Shawna Lynn Brooks's Blog, page 3

White BBQ Sauce

I was born in Pascagoula. If you’re a Jimmy Buffett fan, you’ve heard of it. I've mentioned before that I was raised everywhere else. I first moved to Alabama when I went to college at the University of South Alabama, which is in Mobile. Mobile is almost as far south as you can go in Alabama without swimming in the ocean (the farthest south is a little town called Bayou La Batre—if you’re a Forrest Gump fan, you’ve heard of that, too). So I never spent a lot of time in North Alabama. You’d think it would all be about the same.

Not quite. North Alabama has Tuscaloosa and Birmingham. My daughter went to the University of Alabama. The one thing I can tell you about Tuscaloosa is that you don’t really go there—you experience it. Tuscaloosa is a football town, and the University of Alabama is at the dead center of it.

They’re proud of their football. I think there’s a blood test with the admissions application. If the results don’t come back “rabid Alabama fan,” they ship you off to Auburn. Or Siberia. To an Alabama fan, they’re roughly the same thing. I’m not even exaggerating. It’s been four years since she graduated, and my daughter would still rather cut off her own leg than miss the Iron Bowl.

Then there’s Birmingham. Birmingham is awesome. My son-in-law has lived there for eight years, which is roughly how long he and my daughter have been together, so I’ve spent a lot of time there. It has it all—green, rolling hills; any kind of shopping you could ask for; trendy nightlife; culture; concerts; and amazing restaurants. In the South, amazing restaurants means someone is going to open a barbecue place.

And that was my introduction to white barbecue sauce. I didn’t even know it was a thing. I mean, the sky is blue, grass is green, and barbecue sauce is brown. That’s just how it is.

Not in North Alabama. From what I’ve been able to tell, this truly is a recipe that is limited to that region. I can’t imagine why. It’s amazing. Put this on some smoked chicken, and you’ll never want the brown stuff again. I served this at one of our parties and one of the ladies took a piece of bread and swiped every last drop from her plate. Then she dumped some more on her plate and soaked that up, too.

I love this with chicken. The vinegar and lemon juice make for a tangy sauce that compliments chicken's milder flavor. 

North Alabama White BBQ Sauce

2 c. light mayonnaise

2 T. fresh ground black pepper

2 T. salt

6 T. lemon juice

6 T. apple cider vinegar

4 T. sugar

Pinch of cayenne pepper

Cajun seasoning to taste

Mix all ingredients together until smooth, then chill until ready to serve.

Sauteed Brussel Sprouts

I've only recently discovered Brussel Sprouts are actually good. Really good. As in, "where have you been all my life?" good.

Well, maybe not all my life. I've never been a fan of green, leafy things, and Brussel Sprouts were close enough to cabbage that I classified them as inedible early in life. That's practically sacrilege when you live in the home of collard and mustard greens (one of my closest friends raises greens on a farm in Mississippi, and I can't tell you how many times she's tried to send some home with me. Yuk. Have you ever noticed how slimy collard greens are?).

But I wasn't raised in the South (at least, not completely), so I get a pass. I spent most of my single digit years in Washington state. And not in the mountains, either.

Eastern Washington is mostly desert and tumbleweeds, and where we lived, there weren't exactly fields of vegetables. In fact, my only experience with fresh produce came when a friend of mine asked if I wanted to go with her and her family to pick some apples at an orchard. Sure. Why not?

My friend was a first generation Vietnamese girl whose parents escaped during the war. They were part of a tight knit community that shared, and apparently, this trip was part of that practice. We drove several hours to an orchard where they were allowed to pick and keep as many apples as they could in a day. I suppose they preserved them in some fashion and then shared them with other families in their circle. I had no idea. I just wanted to hang out with my friend.

Fast forward to the end of the day, and imagine my surprise when they tell me I'm going to keep all the apples I picked. Seriously? I thought I was just helping out.

Nope. All mine. I arrived back home with all my apples in tow--all 218 of them. My mom thought I had lost my mind. We piled them on a newspaper on the living room floor, and mom just stared down at them like she didn't know what to do next. We had every kind of apple dish you can imagine for the next week, then she cut the rest up and put them in little bags in the freezer. When we moved two years later, most of the bags were still there. 

So I learned to appreciate fruits, but not leafy greens and I never developed a taste for them. Right after my dad died in 2016, though, my business partner invited me to join him and his wife for dinner at a restaurant in Seaside, Florida. I had spent dad's final year as his caregiver, and my partner was worried about me. He thought the outing would do me good. I would never in a million years have ordered Brussel Sprouts. My partner ordered them as an appetizer and assured me they were outstanding. I'm polite enough not to argue.

Well, mostly--my partner and I are both lawyers, so I guess that's not entirely true.

Holy Moses. Those little balls of leaves were one of the most amazing vegetable dishes I'd ever had. So, of course, I looked up the recipe the moment I left the restaurant.

I've been serving roasted Brussel Sprouts ever since--quarter them, coat them with olive oil, salt them, then bake them for forty five minutes or so. My husband told me he had only ever had them boiled before (eww). So. Much. Better.

But, geez, an hour can be a long wait. Steaks are done in 15 minutes. There had to be a faster way.

And here it is. In fifteen minutes, these are tender, tasty, good for you, and gluten free. They even smell good. What more could you ask for?

Sauteed Brussel Sprouts

2 pounds Brussel Sprouts, trimmed and quartered

3 tablespoons olive oil

4 cloves garlic

2 tablespoons lemon juice

Salt, to taste

In large skillet, heat the olive oil over medium high heat. Add the sprouts and saute for about 10 minutes, or until brown and fork tender, stirring to make sure they are evenly browned. Add the garlic and saute for another minute, then remove from heat and stir in lemon juice. Salt to taste and serve while still hot.

Pão de queijo (Brazilian cheese bread)

I’ve mentioned in previous posts that my brother lives in Portland, Oregon. He used to live in Dallas, and he and his family are moving back again this summer. I’m excited about that for a number of reasons. First, my brother, his wife and my niece are three of my favorite people in the world. Oregon is a long haul from southern Alabama, but Dallas isn’t.

Plus Dallas is great. I mean, really. I’ve lived all over the country—Maine, Missouri, Washington state, Puerto Rico, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and a very short stint in California—and I settled here in Alabama for a reason. It’s home. I love it. And there are only a few places I would give it up for: anywhere in Florida, Rome, and Dallas.

Why Dallas? Because there are very few bad things I can say about it. There’s no beach and a lot of traffic. But that’s it. Everything else is a plus. You can find just about anything there. Great concerts that we don’t get here. The Perot Museum. The Christmas ice sculpture exhibit at the Gaylord.

And Brazilian steak houses. We were visiting my brother a few years back, and I had never been to a Brazilian steak house before. He said we had to try it. So we all trekked over there.

I had no idea how unprepared I was.

My brother had neglected to tell me that, to fully appreciate a Brazilian steak house, it’s better to go really, really hungry. As in starving. Don’t eat for at least two days. I had eaten lunch that day--a rookie mistake that will never happen again.

And there was the disc. Green means go, red means stop. Fairly elementary. I thought I could handle that. What he didn’t tell me was that the second you flip that disc over to green, prepare for an ambush. I flipped the disc and a stream of servers began to wave sides of meat under my nose. You go to take a bite of one and they’re plunking something else on your plate. Your taste buds are singing and you want to try it all, so you tell them to keep it coming. And they do.  

At first, I thought it was no big deal. After seven or eight of the servers had come and gone, I had a collection of small bites on my plate. They were just little bites, after all. When I eat dinner, don’t I usually eat more than eight bites? That didn’t seem like much.

But after five or six bites, I was filling up. And the servers just kept coming. There was stuff I hadn’t tried. I didn’t want to wave the white flag on an all-you-can-eat meat fest after half a dozen bites of food. I soldiered on for a few more bites, but I am, apparently, a wimp. A couple more of the servers were preparing to pounce. I flipped the disc over to red.

The assault stopped.

I don’t know if you’ve ever heard the term “meat sweats,” but if you’ve never experienced them before, I can personally assure you it is exactly what it sounds like. Oh. My. Gosh. I began to wonder how many people they’d had to scrape off the walls after they exploded. As my husband said, that was a different kind of full. I left wanting both to take a nap and to run around the block three times to beat that heavy, gut bomb feeling out of my system.

It was awesome. Seriously.

One of the things they dropped on the table before the chaos started was a basket of this Brazilian cheese bread. These little guys are incredible. When I came across this recipe some time later, I snatched it up. And when my doctor made me give up gluten, these became my go-to rolls for steak night. They’re dirt simple to make, and they’re made with tapioca flour, which means they’re gluten free and have a light, chewy texture that’s unlike any wheat rolls you’ve ever tried.

I suspect these would keep well, but I haven’t managed to have any leftovers yet. Even when I double the recipe, my family still scarfs them down like I haven’t fed them in a week. Make sure to use freshly grated parmesan, and not the pre-shredded stuff. And save the recipe. I promise you’ll want to make these again.

Pão de queijo (Brazilian cheese bread)

1 egg

1/4 c. vegetable oil

1 1/2 c. tapioca flour

3/4 teasp. salt

2/3 c. milk

1/2 c. shredded parmesan cheese

Preheat oven to 400. Spray mini-muffin pan with non-stick spray. In a blender, blend egg, oil, flour, salt and milk until well blended. Add cheese and blend for another 5-10 seconds. Fill each cup about 2/3 full. Bake until golden brown (about 15 minutes).

 

Chocolate Peanut Butter Cream Cake

My husband and I have dinner parties a lot. And I mean a lot. We have a patio that’s made for it-grill, smoker, Tiki bar with draft beer on tap (built it myself!!), fire pit, antique soda machine, and an ice chest big enough for an adult to sit comfortably inside. 

Adulting can be a lot of fun.

My husband turned 50 last year, and he’s lived in in the same ten mile radius since he was 2. Before he and his dad bought the butcher shop, he worked for a major corporation and had hundreds of people at a time working for him. Now, most of the people in the community where the shop is located are his customers. Between his work and high school, he knows everyone. Just try going grocery shopping with him-if we get in and out with less than five people stopping him, it’s a slow day.

So our dinner parties usually include a lot of people. The most we’ve had is 60, but thankfully, my husband doesn’t do that to me often. We would still be married if he did, but it wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant.

For either of us.

But for parties of a dozen or so, I get the chance to try out new recipes without feeling like I’m catering for an event. I suppose it’s a little risky to test stuff I’ve never tried before on a party, but everyone keeps coming back. They like my husband a lot, but everyone keeps eating, so the food must be okay. I guess I’ve been lucky.

My husband invited some of his high school friends over this weekend, and since these were some of his oldest friends, he wanted to pull out the filet mignon. That meant I had to come up with sides and a dessert that could stand up next to his steak—no small task.

Oh, yeah. And they had to be gluten free.

Enter this chocolate and peanut butter cake. Holy Cannoli, Batman. I almost drove to Panama City to slap my mama. But I value my life, so I settled for an extra bite of cake. It’s even better after sitting overnight. It’s sinfully rich, so pour yourself a glass of milk and enjoy.

Chocolate Peanut Butter Cream Cake

For the cake layers:

1 cup butter
1 1/2 cups chopped semi-sweet chocolate (or chocolate chips)
6 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla
3/4 cup cocoa powder
1 teaspoon salt

Preheat the oven to 350ºF. Grease three 8 inch cake pans (depending on how many layers you want) and line with parchment paper. Melt the butter and chocolate chips in the microwave or on the stove top. Meanwhile beat together the eggs and sugar for about five minutes at high speed until pale and more than doubled in volume. Add the vanilla to the eggs and beat until combined. Sift in the cocoa and salt and mix again until combined. Pour in the melted chocolate and butter and beat until combined. Divide into prepared cake pans and bake for about 20-25 minutes or until toothpick comes out with some crumbs attached but no longer wet.

For the Peanut Butter Cream:

1 cup creamy peanut butter
1 cup butter
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons vanilla
4 cups powdered sugar
4-6 tablespoons heavy cream

While the cake layer is baking, cream together the peanut butter and butter. Add the salt and vanilla. Add the powdered sugar and cream. If too thin add more sugar, if too thick add more cream. Beat until fluffy. Set aside.

For the Chocolate Ganache:
2 cups of chocolate chips 
1/2 cup butter

Melt in the microwave at 50% power, stirring ever thirty seconds. Cool for a few minutes before assembling cake--you want it thin enough to spread but not so hot it will melt the peanut butter cream.

Once the cake is done baking, let cool slightly, remove one layer carefully from pan and parchment paper, and lay on plate. Top a layer of peanut butter cream (cake will be very crumbly, so use the cream to bind it, then a layer of ganache. Repeat with next layer of cake, peanut butter cream, and ganache then top with last layer of cake and a layer of peanut butter cream. Frost with remaining ganache (I made another half recipe of ganache so I would have plenty to work with), then garnish with crumbled peanut butter cups. 

Bean With Bacon Soup

There's this restaurant in Foley, Alabama where they throw rolls at you. I'm pretty sure they won't hire someone as a server unless they played softball or baseball in high school. Those folks can pitch bread across the room like a beast. The daughter who is now a doctor also played softball in high school (I love this picture of her in her gear).

She can pick those rolls out of the air like a pro. The rolls are amazing, so having someone along who can keep them from hitting the floor is a plus. I took her and her boyfriend (now fiancé) a couple of years ago and sat across from them while they caught enough bread to feed an army (he played football, so he has skills, too). Once we had starched up, she ordered, among other things, cottage cheese, while he got the fried gizzards--eww. His coaches had apparently been trying to get him to eat cottage cheese for some time. He told us that he and a few of his football buddies had stared down at a plate of it, none of them brave enough to try something that, admittedly, looks like watery curdled milk. My daughter and I got a kick out of that. The thought of three or four big, strapping men scared of a plate of cheese was almost more than I could stand.  

That's when one of us, I'm not sure which, had an idea. He would agree to try some of her cottage cheese if she would try some of his gizzards. I've mentioned in previous posts that I'm not a fan of exotic foods. When I watch Andrew Zimmern, I usually have to close my eyes when he eats the really weird and nasty stuff. My daughter is cut from the same cloth as me. Gizzards are not in her playbook. So, of course, this bet was made for them. They swapped bites, and I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. They wore identical looks of horror and disgust. I guess it doesn’t take much to entertain me.

Anyway, until my doctor relents and lets me have gluten again, bread is off limits, so I won't be headed over to Foley anytime soon. I'm not going if I can't have the bread. I mean, I only have so much willpower. But they have this amazing bean and ham dish that I also love. Of course, since I can’t go get it, I start experimenting. I came across this bean and bacon soup recipe, and ...Oh. My. Gosh.

This recipe is made for a crockpot. My brother refuses to use a one. He says it takes too much planning. Me? I love the crockpot. You do have to think ahead, but what it loses in planning time it makes up for in effort. My crockpot doubles as a pressure cooker, which is even better. That's how you can turn laziness and lack of preparation into good cooking. Dry beans can become good in an hour. Throw in a food processor to keep from having to chop vegetables, and this dish has Shawna Lynn written all over it.

For this recipe, freshly cooked bacon is best, but if you’re short on time, patience or energy, prepackaged bacon bits will do, As long as they're real bacon bits and not that imitation crap. Grandma would roll over in her grave. And my husband (the butcher) would divorce me.

 

Bean With Bacon Soup

32 oz. navy beans

2 yellow onions, diced

4 stalks of celery, diced

8 oz. matchstick carrots

4 cups chicken broth

4 cups of water

1 lb. bacon, cooked and crumbled

4 cloves of garlic

1 bay leaf

Dash of red pepper flakes

Salt and Pepper to taste

 

Rinse and sort dry beans, add to pressure pot. Add remaining ingredients. Pressure cook for 1 hour, or until beans are tender. Add more water, if necessary, until soup is desired consistency.

 

Alternate instructions: Rinse and sort dry beans, add to crock pot, then soak overnight. Add remaining ingredients and slow cook until beans are tender (apx. 8 hours).

Bananas Foster Fondue

Okay, get ready to love me.

The cool part about the big V-day? If you have an awesome S.O., or if you’re just awesome to yourself, no cooking!! I’ve been blessed with some amazing men in my life-husband, dad, grandfather, brother. I’ve also been cursed with a couple of mind numbingly bad ones (if you ever want to swap notes, pull up a glass of wine and we’ll commiserate-a couple of friends and I have a competition going, and it’s hard to tell which of us is winning). But even the bad ones served their purpose. Not only did they give me an example of what I didn’t want in my life, they taught me how to be happy alone. Like, deliriously happy. That they weren’t there anymore.

So I have learned how to pamper myself. Bath bombs. Wine. Chocolate. Beach vacations. Disney World. I’m shamelessly high maintenance, and I love life. Fortunately for me, my husband is even better at pampering me than I am. If anything ever happens to him, I’ll never even look at another man. Anyone else would disappoint me, because no one could possibly be as good to me as he is.

Nauseating, isn’t it? Go brush your teeth. I’ll wait.

You can imagine Valentines Day is an Event around here. So are anniversaries. Like the one where I had to tell my husband that my deceased ex was coming to live with us. I’m not making that up. Fortunately, my spouse really is great. We’re still married, even after that. Anyway, we always go somewhere that involves reservations, muted lights, and good food. And usually, I end up on the internet at some point during the night because I want a recipe for whatever Holy-Moses-That-Was-Good food my husband has just fed me.

Like this. I LOVE fondue. And bananas. This simple dessert was made for me. Even in my current (reluctantly) gluten free state, this and some extra bananas, marshmallows or cookies (I managed to find gluten free vanilla wafers that taste like the real thing) makes for a dessert that’s better than...well, it’s Valentines Day, so we’ll just say it’s a close runner up.

Bananas Foster Fondue

4 oz white chocolate chips
½ banana, thinly sliced
4 oz caramel ice cream syrup
1 tsp banana liqueur
1 tsp spiced rum

Melt chocolate in a microwave safe bowl, stirring every 30 seconds. Slice bananas and place in warm fondue pot. Pour chocolate over bananas. Add caramel and stir. Add liqueur and rum and stir to mix. Keep fondue warm over low heat.

Mayhaw Jelly

My daughter is getting married in April! Woo hoo! As it happens, in addition to having the perfect daughter, I am about to acquire the best son-in-law in existence (although my mother would argue with me on that one, and I might just let her win).

My daughter approached me a couple of weeks ago and asked me if I would make mayhaw jelly wedding favors. Well, of course I would. I would do anything for those two. As it happens, my future son-in-law was one of the reasons behind the request. Despite the fact that his parents live in Louisiana, which is the mayhaw capital of the universe, he had never heard of mayhaws. So we introduced him.

My grandma taught me to make the jelly when I was about ten years old. Along with chicken and dumplings and snickerdoodle cookies, mayhaw jelly was one of the few cooking lessons that stuck, probably because I liked it so much. It had been a number of years since I had had any, and my daughter asked me out of the blue one day a few years ago to make her some. I scoured the countryside looking for mayhaws, and it was not an easy task. My grandma must have bought hers on the black market. So, after doing a lot of homework, I came across this charming old man in Foley, Alabama who had an orchard. He sold me the fruit, and I sat down with him in his living room and talked about his late wife and what a great cook she used to be. I adored him. He’s gone now, and I think the world lost a good man. I planted mayhaw trees in my yard after that, but I’m afraid the freeze this winter may have done them in. We’ll find out in March.

Anyway, I made a batch of the jelly and my daughter took it back to Birmingham, where my future son-in-law, a six-foot-seven mountain of a guy, tried it on some biscuits. He was hooked, and it disappeared in a flash. Fast forward to a few weeks ago. My daughter was looking for unique ideas for wedding favors when she came across a picture of a basket with small jelly jars in it. I think the jars in the basket were strawberry or something. I make a good strawberry jam, but if you want unique, mayhaw is the way to go. It has a light, tart flavor that is unlike anything you’ve ever tried. It’s absolutely amazing. Plus it has a beautiful color. I mean, look at that picture. Am I proud of that? Oh, yes, I am.

Canning can be almost as much of a pain in the butt as finding mayhaws, but once you get the hang of it, you’ll see there’s nothing to it (if I can do it, anyone can). And fresh jam/jelly is SOOOOOOO much better than what you get in a grocery store. If you’ve never canned jelly before, do some homework first, because properly handling the jars is important. Here are a couple of resources for how to can jelly: Al.com and Huffington Post.

Mayhaw Jelly

4 cups of prepared juice (you can juice mayhaws by boiling 1 gallon of berries in 12 cups of water, then straining through cheese cloth. The juice freezes well, so just freeze what you don’t use.)
5 cups sugar
½ tsp. of butter
1 box Sure Jell

Prepare jars first (wash and sterilize), then keep jars hot until you are ready to use them. Measure exactly 4 cups of prepared juice into a large pot and add the butter (to reduce foaming) and the Sure Jell. Heat on high, stirring constantly, until the mixture reaches a full rolling boil. Stir in the sugar. Return the mixture to a full rolling boil, then boil for EXACTLY one minute. Remove from heat. Skim the foam from the top using a metal spoon, then pour into hot, dry jars, leaving a ¼ inch space at the top. Screw lids/bands on tightly, then process.

Chicken Salad

Week 3 with no gluten. All is lost. My strength is fading, and as I crawl across the floor, reaching out for the last flicker of light...

Actually, it’s not that bad. Really. Pecans make it better.

I lead a charmed life. One of the best parts about living in the South is pecan orchards. They’re all over the place. There’s this little store out in the middle of nowhere that sells fresh pecans, and honestly, it’s a wonder they last long enough for me to put them in anything. I can eat half the bag on the way home, if I don’t stop myself. Nothing you will ever buy in a grocery store can compare. As it happens, my husband’s butcher shop is also out in the middle of nowhere, just down the road (relatively speaking) from the pecan shop, and there are pecan trees behind his store. I’ve often thought I should just go by there when they’re in season and pick up the ones we already own. But I buy them from the pecan store anyway. Why?

High school, that’s why. I spent two fall seasons picking up pecans in an orchard. Here’s how it works. You take a big net bag and walk out into the orchard. You stoop over and pick up each pecan. You examine each of them to make sure they don’t have holes or black spots. Then you throw the bad ones back down and the good ones in the bag. One. By. One. For days. I learned quickly not to throw the bad ones down where I was working, after I kept picking up the same one over and over again. And as you work, you drag that bag across the ground. It gets heavier and heavier. I was fifteen, and after all of that bending and straightening and dragging, my back hurt for days.

I haven’t been fifteen in a long time, and my back hates me a lot more now than it did when I was a teenager. So I cheat and buy them already picked, shelled and cleaned. I should feel a lot worse about that than I do. My husband has customers that ask him if they can pick up the pecans (and pick the blackberries) around the shop. I figure I’m doing them a favor. Whatever it takes for me to come away with a clean conscience, right?

Anyway, fresh pecans make an amazing addition to this chicken salad. So do the grapes. I’ve been tempted before to skimp and buy only red or green, since you don’t use all the grapes in the bag. Don’t. They each have a different flavor that gives the salad a fuller taste.

Chicken Salad

1 rotisserie chicken, deboned, skin removed and shredded
½ c. light mayonnaise
15 pecan halves, chipped
20 green grapes (seedless), sliced
20 red grapes (seedless), sliced
Salt and pepper to taste

Dump all ingredients in a medium bowl and mix well.