The hot, powdery sand sifts into every nook of my flip flop clad feet. It’s the same sand from which a garden has annually erupted for as long as I can remember - more than 3 decades. The same except for the fluffing of it by fertilizer; some years from the best fertilizer — shoveled from the chicken coop by my sister and me. The same except for the fertilizer and the various crops of vegetables that have been rotated through to ward off the weariness from the same ole plants year in and year out. Gardens get bored too.

Close to embarrassing myself in front of citified nephews that have no idea what a potato plant looks like, I recognize the row of plants from which my Dad has already enjoyed several suppers. Prying the plant from the ground takes a bit of doing. The soil is hard and protective of its treasure. Large and small, red and white, the pebbled potatoes show themselves.  The tops are chopped; the potatoes drop into a brown paper bag. The same befalls the onions.

The yellow crooked neck squash is just blooming. Darn. And I don’t see any okra this year. Pride checks my yell to question where the okra might be.  I grew up here. I should know this. The nephews are watching.

Every supper of my youth witnessed a platter of fried potatoes cooked in a black, tar bottomed cast iron skillet. Being the family cook most nights, I learned the process well.

Like most dishes of this deceptively simple sort - biscuits, pie dough, venison, and fried chicken all fall in this lot, the lie behind the perceived ease to whip up one of these dishes drives many a Southern woman insane.

In other words, there’s a technique. It takes the right temperature, the right amount of oil, when to turn, how much to turn, how long to leave the lid on while the potatoes soften to the perfect consistency before the browning begins, etc.

So maybe it’s not rocket science…

Classic Southern Fried Potatoes

• Potatoes — any kind, any color, any size

• Onions — the same

• A bit of yellow squash and/or okra if you have it or your parent’s is past the bloom stage and you can pluck whatever size you can get away with. And of course, find the okra.

• Salt & pepper

• Oil — to your taste — I like peanut or vegetable oil. Canola will work. Olive oil too, but it will lend a different flavor. And then there’s lard.

I don’t peel a new potato, but you can if you want.  As far as the cutting up technique, I tend to cut the potato from end to end into something less than 1/4 inch slabs; then from side to side into shorter pieces but still about the same thickness.  Chop the onions.  For the yellow squash, I slice into rounds of about 1/4 inch. The same with the okra. Yep, all in the same bowl will do just fine.

IF you’re using a bit of squash and/or okra with the potatoes, sprinkle some flour and cornmeal over everything. Sometimes I’ll do this even with just potatoes and onions.  The grit from the cornmeal is a learned craving, or a crazed learning. Take your pick.

Put enough oil in either a seasoned cast iron skillet, or a non-stick skillet (like the one I use when my Mom’s not looking) to come up to a bit less than 1/3 of the depth of the pan. You’re making fried potatoes here, NOT french fries, so we’re not deep frying.  Heat the oil to about 375, or until a slice of potato sizzles.  Dump it all into the pan.

Salt and Pepper the top layer liberally and put on a lid, or like my Mom, turn a plate over the skillet. If the lid doesn’t rest firmly on the skillet, don’t panic. It will do its job just the same if resting initially on the heaping pile o’ potatoes.

Here’s where the rocket science comes in: cook until the potatoes begin to soften (test with a fork), then remove the lid. Start checking the bottom of the potatoes for browning. Once they start browning, turn.  Don’t expect to turn them like a pancake. No. Turn whatever your spatula will hold, then turn the rest the same way.  Salt & pepper again.  You may need to turn a few times after this first turn.

They’re done, umm, when you say they are. You ARE the cook, aren’t you?  Done correctly, you can pull them apart in chunks of alternating layers of creamy potatoes and crunch.  P.S. They’re fantastic cold. If you have any left.

Oklahoma Rocket Science

For more foodie fun, check out Wanderfood Wednesdays over at Wanderlust & Lipstick!

Chocolate. The one word says it all. This is a celebration of it, Valentines day or not.

Her road trips have reaped the discovery of some of the finest handmade chocolate.  You can order Swiss chocolate (and she did merely for variety), but the best yet is from a tiny shop in Meetseetse, Wyoming and another in Deadwood, South Dakota.  And she’s had some fine chocolates as you’ll see.  Here, in her opinion, are the standards, the chocolate truffle go-to’s, some classics, and some not.  They’re anything but basic.  This post is all about taste and will run the gamut from some of the best handmade truffles in the world to a “flavored” chocolate syrup. And she insists Champagne to savor them properly is really a must (make it nice and dry, please).

The Meeteetse Chocolatier is off the beaten path. During a tour of the West, a merchant in Cody, Wyoming tipped her off to the cowboy confectioner. Tim Kellogg is a real cowboy. And a chocolatier. Seems an unlikely combination of talents, but that did not deter her! He’s not been making chocolates for 100 years, or even 10, but it’s obvious at the first taste, it doesn’t take that long to perfect something divine.

The Meeteetse Chocolatier

From his website: “In June of 2004, my mother suggested that I make a bunch of truffles and brownies to sell during the Cody Stampede as a way to raise money for a new bronc saddle. I said Absolutely Not! My mom finally talked me into getting a booth at Art in the Park, and that was that.”  Ahhh, were it not for the advice of Mothers!  The world might be chocolateless.  She shudders.

Vosges Chocolate was inspired when Katrina the Chocolatier and genius behind these uniquely exotic truffles, had a life moment with truffle beignets at the Place des Vosges. Combining chocolates from all over the world with unique ingredients, such as dark chocolate infused with Japanese wasabi and ginger topped with black sesame seeds, lends a delightful twist.

She had eaten a few boxes of these before learning the correct pronunciation of “Vosges” and wants you to have that very important information so that when you call to place your order, there won’t be any confusion on your part about having dialed the correct establishment. Just say “Vohj” real fast, kind of drawing out the end a bit, with as much of a French accent as you can muster, and you’ve got it.  The factory’s in Chicago, so actually, any accent will do.

Coldplay designed the plate. Since the top two words are “Love and Chocolate”, she bought it. Besides, she likes Coldplay.

Here’s another of her favorites. Teuscher chocolates are imported  from Zürich, Switzerland where they’ve been making them for 70 years. Her husband bought the first box several years ago in New York on business. The Classic Champagne Truffles are the signature chocolate of Teuscher. There’s really a smidgen of Dom Perginon champagne creme in the middle!  So guys, this one truffle will meet your quest for chocolate and champagne all in one convenient bite.  Not.

You didn’t think she was a total chocolate snob, did you?  Being a true chocoholic is not nearly as profound as some will lead you to believe.  No proper story about truffles, champagne, diets, wasabi, cowboy confectioners, and words she can’t pronounce would be complete without chocolate syrup.  And yes, it does say “FLAVOR”, as in, it’s not the real thing. Forget it. It’s good. Fox’s U-bet Original Chocolate Flavor Syrup has been made for 104 years in Brooklyn, NY. They know chocolate syrup.

Here’s the recipe for the famous egg-cream for which their syrup was originally intended.

The Original Brooklyn Egg-Cream
• Take a tall, chilled, straight-sided, 8oz. glass
• Spoon 1 inch of U-bet Chocolate syrup into glass
• Add 1 inch whole milk
• Tilt the glass and spray seltzer (from a pressurized cylinder only) off a spoon, to make a big chocolate head
• Stir, Drink, Enjoy

Of course there’s a favorite. She won’t bore you with all the appropriate superlatives these truffles deserve.  You’ll simply have to order a box for yourself or someone you really, really, really love.  The Chubby Chipmunk was discovered on a winding road trip that found her in Deadwood, South Dakota.  She broke the law there.  Not over these, however. But mind you, they’re that good.

They don’t look the same as other truffles. Kind of lopsided and mishapen and a bit alarming when the lid is raised, you slowly realize as you’re examining them, they’re handmade.  As in no machine touches them, ever.  They’re so beautiful you feel sad at first to bite into one. That passes quickly. They’re about an ounce-and-a-half of exquisite chocolate sublimity.  She’s addicted to the darks and feels certain the diet will be breached over one, or more of these.

Champagne. Whoever said champagne was meant for celebrating didn’t drink much of it. She doesn’t know about you, but it’s made for drinking, and with anything you like. She overwhelmingly prefers it accompany chocolate.

” Champagne! In victory one deserves it; in defeat one needs it”– Napoleon Bonaparte

Technically, as you’ve likely heard, “champagne” refers to wine from the Champagne region of France. Practically, it refers to any bubbly you want, but if it’s not from France, the correct term is “sparkling wine”.

She dislikes the rule, and never says “sparkling wine”.  She’s yet to be arrested for that. Brut Natural is the most dry, Extra Brut, Brut, Extra Dry, Sec, Demi Sec, Doux, follow. She prefers dry champagne, but claims Brut Natural, Extra Brut are difficult to find, so she drinks Brut. Here are her favorites from the least expensive up:

P.S. She’s actually had a glass of Dom Perignon and was disappointed, a real blow. Maybe her expectations were too high. Her taste buds too low.

Korbel Brut $11
Piper Sonoma Brut $14
Roederer Estate Anderson Valley Brut $22 ** Best champagne for the value
Louis Roederer Brut Premier $53
Bollinger Special Cuvee $55

Website Information

• Meeteetse, Wyoming Chocolatier: http://www.meeteetsechocolatier.com/

• The Chubby Chipmunk: www.chubbychipmunk.net

• Vosges: www.vosageschocolate.com

• Teuscher: http://www.teuscher-chocolate.com/champagne-c-2.html

• Fox’s U-Bet Original Chocolate Syrup: http://www.foxs-syrups.com/index.html

Lots of things make a travelers’ heart palpitate. For many of us it’s a great diner.  One you discovered when you just wanted a cup of decent coffee and something with egg but with one thrilling glance realize you can have a Bloody Mary and artisan bacon to boot. One that makes you wonder why your hometown can’t be cool enough to have a diner like that and causes you to consider taking out your life’s savings to start one (a frighteningly strong urge after a couple of Bloody Mary’s - I’m not saying I had a couple…).  Sadly, discovering them doesn’t happen all that often. Oh they’re out there but passers-through seldom have such luck.

Blue Moon Diner, Charlottesville Virginia

Near the University of Virginia we stumbled upon just such a diner. A tiny place on the corner of West Main, heads bobbing at the bottom of the windows were the only indicator of life (we beat the crowds).

With a front window full of LPs, blues music coming from the turntable, a tiny dining area with carefully tucked tables, a bar area with nostalgic barstools, the gleaming chrome topped by black leather, fun little touches of moons and ambiance strategically placed,  my mind was only on one thing - coffee. Okay, two things - coffee and bacon.

A bottomless cup of coffee served in weighty blue speckleware, just like all coffee should be served.

My brain sated with the coffee I thought I’d better see what they had to go with bacon.

• Apple Omelette with sausage, blue cheese and granny smith apple slices

• Mediterranean Omelette - spinach, feta cheese, tomato, red pepper, and capers

• Huevos Bluemoonos

• Blue Moon Monte Cristo with french toasted Surryano ham, turkey and swiss on sourdough

• French Toast with cinnamon swirl bread and house vanilla-ginger syrup

• Grilled Peanut Butter and Jelly

With great pain I chose and ordered the Mediterranean omelette with the side of artisan bacon, then opted to extend the torture and began to check out the rest of the menu. For dinner, how about starting with Portobella Mushrooms stuffed with local organic andouille polenta topped with sweet jalepeno relish followed by Chicken Pot Pie with organic chicken, carrots, celery, onion, peas, and corn served in a dutch oven topped with puff pastry?

Look! I never said this was your everyday diner!

For dessert, how ’bout a Grills-With, a grilled Krispy Kreme glazed donut with Vanilla ice cream and Hershey’s syrup? Or an ice cream sandwich with black raspberry ice cream on an oatmeal cranberry cookie or “Elvis” banana ice cream with chocolate dipped peanut butter cookie?

The barstools give an indicator of how cool this place is.  First, there are barstools, a very important component of diners, secondly, the floor is a retro black and white check, not so much a requirement, but very cool.

There are no food shots. Why you ask? Because by the time my food was served, I was way beyond photography. Here however, is the exterior of the place. I had my wits back by the time we left.

** For more food related travel experiences of note, check out Wanderfood Wednesdays at Wanderlust and Lipstick.

Just after exiting Highway 385 towards Deadwood, South Dakota on my meandering ten day SRT, a sign “Chocolates & Ice Cream” grabs my attention. An old gas-station-turned-grocery-store-turned-whatever over the years, there’s a large, whimsical statue of a Chipmunk guarding the screen-doored entrance.

Hungry, I pull over, get out, and walk to the door to see a scrawled note “closed Monday for nut gathering.” Intensely disappointed, my plan was to quickly tour Deadwood and head North towards Cody, Wyoming as it was only 3:00 in the afternoon.

Like any addict, the chocolate shop took up residence in my thoughts and my brain began to pander and plot as I caught a glimpse of Deadwood around the corner. Firmly believing I chose to stay the night in Deadwood for Deadwood, every time I see a box of those chocolates, my commitment to that belief wavers. Deadwood was a memorable town, regardless of my feckless attempt to justify spending more time there than I’d planned.

Here’s the story of my actual encounter with The Chubby Chipmunk. The establishment is incendiary, the story idyllic, like my memories. And it was work to get this to read for you in a way that will convey my experience accurately. No ordinary words would do. I hope you enjoy it!

****************************

Driving there I’m overcome with a sense of portentousness. I arrive fixated, obsessed really with only one thing - to dulcify my addiction. Well before I get the screen door open my nostrils widen, intent on the pursuit of a chocolate high. Sensing the anodyne for my road dog weariness within, with a hand on the handle and a twist of the wrist, I’m inside.

The shop is redolent with the lustiness of ingredients reserved for royalty in days past - chocolate, sugar, butter, nuts, all of the finest quality. With a cozy sitting area on the left to encourage the instant enjoyment of their salubrious ware, the counter on the right is laden with tall, dark, exquisite, yes, scintillating truffles. Taking it all in, instantly I know I’m in for a sybaritic experience.

It took on a fantastical, dreamy quality. Time stopped. I had no thoughts of writing about this discovery later; no idea of the convoluted word freefall I’d later work so hard to produce because my memories of it would make me maudlin (and there’s only one thing to do when maudlin - write).

Nothing went through my mind other than the in-the-moment, fully engaged, sensory overload I was smack in the middle of. I was Alice in Wonderland, or the child who opened their eyes to find they were standing in the middle of FAO Schwartz at Christmas.

The front of the shop is lit from only the light of the front door and a few well placed, ambiance inducing lamps. But the shop’s counter of chocolates is backlit by a window in the kitchen, directly to the back left of the counter. The rays of the morning sun spread like gossamer over the display counter and its contents, over the cookie sheets cradling naked, dark, hand formed ganache centers, over the lady’s face who appears from the kitchen to help me. She’s beautiful. The truffles are gorgeous. Some appear to have a nacreous glow which later, in my recovered state I saw was an actual coating, not attributed solely to my nimbus covered eyeballs. I digress. Back to gorgeous. The truffles are gorgeous. Like all gorgeous objects, you want to touch them. Well I can’t touch them yet, but I can take pleasure in watching her touch them. And so I begin ordering, watching her carefully pluck each one as she adds them to one box after another. She appears to enjoy the haptic experience more than she should.

At three five boxes, I stop. Pay. Congratulate myself with the sagacity of my decision to spend the night in Deadwood, and gingerly carry my treasure to the truck. Then with deliberation incompatible with my impassioned state, I indulge my tactile desires by removing two of the truffles from the box and lovingly and appreciatively inspect them. Eating one is beyond my capacity at this moment. My addiction sated, I store them away for the forthcoming ride into Cody, crawl back through the rabbit hole, and drive.

****************************

Glossary
Incendiary: provocative, stirring, likely to catch fire
Feckless: weak, ineffective
Portentousness: momentous, prodigious
Dulcify: to make agreeable, soothe, to sweeten
Anodyne: something that soothes, calms, comforts; a drug that allays pain
Redolent: exuding fragrance, aromatic, evocative
Salubrious: favorable to or promoting health or well being
Scintillating: stimulating; to emit sparks
Sybaritic: self indulgently sensuous, given to or devoted to pleasure
Maudlin: tearfully emotional, foolishly & effusively sentimental
Gossamer: light, delicate, (the gossamer of youth’s dreams)
Ganache: a sweet, creamy, dark chocolate mixture
Nacreous: mother-of-pearl sheen
Nimbus: a cloud or atmosphere (as of romance) about a person or thing
Haptic: relating to or based on the sense of touch
Sagacious: keen in sense perception, of sound and farsighted judgment - noun: sagacity

Chip Tautkus, owner/chocolatier of the shop and I are pictured above.

Road Trip Locator:

The Chubby Chipmunk:
420 Cliff Street
Deadwood, SD 57732
USA
Phone Numbers:
Phone: 605-722-2447
E-mail Address: info@chubbychipmunk.net

If you don’t want to drive there, check out their website: www.chubbychipmunk.net.

Deadwood is in the Southwest corner of South Dakota. Check out the state’s Department of Tourism site before heading that direction. There’s a lot to see here. http://www.travelsd.com/

Other SRT posts about the area:

Of Rattlesnakes & The Geographic Center of the U.S.

Mt. Rushmore & Beyond

Aces & Eights

“The art of cookery, when not allied with a degenerate taste or with gluttony, is one of the criteria of a people’s civilization. We grow like what we eat: bad food depresses, good food exalts us like an inspiration.” — Fannie Merritt Farmer from her 1912 cookbook, A New Book of Cookery.

Fannie Farmer's 1912 Cookbook

Foods discovered occasionally on road trips, do just that - inspire. In the span of a month of mostly local road trips, I’ve discovered panforte and persimmon bread, tackled one of them, eaten a lot of the other, made a mental investment on how the two are lacking the exaltation they merit, and arrived at this conclusion: panforte is to fruitcake what persimmon bread is to quick bread.

Fruitcake is cake made with things you don’t want to taste test while in the process of making it. What exactly is candied peel other than chunks and bits of glycerin color that show up on grocery shelves for a few weeks of the year in plastic containers that can’t be recycled?  The only thing that makes fruitcake marginally palatable for most is a generous soaking of whiskey/liquor and a shot of the same thrown back with every bite.

Panforte, on the other hand, is an epiphany.

Panforte (pan-FOHR-tay) is a dense, chewy, traditional Italian dessert created around 1200. Fruit, nuts and spices are suspended in a peppery, mahogany lava of sugar and honey that’s cooked to a candy consistency before troweling the concoction into a shallow round pan and sliding it into the oven. Yes, I said “peppery”, as in black or white pepper, and plenty of it. Confectioner’s sugar is dusted liberally on both sides while still warm. You won’t know whether to pour yourself a glass of sherry, or yank out the milk jug.

Persimmon bread, or the persimmon bread I’ve been making, has a quick bread ease, but further comparison to quick bread halts there.  The batter has the eye popping color of a 64-count box of Crayolas. The texture is complicated - heavy and damp, with the grain of the bread fine and light.  The distinguishing ingredient, persimmons,  conveys something rare and misunderstood - an uncommon fruit with a bad rap. Maybe the confection is so memorably good because expectations are low going in.  But maybe it’s so good, because in a word, it’s ambrosial.

The ripe persimmon season is extremely short. So hurry to the market and buy about 6 of them - either the hachiya or fuyu, roast some nuts, and get to stirring!

Fuyu persimmon

I first posted a persimmon bread recipe when I wrote about the persimmon seed being a harbinger of winter. I’ve since adapted that recipe because, well, that’s what I do. No recipe comes into my kitchen and exits unscathed. Here’s my version: