Bistro Newsletter

Passing down traditions and recipes has been happening since the beginning of time. For me it started when I was a little girl, before kindergarten, hanging in the kitchen with my dad. He didn’t really tell me anything or specifically show me how to do things, but he let me be in his space. I’d perch on the top of the yellow step stool and watch him work. He usually was in a pair of cutoffs with no shirt and a Goebel in hand. Sometimes he would give me a task. I remember shucking corn, I was so little I barely had the strength to pull the husk off, and I recall his dissatisfaction with how much silk I left on the cob and on the floor. I watched him clean fish, he would let me roll the fish eyes in my hand until they dried out, and then beer batter the Walleye he caught with Drakes Fry Mix. He liked Drakes because it was made in Michigan. I watched PBS cooking shows with Dad, he didn’t like Julia Child, he would only watch her if Jacques Pepin was on, he preferred Graham Kerr or Yan Can Cook. Dad made a mean if not salty Chop Suey. When I was about 8, in Sunday School we had the opportunity to write a class cookbook for our parents. Don’t ask me what that had to do with Jesus?!? Each child was asked to talk about their favorite dish and give the teacher the recipe so they could type up a cookbook. I chose to describe my dad’s New England Clam Chowder recipe; mom has since told me I got the recipe almost perfect… I just forgot the clams.

Learning from my mom was different, as I don’t recall helping her until I was older. I think Dad did most of the cooking due to his schedule, otherwise, they were cooking together. It wasn’t until after he died that we were asked to help my mom in the kitchen. We would get tasks after school like peeling potatoes, pulling ground beef from the freezer or chopping toppings for tacos. I remember in my early childhood Mom, her sister Margie and Grandmamma cooking together in the hot kitchens of Georgia every summer. There was an ease to it, lots of chatter happening between the women, but no one really telling who what to do or how to do it. It just flowed naturally. I’m guessing my mom helped her mamma in the kitchen since she was very young.  I do remember sticking my arms up past my elbows rinsing greens in my Grandmamma’s deep sink, and there was often some large cut of meat cooking low and slow outside on the oil barrel grill being attended by the men with their cold beers and cigarettes. My Uncle William oversaw the Homemade Georgia Peach Ice Cream churning in the outside ice cream maker while us kids ran around catching fireflies. I can still smell Grandmamma’s mac-n-cheese bubbling over in the oven.

This weekend Chef Travis is preparing a version of the stuffed peppers I made for Michael last weekend. He will have to try to duplicate the flavors I want from my description I gave him. I’ll share my oral “recipe” with you too.

Cubanelle Peppers, tops removed. Mexican Herb Marinated Chicken Breast, Grilled. Chop the Chicken with Sauteed Summer Squash, Onion, loads of Garlic & Chipotle Peppers. Mix that with Pinto Beans & Rice (I used our Cumin Turmeric Rice from the Bistro) and more herbs and spices, I like Oregano & Cumin. Stuff the Peppers, top with Chopped Charred Tomatoes, Green Chilies, Jalapeno and good Olive Oil. Top with Shredded Cheese, cover and bake for 30-40 minutes at 375.​

Cheers,
Sharon