A few weeks ago, as HR and I were pursuing the aisles at the grocery store, I spotted up on a shelf, high above the more popular eye-level products, an item that quickly hurled me back through the decades into my childhood—potato sticks!
This yummy (and of course highly processed) treat often found its way into my lunches back in the late 1950’s and 60’s. (Am I really that old?)
I have four brothers. And potato sticks were cheap. But I loved them … a culinary delicacy! (I’m from VERY rural North Georgia.)
Or maybe I’m just reminiscing that I loved them, when in reality I’m nostalgically mixing up potato sticks with the concept of home, Mama and an “everything-is-right-in-the-world” yesteryear cosmovision.
I asked Robert if he remembered them.
“Yes, of course,” he answered, but with his eyes more focused on fancy Utz Chips and Dot’s Homestyle Pretzels ($7.99 a bag, seriously?) I wondered if he really did.
There’s nothing fancy about potato sticks. They are probably rejects from potato chip manufacturing who find their way, smashed, second level, into poor little matchstick-like treats for very rural, backward children who consider them delicacies.
Back at Kroger, I tiptoed up and up and managed to reach them, handling them oh so carefully as I sauntered back down to earth and positioned my old friends like little senior citizens in our buggy. I invited them home.
At the lunch table, a bit nervous, the sticks chose to sit beside another childhood staple, the utilitarian, everyman hot dog.
What a joy it was to reconnect with friends I haven’t seen in decades. We sat there, enjoying each other’s company, until they slowly disappeared into my … consciousness.
The only difference was the packaging. They’re now sold in more modern bags instead of yesterday’s cardboard canisters.
But then again, my packaging has changed pretty significantly over the years as well.
HR does too, as long as it’s shrimp, lobster, crab, crayfish or fish. He turns his nose up at oysters, clams and mussels. Poor thing.
So the other day, we were at Fresh Market stocking up on a few weekly deals. We were chatting with our favorite butcher lady, Lise, who just happened to be standing behind the counter hovering dangerously close (I thought) over several bags of fresh mussels.
I absolutely LOVE steamed mussels in garlic and white wine sauce. So I grabbed a bag (before Lise fell on them).
She gave me the suggestion to use leeks instead of shallots “for a better flavor profile.” Ooookaayy.
The next day, I pulled out my Julia Child apron and went at it.
Did you know that first you have to wash the mussels in cold water and … all purpose flour?
“Why?” you ask.
Well, to put a little beard on them, of course! “Beard” is actually the term used in my favorite recipe. The beard somehow attaches to any dirt or grime that still may be on them.
The beard is the little white line at the crack of the mussel where the flour adheres.
The next step is to use your finger to wipe away all those little beards. Which is harder to do than it sounds. And which borders on disgusting.
So I de-beard very quickly and get on with the more fun parts.
Next you throw together your base consisting of white wine, chicken stock, heavy cream, lemon juice, shallots, garlic, red pepper flakes, lemon zest and juice, parsley, salt and pepper. Whew.
Add the mussels and steam the big mess for about five minutes.
Please note that HR threw in a few large shrimp for good measure. (A bit unfairly, I thought.)
Here’s my bowl …
And here’s HR’s …
One mussel!
And finally, the test …
He didn’t jump up and down in culinary ecstasy, but he didn’t throw the shell at me either. I considered it a win.
HR (Husband Robert—you know that) and I are together probably 95% of the time.
So this evening, after we did a little shopping, Robert suggested that I shashay down BY MYSELF to my favorite oyster bar here in Savannah, Sorry Charlie’s.
So I did.
Chef’s Sampler, dozen. With lots of fancy names and points of origin, which I promptly forgot.
I have this quirky habit where I turn over the oyster shell once I eat the oyster.
Four left.
Just DELICIOUS.
But I wonder who the first person was, who decided to eat … an oyster!
Last one.
I hope you ate something delicious on this Sunday.
I have been feeling a bit queasy and under the weather today because of some meds I’m having to take for a heel spur, of all things.
Sort of a gray day.
And just take a gander at the definitions of “spur.”
Excuse me, but this spur ain’t urging this horse forward! There’s zilch prompting or encouraging going on here.
So whenever I’m feeling a little sickly, especially stomach wise, I do what Mama did. I take out a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup …
… and pull out a sleeve of “soda crackers” and let the healing begin.
[Sidebar: I know that both the soup and the crackers are high in sodium, which I usually try to avoid, but not when I’m sick. At the sickly stage, I’m ready to ingest salt by the spoonfulls, or is it “spoonsfull”?]
And for some reason, maybe nostalgia, maybe the power of comfort food, maybe the connection with Mama, the soup almost always plays its role in healing manifestation.
Today I am starting a new, occasional blog post category: “Cutesy Tuesday,” highlighting what I consider to be cute.
So yesterday, Robert and I went to our favorite produce stand near us here in Savannah, Davis Produce, out near the Atlantic Ocean, and bought a big bunch of stuff.
But mainly pink-eyed crowder peas and okra. Okra is my favorite vegetable in the history of vegetables; okra is HR’s least favorite vegetable in the history of vegetables. Our marriage is vegetatively tenuous.
But looky there in the lower right-hand corner above (well, and below). When I emptied our bag of goodies, I saw him.
A lone peanut.
Somewhat robust, and holding his own against the okra.
I asked him why he came as the lone peanut, crowded out by the crowder peas and okra.
If you’ve read much of my little blog, you may remember that it doesn’t take much to make me giddily happy.
Think Red Hots.
When I am in the depths of despair, if you hand me a box of Red Hots, all of a sudden, I am a 10 on the Happiness Scale. Like a toddler.
So tonight as I was preparing a Thanksgiving Post-Gluttonous Salad for HR and me, I saw all the beginning-to-wilt produce from our holiday meals. And felt sad. (I obviously needed Red Hots.)
So I decided to make broth!!!
I make homemade broth regularly with leftover vegetable scraps. Don’t you? And use it for soups, stews, smoothies, or just a healthy sip.
Tonight I plopped in scraps from green onions, bok choy, celery, spinach and yellow onions.
In a few minutes, I will smell the incredible aroma and then pour the life-enhancing elixir into these …
NealEnJoy 