Oh the Comfort of Comfort Food

Yet another trip back home to Tennessee and yet another person or two who said, “I’m afraid to cook for you…you’re a chef…you won’t like what I fix…It’s not fancy…It’s just everyday stuff…” I wish I could take everyone I know, grab them by the shoulders and with my nose almost touching theirs say, “You have no idea how much I love home cooking! Feed me, pleeeez!”

Memphis has some really good restaurants, and I’ve had great meals there. But one of the joys of going home is being nourished and sustained by the foods I grew up with–you know, Comfort Food. Food we enjoyed in simpler times, when we worried about little if anything. Food that consequently made us feel better when we actually were worried about something, because of its power to invoke that sense of well-being we enjoyed earlier in our lives. So when I’m in Tennessee I want country ham, dry-rubbed pork ribs, pulled pork shoulder, fried catfish, cornbread (the good stuff, the REAL stuff), fried green tomatoes, black-eyed peas, okra, collards…You get the idea. I don’t cook this way in Los Angeles, except on rare occasions, like Thanksgiving. And LA, for all of its international cuisines, has few decent approximations of Southern food. So I indulge when I’m home and let that carry me until my next trip back to the South.

thick-cut, barbecued baloney from Big Daddy’s

One of those delights is barbecued baloney (no, not bologna!), thick cut, grilled, slathered with barbecue sauce and served on a hamburger bun. I’d forgotten how good this is until earlier this month, when I attended my college homecoming at Bethel University in McKenzie, Tennessee. We enjoyed these sandwiches at a tailgate party, courtesy of Big Daddy’s, double-dosed with barbecue potato chips. (by the way, I can’t believe how young college students are these days…) I don’t eat like this all the time, but special occasions call for special food. I can’t tell you who won the game, but I know I enjoyed the pre-game sammich!

Another of my favorite treats from home is fried dill pickles, which I made for an Oscar party I catered here in LA a few years ago. After getting past the idea of trying something that sounded so very odd, the Angeleno crowd swooned over them and clamored for more. As soon as I’d send out a couple of baskets of hot, freshly fried pickles, newly-smitten and hopeful munchers would show up at the kitchen door with empty baskets in hand. The pickles were a huge hit.

fried dill pickles….little bites of heaven…

If you’ve never had fried dill pickles before, then you certainly should give them a try.

Gather the following:

1 32-ounce jar of dill pickle slices (you may not use them all, but you’ll have plenty on hand for the next time you get a hankering)

1 cup buttermilk

2 eggs

1 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce

1 tsp. Louisiana Hot Sauce (or ½ teaspoon Tabasco)

¼ cup all-purpose flour

½ tsp. garlic powder

1 cup cornmeal

1 tsp. black pepper (don’t add any more salt–the dills are salty enough)

peanut or canola oil for frying

Here’s how you make ’em:

Drain pickle slices well, spread them on layers of paper towel and blot dry. Set aside. (The more completely you dry the pickles, the better your results.)

Preheat oil in a deep pan to 375°F. (The temperature of the oil will fluctuate as you add and remove pickles. Just do the best you can to keep the oil hot enough so that the pickles cook quickly and don’t get soggy from too low a temperature.)

In a large bowl combine buttermilk, eggs, Worcestershire sauce and hot sauce. Stir in flour and garlic powder.

In a smaller bowl combine cornmeal and black pepper.

Dip drained, blotted pickles into buttermilk mixture and then dredge in cornmeal.

Fry a few at a time in hot oil for about 2 to 3 minutes, or until golden brown. Drain on layers of paper towel. (If you crowd the pan it will lower the temperature of the oil and give you gloppy, heavy results.)

You can dip them in something like a cool ranch dressing if you’d like, but that seems unnecessary to me.

Note: You can do this with kosher spears, but what usually happens is that the peel of the spear resists being bitten through, and the breading comes off in the first bite, leaving you holding the fried breading in your hand, with an incredibly hot, bare pickle spear hanging out of your mouth, burning your lower lip and chin (does this sound like the voice of experience or what?). And you want some crunch in each bite, so plain ol’ hamburger dill slices are just what you need.