Snake Baby

There is an unwritten rule, drinks are not served at baby showers; unless you happen to be my group of friends.   No offense to the genre of party that is a shower, but it is called a shower and not a party.  Showers are duty, not recreation, hence the lack of social lubricant. Not that I’m bitter about it but potato salad, finger sandwiches, iced tea and silly games do not a party make. When my friends started divvying up the dishes for an upcoming shower we were all co-hosting I was awarded the “signature cocktail.”  What the hell?  Not even just a few bottles of Vinho Verde; these ladies were going for a signature cocktail?  Bold move.  No arguments here, just confusion.

I’m not drink crafty.  I have about a dozen cocktails I can call up on command.  Many of them are as exotic and complicated as “gin and tonic” or “martini.”  Now that I had been assigned a dish, where to start?  Well, the oracle of all things entertaining, MarthaStewart.com, had nothing that referenced “baby shower booze.”  I could even hear her admonishing me in the back of my head.  I pulled my ace in the hole and emailed a colleague from college who writes a very popular drink column, but she was busy with the publication of her first book.  I could have dared to have consulted the trusted resources of my aunt or step-mom but I could hear the responses:  “Why, I’ve never heard of such a thing” or  “Isn’t that different?.”  I was alone in the world for this one.  Obviously, I could have punted with a bellini or a mimosa but, not to sound jaded; those have been done to death.  Luckily, a Chinese Lunar New Year theme emerged.  Now, there was a structure to work within.

One day Jim and I were at the fancy liquor store.  By fancy, I mean it has things like shorties of St. Germain.  The average liquor store in the inner city of Atlanta does not give real estate to such frivolity.  A few dusty bottles of Campari and a White Star end cap is as poofy as it gets around these parts.  While cruising the wall of esoteric liquors I found a bottle of ginger flavored cognac.  Surely that fit bill.  After the initial taste test the bottle sat around untouched for weeks.  I was intimidated and rising to the challenge by ignoring it. 

Jim and I spent Christmas in New Orleans.  One day we were headed from a walk in Audubon Park (which included a James Carville jogging sighting!) to a show in Treme.  As kismet would have it, we had some time to kill so we stopped in to The Hotel Modern for a drink.  I saw the ginger liqueur on the bottle display.  The bartendress was holding court:  she was a little bawdy, very outspoken and she had a captive audience listening to her tales, one of which, included James Carville.  I explained my predicament to the her and she very generously and patiently helped me with my drink for the baby shower.  

I didn’t catch her name but she deserves credit.  I had to adjust the proportions for a large format but this is essentially what she gave me.  If you are making just one, the proportions of sugar and soda are increased; no clue why.  The baby shower punch bowl was certainly more exotic.  

Snake Baby Punch - Makes many

1 Bottle Domaine Canton Ginger liqueur

3/4 cup simple syrup

2 cups lime juice

1.25 cups soda water

Cilantro springs - for garnish

Combine the ginger liqueur, simple syrup and lime juice, just prior to serving top with soda water and garnish with cilantro and lime slices.

Note:  I have not tried this but I suspect infusing the cilantro into the simple syrup would elevate the drink.

Life Long Love Affair

I love ice cream. I mean, I love it. I was snacking on a box of mint chocolate chip the other day and that thought popped in to my head. I LOVE ice cream. I love ice cream so much I would marry it. If I were on death row I’d want 5 boxes of it for my last meal. Really, it’s probably why I don’t really care for other desserts; how could you when it kind of feels like cheating? Seriously, why go on a date with David Duchovny when you’ve got Dave Grohl at home?

Strawberry and mint chocolate chip have a tie for first place, followed by peach, pistachio, peppermint stick, Cherry Garcia, banana, vanilla and lemon. In spite of my unconditional love I do have rules for ice cream. Ice cream cannot be the flavor chocolate; any flavor chocolate. Ice cream cannot contain any candy unless it is the aforementioned peppermint stick or chocolate chips. Ice cream cannot contain cookies, cakes, pies, fudge, carmel, marshmallow, jelly or any synthetic ooze. It cannot have a name that sounds like something unappetizing you might find accidentally stuck to the bottom of your shoe, Moose Tracks, for instance. The only thing that shall adorn my ice cream shall be jimmies (or the truly shameful, please don’t tell anyone, Magic Shell). And while I’m airing my dirty secrets, really there isn’t anything more decadent (and fun!) than pouring the Magic Shell directly into the box of ice cream and eating your way through layer after layer.

I can list the ice cream stores in different states I’ve been to and which flavor I ate. If you come to my house and I actually serve you a dessert that isn’t a glass of wine there’s an 85% chance that dessert will involve ice cream. If I could keep my yap shut on childhood trips Ocean City minimizing the “Are we there yet?”s, I was treated to the ever elusive peppermint stick ice cream at the HoJo. I used to race home from the bus stop to sit on the heater vent in the middle of winter and eat ice cream everyday after middle school. My preferred brand was Bryer’s. My first job was scooping ice cream, of course. I was so devoted I managed to move up from conehead to fountain girl quickly. My sister and I have the same birthday. My step-mom always got us the same exact cake for our birthdays - Baskin Robbins ice cream cake with white cake with chocolate chip ice cream. We had this up until birthdays 30 & 25. I could tell thousands of ice cream stories.

Oddly, I’ve never made my own ice cream. The kids took it upon themselves to rectify that situation and bestowed on me an ice cream maker for my birthday.

Blueberry Lime Zest Ice Cream

1 1/2 cups cream

1 1/2 cups whole milk

1 cup sugar

1 pint blueberries

1 teaspoon vanilla

4 large egg yolks

zest of 3 limes

1 cup water

Combine the water and 1/4 cup sugar in a pot bring to a boil, add lime zest and simmer until the liquid has reduced by half. Strain and reserve the zest. Combine the milk, cream and 1/2 cup sugar and heat on the stove to 175 degrees strain through a fine mesh sieve. Combine egg yolks and remaining 1/4 cup sugar, whisk until thickened. Add milk and cream slowly to the eggs, whisking the entire time. Add the vanilla and return the mixture to the stove and heat to 180 degrees. Strain again. Cool to room temperature then fully cool in refrigerator. When cool add the custard and blueberries to a blender and blend until combined. Finely mince the lime zest. Place the custard in the ice cream maker and run as directed, 3 minutes prior to completion, add in 1.5 teaspoons of the lime zest. Pour in a container and freeze overnight.

Notes: The ice cream recipe comes from food52.com. I added the lime zest based on a recipe for blueberries with lime zest confit and creme fraiche from the Les Halles cookbook.

Pig Food

So summers in Maryland you could count on; crabs, tomatoes and corn. Two things were a given with the corn, it would be Silver Queen, from Maryland or New Jersey, and it would be served with, in addition to butter, salt and pepper, Old Bay.

This corn usually came from a truck on the side of the road. There would be several ratty homemade signs leading up to the improvised roadside produce stand advertising ‘Silver Queen’ and its provenance. My dad would get excited and announce that we were about to pull over (so get ready) and whatever vegetable had been planned for dinner was now scrapped for the corn. In spite of the signs stating what it was and where it came from my dad would still interrogate the people selling it. Sometimes followed by a threat, ‘Well if it’s not Silver Queen, I’ll be back tomorrow to let you know.’

My Dad won’t eat any other corn. When I was a kid and would (gasp) ask about other corns he would proclaim ‘PIG FOOD!’ Followed by a whisper, as if letting you in on a dirty secret, ‘That yellow corn is what they feed pigs.’ Yellow corn = bacon. Getting louder, ‘You don’t want to eat it! Good God! PIG FOOD I tell you! Shit!’ So the impression was made on me that eating yellow corn was the same kind of no-no as picking your nose.

There are two methods for cooking this corn. Number one: remove the silk, not the husk, wrap husk back around the cob, soak it for several hours and cook it on the grill. Number two: boil it. As much as my dad did not want to eat pig food he also didn’t want to eat over cooked Silver Queen corn. Typical corn boiling scenario: My Dad: ‘I’m afraid you’re going to overcook the corn.’ My step-mom: ‘Well, do you want to cook the corn?’ ‘No, but I don’t want over cooked corn. Please Anita!’ Pause. ‘Jesus Christ.’ Some hand wringing. ‘Jim, you take over the corn.’ ‘No, no, that’s OK. YOU do the corn.’ Then he’d start to break a sweat at the thought of over cooked corn. ‘Just don’t over cook it.’ More pacing. “Goddamn it Anita, you’re overcooking the corn!’ At this point someone would remove the corn from the stove before the corn had a chance to consider being overcooked and before my Dad’s behavior teetered over to obsessive-insane.

I moved to Texas after college. I had just finished my first grocery shopping trip and I stepped outside to see a hand painted yellow and green truck selling nothing but corn on the cob with something on it that looked like Old Bay . I was immediately excited, ditched my cart and ran over to the truck. It wasn’t Silver Queen and that wasn’t Old Bay . It was pig food, with mayo, cheese and cayenne, an elote. Which I found to be a delicacy once I got over my Dad’s imposed food prejudices.

The irony here is recently Jim (my spouse) and I went out to dinner with Jim (my Dad) and my step-mom at their favorite Baltimore restaurant. Oddly, I guess in a fit of fashionableness, those elotes were on the menu in Maryland. ‘What are they?’ my Dad asked. Jim explained the traditional Mexican street food to him and my Dad in rare form acquiesced to trying something new. He asked the waiter ‘Is it Silver Queen?’ ‘No, but it is heirloom, organic and from the Chef’s garden.’ Skeptically, ‘Ok we’ll try, ONE.’ Well it came, it was placed in front of Jim (my spouse) and it had been, obviously, over cooked and the kernels were all different colors and too big and uneven like teeth needing braces. My Dad looked at it leaned in and whispered in Jim’s ear ‘It's pig food isn’t it? I thought so.’

If you are not familiar with Silver Queen corn it is a very sweet white corn and you will have to taste it to believe me. Those who have no had it cannot believe a corn could have such an inspiring taste and those who have had it understand that it is a very special treat.

The fact is I’m still brain washed and usually buy white corn but I have been adding something more than Old Bay to it. Jim (my spouse) is thrilled about this combination; I’m not sure I could talk my dad into it. And I have perfected the cooking time so you and your family do not need to have an intervention about the cooking of corn.

Enjoy your summer.

White Corn with Basil Lime Butter

4 ears of white corn

4 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature

1.5 teaspoons lime zest

1.5 teaspoons chopped basil

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Combine the butter, basil and lime zest. Boil the corn for 7 minutes, no more, no less. Remove and serve immediately with the butter.