Hatch chile potato casserole: funeral food

“Pass the chicken, pass the pie. We sure eat good when someone dies. Funeral food, it's so good for the soul. Funeral food, fills you up down to your toes.” —Kate Campbell

Funeral food was much on my mind last week as I returned to Texas to attend my grandma Ashner’s funeral.

She had been riddled with pancreatic cancer and when she was diagnosed last fall she was given five months to live. That she made it through 11 months was a gift and while I miss her, I know that she’s no longer feeling any pain.

Grandma Ashner, aka Grandma Fain or Grandma Texas, was my dad’s mother. She was a traditional Southern woman that despite her gentle, belle-like nature also had the strength to raise six children pretty much by herself in not the best of circumstances, with little complaint and much love. She was a passionate Aggie in a family of Longhorns and a staunch Democrat in a family where Republicans are the majority. She also had good Texan taste—adoring both the Dallas Cowboys and George Strait. And she made exceptional giblet gravy, which makes any other holiday condiment taste tepid and weak and wonderful chicken-fried steak, which of course makes all Texans smile.


Grandma Ashner holding me on my first birthday, with my aunts Julie and Jill joining in the fun.

I like to say I get my sweet nature from my mother’s side of the family—where pies are a specialty—and my savory nature from my dad’s side of the family—where chili and Tex-Mex are more on offer. But this is an oversimplification as Grandma Ashner was as sweet as they come. She always had a smile on her face and called everyone either darlin’, sweetheart or precious. And when it was time to bid farewell, you couldn’t leave without her saying, “Sweetheart, give me some sugar!”

My dad’s side of the family is large. He and his five siblings have produced 17 grandchildren and 13 great-grandchilden. I hadn’t seen many of my relatives in far too long, my being all the way up here in New York City and all. And while I wasn’t happy that I was seeing them again under such sad circumstances, it was indeed wonderful to be reunited with such a loving and cool bunch of people.

After the funeral, we went over to my cousin’s house where there was a full spread of casseroles, cold cuts, dips, salads, cookies and cakes provided by friends of the family. We were starving and this was just what we needed—funeral food, easy and comforting.

As we stood talking in the kitchen about how we’re going to put together a family cookbook to honor both Grandma and our family’s love of cooking and good food, we nibbled on a potato casserole that none of us could stop eating. It was rich, thick and creamy, and while you were stuffed after one bite you couldn’t put down your fork. Heck, many of us even went back for seconds and even thirds. There were no complaints, however, as this is what we needed that day—simple food that didn’t require much thought, just pure, fulfilling pleasure.



I have a recipe for potato casserole that may not be exactly what we ate, but it’s very similar. It’s not everyday fare as it’s heavy and not all that healthy. But that’s exactly what makes it perfect funeral food—for those times when you need something easy that can help fill the void caused by a loved one’s passing. And while it will be impossible to fill the void left by Grandma Ashner, for a moment at least, funeral food such as this potato casserole rose to the occasion and did its part.

Hatch chile potato casserole
Ingredients:
1 medium yellow onion diced
2 Hatch chiles, diced (Can use Anaheim chiles if Hatch chiles are unavailable)
4 tablespoons of butter, divided
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 teaspoon cumin
2 teaspoons salt (or to taste)
1 teaspoon black pepper (or to taste)
A pinch of Cayenne pepper
2 pounds of Russet potatoes, peeled and cut into small dice
1 cup heavy cream

Method:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large cast-iron skillet set on medium-low heat, melt two tablespoons of butter and then cook onion and chiles until onions start to brown a bit, about fifteen minutes. Turn off the heat.

Mix together the garlic, cumin, salt, black pepper and Cayenne pepper.

Add the diced potatoes to the skillet and mix with the onions and peppers. Stir in the garlic and spice mixture.

Pour the cream over the potatoes and cover skillet with foil. Bake for one hour.

After an hour, cut up remaining two tablespoons of butter and dot on top of cooked potatoes. Place skillet under the broiler for two minutes or until butter has melted and potatoes are starting to brown on top.

Let casserole cool a bit and serve. Serves six-to-eight.

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Spicy pickled okra

Okra: people either love it or hate it. But okra and I have a more complicated relationship. My head tells me that I don’t like okra—I find it slimy and strange. But if you present me with a plate of fried okra or a jar of pickled okra, I’ll eat it—happily and greedily.

I come late to okra, which belies my Southern heritage, I know. I only started eating fried okra a few years ago (though have since made up for much lost time) and pickled okra is an even more recent addition to my table.

A Texan friend had called me, thrilled that she had found “Talk O’ Texas” brand of pickled okra at a New York grocery store. I must have not expressed the appropriate amount of enthusiasm for her discovery because she said, “What’s wrong, don’t you like okra pickles?”

I admitted that I had never even tried them before, I was so adamantly against the vegetable. She chided me and told me that my attitude needed to change as I was missing out on a very good thing.



It wasn’t until last October that I finally took the okra-pickle plunge. I was at the annual Southern Foodways Symposium in Oxford, Mississippi and during a gumbo luncheon, jars of Tabasco spicy pickled okra were offered as gifts. None of my table mates wanted their jars and since I hate to see good food go to waste, I ended up with several jars of the pickles.

That night, after enjoying myself a bit too much, I ended up in my motel room hungry. Having only the pickles on hand, I decided that they would have to suffice. But surprisingly, I found them more than adequate—I actually enjoyed eating them and was thankful that I had more than one jar as I learned that I my friend was correct—pickled okra is indeed a very good thing.

Okra pickles are especially refreshing right now. Cold and crisp, I like to toss them into salads, dip them in hummus or use as a garnish in a glass of vegetable juice. There are still slight texture issues—yes, that’s a slight hint of softness in the center of each pod—but I find that the tang of the vinegar and fire of the chiles used in the brine make up for what I normally find unappealing.

And if you see red okra, definitely grab some. It’s a bit drier than the green okra and makes for an especially fine pickle—plus it turns the brine a rosy shade.



I’m not going to chide you if you don’t like okra—I realize opinions on it are heated. But no matter how you feel, do yourself a favor and at least try these spicy okra pickles. Who knows, you might even change your mind.

Spicy pickled okra
2 pounds okra, stems trimmed
8 garlic cloves
1 cup fresh dill
4 serrano chiles, stem removed 4
2 teaspoons chile flakes
2 teaspoons cumin seed
4 teaspoons salt
3 cups apple cider vinegar

Evenly divide between four sterilized pint-sized jars the okra, dill, Serrano chiles and garlic cloves.

Bring the vinegar and spices to a boil and pour into the jars. Fill up the rest of the jar with water.

Let cool (about half an hour) and then cover and refrigerate.

Will be ready in a day and will keep in the refrigerator for a few months, though they probably won't last that long.

Note: If you live in New York, I bought my red okra from Yuno Farms, which is at different Greenmarkets throughout the week: Union Square on Mondays; Dag Hammarskjold on Wednesdays, and West Village on Saturdays.

Speaking of farmers markets, Serious Eats has produced a beautiful short film about small farmer Rick Bishop of Mountain Sweet Berry Farm, which includes short interviews with people such as chefs Dan Barber, Alex Guarneschell and Tom Valenti, and bloggers such as Cathy Erway and myself talking about why we love the farmers market.

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How to make apricot jam

They say third time’s the charm and it was for me in my attempt at making jam. And, oh, what a jam! I made possibly the best-ever apricot jam.

The first time I tried making jam was last summer. I had a big batch of bruised strawberries and so I made a strawberry jam, following the directions on the pectin box. I must not follow directions very well because what I ended up with was a thick gummy blob. The flavor was good but the texture was just wrong.

So traumatized by my first-foray into the jam-making world, I didn’t gather enough courage to try again until a few weeks ago. This time, I followed a friend’s instructions for freezer jam with a huge haul of sour cherries. But again, I failed, as I let the mixture boil too long. After the jam cooled in the jar what I had was a rock-solid piece of candy, which wasn't very appropriate for spreading on toast.

I am not one to give up, however, and last weekend when I saw a gorgeous display of apricots at the farmers’ market, I decided to try making jam one more time.

I asked the farmer for advice on making apricot jam, and she told me that the key to making jam was to not over think it. I'm certainly guilty of over thinking things, so that was wisdom I could use. I then asked her if she had any other advice and she said, “People who don’t use Sure-Jell are snobs!”



Well, that was not what I wanted to hear! I have no problem with Sure-Jell, but after my pectin disaster last summer I wanted my jam to have a softer set, so I asked her if it was possible to make a decent jam without it. “Of course,” she replied. “Just make sure you have enough sugar.

How much is enough sugar? I heard everything from a one-to-one ratio of sugar to uncooked fruit to a 3/4-to-one ratio of sugar to uncooked fruit. Wanting to keep my jam slightly tart, I went with the latter.

After slicing my apricots and removing the pits, I measured how much I had and then threw them in a large pot. I added 3/4 cup of sugar for every cup of sliced fruit and one tablespoon of lemon juice per cup of fruit. To later test for doneness, I place a plate in the freezer.

I placed the pot on a burner, turned the heat to medium low and stirred the mixture every few minutes. It became juicy. And then the fruit began to turn to mush. There was foam, but I just kept stirring. After about an hour, the mixture was like a thick sauce, with a few small chunks of fruit but for the most part soft and smooth.

Thinking that the jam looked good and not wanting it to get too overcooked, I took out my plate from the freezer and plopped a dollop of jam on it to see if it was ready. After a minute, I turned the plate to see if it ran, and the jam did. So I cooked it for five more minutes and then repeated the frozen-plate test. This time, the jam stayed solid. The jam was done.



I packed it into sterilized jars, putting a chopped chipotle with one teaspoon of adobo sauce into one of the jars for the most incredible spicy-sweet jam, and then put my jars in the refrigerator. And the next morning I had the most beautifully set, tart and fragrant apricot jam to put on my peanut-butter toast.

Now, I’m sure that there are more scientific methods out there that employ thermometers and timers, but I found this method worked fine for me. But I’m still just a beginner, so please let me know in the comments what tips you have for making jam, so we can all become better at this age-old preservation process!

Apricot jam
Ingredients:
1 pound of sliced apricots, pits removed (4 cups)
3 1/2 cups of sugar
4 tablespoons of lemon juice (about one lemon) plus zest

Method:
Place the apricots, sugar, lemon juice and zest in a pot, and add a couple of tablespoons of water.

Place a plate into the freezer.

Turn the heat to medium low, and stirring every five minutes or so, let the fruit cook. It will first get juicy with the fruit intact, and then the fruit will start to disintegrate. As it cooks, there will be foam on top, but just keep stirring, don’t worry about skimming it.

After about an hour, the jam will be about two or three shades darker and will be smooth and thick, with a few lumps here and there. When it coats the back of a spoon, take out the plate from the freezer and place a dollop of the jam on the plate. If it runs, cook it for five more minutes and then test it again. But if becomes solid, then the jam is done.

Place in a sterilized half-pint jar(s).

When it comes to room temperature, put on the lid and then place in the refrigerator. After a few hours it will be more solid and ready for eating.

Makes about one pint.

Note: If you want to jazz up the flavor, you can add chipotle chiles in adobo, cloves, a cinnamon stick or a vanilla bean while it cooks.

The key, that I’ve learned, is to not over cook it. But if you do, and the next day you find that you have a jar of rock-hard candy instead of jam, all is not lost! You can place the jar into a pot of water and let it come to a boil. The jam will heat up and become liquid, and then you can slowly add more water to it until it’s more runny. Try the freezer test again and then repack it. (This is how I eventually saved my sour-cherry jam).

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