Pickled shrimp with lime

When the days are hot and muggy, chilled pickled shrimp is a lush and refreshing way to help you forget you’re roasting in a hard, cement-coated city.

Pickled shrimp, which in Spanish would be called ceviche, is simply lightly cooked shrimp soaked overnight in an acidic liquid—such as citrus juice or vinegar—that’s flavored with herbs and aromatics. Pickled shrimp is perfect for summer. And I had some at lunch recently—a bowl so bright and cooling that if I closed my eyes I could imagine that I was no longer in steamy Manhattan but instead lounging on a breezy beach by the sea.

My dining companion was a New York book editor who hails from Texas, whom I’ve had the pleasure of corresponding with for the past few months. And it was a real joy getting to know her as I always get a kick out of meeting fellow Texans; our shared love of our home state instantly creates a special bond.

Though, truth be told, I was also interested in talking to her about publishing. People have been telling me I should write a book and for someone who has loved writing her whole life, this is all very flattering.



That said, for a long time I’ve struggled with what I’d have to say in a book. Not to mention, if I wrote a book would it be a food narrative or a straight-on cookbook? I’ve been advised to do both, which just adds to my confusion.

Our conversation was constructive. But also edifying was the food, especially an appetizer of shrimp pickled in lime juice with Serrano peppers, red onions and chunks of pineapple.

Straight from the bowl we both ate the pickled shrimp, so fast there wasn’t time to layer it on warm flour tortillas also on the table (though that would have been good, too). We did, however, take the time to deconstruct the dish. While a couple of flavors and textures eluded us, it was still clear enough that I knew I could come back home and recreate something similar with ease.

And that’s just what I did.

I enjoyed my lunch and the chance to get to know a fellow Texan in New York, and I’m feeling a bit more clarity about what sort of book I’ll write. But I know I have some more pondering to do, probably because it’s my silly nature to make life difficult by over thinking things.



Fortunately, however, I didn’t have to think too long about making this bowl of pickled shrimp—its flavors came together seamlessly. And, perhaps with a bit of hard work and hope, the right idea for a book will soon come together with such ease, too.

Pickled shrimp, inspired by the restaurant Cabrito

Ingredients:
1 1/2 pounds of uncooked medium-sized shrimp, peeled and de-veined
4 limes juiced (1/2 cup)
1/2 cup of pineapple juice

1/4 cup of white wine vinegar
1/4 cup of chopped cilantro
1-2 Serrano chiles, sliced
1/2 medium red onion, cut into slivers
1 clove of garlic, crushed
1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds
1/2 teaspoon cayenne
1 bay leaf
2 tablespoons of salt, plus more to taste

Method:
Add the cayenne, bay leaf and 2 tablespoons of salt to a large pot of water. Bring to a boil and then add the shrimp. Cook shrimp for one minute, drain and run cold water over shrimp.

In a large jar or plastic food-storage bag, add shrimp and rest of ingredients. Add 1 cup of water (or enough to cover the shrimp), sprinkle in a bit of salt, and marinate in the refrigerator overnight, shaking or turning occasionally.

Can serve in bowls, on tortilla chips or with tortillas. Serves four.

Note: You can doll it up by adding cubed avocado, pineapple or mango when serving, if you wish (not while pickling otherwise the fruit will get mushy). The restaurant where we ate added pepitas on top, which was a great contrast in texture and flavor.

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Buttermilk dressing

The first time I ate pizza with my New York friends, I learned that Texans have a special relationship with buttermilk dressing. When the pizza arrived, I pulled a jar out of the refrigerator, grabbed a slice of pizza and drizzled some of the creamy, tangy dressing all over it.

“What are you doing?” said my friends.

“You don’t put buttermilk dressing on your pizza?” I said.

“No! That's disgusting!” said my friends.

I shrugged and then continued to eat my buttermilk-dressing soaked pizza. And it was good.

When it comes to buttermilk dressing, Texans don’t just stop at pizza. We, of course, put it on our salads. But we also use it as a dip for our steak fingers, onion rings, fried okra, cheese fries and leftover fried chicken, among many other things.

Buttermilk dressing has long been a popular staple in a Texan’s larder. Its presence harks back to a time when dairy was ubiquitous and cheap, so it made sense to craft a dressing out of buttermilk and eggs rather than oil, which was scarce.

In the 1960’s, buttermilk dressing became branded as ranch dressing, but I prefer to call it by its proper name, especially as the stuff you buy in a bottle has almost no relationship to what you can make at home. And yes, buttermilk is indeed the star.

I was reading recipes for buttermilk dressing from almost 100 years ago, and back then it was a boiled dressing made with eggs, vinegar, buttermilk, herbs and spices. In the late 1930’s, however, both vegetable oil and commercial mayonnaise became more available and so people started using those ingredients to make their buttermilk dressing instead.

I have to say that the latter method is how I’ve been making my buttermilk dressing for years as it takes minimal effort to achieve maximum flavor. But I was curious about the boiled method. My grandma has no fond memories of the boiled dressing my great-grandmother made and perhaps the use of mayonnaise indeed marks progress. That said, I decided to make a batch of buttermilk dressing the truly old-fashioned way.

In researching recipes, I discovered that Craig Claiborne (the longtime New York Times food editor and fellow Southerner) also found his mother’s boiled dressing distasteful. No matter, I decided to persevere in making a batch.

Well, after boiling together a concoction of eggs, apple-cider vinegar, mustard, cayenne, buttermilk and butter, I was left with a thick, acidic custard that smelled so bad I had to throw open the windows and leave my apartment for a spell. (Note to self: if both your grandma and Craig Claiborne hate something, you will probably hate it, too.)



So indeed, progress has been made by the advent of widely available commercial mayonnaise. And thankfully, making buttermilk dressing is a snap, which means that you can have it whenever the occasion arises. So go on, what are you waiting for? You just know that slice of cold pizza sitting in your fridge needs an embellishment, and nothing makes leftovers, fried foods or salads sing like a good dose of creamy, tangy, spicy buttermilk dressing.

Buttermilk dressing, extra spicy
Ingredients:
1/4 cup of mayonnaise
1/2 cup of sour cream
1/2 cup of buttermilk
1/4 cup of chopped cilantro
1 tablespoon of freshly squeezed lime juice
1 clove of garlic, crushed
1 serrano pepper, finely diced
1 teaspoon of chopped fresh chives
1/8 teaspoon of cayenne pepper
Salt and black pepper to taste

Method:
Mix all the ingredients together and let chill for an hour.
Makes 1 cup, keeps for a week in the refrigerator.
Notes: I like my dressing on the thinner side, so if you prefer it thicker use 1/2 cup of mayonnaise. And if you don't want it to be so spicy, feel free to omit the Serrano or substitute a jalapeno pepper instead. Also, you can use parsley instead of cilantro if you're one of those "Cilantro tastes like soap" people, I won't be insulted.

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Guacamole, my way

I’m often asked why I don’t have a guacamole recipe on my site. I reckon the simplest answer is because I don’t have a recipe for guacamole. Instead, I just add some ingredients to a smashed-up avocado and call it a dip.

When my mom was in the liturgical nacho stage of her life (so-called because she made her daily lunch of nachos always the exact same way) she’d whip up a batch of guacamole to go with them. She totally cheated, however, as she mashed an avocado with bottled hot sauce. 

My mom can do many things very, very well, but I have to admit that this guacamole was not the best I’d eaten in my life. (And, for the record, she insists that she no longer makes guacamole this way.)



Guacamole is all about freshness and using a bottled hot sauce is anathema to this underlying principle. While you want the avocado to be the star, the other ingredients need to be heard as well, and nothing is louder than the crunch of fresh chiles, the tang of lime juice and the bite of fresh garlic.

There’s also the problem of bottled salsa having tomatoes as a base. I’m a firm believer that tomatoes shouldn’t be in guacamole; the texture is just wrong. Tomatoes are too juicy and soft and I want my accents to the avocado to be firm. I realize most people would disagree with me, but that’s OK as that’s probably the best thing about guacamole—everyone makes guacamole the way that they like it.


Take my uncle, for instance. He stirs in a heaping spoonful of mayonnaise into his guacamole, which he swears makes it super creamy. Then there’s a friend who’s been known to add sesame seeds to her guacamole, which is a subtle yet surprising accent. Obviously, the ways to make guacamole are infinite.

So, I’m happy to share with you how I make my guacamole, but what I really want to know is how you make your guacamole.

Guacamole
Ingredients:
2 ripe Hass avocados, peeled and cut in half
2 cloves of garlic, crushed
1 Serrano pepper, diced
1/2 cup of chopped cilantro
Juice from 1/2 a lime
Salt to taste

Method:
Mix all the ingredients together either with a fork in a bowl or in a Mexican mortar and pestle (molcajete) until desired consistency. If you’re using a molcajete, there’s no need to crush the garlic. And you can add another Serrano pepper if you like it extra hot.
Serves two to four.

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Saveur, the Texas issue

Do you love Texas food as much as I do? Then check out the June issue of Saveur, a special edition devoted to the Lone Star State.

You’ll find a beautiful portrait of West Texas border food, a convincing argument to eat okra, a history of chuck wagon cooking, stunning photos by Penny De Los Santos, excellent writing by Robb Walsh, Patricia Sharpe and Alison Cook, and recipes galore.

Oh, and there’s also a fine essay (if I say so myself) by yours truly, your favorite Homesick Texan food blogger.

But the most exciting thing for me is seeing my Texas-shaped cake pan in the magazine. My grandma baked a big cookie into this pan and mailed it to me when I first moved away from Texas. She wrote, “I’m sending this to you so you’ll always remember where you came from.” As you can see, it’s an oft-used and well-loved treasure. And I may be biased, but I can think of no better way to illustrate a section entitled, “Twenty-four reasons why we love Texas.” Can you?

So a big hearty howdy if you’re coming here for the first time—happy reading and eating!

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