Jennifer Wilson's Blog, page 3

All-Egg-Yolk-Fried-in-Crisco Madness: Or, A Recipe from My People

Fifth in a series of antique family recipes—from myself and others—celebrating the paperback release of Running Away to Home on October 2, which will include recipes from the village and photos of our journey.

Sometimes when we’re traveling, we’re baffled by menus. Jim is the king of this. He accidentally ordered fried minnows in Baska, Croatia. He’s been spooned all manner of guts and sinew on corn tortillas in Mexico. Once in Seattle, Jim spent all day in the hotel bathroom after ordering “whatever that old guy is having” in a Vietnamese dive. I felt so bad for him, yet at the same time admired this kind of culinary bravado.

It was both our faults the time we ordered 60 oysters in the south of France before spending five hours in the car. All that slime jostling around in your belly just doesn’t feel good when driving. (The oysters were really good, though. Definitely worth the hours-long reflux.)

And then we got into a car and drove for a really long time.

This is a strange recipe for a dish I think we accidently ordered in a restaurant in Dubrovnik. It looks to be kind of a wreck—but the recipe writer in the old book I have promises it’s wonderful. And you gotta give it some street cred. An all-yolk recipe fried in Crisco takes cajones, baby.

Does krpice sound familiar to any Croatian readers out there? What does it taste like? Is there an American equivalent?

I’m betting your family recipe box contains an insanity explosion that only you and your kind would dare to eat. Something odd that no one would believe tastes as great as it does.

Do tell.

KRPICE (BANATSKI JASTUCICI) by Mildred Blozevich

4 egg yolks, well beaten                                                8 oz. sour cream

Flour (about 3 cups)

Mix the sour cream well with the egg yolks. Slowly add flour—enough to be able to roll the dough out. Add as much flour as needed to avoid sticking to the rolling pin.

Cut rolled out dough in desired shape as thick or thin as you wish and deep fry in Crisco until golden brown on both sides.

Sprinkle with sugar and serve warm. Leftovers (allegedly) taste delicious re-warmed in a microwave.

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Ham Hock and the Family Vocabulary

Our little Ham Hock.

When Sam was a newborn, our friends Maria and Don came over to bring Jim and I a nice spaghetti and meatball dinner, and to hold the baby while we ate our portion. One of the biggest adjustments to becoming parents was not being able to sit through an entire meal (which we haven’t done much of since, now that I think of it).

So that night, I was talking to Maria about life with our new guy, Sam Hoff. Maria misheard me, and thought I was referring to my son as Ham Hock. Which, for a chubby little feller like Sam, was a great nickname. Every once in a while, Sam’s still Ham Hock to us.

Every family has it’s inside vocabulary. Because of two-year-old Zadie, we call hair clips “doties.” Also from Zadie, when we’re inappropriately disappointed in an outcome that shouldn’t have been too surprising, it’s “I can’t believe Paris isn’t pink.”

From Jim, shorthand for wanting to do something, but being prevented from actual participation, is: “I would like to go swimming with you,” a memory from when then-little nephew Tommy Hoff asked his big uncle in the dead of winter: “Hey Uncle Chum, wanna go swimmin’ wif me?”

I had a neighbor kid growing up who cat-called general lippiness with an “Ooo! Mowf!” So that’s from me and my sister, Stephanie.

What’s the insider terminology from your family?

Think on it, while you enjoy this little Ham Hock splendor, an insider recipe passed through the centuries by Croatian families.

HAM HOCKS WITH BARLEY AND POTATOES (Mary Micetich)

3-4 lbs. ham hocks, smoked                                                1 cup barley

4-5 medium-sized potatoes                                                  2 carrots, sliced

Peel and cube potatoes. Wash ham hocks in cold water. Put all ingredients in cooking pot and cover with cold water. Cook covered about two hours or until done. Meat should separate from bone. Season is not necessary, as hocks are salty. Barley can be substituted with cabbage or beans. Amount of ingredients can be adjusted to suit the amount of people you plan to serve.

 

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Comfort over Skinny

This is third in a series of antique family recipes—from myself and others—celebrating the paperback release of Running Away to Home on October 2, which will include recipes from the village and photos of our journey. 

I’m no great chef, but I’m a champ at comfort food. Where I come from, that means I cook with butter, potatoes and meat. Generous portions, glass of milk, maybe a game of cards after.

Yes, I know that according to most parenting and health magazines, I am an inferior species. But here’s my theory: I subtract the general happiness quotient of a belly full of comfort food from the high fat content. In the end, we’re probably even with the skinless chicken breast and broccoli menus of the world. Or close at least. The Swiss steak recipe below, from Centerville’s Croatia Fest cookbook, is a real contender, with polenta in place of potato.

What’s your comfort food combo? Sweet? Salt? Starch? Salad? (I’m betting it’s not salad … but if it is, please share a recipe for one that might give all the butter, potatoes and meat a run for the money.)

SWISS STEAK AND POLENTA by Mary Micetich

1 lb thick round steak cut into serving pieces

3 T bacon drippings                                                1 onion, chopped

1 clove garlic                                                            ½ c celery leaves

1 t chili powder                                                         salt, pepper and savor salt

1 can water                                                                1 can tomato juice (large)

Brown onion, garlic and celery leaves in drippings until tender. Brown steak on both sides. Add seasonings, tomato juice and water. Simmer until done, about 1.5 hours. Serve with polenta.

POLENTA

Bring three cups of water to a boil with one teaspoon salt. Slowly add 1 ½ cups yellow corn meal mixed with ½ cup cold water stirring with a wooden spoon. Cover a few minutes to thicken. Then stir and turn over several times during cooking process. Cook 25 minutes. Add ¼ cube butter. Mix well and turn out on plate.

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iPad Typewriter Blows Iowa Woman’s Mind

As much as I love technology and TV, I also love the chickens in my backyard and the old family quilt.

When I see things like this, I know there’s room in this world for both. (Thanks to Kevin and NotCot.org for spotting it and making my day.)

Yes.

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Peace and Peppers: A Recipe from Photographer John Noltner

Yes, he is like this.

Years ago, I was sent on assignment with a photographer named John Noltner to drive an RV through the length of Kansas with my whole family (including my mother).

Though this scenario could have been the premise for a deep and unrelenting nightmare, Noltner’s hardworking goof-balliness made it one of my best travel memories. We sat through a hootenanny. He shared parenting advice as one-year-old Sam toddled along a lakeshore—something like: “We all make mistakes, but as long as they know you love ‘em, they’ll be just fine.” We talked about making creative things in the Midwest, and how it was both awesome and a little lonely.

John continues inspiring with the vibrant, insightful photos he takes of people and places. You can check out his latest endeavor here, the gorgeous book, A Peace of My Mind, with a forward by Ela Gandhi.

Noltner contributes this much-loved family recipe from his Italian grandpa: charred tomatoes and peppers that should be mopped up with hunks from a fresh loaf of bakery bread. It rarely lasts a full day in the Noltner household. Adjust seasonings to your liking.

I’ve been noticing a lot of peppers around the markets lately, so maybe you can try it, and let me know if it lasts around your house, as you think about friends who have inspired your work by doing theirs well, and with a joyful goof-balliness that makes it all worth the ride.

PEPPERS AND TOMATOES by John Noltner

4 green peppers

2 tomatoes

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 tablespoons lemon juice

1 teaspoon salt

dash of pepper

Rosario Fragala, my grandfather, put the skillet on the stove and blackened the peppers and tomatoes without oil, turning each time a section was burnt. Keep turning until entire pepper and tomato is black and blistered.Once this is done, clean and dice as stated at the end of this recipe.

Be forewarned: When he would make these, the smell and smoke would burn your eyes and the kitchen would smell for about three days!

OPTION TWO

Lay peppers and tomatoes in a pan and place in the broiler about 2-3 inches from flame—keep turning until they are blistered and black. Again, plan on a smelly kitchen!

OPTION THREE

Preheat the grill. Place peppers and tomatoes on hot grill and keep turning until blackened and blistered. This option keeps the smell outside.

CLEAN AND DICE

Once peppers and tomatoes are blackened, place in cold water until cool. Scrape the char off peppers with a knife. My grandpa used his pocket knife; I personally think it made them taste better. The blackening will kind of peel off in sheets. Next, remove seeds, rinse and dice. Do the same with the tomatoes and combine with peppers and other ingredients.

 

 

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Antique Recipes and Running Away to Home 2.0

Robert and Jeem messing around on the day of Robert’s potato harvest. They spent a lot of time taking pictures of the weird ones.

The Running Away to Home paperback comes out Oct. 2. To celebrate the new edition, with travel photos and antique recipes, I’m kicking off a blog series about foods passed down through the generations.

These first recipes were gathered by the good Croatian-Americans of Centerville, Iowa. For years, this former coal mining community gathered for Croatia Fest to celebrate Croatian history, food and song. (Incidentally, they also have a gorgeous library with a stained-glass domed ceiling that houses some great genealogy information).

When I wrote Running Away to Home, one theme stayed in my mind: When we forget our connections with the rest of the world, we lose what it means to be Americans in the first place.

For my family, the best way to keep those connections is through food. Centerville published Croatia Fest recipe books, which reader Patty Timmens shared. That’s where our first recipes will come from.

Here’s the first line of the first paragraph of the first book (firsts!):

It is believed that the first home of the Croatians may have been situated in present day Afghanistan, located in Turkey in 500 B.C.

Did you even know that? I didn’t. Always thought I was full-on European white girl, and here comes a revelation to blow that thought so much further east.

We’re all connected.

I hope you’ll consider contributing your family’s antique recipes, too, be they Croatian or Czech or French or Norwegian or African or Pakistani or Indian or Latin. We all need to eat, and we all love our home foods. To share a family recipe handed down through the generations, send it to me via email by clicking here and I’ll publish it on this blog or email the document to jen@jennifer-wilson.com.

It’s a common connection. And a tasty one, too. Let’s eat!

Mrkopalj knew how to plant a garden—great potatoes in particular. Here’s a recipe to use the fresh ones coming into season. Sprinkle on fresh herbs for extra tastiness. Or bacon! Bacon always works.

POTATO SOUP (JUHA OD KRUMPIRA) by Helen Bubenyak

2 T butter                                                            1 T chopped parsley

2 T chopped onions                                         ½ c chopped celery

2 ½ t salt                                                            2 c diced potatoes

1/8 t pepper                                                        2 c water

1 t flour                                                                3 c milk

Heat butter in one-quart saucepan, until lightly browned. Add onions and fry slowly until yellow and tender. Then add salt, pepper and flour. Blend well.

Add parsley, celery, potatoes and water. Mix thoroughly, cover, place over high heat (about 3 to 5 minutes). Reduce to low and cook 15 minutes, until potatoes are tender. Add milk. Heat thoroughly. Serves 6.

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Reunion.

My college girlfriends were in town recently. We met working at the Iowa State Daily, and have gotten together annually over the years (decades) since.

You know what’s amazing? People who know everything about your adult life. Family knows about you since you were a wee thing. But friends you make when you were coming of age have this sort of archived history of your independent self.

Holli, Nicki, and Julie are human archives of my journey to adulthood. We’ve had Chickfest through the swinging single years. We’ve vetted each others’ life partners. We’ve attended each others’ weddings and milestone birthdays. I remember the first year we got together when I was a new mom, when I slept most of the time and the girls brought me coffee on demand. I was very annoying that year.

We’ve gone to vacation hotspots—Napa Valley, some little village in Mexico. Last week, we just stayed at a Holiday Inn in Des Moines.

We’ve had rough spots. There was a time we even talked about scrapping the yearly trip altogether.

Feeling very thankful today, looking at this picture of our first Chickfest 20 years ago. It was taken at the National Forest Lodge in Isabella, Minnesota, where I eventually married Jim, and which Zadie’s middle named after. I’m thinking about how we ate squirt cheese and crackers. Talked about love and life and work. How we eventually browbeat each other into exercising, but not for very long.

Pretty much what we do today.

And that’s a beautiful thing.

I do not know why Holli is upside down.

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However.

Even though Annie Jones is laying leetle eggs now, she really needs work on her bock-bock-bocking after she lays them.

God, she’s terrible. It sounds like someone’s trying to kill her out there.

Bock-bock-bock-AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGGGGHHHH!

I bet the neighbors hate me.

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The Naming of a Chicken.

Annie Jones, the Bearded Lady of My Backyard! Thank you to Jen Hansen of Eden for the name suggestion. For those of you just tuning in, I name my chickens once they start laying. Annie earned her name last week, with the help of blog readers.

Though Annie’s eggs may be tiny, her heart is quite large, and she never gets crabby when we want to hold her. The other chickens seem to pick on Annie a little, maybe because she’s just a little bit smaller than the rest. Shy ones always get the brunt of it.

And to think that Annie nearly ended up in a stew pot because she just couldn’t seem to get those ovaries moving. (Even now, Fried Eggs Annie in my mind means fried eggs that are the circumference of golf balls.) But we’re so glad we did not eat her now.

I’ve got six laying hens in my yard.

Sometimes the thought of it still makes me laugh.

Annie's namesake.

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Name My Chicken!

She's a layer, folks.

Well, it’s finally happened. After about nine months of chicken ownership, I have six fully productive layers. Woot!

The first to lay an egg was Muffy, the artsy little Araucana who has pumped out a pretty blue-green pastel egg pretty much every day since.

The last to lay is also an Araucana.

We first called her Cleopatra, because of her dramatic eyeliner.

Her so cute.

As she grew into an adolescent with a thick black ruff who didn’t lay a damned thing, we called her Beardsley. She’s the smallest in the flock. She contributed very little from what I could tell, except as a pecking post for the other birds.

When I considered stewing her, Jim and the kids started covering for her. “I think that egg is from Beardsley!” Zadie would announce when I’d bring in a blue egg from the coop.

“Nope. It’s a Muffy,” I’d reply while sending my friends Eve and Eric at Salt Fork Farms another text asking if it’s ethical to cut a chicken from the flock if it’s not pulling its weight.

Jim would pretend to speak in a Beardsley voice out by the coop: “Oh geez! I just laid an egg! Oh, it’s such a beautiful egg! But I’m going to hide it because I don’t want to be braggy!”

“She’s not laying,” I’d say. “There’s nowhere to hide an egg in that coop anyway.”

Then, one spring day, on my birthday to be exact, I found in the laying box a teeny tiny blue egg, bright as a robin’s. Beardsley had started her engine at last.

But I didn’t get another egg for a few more weeks. Another tiny one. And a few more weeks: tiny again.

I promised Beardsley that I’d give her a lady name if she got on board with the program.

She must have listened, because she lays every other day now as the days heat up. The eggs are still really small, but they’re vibrant in color, and I kind of like them for decorative purposes.

So I’ve got some options for Beardsley’s new lady name. And I could use your help in choosing.

Option 1: FERNANDA

Option 2: HILLARY CLINTON

Option 3: BLANCHE

Option 4: ANNIE JONES (named after the famed bearded lady, suggested by Jen Hansen over at Eden).

Annie Jones, the Bearded Lady!

Vote on your favorite in the comments section below. Or torpedo all my suggestions and write in your own pick for Beardsley’s updated name.

Whichever gets the most votes wins. Let’s give this little layer a good one!