Why is it called corned beef if it has nothing to do with corn?

This question has always puzzled me. I get that it's brined with coarse salt (referred to as "corns" or grains) but that doesn't seem close enough for me to warrant the name. Then I tell myself to shut up and eat it. 


It is probably no surprise to those who know me that I like tradition. On every St. Patrick's Day, I do corned beef and cabbage, or a "New England Boiled Dinner." I like it this way. I don't like to mess with tradition. That said, I look more forward to the morning after than the corned beef dinner itself. I like corned beef, but I love the much-criticized corned beef hash. Let me make you all aware, this corned beef hash recipe is nothing like the canned dog food slop. It is salty and rich, and positively divine for a weekend breakfast. I begin with the basic “New England Boiled Dinner” recipe. Corned beef braises for several hours, resulting in tender fall-apart meat. Cabbage, potatoes and carrots boil in the broth. Voila, flavorful vegetables!


I like to use red potatoes for some aesthetic reason; I feel that the colors are prettier on the plate. I prefer to cook everything in a Dutch oven rather than a slow cooker; slow cookers tend to boil everything into a mush. With a Dutch oven, the end result is separately cooked meat and vegetables that actually keep their shape. The corned beef hash is a morning-after recipe, as it makes use of the leftover meat. Topping a mass of tangled beef and potatoes with a perfectly poached egg is my idea of a fabulous breakfast. If poaching isn’t your thing, fried eggs would also be perfect with the hash. 

Basic Corned Beef Dinner

Serves 6 

1 corned beef brisket, about 4 pounds (with seasoning packet)

3 cups beef broth

1 medium onion, cut in 6 to 8 wedges

1 clove garlic, minced

2 1/2 to 3 pounds new potatoes, washed and quartered

4 large carrots, halved and cut into 3-inch lengths

1 small head green cabbage, cored and cut into 6 wedges  

Put the corned beef in a 6- to 8-quart Dutch oven; add beef broth, the contents of the seasoning packet, and add water just until beef is covered. Add garlic and onion. Bring to a boil; reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 2 hours. Remove the corned beef to a platter, cover with foil, and keep warm. Place a heavy pot on top of foil to weigh down meat for easier slicing. Skim fat from the broth and add the potatoes and carrots to the broth. Bring to a boil; cover, reduce heat to medium-low and cook for 10 minutes. Add cabbage wedges and continue cooking for about 20 minutes or until cabbage and vegetables are tender. Discard the broth, reserving the vegetables. Slice the corned beef and serve with the vegetables and a Guinness.  

Corned Beef Hash

Serves 4 

6-7 slices leftover corned beef, shredded with a fork

2-3 red potatoes, boiled and cut into 1 inch pieces

½ onion, diced

2 tablespoon vegetable oil  

4 eggs, cooked to your liking 

Combine meat, potatoes and onions in a small bowl with one of tablespoon oil. Heat remaining oil in a medium skillet. When oil is hot, pour meat-potato mixture into skillet and flatten with spatula, pressing out moisture and squishing the potatoes. Cook for 4-5 minutes until thoroughly browned and crisp, and then flip. It is easier to flip sections at a time. To serve, top with a fried or poached egg and enjoy!  

The Phattest Fat Tuesday Ever

The title is a joke. Really. I just liked the sound of it. In all seriousness, today is Fat Tuesday and it calls for some serious eats. Gumbo is my go-to for any sort of Cajun, New Orleans, or Mardi gras themed celebration. It's easy. It's delicious in a meaty, creeping-heat at the back of your throat kind of way. Any smoked sausage will do, but I prefer Conecuh. It’s a perfect accompaniment to chicken in gumbo. Once the roux turns the color of a penny, you’re ready to add the vegetables. I prefer okra in my gumbo, but if you don’t care for it you can substitute your choice of vegetable or just leave it out altogether. Gumbo isn’t an exact science (some Louisiana cooks might disagree) so use your taste as a guide.


Chicken and Sausage Gumbo
Serves 10

2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 tablespoon butter 

1/2 pound smoked sausage, (preferably Andouille), sliced into 1/4-inch thick rounds
6 chicken legs
4 cups chicken stock
4 cups water
2 tablespoons flour
1 cup chopped onion
1 cup chopped celery
1 cup chopped green pepper
1 cup okra, sliced into ½-inch rounds
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 bay leaves
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
2 teaspoons hot pepper sauce
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
Hot cooked rice

Heat 1 tablespoons of the oil in a heavy Dutch oven over medium-high heat; add chicken legs and cook until browned, about 7 minutes. Remove with slotted spoon and set aside. Add butter and remaining oil and stir flour into pot. Cook over medium heat until roux is browned, about the color of a penny. Add okra, onion, celery, green pepper, and garlic. Cook vegetables until slightly soft, about 5 minutes. Add chicken legs, stock and water. Add bay leaves, thyme, and hot sauce. Bring to boil and cook 1 ½ hours, until chicken is falling off bones. Remove chicken from pot and cool slightly. Remove meat from bones, discarding skin and bones; cut meat into 1/2-inch cubes and put back in pot. Season with salt, pepper, or hot sauce. To serve, mound about 1/3 cup rice in each soup bowl, then ladle about 1 cup gumbo around rice. Garnish with parsley.

Any Excuse to Eat Chocolate

My husband and I don’t generally celebrate Valentine’s Day with any fanfare, but sometimes I like to cook a nice meal for the two of us midway through the month of February. Plus, I can never pass up an excuse to bake dessert. 

For a sweet finish, this pie is crunchy, gooey and chocolaty. When I flipped through the Valentine’s Day issue of Bon Appetit, a gorgeous tart caught me eye. Their version was Milk Chocolate and Caramel with Hazelnuts and Espresso.  I had pecans and dark chocolate. Their version prompted a homemade shortbread tart crust. I had a frozen pie shell. Their garnish was roasted cocoa nibs. I stuck with toasted chopped pecans. 

Needless to say, the only thing that remained the same was the caramel. 

Whether or not you celebrate Valentine’s Day, there’s always time to eat well with your loved ones; the red paper doilies are optional. 

Dark Chocolate Caramel Pie with Pecans

Serves 8

1 pie crust

Caramel:

3/4 cup sugar

1/4 cup water

1/3 cup heavy whipping cream

2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

1/4 teaspoon sea salt

½ cup pecans, toasted and chopped coarsely (bake at 350 degrees on a baking sheet for approximately 5 minutes, stir once)

Chocolate:

1/3 cup heavy whipping cream

4 ounces dark chocolate chips (I use either Ghirardelli’s Bittersweet or Hershey’s Special Dark)

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

chopped toasted pecans for garnish

Bake pie crust at 350 degrees until lightly browned, about 8 minutes.

For caramel filling, stir sugar and 1/4 cup water in heavy medium saucepan over medium heat until sugar dissolves. Increase heat and boil without stirring until syrup is medium amber, swirling pan instead of stirring, about 8 minutes. Remove pan from heat. Add cream (mixture will bubble up). Place saucepan over medium heat; stir until caramel bits dissolve. Add butter, vinegar, and salt; stir until butter melts. Stir in pecans. Caramel may be bubbly; don’t worry, it will settle in the refrigerator. Pour filling into crust. Chill until cold and set, about 30 minutes.

For chocolate: Bring cream to simmer over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and add chocolate and butter; stir until smooth. Spread chocolate mixture over caramel. Sprinkle with chopped pecans. Chill tart until topping is set, about 1 hour. 

Biscuits, finally, and one seriously large ham.

I can't tell you how many times I've made biscuits. They've never turned out right. Once I burned them, but I was standing right in front of the oven. That's how biscuit-challenged I am. All I wanted was a traditional Southern buttermilk biscuit. They steam when you slide a knife between the layers. The top and bottoms are just slightly browned. A few buttery flakes fall onto your lap when you take your first bite. They taste like heaven on Earth. I knew a good biscuit only needs three things: shortening, flour, and milk. I chose Crisco, White Lily self rising flour, and buttermilk.

First step: measure f self-rising flour in a large bowl. Cut in shortening. I couldn't find my pastry cutter, so I used my hands to blend the Crisco into the flour. I stirred in a little more than 2/3 cup buttermilk. Stirring with a wooden spoon, I mixed until all dry ingredients were fully incorporated into the wet.
I squished all the dough into a large ball, flouring it a little more to keep it from sticking. 

I rolled it out about 1/2 inch thick and cut rounds out with a 2-inch biscuit cutter. These I placed on a baking sheet. I baked them for approximately 10 minutes until golden brown on bottom and top.  (See first picture for finished product)

This time I wanted biscuits for country ham. A few years ago when my husband and I went to Virginia to visit my grandparents, we went to the Smithfield Ham store around the corner from my Granny's apartment. We bought a pound; Grant ate half within minutes. It was his first taste of the almost unbearably salty, paper-thin slices of melt-in-your-mouth ham. I've been eating it since I could remember. I equate family holidays with hot biscuits nestling transparent shards of pink pork. The only thing I've altered is the condiment: instead of mayo, I prefer a tiny sliver of butter...but I digress. 

Over the holidays, my mother bought Grant a Smithfield ham. A whole one. Smithfield hams are salt and pepper crusted and cured for at least six months. They require one to scrub the mold off of the skin and soak the ham in cold water for at least 24 hours; hence it requires preparation, something in which I've never excelled. We lugged out the cooler and filled it with cold water. Grant scrubbed away and plunked in the ham.

24 hours later, I ungracefully wrapped the entire thing in aluminum foil and poured 4 cups of water within the foil. Baked at 300 for 5 1/2 hours, the ham came out looking almost exactly the same as it did when it went in, except cooked. Much to my chagrin, I had to slice off the skin and fat in huge strips. I didn't love it. I felt kind of serial-killer-ish, actually. When the dirty deed was done, I had a lovely ham that took another 45 minutes to slice properly. 

Country ham is salty. It needs to be sliced--nay, shaved--to be able to be served in biscuits. With my trusty Wustoff Classic filet knife, I made quick work of the entire 15.56 pound monster. 

Buttermilk Biscuits
Makes 8-12 biscuits


2 cups self-rising flour
4 tablespoons shortening
a little more than 2/3 cup buttermilk


Preheat oven to 450 degrees. In a large bowl, cut shortening into flour either with your hands or a pastry cutter. With a wooden spoon, stir in buttermilk. Fully incorporate the dry ingredients into the wet. Form dough into a ball. On a floured surface, roll dough with a rolling pin approximately 1/2 inch thick. Cut into 2 inch rounds with a biscuit cutter. Bake on a cookie sheet for 8-12 minutes. 


Smithfield Ham
Feeds an army and a half


Follow the directions on the burlap sack in which it is packaged.

A Decent Omelet

It may be a urban legend, but word has it a famous French chef asks all of his potential sous chefs to prepare a omelette before he hires them. I've been making omelets for almost twenty years; however, I've made approximately twelve omelets that I'd willingly present to a renowned chef.  I don't claim to be an omelet master. My omelets are usually stuffed with goodies like goat cheese, a pork product, and some vegetables (if truly necessary). If one belongs to the less is more camp you can never go wrong with a good sharp cheddar and some freshly cracked pepper. 

That said, I do have a formula that works for me. I start with a 10-inch, heavy nonstick pan and heat it over medium heat. French chefs, who often don't care about their hearts, use butter. I use PAM.

After whisking the two eggs in a cup, I pour them in the skillet, twisting it to cover the entire surface.

After about a minute and a half over medium high heat, the eggs will be set enough to fill. I used chopped grape tomatoes and plain goat cheese. I sprinkled them on the left half of the omelet. A twist of salt and pepper would be welcome at this stage, too.

Now comes the fun part. Using a spatula, I loosened the edges and flipped the other half over the filling.

Slide it onto a plate and voila!

Lucky 2010

I once made a frantic late night trip to the grocery store on New Year’s Eve for a can of black eyed peas. Knowing it would be closed the next day, I left a friend’s party, drove to the nearest grocery store, and came back to the party clutching my can of peas. They remained in my purse for the night, and I happily cracked them open the next day and dug in. Why, you ask, would I go to such great lengths for a can of legumes? For the first eighteen years of my life, I would come downstairs on January 1st to find my mother waiting for me to take my first bite of black eyed peas.

A Southern tradition, the eating of black eyed peas on New Year’s Day is said to guarantee good luck for the entire year. I have heard a few “rationalizations” for this legend, one being that the peas resemble coins, and eating them would guarantee wealth. Another story is that during the War, the city of Vicksburg (VA) ran out of food, and would have starved if it wasn’t for a crop of black eyed peas. Whatever the lucky significance, I have never gone a year without having at least one bite of black eyed peas, and I don’t intend to, ever.

Collard greens are another Southern food often consumed on New Year’s Day. Its vibrant green color symbolizes wealth and good fortune. Usually Southern greens are prepared with lots of bacon and pork fat. In uncharacteristic fashion, I omitted the pork and cooked them the healthier way. This way, I can drink the "pot likker," or the liquid that results from the cooked greens. It is usually eaten with cornbread crumbled into it, but I like it in a coffee mug. It's like green V-8.  Whichever way they're prepared, it's essential that they're served with a vinegar pepper sauce not to be confused with hot pepper sauce. Vinegar pepper sauce is a slender jar of clearish liquid with twenty or so small green peppers stuffed into it. Although I’ve eaten my share of collard greens, for some reason my family has always prepared black eyed peas instead. I've decided to do both for a double dose of luck. You can't have too much, you know.

In other parts of the world, such as Germany, Austria, Sweden, Spain, Cuba, and Hungary, pork is considered lucky if consumed on New Year’s Day. According to Bon Appetit, pork is said to symbolize progress because of the animal’s behavior, always rooting and pushing forward with its snout. What do you know? I barbequed two butts a few days ago. I hope leftovers are just as lucky. 

Hoppin’ John
Serves 8

3 slices bacon, chopped
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 stalk celery, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
2 pounds black-eyed peas, soaked overnight
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Red pepper flakes
3 cups water
Hot cooked rice


In a large saucepan, fry the bacon over moderate heat till almost crisp and pour off all but about a little of the grease. Add the onion, celery, and garlic and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Add the peas, salt and pepper, red pepper flakes, and water, bring to a boil, reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer till the peas are tender but not mushy, about 1 hour. Drain the peas. Serve them in small bowls over mounds of hot rice.

Collard Greens
Serves 8

2 bunches fresh collard greens or kale
1 large onion, peeled and diced
1 clove garlic, sliced paper thin
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
1 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes
2 teaspoons salt

Remove the tougher, woody stalks from the collard leaves. Smaller stems are okay. Wash the leaves and cut them into half-inch-wide strips. Put the collards in a large stock pot and cover with cool water. Add the rest of the ingredients. Bring to a boil and cook for at least 2 hours.

Beets Me

Beets are a rather controversial vegetable. Along with Brussels sprouts, people love to hate beets. I was the Queen of Beet Haters until I ordered a roasted beet salad with burrata cheese at Herbsaint in New Orleans. Don't ask me why I ordered it; perhaps my culinary bravado was bolstered by a few glasses of Bordeaux. It was the perfect salad.

Beets have an impossible-to-describe earthy flavor. In the same way you can taste the sunshine that ripened a summer tomato, you can taste the dirt in which beets grow. I mean that in the best way possible. Since the epiphany in New Orleans, I've made a similar salad that fits as a starter for almost every meal.
Burrata cheese is a fresh, creamy cheese encased in mozzarella. It is sublime but a suitable substitute is any fresh chevre (goat cheese). The beauty of this salad is that the beets stain the cheese a vibrant, gorgeous fushia. I love to stack the slices of beets in between clumps of goat cheese and peppery leaves of lettuce.

Roasted Beet and Goat Cheese Salad
Serves 6

3 fresh beets, washed, trimmed of stem and greens
salt and pepper
6 handfuls of mixed spring greens
6 ounces of fresh goat cheese
Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Wrap beets in a large rectangle of aluminum foil, making sure to seal top carefully. Place foil package seal side up on oven rack and roast for 45 to 60 minutes. Rinse beets and scrub skins off with a paper towel (the skins will slip off easily). Cut beets into wedges and divide greens, goat cheese and beets on 6 plates.