Marla in the Kitchen

Glenn Miller, In the Mood

There’s a popular story/urban myth about a little girl/husband watching her/his mom/wife make a pot roast/ham and asking, “Why do you cut the ends off before you bake it?”

“I don’t know, it’s the way my mom did it, probably made it juicier. Why don’t you ask Gramma.”

So the little girl asked Gramma, who said, “I don’t know, it’s just the way my mom did it, probably made it juicier. Why don’t you ask her?”

So the little girl called Great Gramma and asked her, “Why did you cut the ends off a pot roast before you cooked it. Did it make it juicier?”

“No,” said great grandma, “When I was first married, my only pan was too small to hold a whole roast, so I cut off both ends so that it would fit.”

Or there’s this one. Same little girl, standing on a kitchen stool, loves to help her mom cook dinner and later as an adult cook, follows her mom’s principal of turning a can upside down and opening it at the bottom—for safety or freshness, she assumes. Years later when they were cooking together on Thanksgiving, the daughter automatically turned a can of green beans upside down and opened it from the bottom.

“Why did you turn the can upside down before you opened it?,” Mom asked.

“Cause you always did it that way,” the daughter replied.

“Well,” said the mom, “we stored the cans in the storm cellar and the tops were always dusty, so I turned the cans upside down and opened the bottom.”

Here’s my version of the Pot Roast Principle. I change sheets and hang them outside to dry each Saturday, just like my mom did. She taught school during the week and Saturday was her day to clean and spiff. These years, I could choose any old day to change the sheets but every Saturday as I fluff a clean top sheet over the bed (“hemmed side next to your body”) and later, fold a fitted sheet (“two corners in each hand, then tuck together”) fresh from the clothesline, I think of her.

There are those who think the moral of these stories is: question the old ways, don’t be too quick to do things the way they have always been done. But I think that holding on to some of the details of our past and the routines of the ones we love, keeps their memory alive.

Here’s a recipe I watched Muth make many times, I made it by her side a time or two, and have made it by myself for years. She bought “country-style” spare ribs from the town butcher, brought them home, carefully cut each slab into two-rib pieces, put them into a Pyrex pan, covered them with the liquid ingredients, and baked them slowly for hours. I do it exactly the same, except for the chipotle peppers in sauce—not available in 1950s Nebraska. I do carefully cut each slab into two-rib pieces just like Muth did. I don’t know why she did that, maybe her pan was too small.

Anyways, happy Mother’s Day, here’s thinking of you Muth.

Oven-Baked County-Style Spareribs

• 5 lbs. country-style ribs
• 1 can diced-in-juice tomatoes
• 1⁄2 c. catsup
• 3 T. Worcestershire sauce
• 3 T. chopped ginger
• 3 T. chopped garlic
• 1⁄2 c. soy sauce
• 3 T. Dijon mustard
• 1 T. dry Coleman’s mustard
• 3 T. brown sugar
• 1 c. chicken stock
• 1 T. chipotle peppers in sauce

Season ribs with salt, black pepper, cumin, chili powder, refrigerate overnight. Mix rest of ingredients then pour over ribs. Bake in 400° oven for 15 minutes. Lower heat to 325°, bake for 2-3 hours. Check for doneness and bake longer if necessary. Liquid should be thickened but not gone. Ribs should be falling-off-the bone tender with plenty of sauce left. The ribs are best when left to their own devices for 20-30 minutes before eating.

Uptown Girl, Billy Joel

Today’s trip in the wayback machine begins with threadbare pillow covers—those zippered cases used to keep pokey, stabby feather ends inside your bed pillow—resulting in a trip to Macy’s. Plenty of parking, empty store aisles, no customers, no perfume squirters, no live piano music, no sales clerks to be seen, as we walked through Cosmetics and rode the up escalator to Linens—just the Sweetie and me left to our own devices. We finally disturbed a young man, who was intent on restocking, “You might try over there in the 50%-off corner.” Hidden on the floor beneath a jumble of duvets, pillows, sheets, and mattress pads were two pillow covers.

Now, how do we pay? We wandered some, looking for a cash register, and saw a sign, “Pay at the Friendly Service Counter.” Luckily, the only other shopper in the store knew what and where the friendly service counter was and we were soon out the door—no wonder we use Amazon. But before Amazon became our department store of choice, there was Frederick & Nelson, The Bon Marché, Bonwit Teller, Bullocks, Younker-Martin’s, and Neiman Marcus. Luxury department store shopping was usually reserved for wealthy customers, but Christmas—with Santa land, opulent window displays, and a chance to ride on stairs that moved—drew in throngs of middle class families.

In my 1950s South Sioux City, our store was Younker-Martin’s. On Saturdays, we crossed over from Nebraska to Iowa on the Missouri River bridge to downtown Sioux City and the corner of 4th & Pierce. In the summer we put shoes on and modeled prickly school clothes for Muth, in front of the full-length mirror. In the winter, we made a day of Christmas shopping, holiday window gazing, and Santa sitting, topped off with a turtle sundae in the 2nd floor cafeteria. Muth took a turn at the cosmetics counter, face upturned, as a primly dressed “Cosmetic Consultant” applied foundation, blush, and lipstick that was too-red. We rode the elevator, operated by a uniformed gentleman who gently intoned, “Second floor Linens, Fourth floor Ladies’ Lingerie” as he glided us up to Children’s Clothes on Fifth. On the way out we strolled through the Men’s Department, picking up a box of pipe cleaners and a flannel shirt, then headed home.

In downtown Seattle, Frederick & Nelson was the standard of elegance. You could rest your elbow on a satin pad at the glove counter while the sales clerk fitted you for a long, slinky glove. You could buy a hot dog in the basement cafeteria, a box of house-made Frangos under the chandelier in front of the grand staircase, a wedge of coconut cake in the third floor Tea Room, or a fancy chicken salad sandwich in the upscale, eighth-floor restaurant.

In the 1970s, traditional department stores, once big city fixtures, moved into suburban malls leaving downtowns vacant. The rise of on-line shopping and the emergence of Walmart, Target, TJ Maxx, the Dollar Stores, and Big Lots siphoned customers away from mall department stores, leaving empty stores and deserted walkways. Last week Ginny needed batting for a new quilt, found it on Amazon, and had it in her hands within a day. It’s hard to justify putting in the time and expense to shop in a brick and mortar store, but we do miss that brief visit to elegance. Maybe vacant malls will help in the current push to revitalize downtowns but luxury department stores aren’t likely to be part of the effort.

Frederick & Nelson’s Chicken Salad 4 servings

• 1 pound boneless and skinless chicken breasts
• 2 ribs celery, finely chopped
• 1/2 cup chopped pecans, divided
• 1/3 cup drained, sliced black olives, divided
• 1 cup mayonnaise
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• Freshly ground black pepper to taste
• 1 1/2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice Shredded iceberg lettuce

1. Put the chicken into a pan and cover with water. Bring to a boil and immediately reduce the heat. Simmer, partly covered, about 10 to 12 minutes, or until the chicken tests done. Remove from the water and cool. Then dice and put into a bowl.

2. Add the celery to the chicken. Save about a tablespoon of the pecans and a couple of tablespoons of the olives for garnish, then add the remaining of both to the chicken.

3. Stir together the mayonnaise, salt, pepper, Worcestershire sauce and lemon juice. Fold into the salad, cover and refrigerate until ready to serve. (If the salad seems too stiff once chilled, loosen with a couple of tablespoons water.)

4. Serve the salad on a bed of iceberg lettuce, garnished with pecans and sliced olives.

Weather Report, Birdland

Northwestern Washington gets no respect when it comes to weather—the assumption is that it just rains all the time. In Houston, Atlanta, Tallahassee, and Phoenix, they snicker when they hear that our Cooling Centers open during an 85° “heat wave.” Well, we have some weather to talk about this week—one weather forecast calls for 8” of snow by Sunday!

In the Midwest where I grew up, snow season started in October and could last through April, the ground frozen hard with miles of slumped over cornfields and steaming cows huddled together at the hay bales. In 2010, we spent a winter on a job in Duluth Minnesota living in a condominium that looked out on Lake Superior. Every morning when we pulled up the shades, a new and stark ice scene appeared. The lake gradually froze, container barges stopped passing by, and a thick sea fog drifted over the ice.

As my Mom (and probably yours too) used to say, “Sure, it’s all grins and giggles until someone gets hurt.”  Ice fishing is a bracing adventure as long as the ice part is there. But eventually, and sometimes without warning, the thick ice cracks apart, separating one ice guy from his people, sending him adrift into the endless Lake Superior.

That exact mishap occurred while we were in Duluth. A grandfather and his grandson were cozied into their winter fishing shanty, when their 15 square feet of ice started to crack. Grandpa, a veteran of the sport, tossed the truck keys to the thirteen year old and yelled, “Drive in as fast as you can go, I’ll be right behind you!” Luckily Grandpa had been secretly teaching grandson how to drive, so grandson got to the banks of the lake—only to see Grandpa slowly disappearing into the ice fog. Twelve hours later, a helicopter rescue crew lifted a cold, slightly blue Grandpa up off the ice floe, into the warm copter, then down on steady ground to his waiting family.

I made this recipe the other night—delicious. The rice is so tasty and the sauce is to die for, next time I’ll make more sauce—Sweetie and I ate all four portions. I might also use chicken breasts instead of thighs.

Arroz con pollo 

Sofrito:

1 cup fresh cilantro leaves and stems, chopped

1 onion, chopped (1 cup)

1 Poblano pepper, stemmed, seeded, and chopped 

5 garlic cloves, chopped coarse

1 teaspoon ground cumin

Sauce:

½ cup mayonnaise

3 ½ tablespoons lemon juice (2 lemons), plus lemon wedges for serving

Salt and pepper

Chicken and rice:

4 bone in, skin-on chicken thighs, trimmed

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

1 cup medium-grain rice, rinsed

1 tablespoon Sazón* (Mexican spice blend)

1 1/2 cups chicken broth

1/4 cup pimento-stuffed green olives, halved

2 tablespoons capers, rinsed

2 bay leaves

½ cup frozen peas, thawed 

*Sazón is a spice blend common in Latin American cooking usually found found in the Mexican spice rack in most supermarkets. If you can’t find Sazón, use this spice combination: 1 teaspoon garlic powder, ¾ teaspoon salt, ½ teaspoon paprika, ½ teaspoon ground coriander, ¼ teaspoon ground cumin.

Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350 degrees. 

Sofrito: Process cilantro, 1/2 cup onion, Poblano pepper, garlic, and cumin in food processor until finely chopped, scraping down bowl as needed. Transfer sofrito to bowl.

Sauce: Process mayonnaise, 2 tablespoons lemon juice, 1/4 teaspoon salt, and 2 tablespoons sofrito in now-empty processor until almost smooth, about 30 seconds. Transfer mayonnaise-herb sauce to small bowl, cover, and refrigerate until ready to serve.

Chicken and rice: Pat chicken dry with paper towels and season with 1 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Heat oil in Dutch oven over medium heat until shimmering. Add chicken to pot skin side down and cook without moving it until skin is crispy and golden, 7 to 9 minutes. Transfer chicken to plate; discard skin.

Pour off all but 2 tablespoons fat from pot and heat over medium heat until shimmering. Add remaining 1/2 cup onion and cook until softened, 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in rice and Sazón and cook until edges of rice begin to turn translucent, about 2 minutes.

Stir in broth, olives, capers, bay leaves, remaining sofrito, remaining 2 tablespoons lemon juice, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper, scraping up any browned bits. Nestle chicken into pot along with any accumulated juices and bring to vigorous simmer. Cover, transfer to oven, and bake for 20 minutes.

Transfer pot to wire rack and let stand, covered, for 15 minutes. Fluff rice with fork and stir in peas, if using. Discard bay leaves. Serve with mayonnaise-herb sauce and lemon wedges.

Listen to Badfinger’s Day After Day and Sonny and Cher’s I Got You Babe

Who knew? According to Apple News, along with the famous Punxsutawney Phil, two other groundhogs have the power to doom us to six more weeks of winter: New York’s Staten Island Chuck and Connecticut’s Chuckles X. They are apparently in cahoots, as all three (in the midst of an epic Nor’easter), predicted an extension to this year’s dismal grey winter.

My mom and dad moved from Nebraska to Puget Sound in the late sixties and their first February, Muth wrote me a letter describing her joy at seeing green grass, little white snowdrops, miniature daffodils and tree buds beginning to swell. Sure, there were days of dripping rain, grey skies, and damp wool jackets but still—there was hope. In the Midwest, the ground is frozen solid until late April, the tree branches are bare and smooth, winter storms push through without pause, and snow shovels remain at the ready. In Northwestern Washington, when January is finally over, we look for snowdrops, heath, tiny daffodils, and camellias to light up our grey winter landscape.

By now the commitment to hasty New Year’s resolutions has faded, the pandemic drags on, and—much like in Bill Murray’s Groundhog Day, every morning seems like the one before. Grumpy, self-absorbed TV weatherman Phil Connors woke up again and again to February 2, Sonny & Cher singing I Got You Babe, and the mundane details of life repeating exactly, day after day. Gradually, his unrestricted pursuit of doing whatever he wanted shifted to acceptance and he found joy in learning to play the piano, creating ice sculptures, helping the people in his life, and eventually becoming the man Andie Macdowell wanted him to be.

The pandemic has given me over three hundred mornings to examine the details of my life: cozy fires, sister chats, brisk walks, off-and-on swims, more time to read, The Durrells in Corfu, and sleep snuggles with the Sweetie. Not sure I’ve become a better person, but I do have a sharper appreciation of my life and my dear ones.

So…as long as its bleak and drippy outside, let’s look for a little bit of comfort in a hearty beef and pork chili.

Texas-style Beef and Pork Chili 

• 2 ancho chilies (You’ll find anchos in the Mexican food area of a grocery store. They’re usually in a clear plastic bag by the Mexican spice rack. Split them, remove seeds, and roast over a burner or in a skillet. When soft and dark, they’re done. Cover them with 1 cup boiling water and let stand until they’re soft. Blend and strain. Reserve liquid. You can also make great chili powder using Anchos, just roast them as above but don’t cover them with water. Instead, let them cool, then them whiz up in a spice grinder.)

• 2 # beef, cubed 2 # pork, cubed
• 3 T. flour
• Sprinkles of cumin, coriander, oregano, mild chili powder, salt, and pepper
• Good glug of oil
• 2 onions, diced
• 2 T. garlic, minced
• 1 T. cumin
• 2 t. coriander
• 1 t. celery seed
• 2 t. oregano
• 1 t. marjoram
• 3 bay leaves
• 1⁄8 t. allspice
• 1⁄8 t. cloves
• Some canned chipotles (if you like some heat)
• 2 T. tomato paste
• 4 c. chicken or beef stock
• 1 cup beer
• Strained Ancho chili liquid
• 1 large can crushed tomatoes
• 1 T. minced canned chipotle peppers in sauce (add more to taste)
• If you’re a bean lover, add a can of drained pinto beans—just don’t tell a Texan. (“There’s a saying in Texas: “If you know beans about chili, you know chili ain’t got no beans.”)

Dry beef and pork cubes, sprinkle with some cumin, coriander, oregano, chili powder, salt, and pepper, then dredge in flour. Brown in hot oil. Add onions and garlic, sauté until soft and light brown. Add measured spices—brown. Add tomato paste, stir, and sauté for 2-3 minutes. Add stock, beer, strained Ancho chili liquid, tomatoes, chipotles.

Bring to a boil, lower to simmer and cook until meat is tender 1 1⁄2-3 hours. If you like soft, creamy beans in your chili, add them early in the process; if you like the beans firmer and to hold their shape, add them in the last hour.

Accompany chili with salsa Fresca, grated cheese, sour cream, sliced olives, diced avocado, lime wedges, and crunched up Doritos.