Yeah, that's a bucket full of frogs. I love Chinatown.
If the maternal family detailed below instilled in me a lifelong obsession and hunger for food, my paternal side gave me the respect and craving for simple, hearty fare. They are farm people; in their kitchens, nothing is ever wasted, nothing is thrown away. More on this resourcefulness later. You won't find fois gras in the farm kitchen, but you will learn how to de-bone a chicken, cook the meat, make stock from the skin and bones, and throw whatever's left into the ensuing soup. Bonus points if there is a dog around to slurp up the scraps.
Mainly, though, I will credit them always with introducing me to a lifelong love of happy hour. I grew up thinking a small meal before dinner was normal, and I'm inclined to keep this belief. Hey, it's more food for me. From them also I learned that simple food is often the best food, and fresh farm produce beats shipped-in grocery fare any day of the week (twice on Sunday). Relish tray platters of pickles, olives, carrots, celery, radishes, cheese, crackers, and a drink or three preceeded every meal. Following the pre-dinner gorge, this no-nonsense, lightly sauced crowd, though no longer required to milk cows and haul hay, still buckles down and eats as if their after dinner activities were more than shootin' the shit, or clay pigeons, behind the garage.
I spent a lot of time with my grandmother, and then my father, learning to cook in their farmhouse tradition, where nothing was wasted and everything came from scratch. Thanksgiving and Christmas turkey carcasses always became pots of stock (you may want to read the entry a few down...) and chicken soup (with homemade noodles, carrots, celery, onions, and parsley, plus lots of black pepper - simple perfection) the next day. In fact, most leftovers that didn't get subsumed into a following meal got thrown into a soup pot for the best sort of recycling I've ever tasted. My grandma (both of them, actually) passed on when I was just a child, so my memories of her I savor and relish. I make her rolls every holiday, not only because they are the best vehicles for turkey sandwiches (with only yellow mustard - I'm a purist), but because thoughts of grandma showing me how to make them permeate their flavor still.
Grandma's Rolls
2 C. Boiling water
½ C. Sugar
1 Tbs. Salt
2 Tbs. Butter
2 Eggs, beaten
2 Yeast cubes, or two envelopes yeast
½ C. lukewarm water
½ Tsp sugar
5 1/2-6 C. Flour
Dissolve 1/2 cup sugar, 1 Tbs. salt, and 2 Tbs. butter in 2 cups boiling water. Cool until lukewarm.
Prove the yeast in 1/2 cup lukewarm water until frothy.
Add cooled water mixture, yeast mixture, and beaten eggs to 5 1/2 cups flour (more as needed up to 6 cups or so - the dough will be fairly sticky). Cover tightly and let rise in the refrigerator overnight.
Punch down in the morning and roll out on floured board or surface to ½ inch thickness. Cut with 3” diameter glass or biscuit cutter. Place small pat butter in the center; fold over, sealing edges, and put in greased pan. Alternatively, shape into two loaves. Let rise until double in size. Bake at 375° F. for 25 minutes for rolls (check at 20 minutes, let continue baking until golden brown on top) or 400° F. for 30 minutes for 2 loaves of bread. Makes two 9” x 13” pans of rolls or two loaves of bread.
Now, if you are going to follow Grandma's tradition, and of course you should, replace the butter in one of the rolls for each pan with jam, and be sure to seal tightly so that cheaters can't see the colorful jam leaking out. Tradition states that whoever finds the jam roll has good luck throughout the year. These so remind me of her that regardless if whether I get the jam roll, I'm still lucky.
Seriously, pretend it's Thanksgiving, make a turkey today for the sole purpose of enjoying cold turkey sandwiches on these rolls. Mustard only!
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