by Jan Karon
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CYNTHIA’S CRISPY GREEN BEANS WITH CANADIAN BACON
1 pound fresh green beans
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
4 pieces Canadian bacon, chopped
1 bunch green onions, sliced Freshly ground black pepper
Remove the ends and string the green beans. Bring 2½ quarts of water to a rolling boil. Add the green beans and salt. Reduce the heat a little, cover, and cook until the green beans are crisp-tender, about 5 minutes. Drain and set aside.
Place the butter, bacon, and green onions in a large skillet over medium heat and sauté for 5 to 7 minutes, or until the bacon is crispy. Add the green beans to the skillet and toss to heat them through. Adjust the seasonings with salt and pepper and serve immediately.
1 to 6 servings
LOUELLA’S YEAST ROLLS
2½ cups milk
½ cup granulated sugar
2 packages dry yeast
½ cup vegetable shortening
5 cups bread flour, plus more for rolling out the dough
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
¼ cup unsalted butter, at room temperature, plus more for greasing the bowl and baking sheet
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons salt Melted butter for dipping the dough
In a medium saucepan over low heat, heat the milk until bubbles just start to form around the edges. Pour ½ cup of the heated milk into a 2-cup measuring cup, stir in 1 teaspoon of the sugar, and let the mixture cool to 115°F. Stir in the yeast. Allow the yeast to proof (bubble). Add the remaining sugar and the shortening to the saucepan of milk and stir until the shortening is melted. Let this mixture cool to 115°F as well.
In a large mixing bowl, combine 2 cups of the flour, the yeast mixture, and the milk mixture. Mix well until thoroughly combined. Cover with a kitchen towel and let the dough rise for 1 hour, until doubled in bulk. Punch down the dough and add the eggs, butter, and 1 cup of the flour, and mix well. Combine and add the baking soda, baking powder, salt, and the remaining 2 cups of the flour, and mix well. Coat the inside of a large bowl with butter and transfer the dough to the greased bowl. Cover and place in a warm spot free of drafts and let rise for another hour. Punch the dough down, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate overnight.
Bring the dough to room temperature before working with it. Grease a cookie sheet. Roll the dough out on a lightly floured surface until it is about ? inch thick. Cut the dough out with a 2-inch cookie cutter and dip the pieces in the melted butter. Place the rolls on the cookie sheet, fold over, and pinch the edges of the dough to form a pocketbook roll. Cover with a kitchen towel and let rise for 1½ hours, until doubled in bulk, before baking.
Preheat the oven to 450°F. Just before placing the rolls in the oven, turn the temperature down to 375°F. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until the rolls are lightly browned or sound hollow when tapped on the bottom. Set on a rack to cool or serve right out of the oven.
About 4 dozen rolls
LOUELLA’S CINNAMON ROLLS
1 cup brown sugar
½ cup granulated sugar
½ cup unsalted butter, softened
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
1 recipe dough for Louella’s Yeast Rolls (above)
Prepare the filling by combining the brown sugar, granulated sugar, butter, cinnamon, and salt in a large bowl. Bring the dough to room temperature and roll it out on a lightly floured surface into a 24 x 12-inch rectangle that is about ? inch thick. Spread filling on the lower half of one of the 24-inch sides of the dough. Fold the other half over the filling and pinch the edges to seal. Cut crosswise into 1-inch strips and twist each strip into a circle, tucking under the ends to shape a pinwheel. Cover with a kitchen towel and let the rolls rise until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.
Preheat the oven to 375°F. Bake the rolls for 15 to 20 minutes, or until lightly browned.
About 4 dozen rolls
CYNTHIA’S RASPBERRY TEA
3 Lipton family-size tea bags, tags removed
1 cup granulated sugar
1 (12-ounce) can frozen raspberry lemonade, thawed Maraschino cherries
Place the tea bags in a pottery or glass pitcher, and pour 2 cups of cold water over them. Bring a kettle with 4 cups of water to a rolling boil. Pour over the tea bags and cover the pitcher with a small plate. Steep for 10 to 15 minutes, then remove the tea bags, add the sugar, and stir until dissolved. Add 3 cups of cold water to the tea and stir in the lemonade until dissolved. Add the cherries before serving. Serve over ice.
About 10 cups
ESTHER’S ORANGE MARMALADE CAKE
For the cake
1 cup unsalted butter, softened, plus more for greasing the pans
3¼ cups cake flour, plus more for dusting the pans
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2? cups granulated sugar
5 large eggs, at room temperature
4 large egg yolks, at room temperature
? cup vegetable oil
1 tablespoon grated orange zest
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup buttermilk, at room temperature
For the orange syrup
1 cup freshly squeezed orange juice
¼ cup sugar
For the filling
1 (12-ounce) jar orange marmalade
For the frosting
1 cup heavy cream, chilled
4 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 cup sour cream, chilled
The cake Preheat the oven to 350°F. Lightly butter three 9-inch round cake pans, line them with parchment paper, then lightly butter and flour the paper, shaking out any excess.
Sift the flour, baking powder, and salt into a large bowl. Sift a second time into another bowl. In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the butter on medium speed until light in color, about 4 minutes. Add the 2? cups sugar in a steady stream with the mixer running. Beat until light and fluffy, about 4 minutes. Add the eggs and yolks, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Be sure to stop at least once to scrape down the batter from the sides of the bowl. After all the eggs have been added, continue to beat on medium speed for 2 more minutes. With the mixer on low speed, add the oil and beat for 1 minute. Using a rubber spatula, fold in half the dry ingredients. In a small bowl combine the orange zest, vanilla, and buttermilk. Scrape the batter down the sides of the bowl and add half the buttermilk mixture. Fold in the remaining dry ingredients, scrape down the sides, and add the remaining buttermilk.
Divide the batter among the prepared pans, smooth the surface, rap each pan on the counter to expel any air pockets or bubbles, then place in the oven. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Let the cakes cool in the pans on racks for 20 minutes.
The orange syrup In a small bowl stir together the orange juice and the ¼ cup sugar until the sugar is dissolved. While the baked cakes are still in the cake pans, use a toothpick or skewer to poke holes at ½-inch intervals in the cake layers. Spoon the syrup slowly over each layer, allowing the syrup to be completely absorbed before adding the remainder. Let the layers cool completely in the pans.
The filling Heat the marmalade in a small saucepan over medium heat until just melted. Let cool for 5 minutes.
The frosting In a chilled mixing bowl using the wire whisk attachment, whip the heavy cream with the 4 tablespoons sugar until stiff peaks form. Add the sour cream, a little at a time, and whisk until the mixture is a spreadable consistency.
To assemble the cake Invert one of the cake layers on a cake plate and carefully peel off the parchment. Spread one third of the marmalade over the top, smoothing it into an even layer. Invert the second layer on top of the first, peel off the parchment, and spoon another third of the marmalade on top. Place the third cake layer on top, remove the parchment, and spoon the remaini
ng marmalade onto the center of it, leaving a 1¼-inch border around the edges. Frost the sides and the top border with the frosting, leaving the marmalade on top of the cake exposed. Or, if you prefer, frost the entire cake first, adding the marmalade as a garnish on top. Chill for at least 2 hours before serving.
10 to 12 servings
Jan Karon’s Mitford Cookbook and Kitchen Reader
The Right Ingredients
Uncle Billy Watson could hardly read the Mitford Muse these days. It seemed that a while back, maybe after the war, the print in the Muse had been bigger, much bigger. But now, with things costing so much, maybe they couldn’t afford big print.
He held the newspaper close to his face with one hand, and gripped a magnifying glass in the other, wishing his hand wouldn’t shake and cause the words to jump up and down.
Around Town
by Vanita Bentley
Uncle Billy silently formed each word with his mouth.
Is Mitford getting to be the crossroads of the world?
Not too long since Winnie Ivey, now Winnie Kendall, won a cruise with Golden Band Flour Company, here Golden Band turns up in Mitford with a baking contest, can you believe it???!!!
Next Thursday, Golden Band will arrive in Mitford to watch our good cooks strut their stuff. Golden Band is going around to the small towns of America to prove that somebody out there still actually cooks and bakes. I don’t, thank goodness, but I hope you do, because…first prize in each category is $500.00!!!!!!
The categories are Cakes, Pies, and Bread. Bread is the only category with two divisions—Loaf Bread or Biscuits—so you get two chances to win $500.00!!!!!!
Pick up your entry forms at The Local, today! And start your ovens!
Uncle Billy laid the newspaper in his lap and closed his eyes.
The story had suddenly put him in mind of his mother’s kitchen, and the baking and cooking she’d done from sunup to sundown.
Until he was old enough to hunt rabbits in the piney woods, he had hung around the door of the cabin smelling the good smells, eating sweet scraps from his mother’s floured hands, stealing sips of her coffee from a cracked blue cup.
As much as he’d like five hundred dollars to jingle in his pocket, he would pay every cent of that amount, if he had it, just to taste one of her pies again.
He patted his foot, and looked out the window without seeing.
Something was throbbing in his right temple, which he knew at once was his blood pressure.
He was going to do it. He was going to enter that contest.
The first thing he wished is that he could get his wife, Rose, out of the house so he could do what he had to do in peace and quiet.
The second thing he wished is that he’d be able to find the twenty dollar bill he hid in the stack of newspapers in the dining room, so he could buy what he needed to make…to make what?
Sweet potato pie.
The thought came to him as naturally as breathing.
Esther Bolick refolded the Muse and thumped it onto the kitchen table. She rued the day she ever parted with her orange marmalade cake recipe.
It was something she had vowed she’d never do. In fact, she refused to write the recipe down, thinking that would be extra protection against it landing in the wrong hands.
Then, a couple of years ago, just days before the annual Bane and Blessing sale, she’d fallen off that blooming ladder at Lord’s Chapel and ended up in the hospital with two broken arms and her jaws wired shut.
The Bane was the biggest fund-raiser in the church’s entire history. And everybody and his brother had counted on her to produce the dozen two-layer orange marmalades she’d baked every year for fourteen years.
She shuddered to recall the way the Bane volunteers had descended on her hospital bed like a swarm of vultures, gouging the recipe out of her, teaspoon by teaspoon, you might say, while the pain in her jaws was so searing, the pounding in her head so blinding, that she wished to the good Lord she’d never heard of orange marmalade cake, much less gotten famous for it.
Naturally, the volunteers had scrambled home and baked off the dozen two-layers in the nick of time, which raised a total of three hundred dollars for digging wells in east Africa. This news had been wonderful medicine for Esther who, lying in the hospital bed, pictured eager children dancing around the well, drinking from dippers and feeling happy.
There was only one problem.
Since that day, half of Mitford had gotten their hands on her recipe.
Esther rose from the kitchen table and yanked open the freezer door.
If she was a betting woman, she’d bet Evie Adams would enter an orange marmalade in the Golden Band flour bake-off. Time and again, she’d been told that Evie not only liked using the orange marmalade recipe, but liked doctoring it up with Cointreau.
Cointreau? thought Esther, jabbing a knife between two cookies that had frozen together. If you couldn’t bake a decent cake without resorting to liquor, you had the brains of a chicken.
And hadn’t Hessie Mayhew said the hospital supervisor baked Esther’s recipe all the time, and just loved adding nuts to the batter?
Nuts? She shivered.
She’d be surprised if her recipe didn’t show up forty times in that bloomin’ contest, since everybody in creation was walking around with it in their pockets, grinning like apes. Heaven knows, her rector’s wife was the only one of the lot who’d ever called and asked permission.
Esther put the bag of cookies back in the freezer and slammed the door.
She wouldn’t touch that contest with a ten-foot pole, as she’d never entered a contest less important than the State Fair and didn’t expect to start now.
Hope Winchester sat on a stool behind the bookstore cash register, and watched a summer rain lash Main Street.
Through the block lettering, HAPPY ENDINGS, which was painted on the front windows, she could see people dashing along the side-walk, some with umbrellas, some with today’s Mitford Muse held over their heads.
She read Vanita Bentley’s story for the third time and hoped nobody came in for a while, because she wanted to think.
What if she entered one of Golden Band’s three contest categories? She figured if she got up the nerve to do it at all, she would enter Bread.
She’d never baked a loaf of bread in all her thirty-one years, nor anything else, for that matter, but she desperately needed five hundred dollars.
With a little practice, she could actually see the bread in her mind’s eye, and the nice, brown crust on top. This was called “imaging.” If you can image it, you can do it, she read in a self-help book, which was not a publishing genre she especially cared for.
When she was little, her father had said, “You read too many books. If I catch you reading another book, I’ll throw it in the fire. Reading will rot your brain, go help your mother.”
She had read in bed for years, under the covers with a flashlight, which was how she’d read every word of her second favorite book, Jane Eyre. She had nearly put her eyes out and ended up wearing glasses, which to this day she blamed on small print in paperbacks.
But the point was, hadn’t Sir Walter Scott written about “the will to do, the soul to dare”? Just because you’d never done a thing didn’t mean you shouldn’t dare to do it, maybe she would just start, and something in her soul would show her how—she’d heard about people who had never in their lives played the piano, but one day they sat down on the piano bench and touched the keys, and the most beautiful music in the world poured forth.
She had the will to do it, but did she have the soul to dare and enter a contest to be judged at the town hall, with everybody she knew looking on, especially her customers from Happy Endings?
Then she remembered why she needed the five hundred dollars.
During lunch break at the bookstore, she went to The Local and bought everything the James Beard recipe called for.
As Lew Boyd read the story in the Muse, he got the shivers, think
ing how he’d won that pickle-canning contest in 4-H. When he took the blue ribbon to school, Earlene Dickson had kissed him on the mouth and run….
And Granmaw Minnie…he could see her plain as day, lying on her deathbed and transferring ownership of her recipes to the grandchildren.
“I want Wilma to have the recipe for my chicken pie,” his granmaw said, speaking through a tube in her throat.
“Little Sue, I want you to have my chocolate cake recipe….”
Overcome with gratitude, Little Sue burst into tears.
“Pearl, where is Pearl?”
“Over here, Big Mama.”
“You get th’ fried chicken recipe, and if you ever tell a soul th’ secret ingredient…”
Pearl’s eyes were the size of saucers in a doll’s tea set. “Oh, no, Big Mama!”
“…and I want Lew to have th’ pickle recipe.”
Everyone nodded their agreement. After all, he’d worked with her each summer as a boy, slicing cucumbers into a huge crock that, even when empty, smelled of pickles.
At this point, Lew remembered his granmaw half-sitting up in bed, and looking fierce as anything. The fact that she’d removed her dentures didn’t help matters.
“Now listen to me,” said Minnie. “These recipes have been in th’ family since I was a young ’un. Don’t ever give ’em out of th’ family, or I’ll come back and haint ever’ one of you!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Lew gulped.
Minnie lay back on the pillow. “Now bring me a little touch of whisky and sugar,” she said….
Lew walked around the gas pumps at his Exxon station, located just beyond the Mitford town monument. He slapped his leg with the rolled-up copy of the Muse, thinking hard.