Bless This Food

A Virgina bred, ATL living Black woman telling stories that intertwine food and her family. With Food Porn Galore

[blessthisfood]

The Bastardization of Jerk Chicken

No it is not Barbecue

At the most recent "Sister Circle" event, there was a pan of Jerk Chicken waiting for me when I arrived. I mean it was for all of us, but I planned to eat more than everyone at the event. I normally avoid Jerk Chicken because sometimes the heat of the seasoning is too much. I recall ordering Jerk Chicken at the Gary's Jamaican Hot Pot in Harlem on Adam Clayton Powell in the early 2000's. I took one bite and realized I was out of my depth. My Trini Dad introduced me spicy Caribbean foods but nothing on this level. Needless to say, I did not finish my meal, got it to go and it still found its way to the trash. And yes, I was sad about it.

I generally avoid "Jamaican-esque" restaurants or "Caribbean style" places because disappointment is normally the result. But I find more often the Jerk has become "Jerk Barbecue" and those two things are not the same. Most people miss that "Jerk" is a style of cooking not an actual flavor or seasoning. When you "jerk" meat there is a certain type of seasoning that is required. If the wet marinade or dry rub does not contain Scotch Bonnet peppers, then it is a fraudulent recipe calling itself "jerk". There are a very easy ways to find these false meats and meals. If you see or speak with a person from the Caucus Mountains who is not born and raised in a Caribbean, Latin American or spicy food country and they say "I love Jerk whatever", it is not real Jerk anything.

Am I being a bit discriminatory? Yes, I am, but some of this people moved to Mexico and told them their native food was too spicy. Excuse me? It does not go unnoticed that lots of them associate Jamaica with Bob Marley, beaches and weed. Of course, they want to eat the food of their favorite island, but make it palatable. And this is how those "Jerk Barbecue" recipes came to be. If we are sticking to semantics, barbecue is also a style of cooking. With that in mind, "jerk barbecue" should not really be a thing. Most people think of barbecue as grilled meat, i.e., ribs, chicken, steak, etc. eaten with a sweet sauce/glaze. "Jerk anything" should never be sweet. To my Jamaican friends out there, has "Jerk" ever been sweet?

In an effort to make "Jerk" more mainstream, I've experienced menu items called "jerk" with little to no heat in the flavor. My flabbers were gasted. Now that the flavor profile is starting to shift, I am seeking those who want to protest this outrageous adjustment. Am I now required to vacay in Jamaica to get real "jerk"? I mean that is not a bad idea, but I am sure that there is restaurant in ATL/Metro ATL that can give me what I crave. Can you all list those recommendations for me?

[blessthisfood]

My Repast Review

I don't want another piece of fried chicken

Recently I took a trip home for my uncle's home going. I loved seeing my family, but I wish the circumstances had been very different. My Uncle Jerry was the person in the family that roasted everyone, cracked the good jokes and would spill all the family tea at the most inopportune times. He was a hoot and a time was always had when he was around. He will be missed but he was celebrated beautifully by friends and family. I could go on, but today we are here to discuss the repast.

A repast is" a formal or old-fashioned term for a meal, a quantity of food, or the act of taking food. It often refers specifically to a gathering or reception held after a funeral for sharing food, comfort, and memories." The repast for my uncle took place at my mother's house and that meant no rest for me because people were continuously stopping by. And they were mostly dropping off fried chicken by the pound.

When I left Virginia in 2000, the fried chicken that I love the most was homemade. It did not matter who made it, as long as it was a family member. If there was a family gathering and we were forced to purchase fried chicken, Farm Fresh Groceries was the go-to. I was aware of the goodness of that chicken, but that store no longer existed. So, I was unsure of where all of this new chicken was coming from.

From April 14th until April 17th, I ate fried chicken from Kroger, Harris Teeter, Golden Corral, Food Lion and possibly some homemade church chicken. After a while, it tasted the same but I drowned my sadness in chicken to a point of fullness. I don't want another piece of chicken (bone-in) for a long time. Yes, I've had nuggets, strips and wings since the funeral, but all breasts and thighs need to leave me alone for about sixty days.

Aside from chicken, I indulged on every pound cake every created, some cabbage, some of the most delicious green beans, rolls from Texas Roadhouse and Golden Corral, potato salad, pasta salad, cabbage, ham and Fanta Orange. Comfort foods at the most uncomfortable times are so clutch. Did I mention I was an emotional eater? And based on that spread, my grief was overwhelming.

Uncle Jerry, you and your lessons will remain with me as I fondly reminisce.

[blessthisfood]

Food is in the Family

And we eat good ...

Most people ask me how I stumbled in the world of food stories. And I was literally born into it. I have written before about being a farm to table girl before it was popular with the gentrifiers. It was a way of life for Black communities in the south.

My childhood was picking strawberries, gathering peaches from the tree in my grandmother's yard, and crabbing with raw chicken at the beach. My palette was trained early to appreciate good cuisine. So, it was inevitable that food would play a large part in my life. I didn't know that it would involve me writing about it and not just eating it. But at this point, I'm doing a bit of both.

It didn't dawn on me until I chose the food freeway, that most of my family was driving ahead of me. I counted the number of relatives worked/were connected to food in some way and was shocked to know my life was laid out for me unknowingly. Let's talk about my lineage.

My Maternal Grandmother: This was where I learned how to cook. Not because I was fascinated but my grandma was my playmate. She was the person who occupied me when my undiagnosed ADD was too much for my older cousins. I was an observant child and have a somewhat photographic memory. Recipes are imbedded for life in my mind.

My Fathers: Both of these men were in the kitchen making me meals as long as I can remember. The Bio Dad made me Steak and Eggs for breakfast before I was school age. It has since been one of my favorite brunch meals. My Trini Dad exposed me to the flavors of the Caribbean and now I am a Doubles/Bake N Shark babe. These two men were my first example of men being able to cook meals for others and themselves. I understood the extent of male capability.

My Mother: Her first job was at Krispy Kreme and that is probably the reason they are my least favorite doughnuts. She met my Trini Dad while working in the kitchen at the Naval Officers club. While pursuing my second Master's, she began a catering business prior to her retirement. Also, it is her recipe that I use to make the famous Rum Cakes that everyone loves.

The Aunts: My late great Aunt Velma made the perfect the chocolate chip cookies, unfortunately I did not get that recipe, but my goal is to perfect it. She was also a public-school cafeteria manager for 20 plus years. My Aunt Bobby (Barbara Jean) worked with my mother at the Naval Officers Club, but when she managed the old school Pizza Hut it was epic. Free buffet privileges during my middle school years were great for bragging rights. Anyone who knows my love for Pizza Hut, knows this where it originated.

Uncle Dixson: I will eventually make an entire post about this man. I learned to make fried rice in a Magnalite from my uncle. He taught me so much more in life, but his cooking skills were impeccable. He never cooked anything that I did not love. I watched him make a meal out of very little and the entire house loved it.

So, my career path was laid before me and I had no idea it was right there. Maybe I would have attended culinary school or started a home meal prep business. But now I cook for fun, love to feed others and relish in the pleasure people get from my version of my mom’s rum cake. I also get to write about my love for my family and food. My hope is that you all love to read it as much as I love to write it.

[blessthisfood]

Eyes Bigger than Your Stomach

This weekend I was with my family and having a Saturday morning Brunch, when my sister repeated a particular phrase to me.

"Put it back."

I laughed and I put the crab cake back. My mother had been talking all week about the pound of crab meat that was in the freezer and I knew that meant she was going to make something. Salmon cakes were Friday's breakfast, so that meant the crab was going to shine on Saturday. Our flight was late that afternoon and my mother always does something to make me miss home. This meal was no different. But I tend to fill my plate with more food than my tummy can handle.

If you have been following me for a while, you know that in October 2019 I had bariatric surgery. I had a Vertical Sleeve Gastronomy where 70-80% of my stomach is removed. So, I am physically unable to eat large amounts of food. If I choose to stuff myself, the food will see the light of day again. In the 6.5 years with a stomach smaller than a banana, I have only regurgitated twice. Clap for me!!!

Because I was raised to finish all the food on my plate, that has been my biggest issue as my relationship with meals has changed drastically. My new identity is the Queen of Leftovers because who am I to deny myself a full restaurant meal that I only take three bites of. That is the running jokes amongst my circle. I will order something that I cannot finish and will make sure that everyone at the table gets to taste the deliciousness.

This lifestyle change was more psychological than anything else. I have found a few fast-food kid’s meals that are perfect to accommodate my small stomach, but restaurant kid’s meals are awful. Lots of mac and cheese and chicken nuggets, not a green vegetable in sight. I think the kids need to eat healthy too, but they are the perfect portion sizes. My favorite places have small plates or tapas. I can order two items and be full and happy.

Having all of this knowledge and different options, I STILL order too much food at restaurants. I am still working on that portion of my food journey. If we go out to dinner, don't judge my large plate of pasta. This meal is going to last about four days in my home.

[blessthisfood]

Why I hate Grass Walls ...

My favorite traveling buddy came to town from DC and wanted to have brunch. I did not suggest any restaurants because I live here and I wanted him to choose a place that interested him and his friend. He made the reservation and when it was time, I begrudgingly showed up. Why was I reluctant? Because he chose a grass wall restaurant and he knows I hate those places. The food was good, but the ambiance reeked of short shorts, fur boots, and lemon drops.

I was told that grass walls reminded people of twerking over Chicken and Waffles. And yes, I laughed hysterically. There was no twerking during my restaurant stop, but the police officers did get called on a thieving waiter that afternoon at my 4:00 PM brunch. My hate is not random; I do have my reasons and hopefully it will help you all understand.

Loud Ass Music - Most of the grass wall locations come equipped with a DJ. And these people play all genres of music at the loudest volume allowed. The servers dance toward the tables and as the mimosa flutes vibrate from the bass. Please understand that no meaningful conversation will occur while you are in that space. I enjoy talking to my friends and discussing if the food and drink taste good during brunch. But alas, the fifth spin of "Back Dat Ass Up" was much more important.

No Food Variety - If there is a grass wall, you can guarantee a Lamb Chop, a Shrimp & Grit and a Chicken and a Waffle on the menu. If they are really in their bag, the syrup for the waffle will come with Hennessy or Don Julio. I just want an omelet that is not smothered in New Orleans inspired etouffee jambalaya cream sauce. My preference would be an egg over easy with a medium steak and a butter biscuit. But I cannot even get that without a hot honey spice sauce drizzled over my bread. I pray for the days of regular breakfast meals and menus.

Automatic Gratuity - The photo above is the only automatic tip rule that I like. If there is a large party of diners, servers are working harder, thus they need a sizable tip. Some people are cheap and do not do right with the employees. The idea that a solo eater is automatically billed for a tip regardless of the level of service bothers me. Some of the folks do a half ass job because they know they are already getting some money. I went to breakfast with a friend and after our meals came to the table, our server disappeared. Cups empty, no checking in to see if the food was good, we had to flag her down to get the check. Zero out of ten would not recommend.

Aesthetics over skill - I have never worked in a restaurant, so I am not sure if Pappadeaux's has open calls for their servers or if they just post a job listing. What I do know is that a lot of the grass wall spots have open calls for servers, like bottle girl style. And most times that means if they look good, they will have a job. Not her server skills, but if she has a thirty inch "buss down middle part special" and has received a faja following a medical procedure, they have a winner. Not all grass wall spots operate in this manner, but 85% of them absolutely do. I mean I do live in Atlanta.

Honorable mention goes to the 90-minute time limit set with each reservation.

If you ever want to take me to dinner, please check for grass walls and know I do not want any part of that.

[blessthisfood]

Chocolate Cake or Chocolate Frosting

This is a picture of chocolate cake according to Google, but if I ask my sister she would say the picture below is also Chocolate Cake.

I have been fighting for my life on social media trying to determine why people refer to the second picture as Chocolate Cake. Since I live with someone who refers to it as Chocolate Cake, I asked her to explain the distinction. She explained to me that if she sees this dessert and it is not yet sliced and no one knows what flavor cake is under the Chocolate frosting. So, she would call it Chocolate Cake. I understood that, but some of the people on social media felt that the cake flavor did not matter.

Let me tell you something, if I ask for Chocolate Cake and I get YELLOW Cake, I will be angry with the world. After reading the reasons and taking into consideration that it is likely a Black Southern reference, I had a better understanding. But because I believe that I am a tad bit on the spectrum, I needed to apply this philosophy to other cakes. By this logic, Red Velvet Cake would be called Cream Cheese Cake. Someone told me that the first picture would be called Double Chocolate Cake, which made sense but again the spectrum in me had more questions.

We keep saying CAKE, but we really are talking about FROSTING. At least that was the point I was making when someone pretty much told me I did not read and did not know the definition of words. What a rude heifer! Either way, I will continue to raise this argument any time that I can, for shits and giggles. At the end of the day, I would eat either slice.

What would you call the YELLOW CAKE with CHOCOLATE FROSTING? Let me know in the comments.

[blessthisfood]

H Mart - A shopping pleasure

On the Clock App there has been some recent discourse regarding people shopping in H Mart that may not have the best intentions. Because I am Filipino adjacent, the conversations found me. I never saw the original post, but it devolved into a battle between East Asians and Southeast Asians then somehow Asians and Black people. So instead of me researching the original drama, I decided to take a trip to H Mart myself.

Of course, my trip had nothing to with the issues because I stay shopping at an International Market on Buford Highway and eating at all the good Asian restaurants in the Atlanta Metro area. My sister needed some herbs and dried fruit for a tea that would alleviate inflammation. We have been following a Chinese medicine doctor on social media, and we were finally going to pick up the recommendations.

Virginia Beach has always had a large Filipino population, so I do not know a life without Filipinos or Filipino food. So, when I moved to Atlanta, my first search was for my people and the food of my people. I continued to search while indulging in Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Cambodian, Korean, and Japanese food. I ventured to different grocery stores searching for the food of my youth. There are several places to go, but H Mart is the pinnacle.

H Mart is the largest US-based grocery store chain that specializes in Asian-style products and caters to Asian American shoppers. The store started in the early 80's in Queens New York but now has locations in Canada and nineteen states in the United States. Obviously, there was a need and that need has grown over the past few decades. The variety of Asian items that I have been able to purchase has been astounding and necessary for my flavor palette as my favorites lean more toward Asian than any other style outside of my native Soul food roots.

I will always shop at H Mart because I have a respect for the food and culture of the Asian community. It is not trendy to me, it is not a fad that I saw on social media, it has been a part of my life since childhood. I am only seeking out what I am familiar with and what I enjoy wholeheartedly. Does that mean that people should not gatekeep their sacred spaces? Because food is sacred and culturally rooted in certain spaces. And yes, you should gatekeep from those that are disrespectful to what is inherently yours.

As for me, I will be back for more Shin Ramen and Oyster Sauce in about two weeks.

[blessthisfood]

Rihanna said it best ...

"You know I got the sauce, you know I am saucy."

Okay so that song is not exactly about food or sauce. But it was the best way to discuss my need to make sauces for my food. If there is a flavor that appeases my palette, I will buy a similar sauce or create my own version of it for future meals. With the help of Goggle and TikTok, I have mastered some of my favorites in my kitchen.

Living on Atlanta, you get wrapped up in the chicken wars: Chick-fil-a vs. Zaxby's. I cannot include Raising Canes because they just arrived about three months ago and I do not LIKE them at all. Raised on the good Truett chicken since my youth in Virginia, I did not encounter Zaxby's until after the year 2000. I avoided it because of my dedication to the Red and White Chicken spot. I had a few go to meals, but the nuggets with Polynesian sauce had me in a chokehold. Then one day I had a Zaxby's tenders against my will.

I believe my sister at already eaten at Zaxby's, so it was not new to her. She offered me a tender, but there was only "Zax Sauce" in the black Styrofoam container. I proceeded to dip the chicken in the sauce, and my life was forever changed. The Christian Nationalist chicken had a sauce that was supposed to be comparable to Zax Sauce, but they just did not compare. My addiction became evident when I found excuses to get Zaxby's so I can get the sauce. My habit was getting too expensive in this inflated economy, so I needed to figure out how to make this sauce in my home.

Quick google search and fridge check to see if I had all the ingredients and of course I did NOT. Who knew that "What this here Sauce" would be so instrumental in so many sauces. It was clear that my sauce journey was just beginning. I had mastered the Asian flavors, but these creamy sauces with mayo were going to be my biggest challenge. I am not a fan of mayonnaise, so the fact that I even attempted to make these sauces is bewildering to me.

My first batch of "homemade Zax Sauce" was perfect and caused me to go out and buy some frozen nuggets to dip. But after that, I could not achieve the flavor that I loved so much. I was not sure if I wanted to try anymore for fear of disappointment. But I would no longer need to sweat while I hand mixed items for a small amount of sauce. The lovely people at Zaxby's started selling the sauce at the grocery store and I could just keep some in my pantry.

Now I just need to convince them to make small travel size sauce that I can always carry with me. If you have never tasted the goodness of Zax Sauce, I command that you ingest some very soon. It is best with some nuggets from the opposition, so it will require two fast food trips.

[blessthisfood]

Plate Making ... Yes It's what you think

My grandmother was born in 1914 and had her last child in 1950. That baby girl is my mother and I am the eldest daughter of two girls, born in 1973. The birth years are very important to this story and will hopefully help you understand where my viewpoint originates.

I enjoy making/fixing plates for the people in my life. By saying this, I know that some people will ask if I have been brainwashed or identify me as a "pick me" woman. But it is actually the way my family raised me and I enjoy it. Not sure of the timeframe, but I am sure that I made my first plate before eleven years old.

My first time serving was for an elder in my family or at an event at Morning Star Baptist Church. These were proper etiquette duties of a Southern Gen X young lady. Serving was what I had seen my grandmother do all my life. My grandfather would sit in his big chair until my grandmother had finished dinner. If I was available, I would set the table and join them for a meal. She would call his name and he would sit and pray before we were able to dine properly.

Everyday this was the activity that became imbedded in my brain and something that was modeled later in my life. Anytime I had male company, I made sure to make them a plater before I even ate. Despite loudly proclaiming that "there is nothing wrong with that man's hands, he can make his own plate." My actions were almost robotic, rote memorization at its best.

When I started dating, I mimicked the behaviors of my female ancestors. Making dinner, setting tables, calling men to the room to eat, serving them before I fed myself. Again, still spouting messages of "women need to free themselves of servitude." What a damn hypocrite I had become. But something in my mind changed when I started cooking, seriously making meals for people.

Once gastronomy became my favorite pastime, the need to serve became greater. And this time it was because I wanted everyone to feel the pleasure that I sensed when I indulged in great food. I wanted to feed the people around me, especially the men in my life. A lot of them maintained a diet of McRon's and The Meats at Arby's, but it was my goal to expose them to something more delicious. It was my mission to serve.

My perspective on serving has evolved beyond tradition and has shifted to a requirement of my love of sharing food. So yes, I love to make plates, but not for the old-fashioned reasons that many people may think.

[blessthisfood]

Chicken Salad is back ... kinda

In the year of our Lord 2017, Chick Fil a decided to discontinue their Chicken Salad sandwich. Most people are going to read that first sentence and say they did not even know the sandwich existed. It was my go-to sandwich when I chose to eat a little better. Instead of the fried chicken filet on a bun with pickles, the chicken salad made with grilled chicken and wheat bread seemed to be the best choice. This sandwich was made better with toasting. Not the bread but the whole sandwich was either placed on a griddle or a grill. The flashbacks are hitting me hard right now. So of course, I was upset when the sandwich was removed from the menu permanently.

This past weekend I ventured out to Hiram, Georgia to try Daybright Coffee and Refreshment. This is a new concept restaurant by Chick Fil a. I was not too interested in the coffee drinks, although a sea salt honey cold foam sounded amazing. It was the "Pocketfulls" sandwich that inspired the 38-minute drive. They had three highlighted on the menu: Avocado and Egg whites, Whipped Peanut Butter and Raspberries and Chicken Salad. OMG, they brought back my beloved Chicken Salad and I had to go try it.

My expectations of the "Pocketfulls" were a pita filled with Chick Fil a Chicken Salad and some lettuce, but I was a tad bit off. The vehicle that held the Chicken salad was actually an English Muffin not cut all the through. Before I took one bite, I had to exam the innards of my "Pocketfull". The original chicken salad that was on Chick Fil a menu prior to 2017, the chicken, celery, mayonnaise, relish and eggs were run through a food processor. This chicken salad had large cubes of grilled chicken and I knew it was not going to be the same. The first taste gave me heavy dill and mayo, no relish and no egg. I was disappointed. So, I focused on the "Everyday Donuts", Blueberry and Lemon Poppy were my choices.

These donuts were delicious to say the least. Think about your favorite muffin, but in donut form. Each donut is smaller than a regular sized Krispy Kreme or Dunkin Donut, but is twice a flavorful. The menu stated that six grams of protein was in each little sweet and that was my excuse for having more than one that Saturday.

Would I ride all the way out to Hiram again for Daybright? Maybe to take someone to try it, but it won't make my "repeat offender" list. The people in the area turned out and will make it a very lucrative business for the Chick Fil a family, but I am not sure how it would hold up in the city where independent coffee shops reign supreme.

[blessthisfood]

Let's try this again ...

I began using this website as a part of my thesis project. I created a food podcast, and this was the website to coincide with each episode. The podcast did not turn out like I wanted, and I abandoned it almost immediately. And then on this website we see a similar fate, but a conversation I had on my way to Harrisonburg Virginia changed my mind.

Food is a passion of mine that I have not focused on because of my unhealthy relationship with it. As I have learned about macros, micros, calories, proteins and foods with good cholesterol, my love for food has come out of hiding. All of this sparked by a story about the first time I had lobster.

If you have read some of my food writing, you should know about my upbringing in a coastal town. Seafood was a staple in my home, and I was taught how to eat Blue Crab at the tender age of six. My seafood pallet consisted of crabs, whiting, grouper, scallops, oysters (fried), shrimp, and clams (also fried). Going off to college, I felt well versed in cuisine and was ready to see what the dining hall would offer. Cafeteria food in high school was not my thing, but I was open to what the people in Western Virginia had to offer.

The dining hall at James Madison University had so much variety that the Freshman 15 came on easily despite walking miles up and down the hills. We were blessed with a fast-food spot (PC Dukes), an all-salad location (like Doc Greens), stir fry, and a steakhouse for the occasional date night. And sometimes they had specialty food nights that required a reservation. On one of those nights, the extraordinary food du jour was Lobster.

And that brings me back to the start of my story. Riding north on Interstate 81 with the person I met my first full day at college discussing how we had Lobster for the first time in the dining hall. This conversation went from the dining hall to all the foods we learned to love in college, our limited meals early in life in comparison to the many things we ingest at our big age.

And I felt it again, the need to write about food. I began the painstaking task of changing my website back to good old blog style with a few picks peppered in between posts.

I appreciate everyone who has been here from the start and who will continue to follow my journey as I find my voice while writing about the thing that I am so enthusiastic about: food.

[blessthisfood]

Scattered, Smothered, Covered and Diced

“Wanna get dinner?”

“Yeah, that’s cool.”

“Where do you wanna go?”

“Waffle House?”

“Sure.”

Waffle House is to the South what late night greasy spoon diners are to the Northeast. As a college student in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, Waffle House was a gathering spot for those of us who had too much to drink or smoke. And those of us who only had five dollars to get a filling meal.

When I relocated to Atlanta, I had no idea that Waffle House origins were rooted in Georgia. I did notice one on every corner like Chik fil a, but I assumed waffles were popular in the deep south. I do not often order a waffle, but on occasion the blueberry specialty makes it way on my tab. The draw for me at Waffle House has always been the hash browns.

Most people do not know that there are at least 3.5 ways to eat hash browns at Waffle House. I have my own special combination and that night on my date I realized that everyone did not know you could jazz up the hash browns.

My date: I will have an All-Star Breakfast with a waffle.

Me: Can I have a double hash brown scattered, smothered, covered and diced?

The strange look from across the table puzzled me. My date did not comprehend the words I used to order my hash browns. He was unaware of the various ways to eat the golden-brown deliciousness. 

To perfect your hash browns, you must make yourself familiar with the restaurant’s vocabulary. Each word represents an ingredient that is added to the dish to enhance the flavor.

Scattered – Grilled Hash Browns (the foundation)

Smothered – Sauteed Onions

Covered – Melted Cheese

Chunked – Grilled Hickory Smoked Ham

Diced – Tomatoes

Peppered – Spicy Jalapeno Peppers

Capped – Grilled Button Mushrooms

Topped – Bert’s Chili

Country – Sausage Gravy

Imagine the number of ways that hash browns are cooked daily in any given Waffle House, and to not know that these options exist is unfathomable.

When my plate arrived, he noticed the large amount of food on my plate.  His face shown a math calculation being performed in his head. Yes, my hash brown concoction was half the price of his waffle breakfast.

“You gotta teach me how to order that.”

I smiled.

“No problem. So how do you like your hash browns?”

[blessthisfood]

All Day Breakfast

I emptied the package of Maple and Brown Sugar oatmeal into the paper cup in my office. This had become my morning routine at work. Oatmeal from a package, hot water from the water filter and sometimes fresh banana slices to go with the oats. I did not enjoy this breakfast, but it was better for my well-being. Oats were known to lower cholesterol and improve heart health. Despite the good things about oatmeal, it was my least favorite breakfast meal.

Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. I could eat breakfast meals all day long. My mother made sure that my sister and I had a hot breakfast every day. Oatmeal was never a part of our menu.  That is probably why I dislike it so much. My friends have suggested Cream of Wheat as a substitute. To that I say, hell no. I will stick with what I know, eggs, bacon, toast, grits, and pancakes. Not at the same time.

As a kid, my first Dad made me steak and eggs regularly. He introduced me to the sunny side up egg. Most people hate runny eggs, but I always find something on my plate to dip in it. I was shown steak dipped in runny yolks and then I graduated to toast dipped in the remainder of liquified center of my eggs. My mother was a fan of the scrambled egg and was not going to make her child any separate food in the morning. So, I transitioned to eating the scrambled egg.

My Aunt Velma made me fall in love with scrambled eggs. She never over cooked them, and they were always the soft and fluffy eggs. Unlike my mother, Aunt Velma would make me separate eggs because I was not a fan of cheese in my eggs. I always had my scrambled eggs to eat, made the way that I liked. My eggs were always paired with cooked apples and Smithfield Hot Links. This meal holds a place in my heart as one of the top tier breakfasts of all time. The spicy taste of the sausage with the sweetness of the apples, followed by the egg made my stomach happy in my childhood. This was my first inclination that pork and apples was a great pairing.

As Aunt Velma got older and her health deteriorated, she had to adjust her diet. That meant less pork and eggs with fresh apples as the better option. Of course, by this time I could make my own, but it just did not taste the same. By this time, Dad number 2 had introduced me to omelets. Each Saturday morning, I had a variety of innards to have with my eggs. When not around my family, this was my go-to selection. I was never able to make my own omelets because they would fall apart during the flip, turning them in egg scrambles. For now, I leave the omelet making to Dad number 2.

I had an arsenal of breakfast recipes to create when I moved away from home. I anticipated finding new ones in Atlanta. The first one that I encountered was Shrimp and Grits. In Virginia, we had fried fish and grits for breakfast. In Georgia, every restaurant has a version of this dish. I have a Mexican version with shrimp in cream sauce and poblano peppers. The standard version is a red sauce with sauteed vegetables and shrimp. Also, there is a version with shrimp in brown gravy colored sauce. Having so many to choose from made me miss plain old fish and grits. I eventually found some fish and grits at Thumbs Up Diner. It was a large piece of fried fish with creamy grits and a fluffy wheat biscuit. I found home on a plate. Every time I go there, I do not even look at the menu because I order the same thing.

I feel like I have talked a lot about breakfast, but it is my favorite meal of the day. My family made me love it.  And maybe I love it because it reminds me of family. Takes me back to certain memories, it makes me miss home. When I have those favorite breakfast meals, I get to reflect while enjoying tasty food. And maybe tonight breakfast will be what is for dinner.

[blessthisfood]

The Whole Hog

My mother is a celebrator of victories. Whether it is a retirement, an engagement or a new birth, Judy’s inner party planner springs to life. She is the reason why my birthday is my own personal holiday, more important to me than Christmas. In the summer of 1995, it was my turn to celebrate like never before.

June of 1995, I came home a college graduate. The four years spent in Harrisonburg Virginia were fulfilling and the food was great. But nothing will ever top your mother’s food. To welcome me and my college success home, my mother planned a family barbecue. This was not out of the ordinary, but you must understand the volume of my family.

My mother is the youngest of seven kids. Most of her siblings live within a twenty-mile radius of her home. Those siblings have on average 3.25 kids who also have 2.5 kids of their own. To say that we were expecting plenty of people would be an understatement. On top of family, I invited all my friends and told them to bring their friends. This would be the party of the decade.

The neighborhood where my family put down roots in Virginia was all black until the mid-1980’s. The older people started passing away and families started selling their property. But I grew up knowing everyone in the neighborhood. Some of the people on different blocks were my distant cousins, my half-sister’s grandmother once resided a block away. We were family in Gracetown, one of several segregated neighborhoods in the city of Virginia Beach.

My grandparents’ house sat next to large field owned by my family. This area acted as the backdrop for the event that was taking place. As expected, there were lots of folding chairs, borrowed church tables, a large tent in case of rain and a DJ set up near the house for power purposes. Scanning the area was a lot for the astigmatism in my eyes, but I finally saw my prize amid the chaos.

Atop an open oil drum homemade grill laid a whole hog. Mom had called an audible and made my party a down home barbecue. The hog was splayed onto the grill with the crunchy pork skin cracked open. The hog husk looked glossy and fake wax fruit, but I knew it was real. I could smell the smoky meat standing a few feet away. The pork was officially ready for the taking. As the party honoree, I imagined I would be ushered to the front of the food line, but of course that did not happy. There were far too many hungry people attending this event.

There was a large shiny pair of tongs sitting on the end of the table. When it was your turn for pork, the tongs would allow you to grab a large amount for your plate/bun/mouth. Everybody’s preference was different. In preparation for my turn with the utensil, I had a placed an open hamburger bun on my Styrofoam plate. The goal, to cover the bun with so much meat that the bread would be unseen to non-barbecue trained eyes. Once that was completed, it was time to sauce it up.

There was a saucepan that sat beside the hog on the grill. In that pan was a small ladle that we were to use to spoon barbecue sauce over our pork. Southeastern Virginians prefer Carolina Barbecue sauce to the Kansa City style. North Carolina sauce is a thinner sauce that is vinegarier than its sweeter Midwest counterpart.  The flavor is a little sweet followed by a tartness throughout. Of course, the sauce would make my bun soggy, but at that moment I did not care.

This sandwich and meal were perfect for my celebration. Along with the potato salad, baked beans, a variety of chips, cakes and cookies, this meal reflected summertime in Virginia Beach for me. The caterer grilled burgers, hot dogs and chicken but everyone could not stop eating that beautiful pork. My family, friends and I drank, ate and danced the night away in June of 1995. It was truly unforgettable.

Five years after that party I relocated to Atlanta. While out on the town with friends, I ran into a young man that I knew in Virginia. The last time I saw him was at my Graduation Party in June of 1995. We greeted one another and the first thing he said to me was, “Me and the fellas were just talking about your party the other night”. I told you it was the party of the decade.

[blessthisfood]

Pasta Pasta Pasta

For four consecutive years on someone's birthday, I had dinner at Scalini’s Italian Restaurant. One of my friends discovered that the individual celebrating their birth got to eat for free. When you work two jobs to obtain a livable wage, free is one of your favorite words.  So, in May, June, August, October, November and December, I had a nice Italian dinner. It was only free for me in December, but we all pitched in to pay the collective bill.

If asked, I would say Italian is one of my favorite food genres. The sauces and the various types of pasta, you can make a large meal that lasts for a week or months if frozen. But I do not have any childhood memories of Italian in my home. What I thought was spaghetti in my younger years, is quite different dish than what I came to love later in life.

My mother was a single parent for about seven years and in that time, I never questioned our spaghetti dinner. There was no garlic bread, no salad, no parmesan cheese or cracked black pepper. Our dinners consisted of ground beef, green peppers and Chef Boyardee canned spaghetti. As an adult, canned pasta of any sort will render a gag and an upturned nose. But as a child it was the most flavorful and nourishing dinners that I can recall. So, when I finally encountered “real spaghetti” my life changed, and Italian food became one of my favorites.

I did not go lightly into my Italian obsession, I made sure I tried all the pastas with all the sauces. From Angel Hair to Ziti, Arrabiata to Vodka Sauce, I dove in headfirst when it came to Italian food.  I developed a love for everything tomato sauce and basil. Fresh mozzarella became my go to snack. The garlic and butter combination crept its way into all my cooking. I started buying prosciutto, sopressata and capicola from the deli counter. Tony Soprano might have pushed me over the edge also. Now all my go to meals just happen to derive from something Italian.

Some days I think about making a pot of my Mom’s spaghetti for shits and giggles. I think the nostalgia of that time with my mom and sister makes me want to taste it once more. But no one, not even small children really enjoy Chef Boyardee. Those commercials lied, that stuff tastes dreadful. I will stick to making large pans of Baked Ziti and Spinach Lasagna for my friends.

[blessthisfood]

In Search of … aka HASH Tag

I spent most of my childhood in my grandmother’s kitchen.  Observing and taste testing could sum up most of my duties while she slaved away creating meals.  I would eat anything my grandmother cooked never questioning what it was or how it was made.  All I knew was that the food tasted delicious and no one, not even my mom, could replicate it when my grandmother passed away. 

One of my grandmother’s best dishes was Corned Beef Hash. I watched her peel potatoes, dice them into small squares and place them in a large pot of boiling water.  While the potatoes were cooking, she opened several cans of Libby’s Corned Beef with the little metal key attached to the side of the package.  The corned beef would then go into the burnt, black cast iron skillet along with onions that have been sautéed in bacon grease.  The smell of the sweet Vidalia onions and bacon grease always made my mouth water.  Once the potatoes were done, they would join the corned beef, onions and bacon grease in the frying pan. There was always the perfect crispy crust on the dish which was like the icing on the cake.  This was a great filling dish that I devoured on several Sundays prior to church service.

Because corn beef hash was one of my favorite dishes, I started to order it whenever I went out for breakfast/brunch. My sister and I decided that with all the soulful restaurants in Atlanta there had to be one that made it the way our grandmother did. Thus, began our search for the perfect corned beef hash in Atlanta.

Our first victim was The Original Pancake House. I had eaten there on several occasions but never tried the corned beef hash. My sister decided to order it so we could both taste it to determine if the dish was any good.  On the menu, all the ingredients were the same except they used cream in their recipe. Cream??? Why would you put cream in corned beef hash? We were skeptical, but ordered it, nonetheless.  When the plate arrived at the table, our visual senses led us to believe that this was canned corn beef hash and not freshly made.  And despite what the menu said, the taste gave way to a lingering metallic flavor. So, The Original Pancake House failed our test miserably.

The next stop was American Roadhouse*. I had quickly fallen in love with the food at restaurant because everything tasted homemade.  The amount of food in any given order seemed to be way too much for the cost. This was a special place, one that I would rely on when I had to entertain visitors.  This time I ordered the dish and shared with my sister. On the menu their hash is called Red Flannel.  It has all the essentials: corned beef, potatoes, and onions.  Throw in some green peppers and you have their version of corned beef hash.  American Roadhouse not only diced their potatoes and onions but also the corned beef.  We were treated to hunks of everything together in the dish. The taste was good, but the consistency and texture did not say hash at all to me.  It was okay but I was not sure that I would rush to order it again.

The research was not looking so good for Atlanta, but my sister and I were determined to finish what we started.  So, on a rainy Sunday, we stopped at the Flying Biscuit Café to have a late brunch. We scoured the menu and found no corned beef hash, but we did find was Turkey hash.  I was not sold on the dish, but my sister wanted to be adventurous.  So, when her order came to the table, we both examined what was in their version of hash.  The ingredients were extremely basic; slow roasted dark meat from a turkey, pan gravy and rosemary potatoes.  The expression of pure delight that showed on my sister’s face after the first bite let me know that we had found a winner.  She invited me to taste it and I was hooked.  No, it was not my grandmother’s corned beef, but someone had taken the same idea and created something just as delicious.  The Flying Biscuit Café sold me on something new but similar and there is one right around the corner from my house.  Lucky me!

The search has not ended just because I found a dish that I like.  I am still looking for a fantastic, corned beef hash, not just any hash.  The challenge continues this weekend, with Murphy’s and J. Christopher’s in my sight.

*American Roadhouse is no longer open in Atlanta

[blessthisfood]

The Fight for Mac N Cheese

I barely had the car in park when I opened the door and ran toward the house. Thanksgiving dinner started thirty minutes ago, and I was late to the party. As I dashed through the living room hugging and greeting my elders, I noticed a flowered Corning ware bowl on the table. I grabbed a plate and headed straight to that dish.

That baking dish came from the home of my Aunt Mary, Aunt Mur for short. She was the Williams family matriarch, sister to my grandfather Ellis and the oldest female relative I had at that time. And she also made the best macaroni and cheese. As she got older, the amount of macaroni and cheese she made became smaller and smaller.  Thus, my urgency to get a plate as soon as I walked through the door.

There was always a backup pan of macaroni and cheese, but it was never as tasty as the original. On this day, my tardiness was going to force me to tussle with a cousin or two over the last corner of cheesy, gooey pasta. As I approached with my plate in hand, a cousin (I have so many) burst through the door searching for Aunt Mary’s signature dish. Everything after the screen door slammed occurred in slow motion.

The big plastic serving spoon dropped what was left of the gooey masterpiece onto my dinner plate. My cousin screamed in agony realizing there was no more of Aunt Mary’s macaroni and cheese. I sat with my plate filled with food, smirking at my cousin, smiling internally as I took my first forkful of goodness. After swallowing, I mouthed a few words to my hurt and upset relative.

“Too slow dude, too slow.”

My aunt Fannie walked out of the kitchen with a large aluminum pan that was fresh out of the oven. She placed it on the table filled with hot bubbling cheesy macaroni. Unfortunately, it was made by someone whose name was not Aunt Mary. My cousin unhappily ate from the new batch and sneered at me. I danced in my seat as I ate the rest of my dinner. That would be the last time I had my Aunt Mary’s macaroni and cheese. I moved to Atlanta and did not make it home for a couple of Thanksgivings and sadly my beautiful, funny, master chef Aunt Mary passed away. My greatest regret was not getting the recipe from my aunt before she left this earth. In my young mind, Aunt Mary was going to live forever, and I did not take advantage of her food knowledge.

Not too long ago, my Aunt Fannies suffered a stroke weeks before Thanksgiving. She needed a bit of assistance cooking for Turkey Day and I volunteered to help. I had come home from Georgia and had no plans; I was ready to see her to make sure her recovery was on track. Her dish of choice that year was macaroni and cheese. I was going to learn a good recipe that I can take back to Atlanta. After a quick grocery store run, I was given instructions on how to make her version of macaroni and cheese. Instantly I thought of my Aunt Mary and how I never spoke with her about her recipe. I boiled noodles, stirred butter, milk and cheese together and made notes on my phone after each direction. I had no clue who taught my Aunt Fannie how to make the dish. So, I asked her where she learned how to make macaroni and cheese. Guess who taught her?