Tex-Mex squash casserole

I took a wrong exit on my way to the Birmingham Airport. I don’t usually mind getting lost because this can often lead to discovery. But after meandering endlessly down tree-lined country roads I realized that my journey, while beautiful, needed to have a focus or I would miss my flight back to New York. I pulled into the first parking lot I saw. It was for a restaurant—Joel’s Restaurant of Trussville, Alabama. The lot was packed with cars, which is always a good sign. But that’s not why I decided to stay and eat lunch. Nope, I decided to sit a spell because they had on the buffet squash casserole. And I adore squash casserole.

I’ve always thought it strange that I love squash casserole so much considering how little I enjoy eating squash any other way. Steamed, grilled, sautéed—no matter how it’s prepared I often pick at it and push it to the side of a plate. I’m just not a fan of its soft texture and abundance of flat, slimy seeds. But serve me squash in a casserole and I’ll eat seconds or even thirds.

OK, perhaps it’s not that odd that I love squash casserole since it’s a creamy, crunchy mass that’s closer to the fattening family than the vegetable family. But this doesn’t make it even less delicious. And I always rationalize eating it by telling myself that certainly some of the squash’s vitamins would have leached into the swirls of dairy that hold the squash in suspension.



This squash casserole on offer at Joel’s that day was the same kind that my mom and my grandma make: yellow summer squash cut into rounds, baked with a mix of cream of mushroom soup, cream of chicken soup and a package of corn bread stuffing. Yes, it qualifies as semi-homemade but it sure is good. That said, when I picked up a few pounds of yellow squash and zucchini at the farmers market recently, I didn’t have any of these squash casserole ingredients on hand. So I knew if this squash was going to be eaten I’d just have to improvise.

I made my first batch of squash casserole, thinking that it was going to be swell and I was going to be able to tell the world, “You don’t need cream of mushroom soup!” But what I made wasn’t all that good. I then made two more pans and had a casserole bake off—me vs. the mushroom soup. A fine idea in practice, yes, but not necessarily execution when it’s hot and humid both inside and out.

I was about ready to admit defeat when I hit on the bright idea to adapt my King Ranch recipe into a squash casserole. And, it worked! At last I had a squash casserole that could rub shoulders with my mom’s squash casserole.



Does mine taste the same? No, it's different but no less equal. So now we'll just have to make room on the table for two squash casseroles, which isn't a bad thing at all.

Tex-Mex squash casserole

2 yellow squash and 2 zucchini, cut into coins (4 cups)
1 medium onion, diced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 jalapeno, diced
2 tablespoons of butter
1 can of Ro-Tel tomatoes, drained or two cups of diced fresh tomatoes with 1/4 cup of diced green chiles, such as a jalapeno
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 teaspoon of cumin
1/2 teaspoon of cayenne pepper
1 cup of chicken or vegetable broth
2 tablespoons of flour
1/2 cup of half and half
1/2 cup of sour cream
1/2 cup of cilantro, chopped
2 cups total of grated pepper jack and cheddar
2 cups crushed tortilla chips
Salt and pepper to taste

Method:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Heat the butter in a large skillet on medium heat. When melted, add the squash, onion and jalapeno, and sauté until onions are translucent and the squash is soft, about ten minutes.

Add the garlic, cumin, chili powder, cayenne, salt, pepper and cook for a minute. Then stir in the flour and cook until a light-brown past forms, about a minute.

Now add the broth and tomatoes and stir until the mixture thickens, which should happen in a couple of minutes. Add the half and half, sour cream and cilantro and turn off the heat.

In a greased casserole dish, layer the bottom with the crushed tortilla chips. Pour on top of the chips the creamy squash mixture and then cover the whole dish with the grated cheese.

Cook uncovered for thirty minutes, or until top is brown and bubbling.

Serves 6-8.

Mom's squash casserole

Ingredients:
5 yellow squash, cut into rounds (4 cups)
1 stick of butter
1 package herb stuffing mix (Pepperidge Farm preferred)
1 onion, chopped
1 cup sour cream
1 can of cream of chicken soup
1 carrot, grated
Salt and pepper to taste

Method:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Melt butter and mix with herb stuffing mix.

Meanwhile, cook 5 yellow squash till soft.

Mash squash and mix with onion, sour cream, cream of chicken soup, grated carrot, salt and pepper.

Layer dressing and squash mixture in casserole, ending with dressing.

Bake covered for 30 minutes.

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How to make cow head barbacoa

“What do you want with a cow head?” asked the farmer selling beef at the Union Square Greenmarket. “We don’t sell cow heads here in New York—they’re illegal.”

Not to be deterred, I got on the phone and called my local butchers. It was the same conversation each time. First, they’d express shock and disgust at my query. And then they would curtly inform me that they could not ever, no way, no how get me a cow head as indeed, they’re illegal to sell in New York by order of the USDA. Something to do with eating cow brains having a connection to possibly getting mad cow’s disease.

So what’s a barbacoa-craving Texan in New York to do? I've made lamb barbacoa, but I wanted beef barbacoa. If I were at home, I could pop over to my local Fiesta grocery store and pick up a cow’s head in the meat section, nestled between the ground beef and slabs of brisket. But here my options were more limited, though I was advised that if I became friends with a farmer I’d probably have no problem getting a cow head.



I became friends with Elizabeth Karmel instead.

If you don’t know Elizabeth, she is America’s foremost female grilling expert, creator of Girls at the Grill, author of Soaked, Slathered & Seasoned and Taming the Flame and executive chef at New York’s best barbecue joint, Hill Country. And when she heard about my quest she graciously offered to help me get a cow head so we could make smoke it and make barbacoa.

She did indeed deliver, and last week a small group of us gathered at Hill Country to begin the two-day process of smoking a cow head in Hill Country’s smokers.



Back in Texas, a cow head traditionally is slow-cooked in the ground (though that’s a largely extinct practice now due to health departments’ intervention. Today, most cow head’s are cooked in an oven, slow cooker or on the grill). Elizabeth aimed to recreate this experience by wrapping the cow head in banana leaves and then containing the wrapped skull in two hotel pans.

For seasoning and moisture, we sprinkled a simple rub of black pepper, salt and cayenne over the skull and in its crevices, and added a couple of beers to the banana-leaf-lined pan. We also decided to smoke the tongue with the cow head, even though most barbacoa-making instructions call for it to be cooked separately. (Which makes no sense to me, but what do I know—I’m a cow-head-cooking virgin!)

I was struck by how simple the whole procedure was. Sure, the cow head was large and awkward and having three people available to help wrap it was advantageous. But save for a little mishap with one of the smoker’s shelves, there was little drama.



There was, however, much curiosity from those at the restaurant who witnessed our preparation. One of the pit masters said he wanted the teeth so he could have dentures made. Another took one look at the cow head and said he would never eat beef again. It was also amusing to note that those of us involved in eating and preparing the cow head were all women (three of us, including Slashfood’s Kat Kinsman and the New York Times’ Jill Santopietro, were even wearing skirts as we pulled the meat from the skull), whereas those who were horrified by the cow head were all men. We were fierce!

The verdict? This was some amazingly tender barbacoa. And if I closed my eyes I could have been at a taco stand in El Paso. As we grabbed the meat from the skull and pulled it apart, you could smell the smoke and feel its moist tenderness. We stuffed the meat into flour tortillas and dressed our tacos with salsas, cilantro and onions. Each bite was a succulent treat. I even dared to try the eyeball— which was squishy and bland, and the brains—which had the smooth texture of sweetbreads.



If you have the time and the inclination, and the access to a cow’s head, I highly recommend you try this. Despite the savage-appearance of cooking a cow’s head, this barbacoa was ultimately a delicate treat.

Smoked cow head barbacoa, as prepared by Elizabeth Karmel
Ingredients:
1 cow head
Salt, pepper and cayenne
Two bottles of beer
Long banana leaves

Method:
Sprinkle the salt, pepper and cayenne all over the cow head

Completely wrap the cow head in several layers of banana leaves, securing it with kitchen twine.

In a banana-leaf-lined hotel pan, pour two bottles of beer.

Set the banana-leaf-wrapped cow head into the pan, and fold over pan-lining leaves.

Cover cow head and bottom pan with another hotel pan. Secure tight with kitchen twine.

Smoke for 24 hours, remove meat from head (will have to peel the skin off of the tongue), pull apart and make tacos!

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Banana pudding ice cream

I have a confession. I’ve never had the pleasure of eating Blue Bell’s Banana Pudding ice cream. I’m not sure why. After all, I love banana pudding and I love ice cream.

As you probably know, Blue Bell doesn’t sell its ice cream north of the Mason-Dixon line (though you can find a few flavors at Hill Country here in New York), and when I go home I get caught up on eating my old favorites—Cookies ‘N Cream and Buttered Pecan, which leaves me little time to experiment. That or whenever I’m home it’s not around as it’s only in stores for three months out the year.

That said, I’ve been craving it as there’s something very appealing about a banana pudding ice cream.

Whenever I hear about the release of their seasonal flavors, I get a little sad that I won’t get to try them. And since their banana pudding ice cream is now available, I decided that even if I couldn’t buy it at the store, I could at least try to make a batch at home.

I usually make my ice cream with just cream and half and half, and don’t bother making a custard with eggs. (After all, it’s called ice cream not ice custard.) But I wanted this ice cream to be yellow and the best way I knew how to do that naturally was to make it with bright yellow egg yolks.

Sadly, the egg yolks didn’t make the ice cream yellow, but it did turn out a lovely shade of off white. But more importantly, I am now a convert for making a custard as the ice cream stayed creamy even after a spell the freezer, and was so rich that I didn’t have to eat a whole mess to feel satisfied.

I ended up straining my bananas as the first batch of ice cream I made turned an icky shade of gray, which I suspected was from banana pulp (that and I had to leave it in the refrigerator for a couple of days before freezing because I was too busy to sit and wait for my dang ice cream machine to do its magic.) But just to be safe, I also added some lemon juice, which not only kept the ice cream a pretty color (if not bright yellow) but also brightened up the flavor.

I’m kind of nuts about ingredients these days, so I toyed with using a certain grocery store’s organic vanilla wafers, but as soon as I opened the box and took a bite, I knew that there was no substitution for the proper cookie for a banana pudding—Nabisco’s Nilla Wafers. The organic one was just too thick and crisp and I had a feeling it would never soften and blend into the banana pudding ice cream, as a Nilla Wafer is wont to do.



So how is it? Well, I love it, but not having Blue Bell’s version of banana pudding ice cream, I shared some of mine with a friend who has eaten the stuff from Brenham. He took a bite, smiled and declared it very, very good. And that’s just the answer I needed to hear.

Banana pudding ice cream
Ingredients:
1 cup of cream
2 cups of half and half
3 egg yolks (save the whites for something else as we won’t be making a meringue)
3/4 cups of sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 bananas cut into slices
1 teaspoon of lemon juice
pinch of nutmeg
2 cups of Nilla Wafers roughly crushed (make sure they're not crumbs but nice chunks).

Method:
Cook the cream and half and half on medium heat until warm, do not let it come to a boil.

Meanwhile, beat the egg yolks with the sugar and vanilla. Add to this 1/2 a cup of the warm and cream and half and half, and then stir the egg mixture and banana slices back into the remaining cream and half and half in the pot.

Heat this on medium low for five minutes or until it gets slightly thick. Do not let it come to a boil. You’ll know it’s ready when it coats the back of your spoon.

Stir in the nutmeg and lemon juice, turn off the heat, and just let the whole thing rest for about 45 minutes.

Remove the banana slices, chill overnight or for at least four hours and then freeze according to your ice-cream maker’s instructions. About five minutes before the ice cream is finished being whipped around, add the Nilla Wafers.

Can serve with reserved banana slices. Makes one quart.

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How to season a molcajete

At the delightful bed and breakfast, known as the Red Tree House, that I stayed at on a recent trip to Mexico City, every morning I would see the owner’s aunt use a molcajete to make salsa. I have eaten many salsas through the years and let me just say that this was some of the best salsa I’d ever tasted in my life. I know that much love and passion went into this cooking and that’s the main reason why it was so compelling. But I also figured that using a molcajete didn’t hurt. And so at the moment, I decided must have my own molcajete.

If you’re not familiar with a molcajete, it is a Mexican mortar and pestle. The term molcajete actually refers to the three-legged round bowl, which has been carved out of basalt. The pestle, which is known as the tejolote, has also been carved out of the same volcanic rock. In the thousands of years that this ancient tool has been used, there haven’t been any changes to the core shape—it’s a timeless design. Though because it’s a squatty vessel with legs, molcajetes are sometimes carved into animal shapes such as a bull or a pig.

A molcajete is an extremely durable piece of cookware, so durable, in fact, that in Mexico people pass down their well-loved molcajetes to the next generation, just as Southerners pass down cast-iron cookware to their children and grandchildren. And this is the key: a molcajete only gets better with use, as it absorbs flavors and reflects these back into whatever you’re currently making. A well-seasoned molcajete also is smooth and is no longer in danger of shedding lava-rock grit into your food.



Being more Tex than Mex, I realized that I didn’t have anyone to bequeath me a well-seasoned molcajete—if I wanted one I would have to buy it new. And yes, it would need to be seasoned. After going through the act, I decided that no one should ever have to suffer through my mistakes. So if you’re interested in acquiring a molcajete, here are my tips on making the best out of the seasoning process. And if you follow these instructions, you’ll soon discover that a molcajete is quite simple to use and enjoy.

10 (not quite) easy steps for a well-seasoned molcajete

1. On the way to Spanish Harlem to buy a molcajete at the Mexican grocery that you know sells them, pop into a chain home-furnishings store. Yep, they’re having a sale and included in said bargains is a molcajete. It looks pretty and the price is right, so you buy it.

2. Follow the seasoning instructions that come with the molcajete. The first step is to soak the molcajete in water for a few hours. No problem.

3. After you’ve dried the molcajete,take a small handful (about 1/4 of a cup) of rice and pound it into the molcajete until the rice turns into a grey powder. Repeat this process until rice no longer turns grey but instead stays white.

4. Clean up the rice that has shot out of the molcajete as you’ve been pounding it. You’ll need a vacuum (with hose attachments) and a screwdriver (to wedge up you laptop’s keyboard to pull out errant kernels—yes, that’s why your “T” and “F” keys no longer work). But no matter how thorough you are, please don’t be surprised if you see rice all over the house for weeks—it happens to the best of us.

5. Smash into the molcajete some garlic, cumin seeds, rock salt and cilantro. Create a paste and let it sit overnight so that the molcajete can absorb the flavors. When you clean it the next day, don’t be alarmed if small patches of the molcajete are now stained green—chlorophyll is good for you.

6. If the big-box store’s instructions are to be believed, the molcajete should now be seasoned. Make a batch of guacamole, take a bite, and get a mouthful of grit. Repeat steps two through five, about 20 times.

7. After going through seven avocados, 14 tomatoes, 21 cloves of garlic, a pound of cilantro, countless cumin seeds and chunks of rock salt, you finally admit to yourself that your salsas still have grit in them.

8. Texan food writer Melissa Guerra recommends using a wire brush to season a molcajete, so you buy one at the hardware store. You spend the rest of the evening scrubbing your molcajete with the brush, subsequently scraping your knuckles until they bleed a little bit into the bowl. But that’s OK—blood has iron, right? And that’s good for you.

9. You make a batch of salsa. Grit. You ask around and the consensus is that the big-box store might be selling molcajetes that are partially made out of concrete and no matter what you do, it will never, ever be smooth and grit free because the stone is just too soft. Yes, you’ve bought an overpriced decorative bowl, useful only for showing off those tomatoes you bought at the farmer’s market.

10. Head up to Spanish Harlem, buy a molcajete from the Mexican grocery store you intended to buy one from in the first place and notice that it looks exactly like the one your bed and breakfast used in Mexico (it’s shaped like a pig!). Take it home and repeat steps two through five. Make a batch of salsa, and enjoy it—grit free!



Now, in case you’re wondering if I think it’s worth having a molcajete, I do indeed. I haven’t thrown out my blender, but if I have the time to make a salsa in my molcajete I’m in for a real treat. There’s just something about the texture and flavor that can’t be replicated in a machine.

And if you’re looking for recipes to make in your new molcajete, then head on over to Serious Eats, where I will be writing about salsas on Thursdays for the rest of the summer.¡Buen provecho!

Other people's molcajete-seasoning experiences:
Carolynn Carreño goes through a ton of rice to season her molcajete.
As does the Foodinista.
Melissa Guerra sells molcajetes and discusses her wire-brush method.
And The Kitchn warns about cheap molcajetes.

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Texas potato salad, what is it?

Is there such a thing as Texas potato salad? And if so, what is it exactly?

When I asked my family how they make their potato salad, they all provided recipes that called for similar ingredients: chunky, unpeeled potatoes (either red new, brown russet or Yukon gold potatoes), green onions, celery, hard-boiled eggs, sweet pickles, mustard and mayonnaise. And if you’re on my dad’s side of the family, you stir in some Durkee’s as well.

This is the potato salad that always graced the table at our family barbecues—a thick mouthful that was soft and crunchy, tangy and sweet. But as I asked friends that hail from other regions of the country how they make their potato salads, their recipes sounded shockingly similar.

My family assured me, “Yes, this is how we do it.”

But is it particularly Texan?



People say it’s the mustard that makes a potato salad a Texas potato salad, but doesn’t everyone use mustard? Perhaps we just use more.

Of course, we also eat a lot of German potato salad in Texas. This concoction, most commonly found in the Hill Country, is usually served warm (though it’s also delicious cold). It’s a mix of red new potatoes, bacon, green onions, mustard and vinegar—with nary a dollop of mayonnaise to be found.

Sure, mustard is a quintessential Texas condiment. But so are pickled jalapenos. And why aren’t these in a Texas potato salad? Heck, even my mom—who is the queen of pickled jalapenos and its juice—doesn’t add it to hers. “Why not,” I asked. She didn’t have an answer, but insisted that sweet pickles are a key ingredient that compliments the other flavors.

Even though I’m no fan of sweet pickles, apparently I’ve been eating them in my potato salad my whole life without complaint, so I could see her point. But I still felt that a Texas potato salad needed jalapenos. So I compromised and made a batch of bread and butter jalapeno pickles and added that instead.



I love it when I have a hunch and it’s proven correct. And yes, these bread and butter jalapenos were a wonderful balance—sweet enough to be pleasing to the tongue yet fiery enough to make my lips tingle. Bread and butter jalapeno pickles were just what I needed to perk up my potato salad and make it my Texas potato salad.

But enough about me, what does Texas potato salad mean to you?

Texas potato salad
Ingredients:
2 pounds of red new potatoes, cubed
2 celery stalks, diced
2 green onions, sliced
1/4 cup of apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup of bread and butter jalapenos, diced (recipe follows or you can use store bought)
1/4 cup of yellow mustard
1/4 cup of mayonnaise
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon bread and butter jalapeno pickle juice
Salt and black pepper to taste

Method:
In a large pot, cover potatoes with cold water, bring to a boil and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. Should be tender but not mushy.

Drain potatoes and rinse in cold water. Toss with vinegar and salt, and let cool in the refrigerator for half an hour.

After the potatoes have cooled, gently stir in the mustard and mayonnaise into the potatoes and then add the rest of the ingredients.

Serves four to six.

Notes: Lots of people like to also add dill pickles and sliced eggs and it always tastes good. And I used red new potatoes because that’s what my grandmother grows on her farm, but you can also use Yukon gold or any other potato that you prefer. I also leave my potatoes unpeeled because I like the texture and flavor of the skins, but feel free to peel your potatoes if that’s how you like them.

Bread and butter jalapeno pickles
Ingredients:
1/2 pound jalapenos (about four)
1 cup of apple cider vinegar
1/2 cup of sugar
1 teaspoon mustard seed
1/2 teaspoon whole cloves
1/2 teaspoon whole allspice
1 cinnamon stick

Method:
Pack into a pint-sized jar the sliced jalapenos
Bring the vinegar, sugar and spices to a boil, and pour over the jalapenos.
Let cool (about half an hour) and then cover and refrigerate.
Will be ready in a couple of hours, but I like to let them pickle overnight.

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