon, January 24, 2010
"Ken broke my leg!"
My dad grew up with a brother 2 years and 1 day younger than him. At some point in their childhood (I think when he was about 8 or 10), Tim had to have braces put on his legs for about 2 years. Something to do with the muscles in his legs. So, for those two years he had to be very careful and missed out on a lot of sports, etc. So, finally, it was time to take the braces off. That afternoon, he and my dad and a bunch of neighborhood kids played baseball in the front yard. Somehow, the ball ended up on the roof.
"I'll go get it!" Tim volunteered.
So, he climbed up to the roof, retrieved the ball, and said "Ken, throw me the bat. I'm gonna see how far I can hit it from up here."
So, my dad throws the bat at (I mean to) his brother, hits him with it, and knocks him off the roof.
"Ow! Ow! You broke my leg! You broke my leg!!!!" Tim bawled.
"I did not. Quit bein' such a stinkin' baby."
"Get mama! Tell her you broke my leg!"
"I'm not tellin' her I broke your leg! She'll whip the tarnation out of me!"
"Go get mama. Oh, you broke my leg, you broke my leg!"
Sure enough, Tim's leg was broken. Two years in metal braces followed by 6-8 weeks in a plaster cast. And my father lived to tell about it. :)
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published on Open Salon, January 2010.
"I'll go get it!" Tim volunteered.
So, he climbed up to the roof, retrieved the ball, and said "Ken, throw me the bat. I'm gonna see how far I can hit it from up here."
So, my dad throws the bat at (I mean to) his brother, hits him with it, and knocks him off the roof.
"Ow! Ow! You broke my leg! You broke my leg!!!!" Tim bawled.
"I did not. Quit bein' such a stinkin' baby."
"Get mama! Tell her you broke my leg!"
"I'm not tellin' her I broke your leg! She'll whip the tarnation out of me!"
"Go get mama. Oh, you broke my leg, you broke my leg!"
Sure enough, Tim's leg was broken. Two years in metal braces followed by 6-8 weeks in a plaster cast. And my father lived to tell about it. :)
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published on Open Salon, January 2010.
"Well I'll be John Brown!"
My Nanny had a colorful vocabulary. She didn't swear often (and when she did she usually apologized beforehand so you could brace yourself), but she did have many expressions she liked to use.
One of her favorites was "Well I'll be John Brown!" She typically said this when she was amazed or impressed with something. When I called her my sophomore year of high school to tell her I was the only 10th grader to have made the yearbook staff, her reply was "Well I'll be John Brown! That's wundaful, dahlin'!" Not sure which John Brown she was referring to or why he was always so amazed, but I will always remember that as one of my grandmother's favorite, most-used expressions.
Another of her favorites was one she used when she thought we were making things up. If she didn't believe something we were telling her, she'd say "Kiss my foot," or, the full expression, "Well, anybody believes that can kiss my foot." If she truly thought that what we were saying was ridiculous, she'd follow it with "...and I don't see any feet going up."
How I miss that fine southern lady!
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published on Open Salon, January 2010.
One of her favorites was "Well I'll be John Brown!" She typically said this when she was amazed or impressed with something. When I called her my sophomore year of high school to tell her I was the only 10th grader to have made the yearbook staff, her reply was "Well I'll be John Brown! That's wundaful, dahlin'!" Not sure which John Brown she was referring to or why he was always so amazed, but I will always remember that as one of my grandmother's favorite, most-used expressions.
Another of her favorites was one she used when she thought we were making things up. If she didn't believe something we were telling her, she'd say "Kiss my foot," or, the full expression, "Well, anybody believes that can kiss my foot." If she truly thought that what we were saying was ridiculous, she'd follow it with "...and I don't see any feet going up."
How I miss that fine southern lady!
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published on Open Salon, January 2010.
the flooded creek
I grew up in a huge neighborhood. There were about 400 houses, and probably at least that many kids. It took two whole school buses to bring all the kids in our neighborhood home from elementary school -- just to our neighborhood.
In the center of our neighborhood was the recreation area. We had a pool and tennis courts, and a big park with play equipment. And running through the center of that park was a creek. There were two bridges that crossed the creek so you could get from one side of the park to the other, and there was also a pipe that crossed it.
One spring day after a lot of heavy rain, that creek flooded.
And that pipe made a magnificent waterfall.
It took probably about 2.4 seconds for all of us kids to get home from school, change into old clothes, and jump into that creek to splash and play and pretend we were riding the rapids of some huge river as opposed to a little old neighborhood creek. Someone rigged a rope to a nearby tree and we took turns swinging out over the water and letting go. There were probably 100 kids in the creek that day, and tons of parents sitting on the sidelines, taking pictures and holding towels and bringing snacks. We were out there for hours.
It was an impromptu block party, where all the kids were laughing and splashing and having fun while their parents caught up with all the neighbors on what was going on in everyone's lives.
What happened to neighborhoods like that?
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published on Open Salon on January 16, 2010
In the center of our neighborhood was the recreation area. We had a pool and tennis courts, and a big park with play equipment. And running through the center of that park was a creek. There were two bridges that crossed the creek so you could get from one side of the park to the other, and there was also a pipe that crossed it.
One spring day after a lot of heavy rain, that creek flooded.
And that pipe made a magnificent waterfall.
It took probably about 2.4 seconds for all of us kids to get home from school, change into old clothes, and jump into that creek to splash and play and pretend we were riding the rapids of some huge river as opposed to a little old neighborhood creek. Someone rigged a rope to a nearby tree and we took turns swinging out over the water and letting go. There were probably 100 kids in the creek that day, and tons of parents sitting on the sidelines, taking pictures and holding towels and bringing snacks. We were out there for hours.
It was an impromptu block party, where all the kids were laughing and splashing and having fun while their parents caught up with all the neighbors on what was going on in everyone's lives.
What happened to neighborhoods like that?
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
*Originally published on Open Salon on January 16, 2010
Pot Roast for Your Love (a beef stew, of sorts)
As a child, I dreaded the days when my mom would announce pot roast for dinner. The meat was “weird,” the vegetables “all tasted like the meat,” and I would much rather have something more exotic like lasagna. Something was clearly wrong with me.
It wasn’t until I reached adulthood and got married that pot roast entered my cooking repertoire. My husband has always lauded me as a fantastic cook. I’m lucky enough to have a guy who’s adventurous and not picky and generally likes anything I make. It’s rare for him to make suggestions, as he tends to trust me in the kitchen realm (until it’s time to clean up…then he rolls up his sleeves, stands in front of the sink to wash, and I hail him as my hero). Then one night, many moons ago, he mentioned casually, offhand – I can’t even remember how we got on the subject – that he loved pot roast. I was intrigued. Really?? Pot roast?? With the potatoes and carrots cooked alongside?? Yes, he said, and I swear I saw his eyes roll back into his head a little bit.
I was floored. Clearly this was not the man I thought I had married. Either that, or it was not the meat I thought I knew. I was on a mission now…to figure out what was to love about pot roast. To learn to cook it. To make it well.
I consulted a few cookbooks to learn the basic technique. It seemed deceptively easy. What was the trick? I tossed the cookbooks aside, holed up in the kitchen, and threw caution to the wind.
The aroma wafting through my house that afternoon was enough to erase the worst life could dish out. The sound of the bubbling caused one’s mouth to water. The sight of the fork-tender beef, the caramelized onions and mushrooms, and the perfectly cooked carrots and potatoes was enough to make one sigh with happy anticipation. Pot roast, done well, is comfort food at its best.
Pot Roast of Beef
(measurements need not be exact...use more or less of each ingredient to suit your own taste)
2-4 pound beef chuck roast
1-2 large sweet onions
3-4 large carrots, cut in chunks, or the equivalent amount of peeled baby carrots
8 oz package of white mushrooms, halved
3-4 medium potatoes, peeled and quartered (eighthed if large)
3-4 cloves of garlic
1 package mushroom gravy mix
Red wine - a few "glugs"
Worchestershire - a few less "glugs"
Herbs and seasonings as you feel inspired: rosemary, thyme, Montreal steak seasoning, salt, pepper, dried minced onions
Early in the day: Cut onion in half and then slice crosswise into 1/2 inch(ish) slices. Spread in bottom of crock pot. Season your meat with salt, pepper, and any herbs or spices you're choosing to use. Place in crock pot on top of onions. Whisk gravy mix into 1 cup cold water and pour over the meat. Add the wine and Worchestershire, as well as dried minced onions (if using) and garlic cloves (smash them under the side of your knife, but no need to chop or mince). Cover and cook on low for 2-3 hours. At this point, turn the meat over and nestle the vegetables around it and under it. Cook for 3-4 more hours, until vegetables are cooked and meat is fork tender. At this point, remove meat from crock and either cut into bite-sized pieces or shred with two forks. Return to crock pot and stir into vegetables.
Serve over rice (our preference), hot cooked egg noodles, or even mashed potatoes.
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
It wasn’t until I reached adulthood and got married that pot roast entered my cooking repertoire. My husband has always lauded me as a fantastic cook. I’m lucky enough to have a guy who’s adventurous and not picky and generally likes anything I make. It’s rare for him to make suggestions, as he tends to trust me in the kitchen realm (until it’s time to clean up…then he rolls up his sleeves, stands in front of the sink to wash, and I hail him as my hero). Then one night, many moons ago, he mentioned casually, offhand – I can’t even remember how we got on the subject – that he loved pot roast. I was intrigued. Really?? Pot roast?? With the potatoes and carrots cooked alongside?? Yes, he said, and I swear I saw his eyes roll back into his head a little bit.
I was floored. Clearly this was not the man I thought I had married. Either that, or it was not the meat I thought I knew. I was on a mission now…to figure out what was to love about pot roast. To learn to cook it. To make it well.
I consulted a few cookbooks to learn the basic technique. It seemed deceptively easy. What was the trick? I tossed the cookbooks aside, holed up in the kitchen, and threw caution to the wind.
The aroma wafting through my house that afternoon was enough to erase the worst life could dish out. The sound of the bubbling caused one’s mouth to water. The sight of the fork-tender beef, the caramelized onions and mushrooms, and the perfectly cooked carrots and potatoes was enough to make one sigh with happy anticipation. Pot roast, done well, is comfort food at its best.
Pot Roast of Beef
(measurements need not be exact...use more or less of each ingredient to suit your own taste)
2-4 pound beef chuck roast
1-2 large sweet onions
3-4 large carrots, cut in chunks, or the equivalent amount of peeled baby carrots
8 oz package of white mushrooms, halved
3-4 medium potatoes, peeled and quartered (eighthed if large)
3-4 cloves of garlic
1 package mushroom gravy mix
Red wine - a few "glugs"
Worchestershire - a few less "glugs"
Herbs and seasonings as you feel inspired: rosemary, thyme, Montreal steak seasoning, salt, pepper, dried minced onions
Early in the day: Cut onion in half and then slice crosswise into 1/2 inch(ish) slices. Spread in bottom of crock pot. Season your meat with salt, pepper, and any herbs or spices you're choosing to use. Place in crock pot on top of onions. Whisk gravy mix into 1 cup cold water and pour over the meat. Add the wine and Worchestershire, as well as dried minced onions (if using) and garlic cloves (smash them under the side of your knife, but no need to chop or mince). Cover and cook on low for 2-3 hours. At this point, turn the meat over and nestle the vegetables around it and under it. Cook for 3-4 more hours, until vegetables are cooked and meat is fork tender. At this point, remove meat from crock and either cut into bite-sized pieces or shred with two forks. Return to crock pot and stir into vegetables.
Serve over rice (our preference), hot cooked egg noodles, or even mashed potatoes.
(c) 2010 Lisa Kuebler
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