Retro Recipes and Traditional Fare

Okay, I'll try anything once and make the best of it if need be, but winter camping in near zero temperatures? I prepared a favorite dinner of braised rabbit with prunes, an undressed endive salad with the vinaigrette on the side and ramekins of chocolate mousse for our dream overnight camping in the backwoods of Northern Maine. We decided on a trail to cross country ski in on with my three dogs, nothing too challenging as we had lots of gear to transport on a toboggan plus it gets dark very early at this time of year AND it was our first test at "making camp" at rather cold temperatures.

Five miles in we found the perfect spot beside a icy, running stream to pitch our four-season tent, made a fire and enjoyed the pure silence of being in the Maine woods for the whole night. Everything was perfect, the tent went up easily without referring to the directions more than a couple of times, the sleeping bags were unrolled, the cushions to insulate us from the frozen ground were in place, we collected firewood from downed trees with a small saw as the sun started setting early like it does in the winter months.

“Eat poor that day, eat rich the rest of the year… Rice for riches and peas for peace.” – Old Southern saying for New Year’s Menu

Collard greens, black eyed peas, cornbread and pork are the foodstuffs of the South, rich in legend, lore, and superstition. Money or not, every Southern family I know dines on these same vittles for their New Year’s supper. Not too poor of eating if I say so myself.

According to this Farmer, the New Year’s Day menu is a Southern supper at its finest. Steeped in tradition, flavored with history, and doused with a touch of superstition, this meal encompasses the South’s ebb and flow of classicism and eccentricity–a meal of our heritage. Here in America’s Deep South, the cultures of Europe, Africa and the Native Americans combine with their respected refinements and sentimentalities making this meal fit to usher in a new year.

Growing up in rural Middle Georgia, we knew our food’s legacy before it arrived on our tables. This Farm to Table movement of late has always been the custom for those of us raised in a more bucolic fashion. We know our farmers and growers. In his blessings before a meal, my brother-in-law’s father always gives thanks for “not only the hands that prepared the food but grew it as well...” whereas our New Year’s meal is of no exception.

When was the last time you ate a date bar? I haven’t had one in years. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I’ve even given thought to that deliciously sweet, rich layered dessert.

Not long ago, I received an email request for a date bar recipe. My thoughts swiftly went back to the date bars my dad’s cousin used to make using a recipe that had been in my dad’s family for years — maybe generations. Following the visions of date bars running through my head came the date-filled cookies I used to get from the Rothsay Truck Stop. On my trips from Fargo to Minneapolis, I could never pass up the I-94 exit that took my car up the ramp and right into a parking spot in front of the large plate glass window that looked into the little cafe attached to the gas station. I’d walk up to the counter lined with bar stools and order half dozen of the homemade date-filled cookies. A waitress would pull the large, soft cookies from a glass jar on a shelf and slide them into a paper bag. Chewy and not too sweet, they were a date-lovers dream. They were an easy snack to eat out of hand in the car. The truck-stop cafe is still there. The date-filled cookies are not.

I've loved peanut butter sandwiches as long as I can remember. And I don't know anyone who hasn't eaten them as kids or even adults. Most people owe their school lunches to peanut butter and jelly. But somewhere down the line I had lost my interest in the sandwich and peanut butter in general.

It wasn't until my travels in England that I really had a strong craving for a real pb&j.

 For me the sandwich was never complete with just any jelly—it always had to be Concord grape jelly. I was inconsolable that in London I couldn't find a jar of Concord grape jelly (because Concord grapes are only native to America). So my only substitute was blackcurrant jam, which wasn't bad but it didn't hit the spot.

It took a trip far away from home to help me realize how much I had missed a peanut butter sandwich. 

In New York there's a place that specializes in peanut butter sandwiches. But I had never managed to eat there, that is until recently. Peanut Butter & Co. has everything a peanut butter lover could ask for in their massive variety of sandwiches all using peanut butter. But my favorite is one that the King himself loved—and by king I mean Elvis.