Summer on a Plate

I love food magazines. I am the first to admit it; I'm slightly obsessed. In my kitchen stands a bookshelf crammed with back issues (some seven years old) of Gourmet, Southern Living, Fine Cooking, and Bon Appétit. I particularly look forward to the winter holiday and summer issues. Staring at photos of a glistening, crispy Thanksgiving bird or a basil-flecked, farm fresh corn salad does wonders for my psyche.

This month I was particularly inspired by Southern Living's July recipes. I, along with hundreds of thousands of other readers, discovered the perfect appetizer among those glossy pages. The recipe combines my favorite flavors of our sultry, so-hot-you-peel-off-your-clothing Alabama summers: okra, tomatoes, corn, basil, and a personal staple, pimento cheese. Don't you dare use storebought pimento cheese. I will know. My sister, Emily, took one bite and said, "this is summer on a plate." I couldn't have said it better myself.

Okra and Tomato Corncakes
Recipe adapted from Southern Living, July 2012
Original recipe can be found here.

Although I pretty much stuck to the original recipe (you can't mess much with perfection), I did add a few handfuls of cooked, fresh corn kernels, cut straight off the cob, to the corncake batter. We also added more basil, because as far as I'm concerned, you can never have too much basil. I omitted the arugula because we didn't have any.

2 cups cornmeal
2 tablespoons baking powder
1 teaspoon sea salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 1/2 cups water

1 egg

2 cups okra, thinly sliced
1/2 cup fresh corn kernels
1 small jalapeno, seeded and minced
4 small heirloom tomatoes, sliced into rounds
16 basil leaves
1/4 cup canola oil
salt and pepper

Homemade Pimento cheese (recipe here)

Mix the first four ingredients in a small bowl. Beat in water and egg and mix until batter is thick and wet. Add in okra, jalapeno, corn and stir. Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a large skillet until hot but not smoking. Pour batter in tablespoonfuls and cook each cake until bubbles appear on the surface and edges look dry. Flip cakes and press down with spatula. Cook 2-3 minutes and transfer to a paper towel lined plate. Salt and pepper. Repeat with all of the batter and oil.

To assemble cakes, place eight corn cakes on a plate. Top each cake with a tablespoon of pimiento cheese. Top with a basil leaf and then a tomato round, pressing down slightly. Garnish with basil and season with salt and pepper. Summer on a plate. I promise.

Hello, Old Friend.

The title of this particular blog entry has two significances. The first one is that I am ashamed it has been a good portion of a year since my last blog post. In August, I found out we are expecting. Not that being pregnant is any excuse to let a blog go, but needless to say, I haven't been "mixing" much of anything noteworthy for the past eight months, and since I got put on bedrest on January, I've been banned from the kitchen (the horror!). The second significance is that today, I said hello to an old friend I've been missing since we moved away from Montana: rhubarb.

In our spacious backyard in Montana, we had a six square foot patch of rhubarb. The gorgeous, fig-shaped leaves were as big as elephant ears. At first, I had no idea what to do with all of those funny-looking red celery stalks, but with a little help from our friends in town, I quickly made use of the delightfully tart fruit/vegetable.

I recently picked up a flat of gorgeous strawberries from Sam's Club. I quickly tired of slicing them into bowls of cereal, and I just had too many to eat out of hand. Now that I'm allowed to be up and moderately active, I knew I had to acquire some rhubarb for a pie. I had seen some at Fresh Market, but when I got there they had baked them all into (you guessed it) strawberry-rhubarb pies. I thought my pie dreams were foiled until my dear friend, Elizabeth, found some at Publix for me. Thanks, Libbo!

I adapted the recipe from a one that first appeared in Bon Appétit Magazine in 1989 called Deep-Dish Rhubarb Pie with Crumb Topping. I made a few changes. I decided to use a (gasp) prepared pie crust because it's just easier. I don't have any other excuse. I also decided to omit the spices, cinnamon and nutmeg, from the original recipe because I wasn't going for a spicy, warm flavor. I wanted something tart-sweet and summery, which is exactly what I love about the combination of strawberry-rhubarb.

The crumble topping is so simple. I prefer a crumble topping on a fruit pie because of the added sweetness and texture. As far as I'm concerned, there's only one way to mix a crumble, and that's with your hands. Rub the butter between your fingers, making sure to mix it with the flour, sugar, and oats.

My favorite part about this recipe is that it makes a little extra fruit compote. Rhubarb is such a gorgeous, blush pink color when cooked. Spooned warm over vanilla ice cream, it is a feast for the eyes as well as the tongue.

Strawberry-Rhubarb Crumble Pie

recipe adapted from Bon Appétit June 1989

2/3 cup old-fashioned oats

1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup firmly packed golden brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
6 tablespoons chilled unsalted butter cut into small pieces
1 pound rhubarb, sliced into ½ inch pieces
1 basket of strawberries, hulled and sliced into uniform pieces
juice of half of a lemon
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch
1 pie crust, baked at 350 degrees for 20 minutes until golden

Preheat oven temperature to 375°F. Combine oats, flour, sugar, and cinnamon in a bowl. Add butter and squish with hands until butter is fully incorporated and mixture is uniformly crumbly. Transfer mixture to medium bowl.

Mix rhubarb, strawberries, sugar, cornstarch, and lemon juice in heavy large saucepan. Let stand 30 minutes. Bring to boil over medium heat, stirring constantly. Reduce heat and simmer until juices thicken, about 3 minutes.

Pour filling into prepared crust. Cover with topping. Bake 35 minutes. Cool on rack. Serve warm or at room temperature.

A Tale of Tales: Part I

“So…are you as bummed as I am?” Genevieve said to me over the phone on Monday afternoon. “Yes. I’ve been depressed all day. It’s just not fair.” It was true. Ever since we arrived home in Mobile on Sunday evening, we were in a funk. But let’s rewind a bit, shall we?
As a child, I mixed “potions” in a wee-sized scarred copper pot. At ten, my childhood partner in crime and I concocted a scheme to make a million. We juiced. We squeezed every fruit we could get our hands on. It was going to be a hit. An upscale lemonade stand, if you will. Sadly, our products didn’t exactly take off, but we were pumped full of Vitamin C for at least four years. When I grew up, I found that alcohol could be mixed, muddled, and manipulated the same way. There’s nothing wrong with a Tanquerey and tonic, but what about a cucumber garnish instead of a lime? Or go a little further and tie in the crisp, herbal notes with a few drops of rosemary simple syrup? When my family and friends convene at our beach house on the Gulf of Mexico, they joke about their “resident mixologist,” yours truly. I love to concoct. Which brings us back to Friday, July 22nd.

We (Genevieve, Sarah, and I) left for New Orleans, our bags heavy and our hearts light. As we passed through Alabama and Mississippi, the excitement mounted. We were heading to Tales of the Cocktail, New Orleans’ festival celebrating mixology and the people who make it an art.

As we checked into our hotel, the quaint and affordable Historic French Market Inn, I could hardly contain my excitement. I felt like screaming, “I’m at Tales!” to everyone on Decatur Street. It was Tales’ 9th year and my first. My absence was not purposeful; for some reason, the timing was never right.

We quickly gathered our bearings and headed to the historic Hotel Monteleone, Tales of the Cocktail’s headquarters. We were greeted within seconds by two affable bartenders handing out shots of Saint Germaine, dulcet elderflower nectar redolent of pear, peach and lavender. We clinked glasses and cried, “To Tales!”

At Registration we procured our tickets for the night’s event, the Bar Room Brawl, and our tasting room wristbands, which were included in the price of our ticket. The tasting room wristband, or our unbarred access to everything lovely in life, was the perk of perks. I kept pinching myself to see if it was true. Was this really all for us? Could we really, (if we had arrived on Wednesday, when it began) taste top-notch cocktails in fifty four tasting rooms over five days for only $50? The answer, my friends, was yes; however, before you start calling all of your college buddies or your sorority sisters, be warned. This is not Beerfest. It is isn’t about grabbing “Big Ass Beers” and Hand Grenades on Bourbon Street and hurling your $1.56 Krystal dinner all over the stoop of Larry Flynt’s Hustler. Tales of the Cocktail, or “Tales” as we called it, is about the art of mixing great cocktails. The buzz is just a bonus.

We headed for the Royal Sonesta, where the Remy Cointreau USA Profile Tasting Room was being held in their Acadia Room. Brugal, Cointreau, Highland Park 18, Mount Gay Rum, Remy Martin 1738 Accord Cognac, and Zubrowka Bison Grass Vodka were all a-shaking and a-stirring. We stood around, stunned, for a moment. Suddenly a drink was in our hand (delicious—a Cointreau Cup—recipe below). It tasted fresh, zingy, and appropriate for our first cocktail of the weekend. Our next stop was Zu (Zubrowka) Vodka, a bison-grass spirit with hints of vanilla and almond. A tiny shot magically appeared before us and we tasted the clean, floral, and slightly grassy flavor. Delicious.

One of the most wonderful things about Tales is the atmosphere. It is elegant and refined without being stuffy or pretentious. Everyone is friendly and flushed with drink. No one stumbles or yells to the person standing next to them, oblivious to their volume. The only exhibition of "unsavory behavior" that we witnessed was the strange man (wearing a wristband, by the way) who was taking everyone's leftovers and pouring them into one cup. We, horrified, inwardly begged him not to take a sip...but alas, our pleas went unheeded. Talk about a cocktail of cocktails.

After having our fill (temporarily) of tasty libations, we went to John Besh's Domenica. I was on a fungi kick: I had wild mushroom soup and wild mushroom pizza with fontina, bacon and yard egg. They were both out of this world and provided a perfect base for the rest of the night.

We took a cab to Generations Hall, a large warehouse-style venue Uptown. It was built in the 1820's as a sugar refinery. Here we waited in line for the first and last time all weekend. We presented our tickets, got a green wristband, and entered the Bar Room Brawl. Grand Marnier, Hennessy, Belvedere Vodka and 10 Cane Rum sponsored this particular event, and the mixologists from bars all over the country battled it out. We cheered on Boston's own Eastern Standard, who took home the title. My favorite cocktail was theirs: a gorgeous vibrant watermelon concotion. Please excuse the blur. I just can't understand why my hands so so unsteady.

The Minty Side of the Pillow

Why is a pot of the most bountiful mint ever riding shotgun in my mother's Honda Civic?

Good question. I left our beach house with this beautiful monster in tow. I was tempted to strap it in with the seatbelt, but I decided to live dangerously. I'm really not sure why it's this big, or why my mother's thumb is is green, but I inherited it, and I'm going to make the most of it.

This will be a mixology blog only. I'm not sure how to use mint in cooking except for in a sauce or garnish. The master recipe is mint simple syrup, and at the risk of using silly puns, it couldn't be "simpler."


Mint Simple Syrup

1 cup sugar
1 cup water
2 handfuls of mint leaves


Combine sugar and water in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Bring it to a very light simmer and stir until sugar dissolves. Take off the heat when it is clear and slightly reduced. Bruise the mint leaves with the handle of a wooden spoon, but do not tear them. Add the mint to the syrup and let steep for at least 30 minutes. Remove the mint leaves and refrigerate the syrup in an airtight container. Keeps for about 2 weeks.
Once you've made your mint syrup, there are no limits to its uses. Here are a few of my favorites:

Southern Mint Julep
Makes 1 drink

A mint julep is a simple drink but can actually be quite complicated to make well. It requires the best bourbon, the freshest mint, the finest-crushed ice, and the coldest vessel money can buy. I use Maker's Mark Bourbon. I know it isn't the most expensive of bourbons, but the highest end bourbons shouldn't be mixed. Why mess with perfection? I also use Salisbury Pewter julep cups. They keep the drink so cold that it hurts to hold them. They're pricey at $30 a pop, but again, why mess with perfection? Surprisingly, there are many varieties of mint. I use 'Kentucky Colonel' Mint, which is of the Spearmint variety. I crush the ice by hand with a hammer. I know you think I'm kidding, but I'm not, and my forearms aren't either.

1 1/2 ounces Maker's Mark
3/4 ounce mint syrup
finely crushed ice
3 or 4 spearmint leaves
a mint sprig

Bruise mint leaves with the mint syrup in the bottom of a pewter cup. Fill full of crushed ice.
Add bourbon slowly and stir ever so slightly so as to not melt the ice. Garnish with a mint sprig.

Classic Mojito
Makes 1 drink

Although I am much more of a julep person, sometimes you need something a little lighter and less potent. This is where a mojito comes in. Although I would never adulterate a julep (although I did have a delicious ginger-mint one in New Orleans) a mojito begs to be tinkered. Try muddling your favorite fruit with the mint.

3 lime wedges
2 teaspoons lime juice
1 ounce mint syrup
1 1/2 ounces silver/white rum
a handful of mint leaves
club soda

In the bottom of a highball glass, crush 2 lime wedges with the simple syrup and all but a few of the mint leaves. I use a muddler, but you can use a wooden spoon if you don't have one. Add rum and top with club soda. Garnish with the mint and one lime wedge. Enjoy!

Reunited, and it feels so good.

First and foremost, I want to apologize for being absent on Mixing in Mobile for so long. I moved away from Mobile, and it felt strange to post on a blog devoted to cooking in Mobile when I wasn't living there.

I'm back. My husband and I just closed on a house in Midtown last month, and we are embarking on the heartsickening and infuriating journey of remodeling a 102-year-old home. I absolutely promise that this is not going to turn into a home renovation blog. I know nothing about remodeling. As much as I will learn in the coming months, I promise to keep to myself...unless asked. Mixing in Mobile will remain a cooking/baking/mixology blog (as soon as I can get internet in the house, and a new kitchen). In the meantime, I am posting a few pictures of our new (to us) house. Enjoy.

What A Tart!

In T.J. Maxx the other day, I saw a Calphalon tart pan for $7.99. The tart pans I own are the  flexible, irritatingly thin pans of yesteryear. This one is sturdy, nonstick, and devastatingly beautiful (yes, gleaming and shiny and beautiful.) I wanted--no needed--- it. I bought it.

So I needed a tart worthy of such a pan. Enter Epicurious.com, my go-to recipe bank. Up comes a Lime Tart with Blackberries and Blueberries. I had a bag of lemons. I had the fruit. I got to work.

The first crust I made was a disaster. The oven at the beach house is hot and fast (sounds like one of those girls your mommas warned you about.) The first crust came out a little crispy, which is a euphemism for burnt, burnt, burnt. The second crust was parfait.

The lemon curd needed a little coddling, as I imagine curds do. I whisked and whisked and whisked my little heart out, and it thickened not. I heard curd can be made quite effectively in the microwave (gasp!) so I gave it a try. It thickened in a New York minute. I wish all of you thick curd, but if it doesn't work, nuke it in 25 second intervals, whisking after each one.

The finished product, y'all, was AWE-SOME. Try it, now.

Lemon Blackberry Tart with Shortbread Crust
Serves 8-10

Adapted from Bon Appetit

Lemon Curd

3 large eggs

3 large egg yolks

1 cup sugar

3/4 cup fresh lemon juice

6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 6 pieces

Fruit Topping

1 pint fresh blackberries

½ pint fresh blueberries

Shortbread Crust

1 ½ sticks butter, room temperature

1/3 cup sugar

1 large egg yolk

Scant 2 cups all-purpose flour

1 large pinch of salt

For lemon curd:

Set fine metal strainer over medium bowl and set aside. Whisk eggs, egg yolks, and sugar in another medium bowl (glass or metal). Whisk in lemon juice. Set bowl over large saucepan of gently simmering water (do not allow bottom of bowl to touch water). Whisk constantly until curd thickens, about 12 minutes. If curd isn't thickening, turn up the heat on the water. When thick, immediately pour curd through prepared strainer set over bowl. Add butter to warm strained curd; whisk until blended and smooth. Press plastic wrap directly onto surface of curd, covering completely. Refrigerate until cold.
For crust:
Using electric mixer, beat butter and sugar in medium bowl until well blended, 1 to 2 minutes. Add egg yolk; beat to blend. Add flour and salt and mix on low speed until mixture resembles large peas. Using hands, knead in bowl just until dough comes together.
Transfer dough to 10-inch-diameter tart pan with removable bottom. Press dough evenly up sides and onto bottom of pan. Chill 20 minutes.
Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Bake until golden brown, about 28 minutes. Cool completely in pan on rack.
For topping:
Remove sides from tart pan and place crust on plate. Spread lime curd evenly in baked crust. Arrange blackberries in a circle around the edge of the crust. Mound blueberries in center of tart. Serve immediately.

Summer Sauté

I’m always looking for that perfect summer side dish: the one that goes with almost every meal and takes very little effort to prepare. This summer, I’ve found it. It’s easy, delicious, and showcases some of summer’s best and freshest ingredients. Some may wrinkle their noses at first, but try it once and you’ll be hooked for good.

The following recipe is so simple; it takes a handful of inexpensive ingredients. Of the utmost importance is the freshness of the ingredients. If at all possible, make sure your corn, tomatoes, and okra are field-fresh and ripe. To test the freshness of corn, peel back a little of the husk and dig your fingernail into a kernel. It should pop and ooze a milky liquid if it’s fresh. Tomatoes should be bright red (on the vine, not hothouse) with few blemishes or soft spots. Okra should be bright green and plump. Select the smallest pods from the batch.

The best thing about this recipe is that it accompanies everything, from sausages to steaks, chicken to lamb. I’ve been known to just eat a bowl of it for dinner, it’s that delicious. You could add minced scallions and chopped jalapenos to the first sauté step, but I prefer it without. Try it next weekend for a 4th of July cookout!


Corn, Okra and Tomato Sauté
Serves 6


1 large green bell pepper, coarsely chopped (optional)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 pound tomatoes, coarsely chopped (don’t worry about peeling them)
3 cups corn (from 5 to 6 ears)
1/2 pound small fresh okra, washed and cut into bite-sized pieces
a squeeze of lemon juice
salt and pepper


Cook bell pepper in oil and butter in a large heavy skillet over medium heat, stirring occasionally, 7 to 9 minutes. Stir in tomatoes and cook, stirring occasionally, until broken down into a sauce, about 15 minutes. Add corn and okra and cook, stirring occasionally, until just tender, about 15 minutes. Season with lemon juice, and lots of freshly ground salt and pepper.

Moonlight on the Gulf of Mexico 6.26.2010