Saturday Smile: We Are Family

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

It doesn’t happen nearly often enough, but when it does, it sure makes me smile.

Last night, the whole family — 20 in all — gathered at Dave’s and Jll’s house one more time before Heather and Lauren and Joseph and Micah leave to head back home to Vermont this afternoon.

We used the occasion to celebrate Micah’s second birthday, which is actually tomorrow.Everyone also had the chance to meet 3-month-old Cole for the first time.

The kids played on the zipline in the backyard, they dressed up in a variety of clothing, and at one point we even watched the performance of a play, written and directed by Adelaide of course.

My heart was so happy. Here are some of the memories.

Have a great weekend.

Micah gets help opening his gifts. Lots of help.

Cole’s getting sleepy in the arms of his Aunt Heather.

Micah is LOVING having happy birthday sung to him!

Micah is pretty sure that he doesn’t want his mama holding another baby.

15Aug2014

Friday Book Whimsy: Murder of the Century

Posted in Book Reviews by kzmclain

I don’t think it’s unfair to say that the days when we all eagerly garnered our news from the daily newspaper are over. Bill and I don’t even get a daily newspaper any longer. When our neighbor asks us to retrieve hers while she’s away on vacation, we are always surprised at how flimsy it is and how little news is actually provided. The reality is that by time we look at the newspaper, most of the news is old and boring as compared to what we’ve read on the internet.

But as a journalism major and a former newspaper reporter, I loved to read newspapers. I also love to learn about the history of news gathering throughout the years. One journalism story not to be missed is the history of the tabloid newspaper wars in New York City in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

I think I read somewhere that at its height, there were something like 19 newspapers being published in New York City at one time in the late 1800s. The names Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst are familiar to us all. There was a lot of pressure to gain readership, and news gathering back in those days was much different than now, and not necessarily in a good way.

Murder of the Century: The Gilded Age Crime That Scandalized a City & Sparked the Tabloid Wars, by historian author Paul Collins provides a perfect picture of how newspapers “reported” the stories back in those days. Truth and facts were optional. Anything to gain attention and readership was permitted.

Collins’ book is an interesting account of a real murder that took place in 1897 in New York City. The headless torso of a man was found floating in the East River by some young boys, who promptly took it to the police. The police dismissed the body’s importance noting that it was probably tossed into the river by medical college personnel following its use by medical students. Really????? And yuck!!!!!

But the newspapers – primarily Pulitzer’s New York World and Hearst’s New York Journal – sniffing the makings of a great story – glommed onto the murder mystery and began solving it on their own via daily news stories. Accuracy was not necessary. Eventually the police began taking it seriously.

The result was an investigation, trial, sentence, and execution that may or may not have been justified. The head, you see, was never found. As a result, it was never 100 percent certain who the body was. Trivialities.

Collins’ story reads very much like a novel. He paints a vivid picture of what life was like in New York City at the end of the 19^th Century. His story captures the role of the daily newspapers perfectly, in much the same way as did the book Eighty Days: Nellie Bly and Elizabeth Bisland’s History Making Race Around the World, by Matthew Goodman.

As a journalist, I cringed when I read the treatment of the murder story by the newspapers. But as a writer, I couldn’t help but think just how much fun it would have been to chase a story like that with really no rules to follow.

I think this book would make for good discussion for a book group if it is looking for a very readable nonfiction book.

Buy the book from Amazon here.

Buy the book from Barnes and Noble here.

Buy the book from Tattered Cover here.

14Aug2014

Do You Know the Way to Santa Fe?

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Guest Post by Rebecca Borman, following a recent visit to Santa Fe, New Mexico

I recently realized that, as much as I enjoy the beauty of the southwest, I haven’t seen all that much of it. Determined to start seeing some of my surroundings, I decided to spend a few nights in Santa Fe on my way home from a recent trip to Denver. It just seemed silly to keep zooming past it on my way to and from Colorado.

Knowing that my time was limited, I chose to stay in the central area of the city, at the Inn on the Alameda. The hotel is lovely, more like a series of small inns. My building had a total of eight rooms on two floors. I had a balcony surrounded by trees, making it seem like I was far away from humanity. And yet, I could hear the tolling of the church bells at St. Francis marking the quarter hours. It was a haven.

Santa Fe is known for its chilies, so I was anxious to try out that cuisine. The very efficient concierge made a dinner reservation for me at The Shed. It’s as casual as it sounds. It was lively, and everyone seemed to be having a great time. Perhaps because of the margaritas? I asked the server to suggest a margarita (there were about 20 on the menu). He said the most popular is the “silver coin” margarita, so that’s what I had. I’m no connoisseur, but that was one good adult beverage!

Over chips and spicy salsa, I debated whether red chilies or green. Again the server was helpful…why not order the pollo adobo, which is chicken marinated in red chilies and smothered in green. The meal was delicious. Just spicy enough to require plenty of sips of margarita!

My limited time required an efficient schedule. The three places I wanted to visit were the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum and two churches, San Miguel Mission and the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi.

The Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, though small, contained many of her works, some on loan from collectors. O’Keeffe is known for her regional “sense of space,” especially regarding the New Mexico landscapes, and she aimed to reduce her subjects to their “essential forms.” Those descriptions helped me appreciate her work. I really enjoyed the museum.

San Miguel was a pretty but simple mission church. St. Francis, however, was more impressive, with several altars and large and peaceful grounds. The bells can be heard throughout the central part of town, lending a sense of serenity to the bustling area. And, all right, their gift shop is amazing. I found a hand-carved statue representing hospitality that I had to have. It sits on my kitchen counter, reminding me of my trip.

For lunch, I enjoyed a grilled cheese and green chili sandwich at a café along what is known as Canyon Road. It’s only a few blocks long, but it’s the unchallenged center of galleries in Santa Fe.

I’m always delighted when people are so enthusiastic about their chosen field of work that they just can’t stop talking about it. I found several such individuals in Santa Fe, one of whom was Robert, at the Robert Nichols Gallery. He introduced me to the work of two artists, Diego Romero and Alan E. Lasiloo. Both are artists in pottery, and their work is stunning. Robert pointed out that Lasiloo’s pots have wonderful texture, and encouraged me to touch them (unlike in other galleries where “Do Not Touch” signs were on every shelf). Robert also showed me how artist Diego Romero has fun with his work. He uses an ancient style of art to tell contemporary stories. My favorite features the Trickster (coyote) tampering with the engine of one of the ubiquitous New Mexico pick-up trucks. If you like this kind of art, check out the gallery’s web page.

The sky was darkening and my feet were tired, so it was time for a change of pace. One of my goals in Santa Fe was to find and bring back some of those famous roasted green chilies. To that end, and on the advice from someone at the hotel, I made my way to the Big Lots parking lot. As promised, a young man, his wife, and their little boy (maybe 4 years old) were roasting and selling chilies. “How much do you want?” I was asked. A quarter of a bushel was their smallest amount, and about all I was willing to transport home in my car. “Medium or hot? “ I gave that some thought. “How hot is hot?” She said pretty hot, but with lots of flavor. Why buy NM chilies if you’re not going to get hot ones? So the man and the little boy, wearing gigantic protective gloves, plunked a basket of chilies into the roaster and roasted them before my eyes. That’s fresh! A quick trip into Big Lots, and I had a brand new cooler in which to carry them home. I would have a little bit of New Mexico to take home with me.

That night, I had dinner at a much fancier restaurant, Joseph’s Culinary Pub. My appetizer was a ceviche, with halibut, sea bass, and red and green jalapeno peppers. Yummy. I chose duck for my entrée, and it was amazing. It was a meal to remember.

My final take on Santa Fe? I loved it! Even with only a little over a day, I felt that I had gotten a good feel for the city. If I go back, I’ll probably stay at the Inn again, because of its beauty and location. But, I also noticed lots of pay parking areas, so if I decide to stay somewhere closer to the highway, I can easily find a parking spot for the day.

It’s a city worth visiting, my friends!

13Aug2014

It’s Beginning to Look…..

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

‘Twas 2 weeks yet to Labor Day

But all through the store

Fall items were on sale

They are needed no more.

For in the eyes of Hobby Lobby

Christmas is near

No matter the hot weather

Santa’s coming, I fear.

In search of autumn colors,

I entered with hope

To find only Santa,

I don’t think I can cope.

(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)

It seems I do this every year about this time. I feel as though I’m ahead of the decorating game. I enter Hobby Lobby sometime mid-August to look for some fall decorations for a wreath or perhaps some orange flowers to put in the vase in my Volkswagen Bug in honor of the upcoming season. Fall, that is.

I am greeted before even entering the store with a display – a veritable forest, in fact – of artificial Christmas trees of all shapes, sizes, colors and price ranges.

Whaaaaaat? I look quickly at my phone to confirm that the date is mid-August. Perhaps I am involved in some sort of time travel, just as Claire Randall in the Outlander books (of which I’m the only remaining person who hasn’t read a single one!) But no, I look outside and see people are wearing shorts and flip-flops. The temperature hovers around 90. The grandkids have gone swimming. Not a snowflake in sight.

I tentatively enter the store to see…..

And…….

And…..

It’s true. Hobby Lobby is knee-deep in Christmas decorations. The remaining autumn finery – a few scroungy orange daisies and a sad-looking scarecrow or two – are on sale at 40 to 60 percent off. Despite the fact that it is only mid-August, apparently Christmas is near.

I remember when people complained that Christmas paraphernalia began appearing just after Halloween. That is a full two-and-a-half months from now. Most of our kids aren’t even back in school! I would be overjoyed if they waited until Halloween.

Perhaps I’m just crabby because by now I have Facebook friends who are talking about all of the Christmas shopping they’ve already done. Maybe it’s just that thinking about Christmas makes me think about snow and that makes me eminently cranky. I just need to get through my summer and fall birthdays before I can begin thinking about Christmas shopping. Please God!

I must admit, though, that this display made me think about A Charlie Brown Christmas, and Lucy’s idea of the perfect Christmas tree. A Charlie Brown Christmas is one of the best things about Christmas….

Better go pull out my Christmas gift bags. Happy Hanukkah!

Have you started your Christmas shopping?

12Aug2014

Chicken Dance

Posted in Main Course, Meat Dishes, Recipes by kzmclain

There’s a little cabin in the sky, Mister

For me and for you

I feel that it’s true somehow

Can’t you see that cabin in the sky, Mister

An acre or two of heavenly blue to plow

We will be oh so gay

Eat fried chicken every day

As the angels go sailing by

-From the Broadway Musical “Cabin In The Sky” (1940) (Vernon Duke / John Latouche)

When my sister Jen heard that I was frying chicken for my family Sunday night, including the visiting Vermonters, she told me she thinks I might be the only remaining person in the world who still fries chicken.

“Well, there might be five or so in the entire world,” she said, “but you’re the only one I know of.”

There you have it. Fried chicken. It’s what’s for dinner.

Sunday night was the first time I was able to prepare a meal for the whole gang since they arrived.

“What would you like me to cook for you?” I asked our daughter.

“Whatever you would like,” she said. (She’s more polite than the rest of the family.)

“It doesn’t matter to me,” I said. “What sounds good to you?”

The sheepish look she got in her eye should have given me the answer immediately.

“Weeeeelllll,” she said, “I have been hungry for your fried chicken.”

Whaaaaaaaat? Heather too? She’s got celiac disease and can’t eat gluten! Doesn’t that count for something?

There isn’t a single time – not one single time – that I ask Bill McLain what he would like me to make him for a special dinner that he doesn’t say fried chicken. It runs in the family. It’s the one thing I make that will bring everyone to the table in a way that, say, eggplant and kale casserole doesn’t.

I fry chicken the way my mother fried chicken. She was taught how to fry chicken by my grandmother. I only learned as an adult that it isn’t necessarily the way everyone fries chicken. And, in fact, I only learned a couple of months ago from a Food Network program that I fry chicken the way they fry chicken in the Midwest as opposed to the South. Thanks Amy Thielen from Food Network’s Heartland Kitchen. I thought I was an anomaly. The main difference is that you fry the chicken until it’s brown, but not completely cooked, and then finish it in the oven. Instead of being really crispy, it’s more tender and falls off the bone. Yum.

Frying chicken is messy. There really is no way around that fact. The grease splatters. If I don’t get snapped by grease at least once in the chicken frying process, I’m doing something wrong. I have ruined many a shirt by frying chicken without wearing an apron. Shame on me.

By the way, I used gluten-free flour to accommodate our daughter.

So am I really the only remaining person who fries chicken? Do you or does someone you know fry chicken?

I have provided this recipe before, but it’s worth repeating……

My Family’s Fried Chicken

Ingredients
1 frying chicken, cut into 10 pieces (my mother always cut each breast into two pieces}
1-2 c. flour, well-seasoned with salt and pepper and a pinch of cayenne pepper
Butter and vegetable oil, half and half, deep enough to fill a pan to a depth of about a quarter of an inch

Process
Preheat the butter and oil in the fry pan until it’s hot enough to sizzle if you flick a drop of water into the pan. Dredge the chicken pieces in the flour, shaking off the excess. Lay the pieces skin-side-down into the hot oil. Cook until it’s nicely brown, 5-6 minutes. Turn over and do the same on the other side. It doesn’t have to be cooked all the way through. Only fry a few pieces at a time or your shortening will cool down too much and your chicken pieces won’t brown nicely.

As you remove the chicken pieces from the pan, place them into a roasting pan. (Conversely, you can place them temporarily on a plate and return all of the pieces to the pan to finish. Make sure your pan is oven-proof and has a lid if you choose this option.) Cover the roasting pan with aluminum foil and place into a preheated 350 degree oven for an hour or so until the chicken is cooked through and falls off the bone.

Nana’s Notes: I’m convinced the key to good fried chicken is a cast-iron pan. I would never fry chicken any other way. I’m a cast-iron using fried chicken snob. What can I say?

11Aug2014

Vermont Visitors

Posted in Desserts, Recipes by kzmclain

Micah and Alastair enjoy a brief moment of relaxation just after Micah awoke from his nap. It doesn’t last long!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The best job I’ve ever had is being a grandmother. I’m lucky enough that out of my 10 grandkids, eight of them live within a 15 minute drive of our house. As a result, I see them often. But two of them live far, far away in Vermont.

BUT…..

They are visiting us this week and I’m having a chance to love them up and play with them. And, best of all, a chance to get to know them better.

I only had one child, and by the time Bill and I married, his children – who became my children – were nearly adults. So I didn’t really get a chance to watch them develop their personalities. Now God is giving me a second chance via my grandchildren.

What I’m learning is that boy-oh-boy, is every child different!

They are different because of gender. They are different because of family background. They are different because of their own personality traits. They are different because of birth order. Each one is his or her own little unique person. Of course, intellectually I knew this to be true. However, seeing it in action has really brought the fact home.

Joseph and Micah are visiting us from Vermont. Joseph just turned 5. He is loveable and gentle and likes to pretend. He giggles readily and is quick to give hugs, but mostly he is infinitely happy to be able to have this chance to spend lots and lots of time with his cousins. And his cousin Alastair, despite being four years older, is happy to have a boy cousin to play with for a change.

Micah, who will be 2 in a week, is a clown, plain and simple. In fact, his daycare provider needs to feed him 15 minutes before everyone else because he spends his entire lunch time trying to entertain the other kids and won’t eat unless he’s by himself. After spending time with him these past few days, I have no doubt this is true. The child is going to be a stand-up comedian.

Joseph, on the other hand, will work for the Peace Corps! What a pair.

Saturday we had a bunch of the grandchildren at our house for much of the day. Here are some of the fun times they had…..

Micah looks a bit like Colonel Sanders after enjoying an ice cream cone.

Not to be outdone, Addie has a plenty dirty face herself post-chicken-wings.

Ice cream seems to be a theme, and Joseph is sporting a dirty face following his Rocky Road.

Allen wins Uncle of the Year!

In a complete non sequitur, here is a recipe for an incredibly delicious zucchini bread I made, using the ubiquitous zucchini that we all end up with via a friend or neighbor who didn’t remember not to plant more than one zucchini. It is delicious.

Zucchini Bread, courtesy Paula Deen and Food Network

Ingredients

3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3 cups sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
4 eggs, beaten
1/3 cup water
2 cups grated zucchini
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 cup chopped walnuts or pecans

Process
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a large bowl, combine flour, salt, nutmeg, baking soda, cinnamon and sugar. In a separate bowl, combine oil, eggs, water, zucchini and lemon juice. Mix wet ingredients into dry, add nuts and fold in. Bake in 2 standard loaf pans, sprayed with nonstick spray, for 1 hour, or until a tester comes out clean. Alternately, bake in 5 mini loaf pans for about 45 minutes.

Nana’s Notes: I don’t care for nuts in any of my sweet breads, so I left them out. The bread is extremely moist and delicious. Micah ate a half a loaf by himself. You think I’m kidding.

9Aug2014

Saturday Smile: My Brown-Eyed Girl

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

This past Thursday, my delightful Dagny Tess turned 8. Though she is the third of four kids, Dagny makes sure she doesn’t get lost in the shuffle.

I think I can, I think I can.

Despite her tiny size, she displays a determination that is hard to miss. She likes bugs, she climbs like a spider monkey, she’s always without shoes, and she lights up a room with her grin. She is, not surprisingly, the only one of our grandchildren who has fallen from our tree house (without serious injury I’m happy to report). Recently, when everyone else was screaming and hiding under tables in fear of a bat that had gotten in through a window, Dagny was eagerly chasing it. That she would be wanting to study it comes as no surprise to anyone. That’s curious Dagny.

Though most 8-year-olds cringe at the sight of an insect, Dagny firmly declares that she WILL be an entomologist when she grows up. I’m quite sure most 8-year-olds don’t know what an entomologist is. Let’s just say that whatever she ends up doing with her life, as my sister Jen always says, Dagny won’t be working in an office.

Shortly after the photo was taken, Dagny did, indeed, eat the bug she is holding.

I’m glad Dagny is a part of my life.

Have a great weekend.

8Aug2014

Friday Book Whimsy: Let’s Just Say it Wasn’t Pretty

Posted in Book Reviews by kzmclain

None of us can’t stop ourselves from getting older, no matter how hard we try, how strenuously we exercise, how much money we spend on cosmetic surgery, what color we make our hair, or how frequently we Botox. Each year that goes by makes us one year older and steals one year from our life.

But, as they say, getting older is better than the alternative.

Diane Keaton’s wonderful account of her perspective on aging really made me stop and think about my obsession with getting older.

Keaton, who’s wonderful Let’s Just Say it Wasn’t Pretty offers us her perspective on aging, is quick to point out that while she has chosen to forgo cosmetic enhancements as she has aged, she absolutely does not judge others on their decision to nip, tuck, or Botox. It’s all about what makes you feel good and how your life can be important no matter your age.

I think Keaton’s writing is wonderful. Her first book, Then Again, is apparently more autobiographical in nature. In Let’s Just Say it Wasn’t Pretty, she talks a bit about her life and some of the people with whom she has worked in her life, but it’s mostly an account of those things she thinks are important in life.

Keaton is extremely self-depracating and very funny. I couldn’t put the admittedly short book down, and read it in just a day or so. It is filled with stories about her personal life; however, the emphasis of the book is on her perspective about what is important in life.

According to Keaton, it isn’t about what you look like. It isn’t about who you know. It isn’t about how much money you earn or what kind of house you live in or how old you look. She believes some of the most “beautiful” people she has either known personally or known about would not meet the traditional definition of “beautiful.”

Obviously, this viewpoint isn’t anything you haven’t heard before. But I think Keaton’s easy writing about her quirky life brings the point directly home. She talks about listening – really listening – to the world around you. She addresses the need to be able to laugh at yourself and not take life too seriously. Her lack of concern about what others thought about her throughout her adult life is exemplary, especially since she had to develop that lack of concern. As a teenager, she shared all the angst we had as adolescents.

Let’s Just Say it Wasn’t Pretty left me committed to looking at life differently and paying attention to everything. I really have tried stopping occasionally throughout the day to just listen to the sounds. I’ve paid attention to people and have tried smiling at strangers. Most of all, I’ve tried – tried – to stop being so hard on myself about the way I look or worrying about my hair color or how many wrinkles I have.

Keaton would say if you choose to enhance your looks, do so for the right reasons.

I highly recommend her second book, and I am looking forward to reading her first book. I always liked Diane Keaton, and like her even more now.

Buy it from Amazon here.

Buy it from Barnes and Noble here.

Buy it from Tattered Cover here.

7Aug2014

They Say It’s Your Birthday

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Sorry about the terrible socks, Son.

Tomorrow my son Court turns 34. Say it ain’t so.

Life with Court was funny from the get-go. Back in the 80s, you didn’t find out 15 seconds after intercourse whether or not you were with child. You actually had to give the doctor a urine sample. It took several days for the sample to be analyzed . Court’s dad had to work the day I went back to find out the results. It was good news! I was pregnant.

I was hugely excited as I drove down Colorado Boulevard in rush hour traffic, hurrying home to tell his dad. The car in front of me stopped suddenly, and I braked, managing to avoid rear-ending the car. The driver behind me wasn’t so lucky. She hit the back of my car. I leaped out of the car, and she got out of her car, undoubtedly expecting me to say, “I can’t believe you hit my car!” She was surprised when, instead, I said, “Guess what? I’m pregnant!” I was so excited I just had to say those words out loud to someone. I even hugged her – this total stranger who was the first one to hear my good news.

Gratified to NOT hear me go on to say that I was certain my unborn baby’s health was in danger because of the accident, she tentatively hugged me back. The good news is I did not go on to name her Court’s godmother. In fact, I didn’t even get her license plate number. My car was undamaged, as was I. But she certainly had a story to tell when she got home that night.

I remember everything about the day he was born. My due date was August 7, and like the dutiful and reliable girl that I am, I went into labor on that very day. My first twinges came as I rode the bus to work that morning. Unlike the labor you see on television where the mother goes from performing brain surgery to immediate level 10 labor pains within seconds, I experienced unremarkable contractions all morning, and went to my previously-scheduled doctor’s appointment that afternoon.

Yep, the doctor assured me. You are in labor. Your baby will come tonight. (You will note readers below the age of 40, we also did not know the gender of the baby in those days. Whaaaaaaaat? How did you plan your nursery?)

My labor was fairly bearable. Labor is labor. It ain’t swell but it generally doesn’t kill you, at least in the 20^th century in a hospital. The final pushing stage was extremely difficult, however. I was certain it was because Court’s dad and I had missed the particular Lamaze lesson dealing with the last stage of labor because of a conflict. (And no, it wasn’t to visit our divorce lawyer. That came four years later Smartypantses.) It was unpleasant enough that I received flowers later that day from Court’s dad with a card that said, “I will never do that to you again.” I am dead serious. You can’t make this stuff up.

The doctor handed Court to me and as his father and as I gazed at Court, I tried to see a connection between him and us. Despite having spent nine months inside of me, he felt a bit like a stranger. And then suddenly I saw that his mouth looked exactly like his dad’s. Voila! The boy was ours.

For 18 years (and then some), he and I shared our life together. Each

summer we did three things: went to a drive-in movie, played miniature golf, and took some sort of vacation. We spent time with our family – he grew to know his aunts and uncles and cousins and Nana and Poppo, just as I had known and loved my own. He was shy with girls, and confided his “crushes” to me. (Until high school when those confidences came to a screeching halt. Thank God.) He patiently put up with

Seriously, couldn't someone have given me a heads-up on how I shouldn't do perms?

Seriously, couldn’t someone have given me a heads-up on the bad hair style?

my choices for his clothes (OP surfer shorts and dorky shoes from Target) until such time as he was old enough to make his own choices (dorky baggy pants and overpriced Air Jordans).

I stuck with him as he rapped. I watched him drive away in my car the first time, just hours after getting his license. I picked him at midnight the night his car broke down by old Mile High Stadium.

Court and I were, and are, buddies. Together we picked out the house in which we lived for much of his childhood, we bought our dog Fritz, we took lots of vacations (many with his cousin BJ), we spent time with my family, and we got each other out of a variety of predicaments. We were (and are) always there for each other.

He is now a stepfather of one and a father of three. I am proud of how seriously he takes his role as husband and parent. He provides for his family and teaches his kids the importance of love, honesty and hard work. At 34, he continues to make me proud of him every single day.

Hope you have a great birthday, Son.

6Aug2014

Finding Nemo’s Southern Cousin

Posted in Main Course, Recipes, Whimsies by kzmclain

I am heavily influenced by what I read in books, especially when it comes to food. For example, a couple of weeks ago, I read a mystery called The Lost Ones by one of my favorite authors, Ace Atkins. The series is about a former Army Ranger who returns to his roots in a small town in Mississippi and becomes sheriff. Since this isn’t a book review, I won’t tell you how much I liked the book, though I will offer the link so you can decide for yourself.

However, in what almost seemed like a theme, throughout the book, the characters ate fried catfish. Seriously, I can’t tell you how many scenes took place over a plate of fried catfish. There was even a discussion by some of the characters about how you can tell if a person eating the fried catfish is a Yankee because he or she will use a knife and fork. Southerners use their fingers.

I don’t know if that is true. But what I can tell you is that since I read that book, I have been hungry for fried catfish.

In the past, I would have called up one of my friends and we would have gone to M&D’s Barbecue for some fried catfish. Unfortunately, that restaurant closed several years ago because the owners apparently didn’t pay their taxes. Kids, always pay your taxes.

Since they closed, I have been completely lost in my attempts to find good southern food, specifically barbecued ribs and fried catfish. But I was reminded in the past week or so that there is a restaurant in the Five Points area near downtown Denver that offers really good southern food, including fried catfish.

Bill and I considered taking light rail to Tom’s Home Cookin’ as there is a train stop steps away from the front door. But it would involve a change of trains and Bill is busy painting everything in our house that doesn’t run away from him (I try to keep moving to be safe), so he didn’t want to take that much time. So we drove. It took probably twice as long. What can I say?

Well, one thing I can say is that the restaurant was amazing. It is such a good example of a couple of guys having a REALLY good idea and carrying out that idea in sublime fashion. The menu changes daily, except for a few items (such as fried catfish and fried chicken). Each day offers a simple menu. You choose your main dish (today choices included meatloaf, roast beef and gravy, barbecued pork, as well as the standard catfish and chicken). You choose two sides and your choice of beverage (which includes sweetened iced tea). You order at a counter. They don’t take credit cards. You aren’t allowed to have a person save a table; it’s first come, first served. And absolutely NO USE OF CELL PHONES IS ALLOWED, as it is a very small restaurant. They are opened Monday through Friday from 11 to 3. Period.

It sounds very crabby, but the two guys who own the restaurant and work the counter couldn’t possibly be friendlier or nicer. The line yesterday, and apparently every day, was out the door at 11:30. People of every age, gender, nationality, color, and economic background were represented. Suits, shorts, skirts, and jeans.

My catfish was delicious and I was a very happy diner. I am not offering a restaurant review, though I would give Tom’s a good one. I’m just impressed that a couple of guys had such a good idea and are apparently so successful. God bless America!

During Lent last year, I got a notion to make my own fried catfish on a Friday instead of going out for our standby cheese pizza. I used a recipe supplied by Food Network’s The Neely’s, and, if I must say so myself, my result was very good. It’s just that any time you have to fry anything, it involves a lot of cleanup. And I always worry way too much about where I’m going to go with the leftover grease. It seems easier just to eat out.

Nevertheless, I am going to provide you with the recipe so that you can enjoy yourself some fried catfish. A side of macaroni and cheese, some cornbread, and spicy collards provides just about the perfect Lenten meal. (Well, except for the Lenten sacrifice part.)

By the way, I ALWAYS eat my catfish with my fingers. How else?

Memphis-Styled Fried Catfish, courtesy Patrick and Gina Neely and Food Network

Ingredients

1 c. yellow cornmeal

1 T. paparika

1 t. cayenne pepper

¾ c. buttermilk

1 T. hot sauce

4 catfish fillets, skin and bones removed, rinsed and patted dry

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Peanut oil for frying

Process

Preheat a deep-fryer to 375 degrees.

Mix the cornmeal, paprika and cayenne in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, add the buttermilk and the hot sauce. Season the catfish with salt and pepper. Dredge in the buttermilk and then the cornmeal and spice mixture.

Drop carefully in the hot oil. Fry for 4 minutes until crisp. Remove to a paper towel lined sheet tray. Season with salt and pepper.

Nana’s Notes: I used a skillet with a couple of inches of oil in it rather than a deep fryer. It worked fine. The Neelys offered a recipe for a remoulade sauce, but if I can’t dip my catfish in hot sauce, why bother? I made collard greens and homemade cornbread, and it was delicious.

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