A good country cook

 

When my children were little, we spent many a happy weekend—and sometimes a week at a time—at a guest ranch near Ben Wheeler, Texas owned by good friends. Charles Ogilvie taught radiology at the Texas College of Osteopathic Medicine, and his wife, Reva, ran the B&B and did all the cooking. They had several guest cabins on the property, although the children were dismayed to learn that other people stayed in “our” cabin and that it wasn’t really ours. There was a stocked small lake, with paddleboats, where my boys loved to fish so much that they would get up at dawn. We hiked Charles’ nature trails, watched the beavers transform a pond, petted the horse, sometimes burros, and once a doomed Longhorn steer, went to town on Saturday nights for catfish, and watched corny movies in the conference center they had built. The kids thought it was the best place in the world.

While the children fished and dabbled their toes in the water at the small beach area, Reva and I cooked. She was a great, down-home cook, a Missouri farm girl transplanted to Texas. We had huge feasts on the screened-in front porch of their house, looking over the lake at twilight. It’s about as close to heaven as I’ve come.

Charles leased his pastures, since he couldn’t care for livestock during the week, but he often kept one feeder calf in a pen not far from the house. One particular calf, however, was so adept at escaping that he was named Houdini. The kids loved him and always stopped to pet him on the way from the main house to our cabin (a good half-mile walk that included making your way across two cattle guards). One night we had beef for dinner—I don’t remember what cut or how it was cooked—and Charles asked, “How do you like the meat, kids?” They all chorused that it was great. With a grin, Charles said, “You’re eating Houdini.” Nobody ate much after that.

Here are some of Reva’s recipes that still use often. A note I feel compelled to add: I do not like bell peppers, especially green, and they don’t like me. I never use them—except to make Reva’s good beans, and then I slice the half pepper in pieces big enough that I can pick them out. Somehow the beans wouldn’t be the same without that pepper.

 

Aunt Reva’s good beans

1 3-lb.-4-oz. can Ranch Style beans

1 28-oz. can diced tomatoes (or two 14-oz. cans)

1 onion, chopped

½ green pepper, seeded and diced

Drain beans, but do not rinse. Put into crockpot along with other ingredients and simmer all day if you have to. (You can probably get by with less, but it’s nice to let them thicken up.)

 

Aunt Reva’s chili relleños

2 4-oz. cans whole green chilies

½ lb. sharp cheddar (or as much as you want to use)

5 eggs

¼ c. milk

Grease and butter a pie pan. Spread chilies in a single layer on the pan. Cover with grated cheese. Mix eggs and milk and pour over cheese and chilies. Bake at 325° for 30 minutes or until eggs have set. Great, easy breakfast.

 

Aunt Reva’s asparagus

2 c. asparagus (The recipe called for canned, but I use one bunch of fresh, trimmed and lightly cooked.)

1 c. sour cream

¼ c. mayonnaise

2 Tbsp. lemon juice

Buttered breadcrumbs

This actually doesn’t come with directions, but Reva used to lay the asparagus, fan-shaped, in a pie plate. For easier serving, I put it in single layer in a small rectangular baking dish. Mix sour cream, mayonnaise, and lemon juice and pour over asparagus. Top with breadcrumbs and bake until topping is brown, and dish is heated through.

Reva and Charles are long gone, and the kids and I treasure these memories. We also treasure the recipes. Nothing like learning from a good country cook.

With this column, I hope to get back to posting my “Gourmet on a Hot Plate” blog every Thursday. Happy cooking, folks.

 

 

 

Happy to be home

Sophie and I had a wonderful, terrific, marvelous week in Tomball—okay, except for the dogfight which maybe taught her she is not invincible nor is she the biggest kid on the block. But she loved being in the middle of an active household, where she was on constant alert lest she miss something. Tonight, we are happy to be home in the cottage, which is pretty dull and quiet.

Colin, Kegan, Sophie, and I left Tomball just before 10:30 this morning. A glorious day for a drive. There had been heavy rains throughout Central and South Texas Wednesday night—as usual I heard the thunder but not the rain, but in the morning the lake was really high, and the lowest portion of the patio was under water. This morning, with bright skies and blazing sun, we saw water everywhere—stock tanks were overflowing and creeks had burst their banks. At some points on Highway 6, around Marlin, there were sudden new lakes lapping the road on either side. I’ve seen it before on that stretch of highway, but it always surprises me. The road from College Station to Waco is one I traveled so often for sales meetings when I was working that I have all the landmarks memorized. I particularly love going through Calvert, that funky town full of old shops and antiques and falling down buildings.

We met Jordan and Jacob in Waco at a place my kids all rave about but where I had never been before. A tiny hole-in-the-wall with outdoor seating, so we could take Sophie. Called the Health Camp, it’s everything but. What it is, is greasy hamburgers. Through a mix-up we got a BLT for Colin, but I knew he had his taste buds ready for a cheeseburger, and I didn’t, so we traded. It was one of those sandwiches grilled on the outside so that everything about it is greasy, and some of the bacon was undercooked. It is not, however, the kind of place where you call the maître d’ and complain about your food. Kegan got a chili/cheese dog which I would not have known how to attack—he waded in and did a credible job on it. The best thing about the experience was the milkshakes—Jordan and Jacob had chocolate, Colin had strawberry, and Kegan had cookies ‘n cream. Being a novice, I didn’t know to order a milkshake, but I tasted, and they were thick and creamy and good.

An aside: when I was a kid there was an ice cream parlor (those shops we unfortunately don’t have anymore) about eight blocks from our house. They served milkshakes so thick the straw stood straight up in them. My mom would sometimes give my friend Eleanor Lee and me money for shakes for lunch, and we rode our bikes up to 53rd Street—a busy commercial street. Being allowed to do that was a big deal, and the shakes were the best thing we’d ever eat—or so we thought. A win/win deal. Today’s didn’t quite meet that standard, but they were good.

Health Camp is on the roundabout with the old Elite Café, that Waco traditional landmark. I had heard that Chip and Joanna Gaines had bought it, and today, lo and behold! It had a sign boasting, “The Magnolia Table.” Next time through Waco I’m going to lobby for that, but I may be unsuccessful. My family is really sold on the greasy spoon hamburgers.

Jordan, Jacob, Sophie and I got to Fort Worth a little after 3:30, and Jacob had a 4:00 p.m. orthodontist appointment, so Sophie and I got to sit in the car for half an hour. It was okay. She was a bit anxious; I calmly read emails. Jacob got the worst of the deal because something on his braces had broken and had to be repaired.

And then, before 5:00 p.m., we were home. I’ve turned on my Christmas lights and started unpacking, but I’m going to have a late version of my afternoon nap and then worry about dinner. My cupboard is pretty bare.

What wonderful Christmas memories I brought home with me. And now, on to the New Year.

The Tradition of Sunday night supper

Sunday night supper has a long tradition in my family. When I was young, my mom rolled her tea table into the living room and put it before the fireplace. The three of us—my parents and me (my brother was away by then)—enjoyed light suppers, such dishes as cheese strata or spinach souffle. No cell phones to banish—we enjoyed each other’s company.

When my children were young, I did Sunday supper for the family, including my brother, John, and his children (he was single by then too) and whatever people I thought were alone. Some of my good friends fondly talk of those dinners with 15-20 people. I cooked huge meals—turkey breast Wellington is one recipe I recall. A lot of casseroles. I remember one night when we were working on a cookbook at my office, and I brought home a recipe for a hamburger/cornbread casserole and fixed it. My brother looked at me and asked, “Sis, is the budget the problem?”

Another night as we sat around after dinner the alarm service called to tell him his house was on fire. He lived just down the street and arrived barely in time to keep the firemen from taking an axe to his front door. He’d left chicken livers simmering on the stove and they’d burned dry.

John used to go around the table and ask each of us to tell about our week or what we were thankful for. It led to some embarrassed moments, but today those dinners are golden memories that I treasure. Maybe we should start that again, even though our dinners are on a small scale.

Today, Sunday night suppers are more hit and miss. Jordan and I try for them, and most Sundays we have supper. Christian and I alternate cooking. Tonight, he was busy decorating the Christmas tree, and I cooked a sausage quiche—they liked it, but it’s not a recipe I’ll repeat or share. I made sauerkraut just for me (no one else would try it)—bacon, onions caramelized in the bacon drippings, a bit of white wine, a tiny bit of brown sugar. Delicious. So glad I didn’t have to share. Jacob had gone to a church event.

When my kids were young the only excuse for missing Sunday night supper was a restaurant job and a scheduled shift. That doesn’t hold true today, and we often have supper without Jacob. And sometimes we don’t have a formal supper at all. If I wanted to wax nostalgic about the lost past, I would. But I am grateful for what we have and the dinners we enjoy. Next recipe? Chicken in a creamy Parmesan sauce. It was a recipe for pork chops, but a friend of Jordan’s said it would be great with chicken. I think I’ll let Christian cook that one.