Category: Food

Broiled tomato. Click on photo for larger version.

What are winter tomatoes good for? Not much.

But they are pretty good for one thing: broiling. The unnatural firmness of winter tomatoes actually becomes something of a virtue when the tomato is broiled, because the tomato holds up under the broiler and doesn’t collapse into a puddle. Broiled tomato adds a nice zing to a winter breakfast, not to mention a dose of potassium and lycopene.

Scotch broth. Click on image for larger version.

The best soup I ever had was a bowl of Scotch broth. That was in Edinburgh, in a second-floor restaurant where the waitress called me honey just like they do here.

Like all home cooking, there is no one way to make Scotch broth, and it varies widely. Some has peas, some not. Some uses a stock made from sheep bones. Some uses lamb and is almost a lamb stew. It pretty much always, I think, includes barley. And even though it’s called broth, it’s a thick soup.

I prefer Scotch broth with peas. Start with a good stock. Boil sheep bones if you want to, or some lamb. You want some onions, some celery, a turnip, some carrot, and of course some peas and barley. I have no idea how it’s done in Scotch home kitchens (maybe by simmering it all day?), but to thicken the soup I strain out about two-thirds of the solids, whiz it in the blender, and add it back to the soup. Even so, you’ll still need to simmer the soup for four to six hours or more, as slowly, slowly as possible. You can’t rush Scotch broth.

Though I don’t think it would be done in Scotland, where Scotch broth strictly involves winter vegetables, I like to add some tomato or even tomato paste.

Periodically I have breakfast with friends at a roadside family restaurant in northern Stokes. I keep ordering grits, but I continue to get runny — bordering on watery — grits in a little bowl. Now maybe this is actually some folks’ preference in grits. But, to me, that’s not proper grits.

Grits should be thick, like thick mashed potatoes. They should be thick enough to hold a nice mound — never a puddle! — on the plate and support a well of melted butter. They should be served hot, but not so hot that they burn your tongue and ruin your breakfast. Grits should sit for 5 to 10 minutes off the heat after they’ve cooked, to thicken and cool a bit.

As for “quick grits” or — heaven forfend — “instant grits,” don’t even think about it. Proper old-fashioned grits take only 20 minutes or so to cook. As for how much water is required, about four parts water (or slightly less) to one part grits is about right. (But, like rice, grits vary, so there is no universal rule.) Just keep simmering and stirring, with the lid off if necessary, until the grits thicken. Erma Rombauer, in the 1943 edition of Joy of Cooking, boils the grits briefly, then steams them in a double boiler for an hour. I’ve never tried that, but it probably would work great. Grits require close watching, so a double boiler would give the cook a break.

People sometimes express surprise that I, having lived in San Francisco for so long, am a fan of grits. People often think that San Franciscans are too snooty to eat grits. But that’s not true at all. San Franciscans know about food from all over the world, so it would be impossible to keep anything as good as grits a secret. You can get grits for breakfast in lots of places in San Francisco. And I hate to say it, but the grits I’ve had in San Francisco are better than the grits I’ve had in these parts lately. I think it’s the same problem that afflicts all low-price “family” restaurants. They don’t have trained cooks, they can’t afford to use good ingredients because they have to keep prices low, and they cut too many corners instead of giving things the time and attention that good cooking requires. Grits probably “set up” in a slow-moving kitchen, and frequent fresh batches aren’t practical, so runny grits may be the only way to solve the problem in a slow-moving kitchen.

So we country folk, when friends meet friends for breakfast, have a hard time finding the good cookery that city folk take for granted. But we have just as much to talk about, and we live at a slower pace, so a breakfast can run — à la française — up to two hours. And most country restaurants even have WIFI now, because they’re on the main roads where the cables are.

For a long time, I’ve been scorning sandwich bread, and my loaf pans have gone unused. I can think of several reasons. For one, I’m addicted to hot bread. For two, I try not to rely too much on sandwiches. But sandwiches have their place, especially on busy days. And especially in the winter, there’s nothing like hot toast at breakfast. Sandwich bread is very convenient for making toast.

To me there are really two basic types of bread dough. First is the type of dough that leads to French bread. It has a complex crust and a stretchy texture. To get French bread, you need only flour, water, yeast, and salt. There’s nothing like French bread when it’s fresh. But it soon becomes useless. The French have a saying that goes something like: On the first day it’s bread, on the second day it’s toast, and on the third day it’s a doorstop. French bread must be used pretty quickly, or it becomes chicken treats — though it can be converted to bread crumbs, or used in certain puddings. The French call it pain perdu, or lost bread. In some French recipes, pain perdu is like our French toast — stale bread dipped in a sweet batter and fried.

The dough for sandwich bread is different. For sandwich bread you want milk in the dough, and butter or oil. This changes the crumb and the crust of the bread. The bread stays more moist. It’s more cake-like. It is tender and slices much easier. And it’s good for toast or sandwiches for three days, maybe even four. Sandwich bread, though, is not nearly as good when you want warm fresh bread to serve with supper.

As regular readers know, I almost never list recipes. This is because I never obey recipes. I find a recipe that I like and trust as a starting point, and I modify it to suit myself. Here is a good starting recipe for sandwich bread from King Arthur flour. I use olive oil instead of butter, I use a little less oil than they call for, and I use about two-thirds whole wheat flour. I also put it in a hotter oven for the first 10 minutes, then reduce the heat and adjust the baking time. I find that bread rises better in the oven if the oven is hot enough to give it a quick pop. Then lower the heat. Oh what I would give for a commercial bread oven, with steam. Actually that’s not true. I wouldn’t give what they cost — thousands of dollars even for a small one. So we have to do the best we can with the ovens in domestic ranges.