WHERE I COME FROM, the word “salad” means lettuce. Perhaps that lettuce will be accompanied by onions, tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, crumbled cheese, or all of the above, but lettuce—and I believe I speak for all my homepeople when I say this—would be the foundation of all things “salad.” And, being a New Yorker, I went along thinking my way was the highway until fate stepped in and threw a man in my path some 21 years ago who, when he said “salad,” was speaking a different tongue. So we got married, and mixed things up.

The culinary has always been a great curiosity in my marriage. It still is, though never more so than at the beginning of the union. Leaving my safety/comfort zone for my first foray into my husband’s homeland and driving to Indiana many years ago, I was confronted at a Bob’s Big Boy with something known as white gravy. On biscuits. For breakfast. Where was the bagel with a schmeer, I wondered? Where, for that matter, were the delis? My father-in-law, accompanying us on this trip, sighed the sigh of gustable repatriation when the waitress plunked down the plate of biscuits and gravy. Having been east just long enough, it seemed, his sigh had all the satisfaction of a man who’d come home.

We were then driving west to memorialize Lillian, my mother-in-law, whose recipe boxes I’ve written about before. That would be the unforgettable Lillian of the Spam-Chop Suey recipe, and it was on my return trip that I’d be carrying with me that inherited recipe box, though not before my lexicon of cooking got a good shaking up.

Planning her memorial service, though painful, was lightened by the family patterns of grieving. There were prescribed ways to do things, and that helped. My father-in-law was a pastor, so is his brother, as are what seemed me to be an inordinate number of family members, so things went pretty much by the prayer book.

How could I help? At the reception following the service, I was asked to man the door and accept the food that would inevitably be delivered. Those bearing the meal would be what my Hoosier father-in-law termed the “widdaladies,” an endearment I untangled some hours later to mean, the “widow ladies.” I was told they’d bring salads.

How nice, I thought. How healthy. Though how many green salads could one party possibly need?

And then the doorbell rang and an indelible image, still seared into my brain, appeared: A lasagna pan of jiggling mini-marshmallows and mandarin oranges suspended in red Jell-O. Somewhere under it, no doubt, was a pair of feet in sensible shoes, though I have no memory of those, recalling only that a side-bowl of mayonnaise was thrust into my hands.

And the doorbell rings. Again, an enormous glass pan, this time green, in which was floating ham chunks and diced pineapple. Again I was handed the mayonnaise.

Two bowls of mayo held aloft, I floated into the crowd.

“What is this?” I think is what I asked my new husband.

“It’s salad, sweetheart,” he said in that comforting way people do when they mistake what you are feeling for something as normal as grief.

Really? Well, then I’m a peeled cucumber.

And the doorbell rings.

“No, no. Let me. Please,” I said, handing the mayo bowls to him.

An enormous platter was set before my eyes on which wiggled a veritable tower of orange Jell-O, pocked with cherries. I put my hand out for the mayo I now thought traveled with this dish like salt with pepper.

Nothing.

“Mayo?” I asked.

The woman viewed me suspiciously, and then the light of recognition went off. Oh, yes, it seemed to register, this is the New York daughter-in-law. I think she patted my hand.

“Where would you like this?” I asked.

“On the dessert table.”

I see. No mayo if it’s dessert. Mayo with entrée Jell-O only. I get it.

Doorbell. A layered, tri-color veritable rainbow of stacked wobbly gelatin stood before me. Oh thank God, I remember thinking. The gay community is here.

Nope: This is the palate-cleanser Jell-O, the in between entrée and dessert course. No, you might ask. There is no mayo with this. This comes with shredded carrots suspended in the tower, under it, and around the sides, providing not merely a jolting color combo, but some roughage.

A few days later we were en route home when I opened that recipe box for the first time, immediately flipping to the tab marked “Salads.” The key, I figured, the Rossetta Stone awaited me, until I discovered that the main ingredient in “Mandarin Orange Salad” was Lemon Jell-O; “Christmas Salad” necessitates lime Jell-O; “Strawberry Salad” needs black cherry Jell-O, and “Rhubarb Salad” calls for strawberry Jell-O.

Apparently my salad days were just beginning.

(Images from Shelf Life Taste Test’s fun Flickr stream.)

MUCH LIKE A PARTY at my house, the party in my mouth only goes well when some forethought is given to who sits next to whom. Chocolate and peanut butter? Hate ‘em as a couple; love ‘em alone, which is the same damn thing I frequently hear myself say about many of my friends.

So I’m not the least bit surprised to apply the thought to my palate, bringing to mind a whole new way to look at food. Ham and tomatoes? Huge retching sounds heard now. Saltines with butter? Gross. Almonds and anything? Too gross. Hot dog and ketchup? Get out of the way, I’m coming for the bucket. Liver and onions? Ah, never. Of course, no two women’s palates are the same. My sister’s tastes are not my own.

She likes peanut butter and chocolate together; my daughter likes butter on, ah, hmmm, everything, though particularly on Saltines, which leads me to think of each mouth as its own sorority to which only certain members need apply. Kind of makes the world of food look like one big pan-Hellenic rush week, with every recipe vying for your attention. With my obvious distaste for some of the classics, I guess my sorority is for the offbeat and oddball, the not-so usual tastes. And with that in mind, I’ve made a list of my new favorite twin sets.

Here they are:

• Pen and Fork’s Buttermilk Pancakes with Quinoa
• Backseat Gourmet’s Blue Cheese and Bacon Combo
• Austin Agrodolce’s Radishes and Soy Sauce
• 101 Cookbook’s Green Beans and Raisins
• Apartment Therapy’s Blue Cheese and Rosemary Combo
• Smitten Kitchen’s Citrus and Feta
• The Women’s Colony’s Samosa Pot Pie (by Melanie)

Got a food combo that rocks your ‘buds, or one you can’t abide?

What’s going on in your sorority, sister?

(Thanks to Eudaemonius on Flickr for the vintage punch recipe card.)

TWO-HUNDRED CHEESEBALLS. Not a phrase—or dish—to throw around lightly. But that’s what I made for our annual celebration of Emily Dickinson’s birthday, which is December 10. Not a big birthday this year, so I limited myself somewhat in the celebration, making the light fare myself so I can rest up for the huge blowout planned for Emily’s 180^th in 2010. Once there was a time when my husband and I were a little torn as to which holiday to celebrate, and how. Long story, lots of history, but years ago, after being married only a short time, we compromised on one totemic holiday to appreciate:  Emily’s birthday, and most years we have a party.

For a good long time it was a bowling party, complete with t-shirts and prizes. But we’ve matured, this year hosting the fete (a week early; another long story) at Market Block Books, our local independent bookstore, and not wanting to crumb up the place, or sticky up the place, or dip up the place, not wanting to bring plates or forks, I thought long and hard about what to serve and soon I—and the dog, and the kitchen—was covered in cheese.

These were not just any cheeseballs, mind you. These were chutney cheese balls, the recipe cadged off a Cabot Cheddar advertisement.

Here it is.

Emily Dickinson Birthday Party Chutney Cheese Balls

Makes about 24

• 16 ounces grated sharp cheddar cheese
• 6 tablespoons cream cheese
• 2 tablespoons Major Gray’s Chutney
• 2/3 cup crushed walnuts

Yes, I multiplied the recipe about 10 times. Uh huh. Emily would love that. How do I know? Have you ever seen her recipe for black cake? It’s a little, ah, big. Enjoy.

Refrigerate for several hours before serving in truffle papers

Shape into 1-inch balls and roll in chopped nuts

Combine cheese and chutney in bowl and mash with fork.

IT’S BEEN A TOUGH YEAR for John, our beloved friend, and subject (as well as object) of our series, Teaching John to Cook. But a year it has been since his wonderful partner died, and since all of you, in response, took on the loving assignment of teaching him to cook. And look! Here comes Thanksgiving, that high holy day of recipes, and we’re asking you for some for a man on his own to bring to the table.

One of the traditions Margaret and I grew up with was cranberry ice, so I think I’ll try that on John. A confection that needs no ice-cream maker, it’s really little more than cranberry sorbet, and a wonderful refresher at the table amid the other, how shall we say, less-light fare. I find it cleanses that palate of mine, resetting it for the second (and third) helping I am already anticipating.

The cranberry ice that Margaret and I knew was made by our grandmother Marion, for whom I am named, and while I mentioned it in our 25 Random Facts About Our Childhood, as well as in a post about the lunar cycles of sisters, I’ve never before given you the recipe. One dish, several stories. I love that about food and memoir, don’t you? The cranberry ice we knew was served in small, oblong, footed silver dishes, for which no doubt there is a proper name, and one Margaret will know, particularly having worked for so long with Martha Stewart. Me, I’m kind of table-ware-ignorant, though that is only one of the She Said, She Said(s) of our lives.

The exact family recipe for the cranberry ice is long lost, despite possessing my grandmother’s recipe box, as well as the recipe box of the daughter of my grandmother’s best friend (our mother didn’t so much cook as make drinks, if you know what I mean, so no recipe box of hers exists). So I went online a few years ago and reconstituted a recipe from there.

Here it is.

Grandmother Marion’s Cranberry Ice

2 (12-ounce) packages fresh cranberries

2 cups sugar

1 1/4 cups fresh orange juice

1 cup fresh lemon juice

Into a large pot add cranberries and enough water to cover.

Boil until cranberries begin to pop. Drain and put through a food mill placed over a large bowl.

While still warm add sugar to taste; dissolve in the warm berries.

Stir in both juices.

Pour in 8 or 9 inch square pan and freeze overnight. Take out of the freezer 5-10 minutes before shaving with an ice cream scoop, serving in whatever it is you call those small bowls.

Here’s to you, John. We’re proud of you and the hard work you’ve done this year. Hope the holidays bring you a special peace.

TWO SISTERS PLUS ONE BOOK equals two soups. This is the sisterly cooking math we did when our friend and uber-agent Kris Dahl sent us both a new book, and two households went on a pretty much liquid diet. But oh, what liquid!

Love Soup by Anna Thomas is a wonder, and just out by W.W Norton & Co. If I could fit the camera in my kitchen, I’d photograph the counters, stainless steel prep table, and kitchen island, except you cannot see them right now but for the produce I’ve hauled home from the CSA, harvested from my garden, and also from my compost (oh, I love those compost volunteer plants!) in just the last two weeks. I was thinking of learning to juggle squash, though that would only take care of one species of the problem, since are we are also happily full of potatoes, leeks, onions, garlic, kale and chard.

I don’t have to learn to juggle, after all, since soup (as all cooks know) is the great reducer.

So, what did the Roach sisters cook up this week? I went to an old favorite, the leek and potato, and tightened up my otherwise by-memory version, adding fresh thyme and a splash of cream, as recommended by author Thomas. Margaret mastered the book’s “green soup with sweet potatoes and sage” (the author uses lower case titles, so we will here, as well).

Thomas has made the cookbook vegan-friendly; it includes 160 vegetarian recipes, which is marvelous, since Margaret, a vegetarian, prefers this while I, a hot-blooded, meat-eating omnivore, am good either way.

And you? Love soup? Here’s your book. (And here’s what Margaret thought of her copy.)

WHEN IN DOUBT, DESSERT. It might be my new motto. It would make a good t-shirt, wouldn’t it? Hmmm. Anyway, it certainly is a motto I’m using for John, of Teaching John to Cook, my friend, and subject of an occasional series here on TSP on how to sister a pal into the kitchen.

So many of you have come to the aid of John, as we talked about simple, basic recipes to learn first, kitchen equipment, and then, of course,  cookbooks. He and I are so grateful to all of you who have showed up, digital aprons on, typing through your kitchen mitts.

There’s roadchick, whose humor has several times now made me spit my tea tight onto my computer screen, but who reeled it in just a little to lead off our recipe discussion, suggesting simple turkey meatballs, as well as the suggestion to never assume that someone knows how to cook the spaghetti to go with those meatballs.

D Wilson at Austin Agrodolce says “rice.” Yup. You bet. Maggie, at EatBoutique, reminded us of the kingly status of the simple omelet. Kelly Cline, food stylist, rolled up her sleeves and rolled out a regular menu of menus, suggesting salads, pastas, roasted vegetables, and well, go have a look, please. The bounty of her comment is its own horn of plenty.

Oh, yes, and Elyse reminded us to cook without fear. Thanks. I needed that.

When it came to cooking equipment, it was Janice who confirmed my belief that a  good cast iron pan is the very best ever thing to own, though our dear friend Christine at writing by ear, prefers nonstick, and kindly provided a tidy list of only what’s really needed. And who could live without Marilyn, at simmertildone’s suggestions of what to read?

So, next?

Next is dessert, which I have always found to be something of a default position in my life, falling back on one or two basics—a good chocolate cake, or a favorite pie. That is, until I saw Mark Bittman of  the Times’ Minimalist, as well as the Bitten blog, do on video which I have now done in my kitchen, oh 30 times this summer: make a frozen desert in 30 seconds. Uh huh.

Here it is.

Mark Bittman’s Miracle Dessert (is what I call it)

Serves 6

2 cups frozen fruit (I use organic cherries)

¼ cup sugar (I use none)

½ cup yogurt (or sour cream, he says)

2 Tbsp water

Into the food processor.

Pulse a few times.

Do not over pulse, or you’ll get a smoothie.

Serve in small bowls.

Cook on.

IT’S TIME YOU MET JOHN, of Teaching John to Cook (the lovely man and dear friend of the Facebook self-portrait, above), to whom so many of you have reached out during his difficult time. I’m happy to report he’s doing marvelously well at it, and that he has mastered a new recipe. It’s one you may enjoy, as well.

But first, a recap. If you go back to my opening piece to this series, you’ll remember that at first there were three men–one whose wife of 20 years had just walked out, one who was living too high on the Manhattan hog, and John, whose partner suddenly passed away last autumn. Now there is one, since the other two are not taking us up on all our culinary help. John, however, has dutifully showed up in my kitchen, and we’ve progressed–in no small way because of your help.

Taking your cues, I homed in on a recipe that both utilized what he had on hand in his kitchen (Le Creuset, mostly; a little retail therapy indulgence after the loss of his beloved partner), and, as Sandy so rightfully suggested, got him to put down the Gourmet (for now, anyway), and, at Jim’s suggestion, got him instead to pick up Everyday Food, the Martha Stewart gem, a magazine to which I’ve subscribed from its very first issue, every issue of which I have saved.

I did not have far to look, since a May 2009 issue was just what we needed, and to tell you the truth, the results were perfect.

Of course, we changed the recipe somewhat, as all cooks do, since both he and I are limited both in our knife skills, as well as in what carbs we will eat. This taught him that lesson, as well: Any good recipe can survive (even thrive from) a little alteration.

Here it is.

From Everyday Food, May 2009
Jamaican Chicken Curry
This teaches the technique of stewing.

2 Tbsp vegetable oil
4 bone-in skinless chicken breasts halved, 10-12 ounces each, halved crosswise
Coarse salt and ground pepper
1 medium onion chopped
1 garlic clove minced
1 tsp ground cumin
3 Tbsp curry powder
½ tsp dried thyme
4 carrots thinly sliced
1 can (13.5 ounces coconut milk)
1 package (10 ounces) frozen peas, thawed
Cooked rice for serving

1.    In large Dutch oven or heavy pot, heat oil over medium-high heat. Season chicken with salt and pepper. Working in two batches, brown chicken, 3-4 minutes per side. Transfer to plate.
2.    Reduce heat to medium. Add onion, garlic, cumin, curry, thyme and ½ cup water and season with salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, until onion has softened, 3-5 minutes.
3.    Add carrots, coconut milk, ½ cup water, and chicken with any accumulated juices. Bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer, cover partially and cook until chicken is cooked through and carrots are tender,  about 10 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in peas. Serve curry over rice.

So here’s how we adapted it: We used whole chicken breasts (bone in), letting the whole thing cook longer, about 30 minutes.

Also, both of us are low-carb people, eschewing rice, so we set the curry on quinoa, instead. Yum.

You? What recipes would you like John and me to try?

I KNEW I COULD MARRY the man when I discovered that his mother didn’t put eggs in her potato salad. I hate eggs in nearly every form, but never so much when they appear where they clearly have no business. Seeing that my then-boyfriend expected no such thing as eggs in his summer salad, I was ready to take the relationship to the next level. We’ll be married 20 years later this month and God knows, marriages have been based on less.

As I’ve written before, my mother-in-law shared a round-robin newsletter with her siblings, keeping in touch with a monthly missive that circulated and included recipes for all to copy. Interestingly, though there are a total of five potato salad recipes in Lillian’s recipe boxes, none seems to have come from her sisters. Instead, these originated from members of her community and were then passed along to family.

It was Florence Keiser to whom the following recipe is credited. My husband says that Florence was a well-off member of the church, and what was once referred to as a “maiden lady.” We are indebted to Florence for this unique take on potato salad.

Florence Keiser’s Hot Potato Cheese Salad

Combine:
2 tsp dry mustard
2 tsp salt
4 tsp sugar
2 tbsp flour
¼ tsp paprika

Add:
2 c milk
1 beaten egg

Cook slowly, stirring constantly ‘til thick. Remove from heat and slowly add ½ c mild vinegar and 1 c grated cheddar cheese. Stir ‘til cheese melts.

Mix sauce with 2 quarts hot cubed cooked potatoes and ¼ c finely chopped celery.

Serve.

__________
By the way, I’m not the only one digging up potato salad recipes for the upcoming holiday. Visit Sister Paige for more vintage variations on this picnic classic.

SMACKING MY HEAD seems to be my favorite pastime. Why else would I have utterly missed the obvious, the totally abundantly clear-as-gin issue that all of my three guy friends have that is keeping them from learning to cook? What more simple problem could there be than this one? You tell me and I’ll smack my head for you each time you send in the correct answer.

Teaching John to Cook has been going along nicely, I thought, for a few weeks now. With your help, I’ve been supplying my three guys first with recipes. Then, after last week’s appeal for cooking-utensil tips, I thought we were pretty much on our way.

Then John came to dinner and I got him talking about what we was making in the kitchen, and it seemed he wasn’t making much. And someone else had the good sense to ask, “What are you reading?” to which he replied “Gourmet.”

Aha! While I love Gourmet as much as the next eater, it’s like eating a fancy dessert first, wouldn’t you say, when he’s still trying to find his way to the stove? I know it would scare the crap out of me at that stage of a cooking life. And since I already admitted to a “D’Oh!” in last week’s post on Teaching John to Cook, this week I’ll plead to a HELP ME NOW!

What should John be reading so that he can nourish himself? I’m thinking something easy. Jim, as you may remember, commented that Glorious One Pot Meals by Elizabeth Yarnell would be a great book. It is. It’s perfect.

But what about magazines? Other books?

C’mon, sisters, three adult-male lives depend on your suggestions.

SHE DIDN’T WANT A BIRTHDAY, my sister-friend didn’t. We’ve all been there. For one reason or the other, we’re not the least bit interested in what is about to take place in our lives. And it’s not just that she didn’t want a party: She didn’t want to be the number she would be; she didn’t want a party; she didn’t want candles, songs, or even to recognize the day. So, we did what a sister or sister-friend has to do: We made her do it, and to make her laugh, we made her dinner. But not just any dinner.

We made Shaya (as we call her) meatloaf cupkcakes. Oh yeah. Meatloaf, piped mashed-potato frosting (some colored with beet juice), and she was laughing all the way to her new age.

What to do when a sister doesn’t want a birthday, an anniversary or something else that father time, all on his own, is dictating will happen, no matter what you say? When in doubt, we make meatloaf cupcakes.

What’s in your bag ‘o tricks when a sister’s just not happy about what’s happening to her? We’d love to hear.