>
sunset on fells cove
the fountain of pancakes
Saturday we went to De Leon springs, famed for possibly being the ‘fountain of youth’ and also for pancakes. More on that in a minute.
In Florida the ‘hot springs’ are not hot at all but sit at a balmy 72 degrees. This one is actually walled off from gators that would be averted by the cool temperatures anyway and has a couple of lifeguards to keep chaos at bay. The pool ranges from 2′ to 30 feet deep where it bubbles up forcefully from a cave that sinks over 60 feet deep.
But more than that it is an old school tourist site. The crumbling ruin of the original sugar mill on the site and a paved nature trail that wanders in the swamp. When tourist traps began this place in the middle of the Florida swamp sprung to life with folks looking for a bit of adventure this place came into it’s own as a natural attraction. Now, the locals bring their corn hole sets and hillbilly horseshoes to pass the day barbequeing and swimming and honing their skill tossing ‘bean bags’ filled with corn and golf balls stapled to strings.
What attracted me was the promise to make my own pancakes. The site boasts a new Spanish Sugar Mill where they grind their own grains into a heavy mix which is delivered to your table in jugs and you fry your own cakes on griddles set into the tabletops. Three types of toppings are left to try and include raw honey, molasses (gross, I tried) and maple syrup. The heat emanates fiercely from the tables but the experience of cooking your own breakfast is enticing and the place was packed and the wait long. A little slice of old time Florida and the adventure and possibility of the unknown.
an open pantry…
>
Yesterday during our departmental devotions we did some singing. It wasn’t the usual short reading or the achingly familiar Above All or I Could Sing Of His Love Forever but songs from the older (late 70’s-early 80’s?) hymnals, always called ‘The Red Book’ at our house. This brought back memories of walking up our long driveway on my way frome from school and hearing my mom through the pop-bottle glass entry windows pounding out hymns on the piano while she practiced for Sunday morning church. It got me thinking about my heritage and the richness that I have from my everyday life.I habitually buy books that are memoirs of food and cooking, of cooking and travel, or cooking philosophy. I have been reading a book called ‘The United States of Arugula’ and that talks about the evolution of food in America. From homespun and hearty to processed and now back to ‘house-made’ and organic, fresh and seasonal. It is interesting to me to see where I got my love of cooking and if it came from my family or pop culture.I never thought of my mom as particularly adventurous but I’m not sure why this is. It may be that she would turn out solid ‘meat and two veg w/ a roll’ type dinners. My mom is a great cook and I do not ever remember anything being burnt or undercooked. It was always perfectly cooked. It may be why I like perfectly cooked vegetables and toasty bread and meat that isn’t dry or charry. She tuned my tastebuds in a way that gives a sort of food memory. I could list the many dinners and awe inspiring fried breakfasts but the list would be endless. My dad is a seeker of new muffin, cookie and soup recipes. He would take his turn cooking at Church Sunday-night lunches when in other families it was only the ladies who did the cooking. I have always been really proud of that.
Even the thought of a fried breakfast brings my mind to my Grandma and Grandpa Leavitt. They had 9 (NINE!) kids. I cannot imagine the amount of food that they would have gone through. Whenever I would be so lucky as to spend the night at their house I could always count on multiple fried eggs, bacon, sausage, and piles of toast. But even more fantastic was their pantry. I aspire to such things. They had a large house with a large (3+ cars) garage and a shop as well as a large pantry in the basement. It held jars of shimmering jellies, thick jams, applesauce and tomatoes. Food that came free for the gathering at neighbors, friends or the side of the road. Foraging is an amazing thing about the greater Seattle area. I aspire to a pantry and foraging skill like this.
But the piece de resistance was the flour drawer. There was a drawer in my Grandma’s kitchen that holds only flour. Not bags of flour, or types of flour. Just free floating masses of dusty white flour sifting gently through the air. Every grandkid (and there are in the neighborhood of 28 of us) has spent time swishing grubby fingers in that flour, made biscuits or cream puffs, cookies or gravy with that flour. It was a symbol of plenty and of comfort and of home. The modern vanity kitchen would have a wine fridge or espresso machine but this was a bit of vanity in a home built for family in the 70’s.
My Grandma James was a southern cook. Raised in Texas, she always had a Pyrex 6 cup measure on the counter full of tea bags and sugar steeping for sweet tea. While she made the traditional turkey with giblet gravy she also was one of the first people I knew with a microwave (!? yes really!) and used to microwave a piece of toast for my sister and I with a slice of colby melted on top. Not exactly gourmet and it embarrassed my mother that we acted like we were always hungry when we got there so that my Grandma would make us this funny treat. From this Grandma I acquired a family recipe of Twice Baked Potatoes that I have now become required to make for holiday family meals at my parents house. She also taught me her recipes for Raspberry Cheesecake and Apricot Tarts and I don’t think anyone could make them like she did.
What am I taking out of this? The pride behind a home-cooked meal-there is nothing better than to do this for people and take care while I do it. Innovation and new ideas bring interest while old favorites bring comfort. Freshness and seasonality don’t have to be out of reach and can be found with a little extra elbow grease. My pantry will always be open. I hope that the shelves will be full of interest and heart.
turkey cobb burger
Okay. My friend Vicky is in town and tonight is her last night here. I was feeling like I ought to make something good for dinner (I pretty much always feel this way.) Vicky suggested we make something from the burger book. I didn’t even suggest it. (Although I have just been told this particular burger was my idea, and, am therefore held responsible.)
So, knowing I have eaten more blue cheese with Vicky than any other living human and that we happened to have a pound of turkey so we made this riff on a Cobb Salad. It has all the classic accoutrements of a good Cobb. Avocado, beefsteak tomatoes and lightly dressed greens, a couple of strips of bacon and the crowning glory, blue cheese crumbles. Baked fries cap it off.
Apparently I am becoming a better burger maker. It was super juicy and perfectly cooked.
We all had to laugh because the burgers were so tall that they weren’t easy to eat. My turkey squeezed out. Vicky’s toppled like a certain tower in Italy. Brian was actually done first. Vicky and I licked our fingers and Brian licked his plate.
cheyenne burger
>
Well, Bobby Flay (can I call him Bobby?) named this one after the Rodeo at Cheyenne Frontier Days, and he isn’t kidding. It’s the ‘Daddy of ’em all!’ I have spent many happy weekends at the rodeo which encompasses everything from thrill rides, shopping, parades and concerts. The main rodeo takes days and is exciting with bull and bronco riding along with barrel races. Cheyenne Frontier Days takes you back to the real west where men are men and beef is what’s for dinner.
I made the barbeque sauce from scratch and it is just awesome. I made a couple of slight changes to the recipe (Brian can’t have honey and I can’t take smoked paprika) But it is really great. Brian made the onion rings on the stovetop in my stock pot. We used Aged Reserve Dubliner White Cheddar and definitely added the optional bacon. Optional. When is bacon ever really optional?
My Urban Pantry 