If you can trace your roots by culinary preferences, there may be no need for ancestry websites. My family stories and memories tell me that my lineage stems from Scotland and acquired some American Indian prior to marrying the mixed bag of a Spanish/Irish-Scottish descendent. Testing any DNA content in my genes might only add the information that my frame will not fit into my “jeans” anymore. But I can deduce that my ancestry is predominately Creole from New Orleans because that is the birthplace of my culinary preferences. When the mixture of New Orleans cuisine and Tuscaloosa farm grown peas and roastin’ ears comes to the table, it carries the name Southern Cooking that has no equal anywhere in my limited world.
Recently, a board member asked me about red beans and rice and my simple answer started with soak the beans overnight, pick out the stones and…. I could go no further because of his response: Forget that, I’ll just use canned beans. The west wind began to blow in ominous signals that called for my rescuing him from bad decisions, so my answer: Wait till Sunday and I’ll bring you a bowl of red beans and rice.
Since red beans and rice is not complete without sausage and onions, which is only half a meal, I added a corn soufflé, salad and bread pudding to the menu and invited my neighbor board member and his wife over for dinner Sunday evening. It was a simple case of the Creole Witch taking action to save the day.
On Friday, I mounted my broom and went to the grocery store and bought everything necessary to cook the Creole meal. Plans were altered after having white chocolate bread pudding Friday evening at a local restaurant because the ice cream served was the best part of the bread pudding. I decided I could do better than their version, so Saturday I returned to the store and bought white chocolate and the rice I forgot the day before. Dessert was extended to white chocolate bread pudding with whiskey sauce and whipped cream. I made the bread pudding Saturday while St. Nick was being penalized for unsportsmanlike conduct as the Tide rolled on to victory.
Saturday night I soaked beans and picked the stones out Sunday morning and started cooking before church. As usual strange things happen when the cauldron starts bubbling. When I began to concoct the corn dish, the board member’s wife came over to borrow two eggs for brownies she was making for a friend. So out the door went two eggs. The soufflé required three egg yokes and one whole egg and all was right with the world. I had four eggs. The corn soufflé made it to the oven.
Fate would have its way as the wind shifted to the east and I discovered that whiskey sauce requires an egg. My eggs were doing the corn fandango in the oven, so I went on-line to find other whiskey sauce recipes. All methods required an egg or cornstarch. I had neither. Rather than get out the broom again, my solution was to borrow an egg from another neighbor. Problem solved, sauce made, and the whipped cream was in the fridge for the chill.
With some Dixieland Jazz as background music and an excellent wine from my guests, we had a pleasant meal. There was only one hitch, a turned-up nose at my choices of salad dressing and a request for olive oil and lemon. But one should keep the masses happy and in spite of lemons, everything went according to plan. I wouldn’t mind taking credit for an enjoyable meal but all I did was provide the occasion. Any meal is only as good as the ones you share it with. My guest blessed me with their company as well as their complements and we did “laissez les bon temps rouler.” Pardon my French, but there is no other way to put it except maybe to add a “ya’ll” at the end of the phrase. The Ghost of Onions Past still lingers in my kitchen like humidity in September but we don’t mind being smothered with good friends and happy times. Life teaches us not to tug on Superman’s Cape or spit in the wind because a Southern witch can brew magic without the cape.
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