roasted tomato & scallion tart with a whole wheat cheese crust

It's tomato season, or 'mater season as it were, and summer is bearing down on us with apocalyptic might. I find myself daily brewing iced tea with new found diligence, but being a cold natured thing (and arguably a masochist), I actually rather enjoy the heat. It's thick, substantial. Heat slows us down, forces us to rest, to retreat. It reminds me of New Orleans' summers draped in weeping Spanish moss, of channelling Blanche DuBois à la Vivien Leigh in A Street Car Named Desire, and of watching Jim Jarmusch films in a dilapidated mansion on Magazine Street when I was twenty years old wearing nothing but high heels, lingerie, and red lipstick with a nameless three-legged cat, drinking gin until I couldn't speak. Suffering is very authentically southern after all. Summers every where are hotter than ever, but my internal climate is milder now. The only thing I sip these long afternoons is hibiscus iced tea, but I still feel like a green eyed Vivien Leigh when I stretch out in the sun on the front porch in nothing but a slip, brushing the little black ants off my legs as lazy beads of perspiration roll down both my glass of tea and my forehead or when, in the muggy evenings, I sit at our dining room table eating a midnight snack of cornbread in a tall glass of buttermilk with a spoon, windows open to the strobing fireflies & the chorus of crickets. It may be painfully hot, but this sweltering season is also, in my opinion, painfully short. 

Each time I go to the market, I try to buy up a pint of sweet Sun Golds before they rapidly disappear from the vendors' tables to eat on the way home like grapes. These ephemeral fruits are precious. There is no substitute for a warm summer tomato, and when the season is over it's over. Canning will keep you well into the winter, but it's still not the same as biting into a fresh tomato. I don't think they should be tampered with much, and recipes that feature them prominently and simply do them the most justice. This is one such recipe. And the best part is almost every single ingredient is from right here in Chattanooga and can be procured at the various markets around town.

Sequatchie Cove Creamery "Cumberland" cheese

Roasted Cherry Tomato & Scallion Tart in a Whole Wheat Cumberland Cheese Crust

adapted from Not Without Salt

This tart is good warm, room temperature, or cold and would make excellent picnic fare for the upcoming Fourth of July. The crust tastes like an excellent cheese cracker, and the tomatoes are intensely jammy. The whole thing is simple to make and involves little more than mixing cheese, flour, and butter; patting it into a tart or pie pan, and filling it with fresh tomatoes. It bakes for slowly for an hour allowing the crust to get golden & crispy and the tomatoes caramelize.

Ingredients

For the cheese crust:
1 cup whole wheat flour
4 ounces melted butter
1 cup finely shredded Cumberland cheese or cheese of your choice
1/2 tsp thyme leaves, chopped
1/2 tsp salt


For the filling:
1 pint cherry tomatoes (about 2 cups), halved
3 scallions, thinly sliced, white and light green parts only
1 tsp thyme leaves, chopped
1 Tbsp olive oil
2 tsp honey (or to taste)
salt and pepper to taste

{notes on ingredients: I used Ariel's whole wheat pastry flour from the Sunday Market, but Sonrisa, sometimes at the Wednesday market, also have a nice whole wheat flour. The butter is procured from the Brainerd Market on Saturday at Grace Episcopal Church, and Cumberland cheese is made by the Sequatchie Cove Creamery and is available at Whole Foods & the Wednesday Main St. Farmer's Market. Tomatoes, scallions, honey, and thyme can be procured at pretty much any market in town.}

Heat oven to 350° F.

Toss all fillings for ingredient in a medium mixing bowl. Set aside.

Cut melted butter into the flour in a medium bowl with fingers. Stir in cheese, thyme, and salt, mixing well to ensure there are no clumps. Pat crust thinly into a 9" tart pan.

Top with tomato scallion mixture and bake for 1 hour or until crust is deep golden.

Let tart cool on a wire rack for at least 10 minutes, 20 if you want to serve it room temperature. Remove slices carefully, as crust is very tender and deliciously crumbly. Best served with a lightly dressed green salad followed by a blueberry, basil, goat cheese hand pie (recipe up next!) and a tall glass of iced tea!

buttermilk & berry scones: blueberry lemon & blackberry thyme

Not being a Briton, I don't believe I can weigh in on what constitutes a "proper" scone, but I do know that the ubiquitous dry lumps languishing in coffeeshop display cases do not tempt me. Except for one, a long time ago.

I discovered the first scone-love of my life while working at a coffeeshop on Magazine Street in New Orleans called Café Luna for an opinionated cat lady named Nanette. She hated children but animals of any kind were welcome in the shop, and being more of a dog person than a child lover, this was fine by me. My favorite regular was a bulldog named Grendel that greeted me behind the counter with a sloppy full body wag each time she and her owner came in. In contrast, if a family with children came in she would order me to sweep around their feet in hopes that this rude gesture (which she expected me to make) would encourage them to vacate the premises. She also refused to allow me to bring people their orders but rather insisted that I yell from behind the counter because I was "a barrista not a waitress". 

None of our pastries were made in house but were delivered to us each morning by a man that ran a small baking company out of his home. The delivery consisted of pastry case staples: croissants, pain au chocolate, cookies, bagels, and these large, triangular cranberry scones with a sparkling sugar crust on top. I don't think I'd eaten a scone before trying his, or if I had previously eaten one it was, evidently, entirely forgettable. Those scones were a tender epiphany that I then described as "like a hybrid between cookie and cake". I left New Orleans after Katrina, and when I returned years later I made a special trip to Café Luna specifically for one of those scones only to be told the man that baked them, like so many people, was no longer in New Orleans. I felt defeated and quickly accepted that I would never have a scone like that again in my life. At the time I identified strictly as a savory cook, not a baker, so trying to recreate them didn't occur to me as an option. Game over, man. Game over. 

Over the years I forgot about those scones, and they became relegated to an invisible coffee house staple again. But over the years something else happened,  I became bi-culinary, both avid savory cook and baker. Finally, with the first pint of the season's blackberries on my counter and a half gallon of Cruze Farm's buttermilk in my fridge (which is always in my fridge), it dawned on me, quite out of no where, to try my hand at scones. As always that resulted in scone research, as I rarely just go to it making the first recipe I come across. 

A lot of reading later, I settled on an adaptation of a Cook's Illustrated recipe. It received good reviews, and I trust their rigorous testing besides. That and the step in which you freeze and grate the butter reminded me of grating the frozen dough for Julia Child's Hungarian shortbread, which produces a very light, crumbly texture. It also reminded me of pinching butter into my biscuits and cutting it into pie dough. In short it plainly indicated one thing: tender. 

After having made them a few times now, I can happily say that I've found another scone to love. My understanding of the scone has evolved from "cookie cake" to a relative of the biscuit. Made with buttermilk, sour cream, butter, and a touch of heavy cream, these scones do not pretend to be healthy, and their fat content relative to the flour is so high they almost melt when baking. Almost. That said, they freeze beautifully so there is never any need to make a big batch of them unless you're cooking for a crowd. I usually bake one or two which we eat while still warm and freeze the rest. Freezing them is also nice because scones do not age particularly well and benefit from being eaten within 12 hours of baking. That all said, I think these are the best scones you will ever have. Honestly. They're a wonderful albeit indulgent breakfast and an excellent stage on which any number of fillings can shine, my favorite being fresh berries which results in the lyrical "jammy pockets" rhapsodized by Kate (of Cookie + Kate).

This recipes is infinitely adaptable and well suited to cooking with the seasons because it can be filled with any thing really: chocolate chips, nuts, dried fruit, fresh fruit...whatever is delicious, in season, or on hand. You can also flavor the dough with any number of herbs, citrus zests, spices, etc. It's a blank slate. Have fun with it. Pictured here are blueberry lemon zest scones (his favorite), but I have also included the variation for blackberry thyme scones (my favorite). Note that as with biscuits I think it's important to handle this dough gently. It's quite sticky so use flour liberally but only as needed, and I opt to use my hands as opposed to a rolling pin and bench scraper when forming the scones as I find it's gentler.  

Blueberry Lemon and Blackberry Thyme Buttermilk Scones

recipe adapted from Entertaining from Cook’s Illustrated, Spring 2009 via Annie's Eats

Ingredients:

8 tbsp. (113 g / 1 stick) unsalted butter, frozen whole

1½ cups (7½ oz.) fresh blueberries (or blackberries for variation)
½ cup buttermilk
½ cup sour cream

¼ cup heavy cream
2 cups (250 g / 10 oz.) all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting the work surface
½ cup (96 g) sugar, plus 1 tbsp., plus extra for sprinkling
2 tsp. baking powder
¼ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
1 tsp. finely grated lemon zest (plus 1 tsp. fresh thyme, chopped for variation)
2 tbsp. unsalted butter, melted

Directions: 

Adjust an oven rack to middle position and preheat to 425˚ F.  Grate the frozen butter on the holes of a large box grater.  (You can use a food processor if you prefer.) 

Whisk together the buttermilk, sour cream, and heavy cream in a medium bowl; refrigerate until needed.  Combine the flour, ½ cup sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt and lemon zest (and thyme if using) in a medium mixing bowl.  Whisk to combine.  Add the grated butter to the flour mixture and toss with fingers until thoroughly coated.

Add the milk mixture to the dry ingredients and fold with a spatula just until combined.  Transfer the dough to a generously floured work surface.  Dust the top of the dough with flour and form the dough into a ragged ball, kneading lightly as needed.  Add small amounts of flour as needed to prevent sticking.

Roll the dough (I simply pat it out gently with my hands) into a 12-inch square.  Fold the dough into thirds like a business letter carefully, making sure it isn't sticking.  Fold the short ends of the dough into the center in thirds, to form an approximate 4-inch square.  At this point the dough can be transfer thto a plate lightly dusted with flour and chilled in the freezer for 5 minutes to make it easier to work with (I skip this step). 

Return the dough to the floured work surface and roll (or pat) into an approximately 12-inch square again.  Sprinkle the blueberries (or blackberries) evenly over the surface of the dough, and gently press down so that they are slightly embedded in the dough surface. Sprinkle with 1 tbsp of sugar. Gently roll the dough up to form a tight log.  Lay the log seam side down and carefully press the the log into a 12 by 4-inch rectangle.  Using a sharp, floured knife or bench scraper, cut the rectangle crosswise into 4 equal rectangles.  Cut each rectangle diagonally to form 2 triangles.  Transfer to a parchment lined baking sheet.

Brush the tops of the scones with melted butter and sprinkle with sugar.  (If freezing ahead of time, flash freeze on the baking sheet for 20 minutes, then wrap individually and store in a freezer bag until needed. To bake from frozen bake directly from freezer for about 20-27 minutes. Do not thaw.)  Bake until the tops and bottoms are golden brown, 18-25 minutes.  Transfer to a wire rack and let cool 10 minutes before serving.

Fork & Pie Bar, Chattanooga, TN

Chicken Pot Pie

Fat Tire 1554 Beer & Mexican Cantina Pie

It's official. Pie is the new black. Or the new cupcake, as it were. That said, while it's been enjoying a surge in popularity over the past couple of years, as an acknowledged classic the pie, like the dude, abides. Pie is the legendary stuff of your grandmother's kitchen, the kind fate of sweet summer fruit from the market. I would bake a pie over a cupcake any day. Not a baker? You can now get your pie fix too because Chattanooga finally has a pie shop to call its very own: Fork & Pie Bar downtown at 811 Market Street across from the Loveman's building. You can actually get better than a piece of pie, you can get your own personal 4" pie. Mmm...tiny pies. I have a well documented affinity for little pies. 

Cherry Pie with ice cream

Rustic in its simplicity and undeniably southern, pie is one of those foods that serves as a sort of tabula rasa, a blank slate, a delivery device for an infinite number of flavor combinations. And that is exactly what you will find at Fork & Pie Bar. Naturally they have the classics, both savory and sweet: chicken pot pie (but with a twist...it's thickened with coconut milk), shepherd's pie, apple, pecan, cherry, blueberry, and banana cream, but they also have an array of not-your-grandma's creative pie fillings, fusion pies if you will, like their Mexican Cantina Pie, Spinach Orzo Pie, Tuscan Chicken Pie, and Pulled Pork BBQ pie to list a few.

Pecan Pie topped with freshly whipped cream

With only two visits under my belt I've had my fingers in a lot of pies (Pun! Achieved! Couldn't help it. It's like Tourettes.) I digress. Savory-wise, I've sampled the chicken pot pie, the BBQ pie, the tomato basil quiche, and the spinach orzo pie. For dessert I've tried the pecan, cherry, and blueberry pies. Verdict? Each filling has something different to offer. Coupled with the coleslaw, the pulled pork pie is like a BBQ sandwich in pie form. My favorite savory pie, so far, was the orzo spinach. Maybe that's because it involves a healthy dollop of goat cheese, which I'm very keen on. The quiche (of which I only was able to steal one bite of) went over very well with both my mother and significant other, and I recommend checking out Sunday brunch for quiche-tastic offerings (which includes the satisfying sounding "Man Quiche": a hash-brown crust filled with sausage & goat cheese). As for dessert the pecan pie won for me. I tucked quite happily into one topped with whipped cream, and all my good intentions to share went out the window. 

Banana Cream Pies

Spinach & Orzo Pie topped with goat cheese

Pulled Pork BBQ Pie & coleslaw

Tomato Basil Quiche & fresh fruit

Regarding the sides, I've tried them all, and they're all simple & fresh. My personal favorite is the dill mashed potatoes. 

Coleslaw & Dill Mashed Potatoes

And let's not forget that this is Fork & Pie Bar. Currently they offer beer on tap, and they will soon be carrying wine and liquor as well. Sit at the bar or maybe take your drink over to the window and sit and watch Market Street pass by. And if you aren't a drinker they have iced green tea! 

So go forth and support the latest in local eateries. Have a pie. Or two. And if you try the shepherd's pie before I do, let me know how it is!

Lastly, they are hosting a pie eating contest this coming Sunday at The Chattanooga Market! Yes. A pie eating contest. Awesome.

Buttermilk Brined Fried Chicken

Hoe Hop Valley Farm's Chicken brined & battered in Cruze Farm's buttermilk

In the south, fried chicken is like religion, and like religion everyone believes that their way is The One True Way. When Patrick requested it for his birthday I felt a twinge of terror. I'd never fried chicken before. I'd never deep fried anything before. So I did research, a lot of research. I read about fried chicken for days. And it seems I'm no different than everyone else because I have emerged from my chicken meditations, and I'm here to tell you that I have found the One True Fried Chicken. May it keep us always.


Speaking of chicken and religion, when my mother called to ask how the party went, she told me she actually prayed for my fried chicken to turn out well. Well, evidently the God of Chicken & Biscuits (a very prominent deity in this part of the country) heard her, because this is momma slappin' chicken. That is to say it's chicken that "tastes so good, it makes you wanna slap yo momma". I give you Urban Dictionary's break down for your edification:

1. Tastes so good, it makes you wanna slap yo momma 

When you try some new food that tastes so delicious it makes you wonder "why can't my mom cook this well?". This thought makes you so angry that you feel like slapping your mom for feeding you mediocre food...

Kid 1: Yo dawg, I'm tired of eatin' at home. My momma feeds me the same ol' grilled cheese sandwich for lunch every-damn-day. 
Kid 2: Don't sweat it home slice. Why don't you come on over to ma crib after school? I'll make you to best PB & J sandwich you've eva tasted. Tastes so good, make you wanna slap yo momma! 
Kid 1: Yeaaah boii!! 

Uh-huh. That good. The thing is, I thought I could never achieve my ideal fried chicken, and I've had a very particular ideal for a long time: Lamar's fried chicken. Lamar's Bar & Restaurant, with a seedy pay by the hour motel in the back, is Chattanooga's (perhaps self-proclaimed) "favorite place after dark" and a veritable temple of soul. You enter Lamar's up a flight of stairs beneath a striped awning, walk through the front room with its (usually unoccupied) booths down a darkened hallway lit by the green glow of a 50 gallon fish tank and into the "Chrystal Lounge". You'll usually find Gerald behind the bar in a tux, mixing drinks and polishing glasses. Curt, efficient, and skilled, he mixes the best (and stiffest) drinks in town. The lounge is dimly lit by flickering candles & colored Christmas lights and is shrouded in velvet wallpaper. The purist jukebox in the corner contains nothing but jazz, blues, soul, and R&B. This is a place that exists outside of space-time, untouched by the cheap, aseptic commercialization that has mostly wiped out the fine tradition of the dive bar. And when you go, there is no point in ordering anything other than the fried chicken which is served up late into the night.

Always piping hot, succulent, and intensely flavorful (the meat as well as the breading), theirs is the only fried chicken in the world I've ever really cared for. I can honestly say I've never had fried chicken that was as juicy, tender, and well seasoned. And I lived a block from the famous Dunbar's in New Orleans. And I've had fried chicken at Ad Hoc. Don't get me wrong Dunbar's was fantastic, and Ad Hoc's fried chicken was delicious. The evening I ate at Ad Hoc I even saw the man himself, Chef Thomas Keller, walk through the dining room in a Giant's baseball cap. I felt like a teenage girl in the 70's catching a glimpse of David Cassidy. But still, neither experience lived up to Lamar's. Maybe, I worried, Lamar's fried chicken can't exist outside the Chrystal Lounge. Maybe jazz, velvet wall paper, Christmas lights, and life ruining white Russians are essential ingredients in their fried chicken. Maybe you have to be young, drunk, and in the dark for fried chicken to taste that good. And if Dunbar's & Keller couldn't satisfy me, how could I ever hope to?

Yeaaah boii!!

Well it turns out, thank the God of Chicken & Biscuits, that I could. I'm not claiming this is a replica of their chicken, only that I like it just as much. I knew for sure I was going to brine my chicken. But I also knew I wanted the chicken to sit in a "buttermilk bath". So why not just create a buttermilk brine, I wondered? Most recipes I read used one or the other. Well, at first I feared that the dual action of the acid, enzymes, and calcium in the buttermilk along with the tenderizing effects of salt penetrating the meat via osmosis would render my meat mushy. So I kept reading.

It seemed that, while less common than you would think, people do brine their chicken in buttermilk and it doesn't make it mushy. So, I was set. I consulted Keller's recipe and created a brine using his approximate ratios for liquid, salt, and honey with my own flavorings, and after reading his recipe along with countless others I decided I would also "dredge, dip, dredge" in flour and buttermilk prior to deep frying at around 325° F in an enameled cast iron dutch oven. I'd also read that baking powder and cornstarch in your dredging flour led to an extra crispy coating, and that nutmeg was cited as a "secret ingredient". I love nutmeg, so I was sold on that idea, and I decided to use unbleached all-purpose flour plus a teaspoon of baking powder and a tablespoon of cornstarch per cup as my dredging base. Lastly, I'd read in The Pioneer Woman's recipe and in others that mixing the final dredging flour with a bit of buttermilk till "shaggy" led to a nice coating on the chicken.  I found this naturally occurred in the second dredging dish as I dredge, dipped in buttermilk, and dredged again. I think when doing so much chicken (I did a double recipe) it would have gotten too clumpy if I'd added buttermilk beforehand. I might add a tablespoon or two if I were doing less.

Because I was cooking a double recipe for a group and also due to the fact that I had rather large chickens that I'd gotten from Hoe Hop Valley Farm at the Main Street market, I knew I wanted to hold and/or finish my chicken in the oven. I was worried this would result in a soggy exterior. It did not. I will say that detail is not my ideal. Ideally the chicken would be cooked through in the oil, rest on a rack over paper towels for about ten minutes and be served immediately thereafter. But on this point I had to compromise. Michael Ruhlman said it was okay, so obviously it's okay. The Pioneer Woman, Ree, also says it's okay. The benefit of finishing in the oven is that you can pull your chicken out of the oil at its golden peak and then finish it without having to worry about overcooking the exterior or undercooking the interior. Also, there's the obvious benefit of being able to serve it when you want and keep 16 pieces of fried chicken hot. So, conceptually I had in my head the blueprints for perfect buttermilk brined fried chicken for a crowd. But as you know, cooking is something learned by doing and all the reading in the world can't guarantee a successful result. You just have to do it and use your intuition & five senses along the way.

When I wrote about my first layer cake experiment, I mentioned that I, up until this year, had a pension for celebrating birthdays with "death knells and banshee wails" not things like cake baking & dinner parties. That wasn't to imply that birthdays bothered me, that aging was some terrible fate that I lamented. I was feeling far too youthfully immortal to concern myself with the inevitable march of time. Instead it was to say that my particular brand of celebration was a brutally wild sort. Now things are different, more civilized. It's a novel, calm reality that has settled on me softly this past year like waking up in your own bed after a terrifying dream. In contrast to years past, we celebrated his 26th with a small dinner party of his closest friends replete with tea lights in mason jars, tiny vases of Crayola colored flowers, and a large pitcher of hibiscus honey iced tea. As per his request I made buttermilk biscuits, potlikker kale, and a salad of vine ripened local tomatoes with Bonnie Blue herbed goat cheese, basil from my porch garden, and fleur de sel. For dessert he requested bittersweet spicy chocolate soufflé (better and far easier than cake for me!) with homemade Lapsang Souchong ice cream. And, of course, there was buttermilk fried chicken.

mason jar tea lights & flowers centerpiece

all natural buttermilk "dream biscuits" in my grandmother's biscuit cloth

vine ripened tomatoes from the Thursday market on Signal Mountain with Bonnie Blue herbed goat cheese & fresh basil

His birthday gift (other than fried chicken!): 3 chocolate bars and a vintage Oxford English Dictionary (not pictured) with it's original magnifying glass

Buttermilk Brined Southern Fried Chicken

serves 4-6

Ingredients

8 pieces of chicken (I cut up whole chickens from Hoe Hop Valley farm, and used the breasts, legs, and thighs. I also cut the breasts in half horizontally because they were large)

Brine

1 quart buttermilk (I used Cruze Farm's, if you can get it, I recommend it)

1 cup water

1/8 cup kosher salt

1 Tbsp Tony Chachere's Creole Seasoning

1 Tbsp Frank's Hot Sauce (or other vinegar based hot sauce)

1 Tbsp Sriracha hot sauce

1/4 tsp freshly grated nutmeg

1/4 cup honey

cayenne or hot Hungarian paprika to taste (optional)

a few sprigs of thyme (optional)

Coating

3 cups flour

3 tsp baking powder

3 Tbsp cornstarch

1 tsp Tony Chachere's

1-2 tsp kosher salt (to taste)

1/2 tsp freshly grated black pepper

1/4 tsp freshly grated nutmeg

1/4 tsp cayenne

1/4 tsp paprika

2 tsp garlic powder

2 cups buttermilk

oil for frying (you need enough to come about 1/3 of the way up the pot or 2 inches)

{note: I have used both vegetable and canola oil successfully}

kosher salt for sprinkling

Directions

For the brine: Combine all the ingredients for the brine except buttermilk in a small pot and heat over medium, dissolving all the salt and honey. Remove from heat and cool by adding ice cubes and stirring. In a large mixing bowl combine buttermilk and cooled seasoned water. Rinse chicken and pat dry. Divide all pieces of chicken between two large ziplock bags. Pour half of buttermilk brine in each, close, and place in the refrigerator over night, up to 12 hours. I have left them in there longer, 14-15 hours, with no ill effects. {note: I have also halved the brine recipe and used one large ziplock for 8 pieces of chicken and it worked out well, a good way to save.}

1-2 hours before you are ready to fry: Rinse the chicken under cold water and pat dry. Let the chicken come to room temperature, half an hour to one and a half hours, on a parchment lined baking sheet covered with paper towels.

Preheat oven to 350°.  

Mix all of the ingredients for the coating together in a large bowl, transferring half to a second bowl. {note: The measurements given for seasonings here are approximate. I season my flour to taste. Yes, I taste the raw flour. It should taste salty & flavorful.} Fill a third bowl with the 2 cups of buttermilk. The easiest way to coat the chicken is to have a line set up: uncoated chicken, flour coating, buttermilk, 2nd bowl of flour coating, wax paper lined baking sheet for the coated chicken. 

Pour the oil into your pot (preferably cast iron enamel like Le Crueset). It should come at least two inches and no more than 1/3 of the way up the side of the pot. Turn the heat to low, clipping a frying/candy thermometer to the side of your pot.

Dredge each piece in the coating, dust off all excess, dip into the buttermilk, and then into the second bowl of coating, letting the 2nd coating be clumpier but still patting to get rid of excess that might fall off in the oil. Place coated chicken on the wax paper lined tray. 

Turn the oil up to high and let it come to about 350° F. Let the coated chicken sit so that the coating will thicken while the oil gets hot. When it reaches temperature, very carefully place 4 pieces of chicken at a time in the hot oil and fry, adjusting the temperature as needed to maintain a frying temperature between 310° -325° F. I try to keep it around 320°. You start the oil at 350° because when you add the chicken to the hot oil, the temperature will drop. Fry dark meat first, as it takes longer. Fry the chicken for about 13-20 minutes, moving the chicken gently (you don't want to knock the coating off!) after the first five to prevent sticking and burning on the bottom. Be careful to monitor your chicken, watching the oil temperature closely and not letting the chicken get too dark.

Remove chicken from the oil with a spider or slotted metal spoon when it is golden brown (metal tongs will knock off your precious coating), and place it on a cooling rack over a paper towel lined baking sheet. Sprinkle with kosher salt. Check the internal temperature with an instant read thermometer. Fully cooked chicken will read 160 degrees and can be served then if desired. If it is lower than that, it must be finished in the oven. Fry the second batch and then place it on the rack. Place the rack in the oven for ten minutes. Check the internal temperature to make sure the chicken is cooked through, let rest 10 minutes, and serve hot. If all the chicken is cooked through and you want to keep it hot, you can hold it in a 250 degree oven. 

Serving suggestions: hot sauce, honey, jams, biscuits, and waffles are all great friends of fried chicken! Slow cooked greens, green beans, and mashed potatoes all make great sides.

The buttermilk "Dream Biscuit" recipe can be found here, where they are called "All Natural Sky High Biscuit Adaptation, a.k.a. Darth Vader Biscuits". They are called such because I believe I'm the Darth Vader to the Biscuits Lady's (of the Big Biscuit Barn in Ft. Oglethorpe, GA) Obi Wan Kenobi. Now, I am the master. My mom prefers to call them dream biscuits because they remind her of her mother's. You can call them what you like, but they're some of the best biscuits you'll ever make.

As for the recipes for the potlikker greens, spicy chocolate soufflés, and ice cream.... they will be posted in the future!

peach curd & rosewater tartlets with basil whipped cream and nasturtium flowers

The summer solstice is fast approaching, and this is food for the denizens of summer, the fair folk of the emerald isle of Tír na nÓg, the faeries. I used to believe in them. I believed in diaphanous winged fay with golden hair, in wizened hobgoblins of the kitchen fire, mean hair pulling pixies and sprites that bite, changeling children, watery sylphs, salacious nymphs, and all the descendants of the fiercely private sidhe. Growing up I left them offerings on my bedside table, bowls of rose petal water and honey sweetened fairy cakes. 





As I got older I constructed elaborate metaphysical theories that allowed for the existence of elemental beings that flickered in and out of our plane, passing through like vapor or illusive gravitons, their force felt but rarely seen in this dimension. I grew up by a lake in the woods of north Georgia, and it was easy to believe that faeries lived in the mad rose bushes that flanked our house, the abandoned well in the woods, and the willows that dripped off the banks of the lake. I swore I saw their wings glint, reflected in the green waters. I believed in them for a very long time. I chose to do so. I was in the closet about it, but I believed in them well past the age at which one usually believes in such things. Given, I believed in my own special formulation of them, and I met it with a reverence usually reserved for either science or old time religion. The way I saw it, it was even older time religion. I've Irish roots after all. 


I still believe in the realm of the fae & its trappings: rose tangled vales, swimming holes, and licentious, balmy nights. I believe in mountain creeks and waterfalls. I believe in cookery and cast iron to keep the evil ones away. I believe in a reality that is of a higher order than the one perceived by mundane consciousness. I believe folklore, art, religion, and science all talk about this reality. And I believe that the concept of faeries illuminate a real experience, and in that sense, I still believe in faeries because I believe in misfortune, small gifts, and the 10,000 joys and sorrows out of our control that make up the life of every human being. Angels, chance, fate, fae. We all believe in something. 






Filled with peach curd redolent of roses and topped with a cloud of fresh basil whipped cream and a single nasturtium flower, these faery food tarts celebrate summer in the south: the lightening bugs, juicy peaches, bounty at the market, and the long, sultry evenings. They are unique enough to remind me that life isn't ever boring, that fruit and the tremulous energy that makes up all matter is itself quite magical, and that the alchemy of a homemade dessert is the province of good witches. 


So when you find yourself at the market this summer, pick up some peaches, and if you're lucky enough to find them (I purchased my nasturtiums from Pocket Farm on Wednesday at the Main Street Market), get yourself some edible flowers. Have one of these tarts outside with a glass of herbal iced tea on a midsummer night and you'll feel like a veritable Titania or Oberon. 






Technical Notes on the Alchemy of Peach & Rosewater Tarts:


• The pastry shell is the one I've been using of late, from the wizard himself, Chef Keller. Recipe found here.
• You whip the curd for a healthy amount of time, 20-30 minutes, to get it quite thick. But remember that it will thicken further as it cools. Be tenacious. It's worth it. 
• Ease into the rosewater, maybe starting at as little as 1/4 teaspoon, as a little goes a long way. I was overly zealous the first time (used perhaps a tablespoon?) but happen to be a mad flower eating sort so I didn't mind, actually liked it. You might mind though, so easy does it and use it to taste. Tasting the curd is fun. Because it is good. So taste until it's the way you like it. 
• Basil whipped cream is wonderful. Make at your own risk. I ate so much straight out of the bowl I was worried I'd have to make more for the tarts. Also, for a less rustic presentation pipe your whipped cream if it pleases you. I, for one, used the "spoon method". 
• While magical decorated with edible flowers, they look lovely with just basil leaves and are delicious with nothing at all. That said, with prettily piped whipped cream and various edible flowers of all colors, these would be excellent fête fare. Can be made as a full size pie, tiny tarts, etc.

Peach Curd and Rosewater Tartlets 

with Basil Whipped Cream and Nasturtium Flowers

makes enough curd for about 5 tartlets or 1 full sized tart

Ingredients

•fully baked buttery pastry shells or short crust of your choosing

for peach curd:
adapted from Epicurean
• about 3 large peaches peel & pureed, about 1 heaping cup of peach puree
• 1/4 tsp - 1 tsp rosewater, to taste
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 4 egg yolks
• 5 tablespoons butter
• 1-2 lemons worth of juice 1-3 tablespoons, to taste

for basil whipped cream:
• 4-5 large basil leaves torn into pieces
• 1/4 cup (50 g) sugar
• 1 cup (240 mL) heavy cream

Peel peaches with a paring knife, remove pit, and puree in a food processor or blender (I use my mini cuisinart) until smooth.

Make curd. Combine all ingredients except butter in a heat proof bowl and whisk constantly over a pot of simmering water, 20-30 minutes, until thickened & it coats back of wooden spoon. Remove from heat and whisk in butter one tablespoon at a time. Strain curd through a mesh sieve (I skipped this step and didn't mind, but straining will result in a finer texture) and chill. As noted abovie, it will thicken further as it chills.

Make whipped cream while the curd chills. Combine sugar and basil leaves in the bowl of a mini food processor and grind until completely combined to make "basil sugar". This can also be accomplished with a mortar and pestle. Pour cream into the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. Whisk until soft peaks begin to form and slowly add basil sugar with the mixer running until the sugar is dissolved and you have stiff peaks.

Fill cooled pastry shells with the curd and either pipe or spoon the basil whipped cream on top. Garnish with edible flowers and basil leaves. Serve at room temperature or chilled.