eating my words

My buttermilk biscuits will never be the same.  Nor will my buddy, Jay's, awesome Mexican cornbread.  I can kiss that skillet of goodness good-bye.  Why?  White Lily, the grand dame of Southern baking, has, like Elvis, left the building.  Parent company, J.M. Smucker, transfered the original production facility from Knoxville, TN to plants in the Midwest. (White Lily's previous owners, C.H. Guenther & Sons retained ownership of the Knoxville location.)  The reality of the situation has set in and everyone -- from home cooks to gourmet chefs to the food editors of just about every newspaper around -- is lamenting the "passing."

The buzz surrounding the latest food scare -- salmonella-tainted tomatoes -- is substantial.  One network is busy reporting the situation is only going to drive up the cost of these precious summertime gems, while another says this will steer even more folks away from anything fresh.  (I reckon now’s a good time to be in the canned food business.)

As y’all might imagine, this got me thinking about a whole host of things ranging from eating local to growing your own fruits and vegetables to the FDA (oy, vey!).  But I’ve mostly been thinking about the Young Ones (and I don’t mean Vyvyan, Rick, Neil, and Mike).  I’m referring to my kids and their friends who need a constant reminder of where their food comes from and continual reinforcement that growing your own tomatoes, for instance, is easy (and important!) even if you don’t live on a farm.

Barbecue, catfish, and grits are true Southern culinary icons, to be sure.  Yet despite their humble beginnings, these Dixie-born gems have gone on to become quite popular across the country.  As a result, it’s not particularly difficult to find foods such as Memphis-style barbecue or garlic-cheese grits in New York or LA (and I don’t mean Lower Alabama). 

Enter pimiento cheese. 

Now, if you read the "Otis, My Man!," post back in March, you know that pimiento cheese is one of my favorite foods.  I'll happily eat it morning, noon, or night (and all times in between).

First off, in my neck of the woods, the word “pimiento” is pronounced PUH-minnuh (just like the old guys in the bait shop pronounce “minnow”, only without the “PUH.”)

In my last post, Hog Heaven, I casually mentioned white barbecue sauce.  Almost immediately, my inbox was filled with emails from folks all over the country who'd never heard of the concoction, but wanted to know more.  Who am I do deny barbecue lovers the opportunity to try something new?  That said, I'll start from the top.

The color spectrum of barbecue sauce is rich and diverse—one reason why sampling different styles from all over the South is so much fun, and so delicious.  Ask the average person the color of their favorite sauce and you’ll probably get answers such as brick red, mahogany, or caramel.  Shoot, ask somebody from Columbia, South Carolina, where mustard-based sauces are king, and you might even get, well, mustard-color.

I've had just about enough of this fickle March weather -- it snowed in Birmingham two days ago and today it was sunny and 65.  What gives?  I really shouldn't complain, though, because today was one of those days where the weather's so beautiful you actually feel cool (like, Fonzie cool).  You know what I mean?  All I know is that when I was in college and a day like today rolled around, you could kiss class good-bye.  It's been cold and rainy for the last few weeks, so maybe I'm just high on vitamin D.

Anyway, it was just too nice to stay inside, so I met my wife and youngest daughter for lunch at our favorite outdoor eatery (in case you're wondering -- or in the event my boss is reading this -- there were no thoughts of blowing off work.  I promise.)  As we sat outside soaking up the sun and savoring every single minute of the humidity-free breeze, my wife and I talked about cleaning up the back yard, sweeping off the patio, and inviting a few friends over for a casual get-together this weekend.  Nothing fancy -- a few nibbles, some wine, fire up the outdoor speakers.  You get the picture.

"48 hours in barbecue heaven," were the last words I said to my wife as I rolled out of Birmingham headed for Lynchburg, TN on a perfect fall day.  I was on my way to judge the 18th Annual Jack Daniel's World Championship Invitational Barbecue.  I'd judged last year's contest, so I knew what I was getting into.  But the thrill was just the same.

I love cookbooks.  In fact, much to my wife's chagrin, my nightstand is really nothing more than a fancy book holder looking to steal even more space from my alarm clock.

I’m not one to follow recipes – I cook by feel, taste, and, most of the time, by what inspires me in restaurants and in the kitchens of my friends.