With gas prices breaking $5 and even $6 per gallon, weekly runs to the supermarket have become pricey and painful propositions. At least it’s easier to find parking spots. The bad news is that shelves are emptier, selections limited, and prices have been inflated towards war-time privation levels. The good news is that staples such as milk and eggs, flour and meal, and to a lesser extent, fruit and vegetables, while pricier, are still available.
And that is good news. Leafing through family recipes dating back to my great-grandma Sarah Amanda Howard neé Coldiron and the hollers of southeastern Kentucky circa the 1860s reveals an incredible array of wholesome soul-satisfying dishes that overcome lean pantries through the liberal (and loving) application of imagination and elbow grease.
She perfected and passed on a bewildering variety of recipes ranging from barreled eggs and water pies to white soups and sourdough cornbread, substituting time and imagination for exotic or expensive ingredients. She transformed simple onions by roasting them skin-on in the ashes of the hearth until soft, removed the skin, “flavored” with butter, salt, and pepper, and voilà! Sometimes she’d simply “water fry” sliced onions by caramelizing them low and slow in a cast-iron skillet with salt and pepper, add a little water, cover the pan, and still low and slow, cook covered while stirring occasionally until onions were soft and the water evaporated. Double voilà.
She had nothing against stewing sliced-in-the round carrots seasoned lightly with salt and pepper and serving them up as is — but as often as not would mash them, add butter, some sweet cream, and maybe a teaspoon or two of sugar or honey for a delightful change of pace.
Sweet omelets, once ubiquitous in 19th-century inns, taverns, and boarding houses, seem to have fallen out of favor nowadays, but my great-grandma swore by hers. They didn’t have to be complicated: Make an omelet, flavor with sugar and vanilla, maple syrup, or even lemon extract and/or a spoon or two of jam, jelly, or fruit preserves, and fold it over and roll onto a warmed platter. But if time and the occasion allowed, she reveled in serving up her fluffy omelets.
Again, it didn’t have to be complicated and was just a matter of beating the whites and yolks separately, gently folding them together, slightly thickening them with flour or corn starch, pouring them into a cast-iron skillet, and topping with jam or jelly.
6 eggs separated
3 tablespoons of milk or half and half
1 tablespoon flour
2 teaspoons sugar
2 tablespoons fruit preserves, jam, or jelly
Pinch of salt
2 tablespoons fat or oil
Her “next-level” puffy fruit omelet — a family favorite — worked as a fancy breakfast, toney lunch, or elegant dessert, is still simple ingredients-wise, and the preparation, while a bit daunting to read, becomes effortless with repetition.
1 cup of sweet apple cider (or other fruit juice)
1 pint of in-season fruit (apples, plums, peaches, pears, whatever you have), sliced thin*
6 eggs, separated
3 tablespoons milk or half and half
1 tablespoon flour
2 teaspoons sugar
Pinch of salt
2 tablespoons fat or oil (great-grandma loved duck oil, I’ve used butter and vegetable oil)
If you have it:
½ teaspoon vanilla extract and/or ¼ teaspoon cinnamon for sauce
½ tablespoon powdered sugar and a pinch of cinnamon for sprinkling
*Canned fruit will do and I’ve used canned peaches to good effect. You can also replace ½ cup of the fruit with your favorite berries or raisins soaked in brandy or bourbon).
**If using canned peaches, artfully arrange the peach slices in a spiral around the top of the egg mixture and pour on reduced juices before placing in the oven.
Roasting onions in the ashes of the hearth conjures up visions of massive fireplaces that not only heated the house and cooked the meals but also served as a focal point for family and friends on chilly evenings. Cast-iron stoves were common from the 1830s on, and many boasted ovens, multiple burner plates, and even hot water reservoirs. I marvel over the extra time and cooking skills required to turn great-grandma’s recipes into mouth-watering dishes using one of those cantankerous wood or coal-fired contraptions. I shudder at the thought of attempting the same in front of an open hearth over trivets, in Dutch ovens, or under red hot salamanders.