White Fluffy Icing

Musings of a reasonably competent home cook.

Archive for category Lagniappe

Lagniappe: I Saw You

Nov 28

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | No Comments

I saw you, Dad.

I saw you through the screen door of that house I don’t know.  I was on the second floor, up on stilts, so we must have been on the coast somewhere.  You were sitting in a lawn chair, facing the house. I don’t know why.  When you saw me, you waved, casually.  Here I am, you said with your wave, simultaneously trying to catch my eye and still telegraph your nonchalant style.  If you’re looking for me, here I am… not that it’s any big deal.

I was looking, Dad, out of the screen door of this strange coastal house.  I saw you.

I bolted through the door and screamed down those rickety stairs, watching with some measure of disbelief at how quickly my feet were moving.  I arrived safely at the bottom, fighting the urge to glance back at my accomplishment – but I didn’t want to take my eyes off of her.

I wanted to run to you and to fall into your arms, Dad, but she was there, right beside you.  And Dad, it’s been so long since I’ve seen her, I’m sure you understood why I went to her first.

I sprinted the fifteen yards or so from the stairs to where you both were sitting.  She tried to stand up, and partially succeeded, but I was there in an instant, crouching down, holding her.  We squatted there, like fools, hugging, and I was overwhelmed with joy and surprise and relief.  I touched her arms and face, inspecting her.  She was thin, and her hair was cropped short, but she was smiling and strong and limber and there.  She was there, and I was there.  We were together, and it was real.

I was desperate for the moment not to end.  So desperate that I actually thought to myself as she smiled at me, Please don’t let this end. Let me stay, at least for a while.

Of course, that’s when I was yanked away.  I startled awake, gasping, cold air filling my lungs.  I was alone in my dark bedroom.  She was gone.

And I missed you.

I closed my eyes again, trying to recreate the scene.  I saw you again, Dad, waving.  You were wearing one of your mesh trucker hats, propped high on your head, and a red plaid button down shirt, with short sleeves.  Your tan legs were crossed, right ankle resting on left knee, making it hard to see your khaki shorts.

Without taking the time to really look, I could see Mom again too, sitting next to you.  She was wearing that beige and white seersucker shirt, the one that, if I’m being honest, I always thought was kind of an odd choice for her.

I bolted again, but when I was about halfway down the stairs, my eyes opened.  The first hints of daylight peeked from behind the blinds.

I kept trying, over and over, and I kept seeing you sitting there, waving. It fell apart each time before I got down the stairs.  And each time I opened my eyes, the sun was a bit brighter.

My opportunity was missed.  The window, closed.

I’ll do better next time, Daddy. 

I promise.

Lagniappe: Letter to Mrs. Bixby

Nov 11

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | 5 Comments

Today is November 11, 2011.  11/11/11.  Veterans’ Day.

I’m thinking of Dad, and the service he gave to our country during the Vietnam War.  We would have met for lunch today, like we did every year, and I would have thanked him for putting his life on hold when he received his draft letter from President Nixon.  Over lunch, I would have asked him to tell me a story about that time in his life. 

I wish I’d taken better notes about those stories.  I remember him telling me that the cook aboard their ship was a very hip little Vietnamese guy with French culinary training, which made for some fantastic meals.  That guy could make any of those Army rations taste good, he said.  Dad once showed me some photos he took of the chef, which he sent home to Mom.  I’m hoping I’ll find them one day, and I hope the chef’s name is scrawled on the back of one.

Dad also told stories of naval ships occassionally pulling alongside them, full of fresh-faced sailors on their first tour.  They were excited about pulling into port for R&R, ready to find some cheap liquor and a few exotic girls, but they’d been warned that their Navy uniforms were too conspicuous, that they’d be easy targets.  So they would trade the Army guys cases of steaks and lobster tails (?!) for extra sets of fatigues.  That night, Dad and his comrades would dine like kings, thanks to their petite Franco-Vietnamese chef, and they’d laugh at all those sissy sailors who probably still got pick-pocketed in some Saigon bar before they had a chance to find any girls.

But I’m obviously not hearing any stories from Dad today.  Instead, all I can do is express my genuine gratitude to those who served and continue to serve our great country, and try to live a life that honors the sacrifice they made.

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Last Easter, Aunt Denise surprised me with a copy of One Hundred and One Famous Poems: With a Prose Supplement, copyright 1924.  She knows I collect vintage books, and she knows I like poetry.  Don’t you wish she were your auntie?  You should.

Sometimes when I want to distract myself from my own thoughts — thoughts about the fact that I’ve heard all the stories I’m ever going to hear from Dad, for example — I like to open up Aunt Denise’s book to a random page and see where it takes me.  I did this yesterday, and I found myself in the brief prose section, which included Abraham Lincoln’s celebrated “Letter to Mrs. Bixby.”  It seemed like something I should share with you today.

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In the fall of 1864, Massachusetts Governor John A. Andrew wrote to President Lincoln asking him to express condolences to Mrs. Lydia Bixby, a widow who was believed to have lost five sons during the Civil War.  According to my book, a copy of this letter hangs on the walls of Brasenose College, Oxford University, England, “as a model of purest English, rarely, if ever, surpassed.”

 

It reads: 

 

Executive Mansion,
Washington, Nov. 21, 1864.

To Mrs. Bixby, Boston, Mass.,

Dear Madam,

I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.

Yours, very sincerely and respectfully,

A. Lincoln

 

Lagniappe: Let’s DO This.

Oct 25

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | 2 Comments

When I wasn’t looking, White Fluffy Icing turned two.

TWO.  I find that hard to believe.

I used to be an intensely private person, until I first clicked ‘publish’ two years ago.  I’ve put myself out there, so to speak, flapping in the Internet wind.  And I like it.  In fact, I can’t really imagine life without Whi-FI, as Jamie likes to call it.

I didn’t know when I began how helpful it would be to have this space.  My life was chaotic two years ago — I had a baby, but no idea how to be the mom I wanted to be; I had parents, but no idea how to be the daughter I wanted to be; I had a job, but had no idea how to juggle it all.

When WFI came to be, it was a place to call my own.  I made the rules, I called the shots.  I suddenly had an outlet, a place where I could dump all my feelings out and sort through them.  Rank them.  Examine them.  Make sense of it all.

It helped.  Is helping.  A lot.

Thank you.

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Now that WFI is two years old, it’s time to grow up.

What does that mean?

It means that I need to start adapting and developing my own recipes.  It means that I need to take better pictures.  It means that while the writing has always been authentic, it’s time for the rest of the blog to catch up.

It should be interesting.

Let’s DO this.

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To celebrate this happy occasion, I made — what else? — a chocolate cake with white fluffy icing.  The goal was to snap a photo, post it here, and take it to my brother for his birthday, just like I did two years ago.

Except it was horrible.

That’s no surprise really, given my current state of mind and my recent track record with cakes.  The texture was coarse, the flavor was flat, and the chocolate pastry cream flung itself out from between the layers the moment I cut into it, like one of those prank snakes in a can.

But true to it’s formal name, the white fluffy icing didn’t fail me.  It was perfect.

 

Never Fail Swirl Frosting

3 egg whites, room temperature
A few grains of salt
¼ teaspoon cream of tartar
¾ cup sugar
¾ cup light corn syrup
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Beat the egg whites with salt and cream of tartar at high speed until almost stiff. Meanwhile, combine the sugar and syrup in a small saucepan and cook just until bubbles form around the edges.

Gradually pour the hot syrup over the egg whites, beating constantly at high speed. Return the syrup to the heat several times during the process, to keep it hot.

Add the vanilla and beat for an additional 3 to 5 minutes, until the mixture is the desired consistency. Use immediately.

 

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Oct 10

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | 3 Comments

I like poetry.  I’m not going to wear a beret and take up smoking or anything, but there’s something about poetry that distills life down to its very essence.

Someone once described poetry as the exact right words at the exact right time.  I like that.

I woke up yesterday morning, the day after Dad’s funeral, with a Robert Frost poem on my lips.  I don’t know how it got there, but when I recited it to myself (thank you, Mr. Bell, American Lit, 11th grade), I realized just how closely it hits the mark for me.

They are, in fact, the exact right words, at the exact right time — on many levels.

 

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house in is the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

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A Good Sign

Oct 9

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | 5 Comments

This crappy picture from my phone doesn't begin to do it justice.

After Dad’s funeral yesterday, a group of family members wound up at my cousin Glen’s house, who lives next door to Dad’s place.  We were sitting outside, telling stories and laughing when it started to sprinkle.  And then we looked, and a huge rainbow had appeared.

Right after that, I got a call that The Boy was sick, so I left to go pick him up.  And as I drove, the rainbow got brighter and more intense.  I’ve never seen colors that vivid in the sky before.  A mile later, I saw the other side of it, and I when I stopped to get a better look, I saw the full arch of an entire rainbow filling the sky.  It was magnificent.

Better yet, there was a second one, a shadow rainbow next to the first.  It took my breath away.

Dad was a farmer until I was about eight years old.  The weather was important to us.  I remember praying for rain.  Dad told stories about the tremendous flood we had in 1979, and the unbelievably hot summer the next year, in 1980.

Dad was one of those people who seemed to be directly impacted by the weather.  When the weather was nice, there was a lightness to his step, a spark in his outlook.  When the weather was gloomy, he was gloomy.

We’ve been in a terrible drought this summer — probably the worst of my lifetime.  There are cracks in the ground at Dad’s place that I swear are four inches wide.  The ground is desperate, begging.  Dad didn’t like it a bit.

So to look up on the day we buried him and see such a glorious image in the sky… it was unbelievable.  Not long after, it started to rain.  Not a quick shower, where the rainwater is barely enough to knock down the dust.  I’m talking about an honest to goodness, sky-darkening, puddle-forming, rainbow-making downpour.

I’m taking it as a good sign.

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Unmoored

Oct 7

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | 7 Comments

My heart is broken.

My sweet father died of a heart attack on Wednesday.

I’ll be back, but I’m not sure when.  In the meantime, you can read about my dad here and here.

I am surrounded by family and friends.

God is good.  All the time.

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Lagniappe: Throwdown!

Sep 18

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | 7 Comments

Exciting news!  I’ve been asked to be a judge for the 2011 Westside Chef’s Throwdown next Saturday in Katy, Texas. It’s a culinary competition event to raise funds to benefit the Muscular Dystrophy Association.

MDA is a national voluntary health agency working to defeat more than 40 neuromuscular diseases through programs of worldwide research comprehensive health and community services and far-reaching professional and public health education.

For more information about the event, look here.

For a list of participating chefs and restaurants, look here.

And for more information about MDA Houston, check out their Facebook page.

If you’re in the Houston area next weekend and want to taste some fabulous food while helping a great cause, I would love to see you there!

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Foodways Texas Gulf Coast Gathering: A Linkery

Mar 6

Posted by Laura in Foodways Texas, Lagniappe | 4 Comments

PJ Stoops prying an oyster drill from its shell, so that it can be part of my lunch.

A week later, I’m still getting over it.  The Foodways Texas Symposium in Galveston, that is.

The people, the food, the setting, the subject matter, the everything.  I came home and happened to catch Melissa Leo’s acceptance speech at the Oscars that Sunday night, and seeing the look of shock on her face, followed by her asking (scene thief) Kirk Douglas to pinch her, I thought, wow, that’s pretty much how I feel.  Well, actually, I didn’t feel like dropping an f-bomb, and I would never steal a gentleman’s cane… but you get the idea.

I thought about trying to convey the sense of magic from that weekend to you, but wasn’t sure I could adequately capture it (see Melissa Leo reference, above).  But then my new friend Kelly Yandell, the blogger behind The Meaning of Pie, did it for me, with her terrific recap of the weekend, which you can find here.

Know this: I came away from the weekend inspired, invigorated, and grateful.  You’ll be seeing posts with evidence of Foodways Texas all over them very soon.

For now, I’ll just provide some links to what other people are saying and doing as a result of the symposium.  I’m just a hobbyist blogger, but these folks are professionals, and they’re very very good at what they do.  I was humbled to make their collective acquaintance.

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Notice the blue ink on the meat of the oyster drill, which PJ said can and has been used as a fabric dye in days gone by.

First, the official recap of what went on, from the Foodways Texas site:  1st Annual Foodways Texas Symposium Recap

Next (and once again), Kelly’s excellent overview of the weekend, which got picked up by the online edition of the Washington Post (go, girl!): Foodways Texas Gulf Coast Gathering

The Dallas Observer gave some attention to perhaps the most intriguing bycatch species we discussed: Putting Oyster Drills and Other Odd Creatures on Seafood Menus

Robb Walsh discussed the historic oyster tasting that took place: Gulf Oysters By Place Name

The Dallas Observer then discussed the return of oyster appellations: Oyster Appellations Return to the Gulf Coast

Houston Press also covered the oyster appellations angle and stirred up a little negative energy, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  To me, when impassioned conversations occur among people who hold something dear, good things almost always result.  Be sure and check out the comments:  An Oyster By Any Other Name

And then Robb Walsh weighed in with additional insight to add clarity to the appellation issue, and got picked up by Saveur magazine along the way:  Why Pay More For Oysters With Place Names?

Oyster Guide also picked up our excitement:  Why Gulf Oysters Are Never Named By Their Home Bays

Finally, Marshall Wright, a photographer whose talents are only exceeded by his polite charm, captured a series of John Tesvich expertly shucking an oyster and shared his captivating shots on his blog, Eat This Lens: Photo Of The Day: How To Shuck An Oyster

More soon!

(FTX folks, did I miss anything?  Let me know and I’ll add it…)

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Food of Love + Foodways Texas

Feb 24

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love, Foodways Texas | 5 Comments

Last fall, Dad and I went out to dinner — one of our infrequent father/daughter dates that I cherish so much.

We were just tucking into our salads when a face and a voice from the past approached our table.  It was Terry, a longtime friend from our hometown, and my dad’s former boss before he retired years ago.  He and Dad exchanged hello’s, then Dad pulled the old “Terry, you remember my daughter Laura?” thing — you know, the you’re-not-sure-whether-they’ve-met-so-you-give-them-both-an-out thing.

Oh, I definitely remember Laura… and her poppy seed tea rings!, Terry said. That’s actually why I came over.

I suddenly remembered — Terry was one of the best customers of my unlawful cottage bakery enterprise from 20 years ago.  Any time I got an order for poppy seed, I assumed it was from Terry.  He loved those things.

Terry went on to explain how his daughter was getting married at the end of January, and while they were planning to serve “fancy wedding food” for dinner, he also wanted to have a buffet spread of casual down-home selections for the guests to snack on while they awaited the arrival of the bride and groom.

You know, the good Bohemian stuff we grew up on, he said.  Stuff nobody makes anymore.  Stuff with love stirred in.

He actually said that: with love stirred in.  Was this a joke?  I started checking the periphery for Ashton Kutcher.

Anyway, I would really really love to have some tea rings for the buffet, he continued.  Would you be willing to make some?  It would really mean a lot to us.

There are many reasons why I don’t cook for a living, and it just so happens that wedding caterer is close to the top of the list of nightmare jobs for me.  (I’m way too much of a tomboy to deal with brides on a regular basis.)  But if ever there were an exception to be made, this was it.

That’s why, several weeks later, I spent a Saturday afternoon making three giant batches of rich yeast dough.  It was like being back in the kitchen of my childhood home — a dusting of flour covered every surface, bowls of fruit fillings were scattered on the countertops, lumps of dough were rising in random places under protective kitchen towels.  Why hadn’t I ever installed that second oven?

Dad came over to help me deliver the six colossal pastries to the old Knights of Columbus Hall.  How many parties and wedding receptions had I attended here?  How often had I kicked up my feet to the Cotton-Eyed Joe on this floor?  And — gasp! — remember The Chicken?!  It was very much like the time I visited my elementary school as an adult, after several years away.  Everything seemed so foreign, yet incredibly familiar.  Places like these are part of my DNA.

Dad and I made a successful hand-off to the wedding planners, and then left them to finish their work.  We attended vigil Mass together across town, and then dropped back by to make sure everything had gone as planned.  By the time we returned, the party was in full swing.

Terry’s 80-year-old mother, Mary Catherine, came straight over to tell me how thrilled she was with the tea rings.  Terry soon joined us, waiting politely for a break in the conversation, but none came, because Mary Catherine was telling me her personal Food of Love story.

She told me about how tea rings reminded her of visiting my grandmother’s house, and how no one cooks like that anymore.  She told me about her trick to making good pork chops and sauerkraut (get a good sear on the meat, then add the drippings to the kraut and simmer long enough to meld the flavors).  She told me about how she still makes chicken soup with homemade egg noodles, served over a dollop of mashed potatoes in the bottom of the bowl, and did my family do that, too?

Mary Catherine also told me that although she’d passed down all these savory recipes to her children and grandchildren, she’d never quite mastered yeast breads, and as such, no one in her family can make kolaches or tea rings.  We spoke of it as a dying art, which it is.

Later, the gravity of that occurred to me.  While dozens of the ladies in my mother’s generation baked these old world pastries, I’m the only person I know under age 50 that can do it.  Dad says that Mom taught Stacie, my sister-in-law, how to bake tea rings, and if that’s true, that makes two of us.  What exactly is happening here?  In two or three more generations, will my great grandchildren even know what a tea ring is?

To many, this probably seems like a trivial concern.  Who cares about old Czech baking traditions in this modern world?   Here’s the point: we’re losing a connection with our heritage.  America is a cultural boiling pot, and that is wonderfully incredible on many many levels, but assimilation has its downsides, too, as our cultural history slips through our fingers.

There are others with stories like mine — stories of how food connects us to our history, and how those foods are slowly fading away.  Some of the foods, I’ve never heard of.  Some, like seafood from the Gulf, I take for granted.

That is exactly why I’m about to turn off my laptop and pack for a trip to Galveston tomorrow.  I’m headed to the First Annual Foodways Texas Symposium.  I was ecstatic when Foodways Texas was founded last summer with a mission to preserve, promote and celebrate the diverse food cultures of Texas — but my excitement was because I know we have so much to celebrate, and I personally have so much to learn.

But now, thanks to Terry and Mary Catherine, I realize that I might actually be carrying a small torch for one of those diverse food cultures.  Now it’s personal.

I hope to see you in Galveston.

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Foodways Texas Update

Jan 14

Posted by Laura in Foodways Texas, Lagniappe | 4 Comments

There’s lots of news coming out of the new Foodways Texas organization these days, and I want to pass along a few highlights…

First, their website is up.  It looks fantastic, and has tons of great information.  Check it out at www.foodwaystexas.com.

Second, their first annual symposium will be held next month in Galveston, and tickets are on sale.  If the event I attended in Houston is any indication, I can assure you that 1) there will be a ton of great food there from amazing chefs, and 2) it will be a heckuva party.  For more information, look here, and to buy tickets, look here.

Third, there will be a Foodways Texas Barbeque Summer Camp at Texas A&M University this June.  That’s right, summer camp for barbeque nerds.  You know, the ones that correct people on the differences between barbeque-ing and grilling… or will get in a fistfight over how to properly smoke a brisket.  The camp spans an entire weekend, and there will be sessions on butchering, formulating rubs and sauces, cooking demos, and the general science of barbeque.  The light of heart need not apply, but if you want to learn serious techniques from the legends of the Texas barbeque world, look for more information here.  (Hint: This would be an amazing gift for the person who has everything.)

And last but not least, Foodways Texas is hosting a fundraiser in Dallas on January 24th.  The theme is celebrating the Texas Gulf, and the menu features shrimp, fish, and oysters, plus an oyster shucking contest for those not afraid to risk a digit for bragging rights.  To top it all off, it’s being hosted at Smoke, which I keep hearing is absolutely fantastic.  If you are anywhere near Dallas a week from Monday, you should do yourself a favor and attend.  More information, including the menu that had me drooling, is here.  If you’re on the fence and you want to know more about how the Houston event went, look here.

In summary, these folks aren’t fooling around.  If you’ve given any thought to becoming a member of Foodways Texas, now’s the time to help them get off the ground.  Plus, you can tell your grandkids that you were a charter member.  I’m sure you’re grandkids would want to hear about that kind of stuff… right?

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