Baked Fish Tacos--orange we glad we waited!

When is an orange not just any old orange? When it springs from an orange tree in your own back yard!

In the Western part of these United States, where we have a little “grandparent house” that shelters us when we visit some special little people, has grown an orange tree—planted quite a few years ago on the same week our first grandchild was born. Year after year we’ve wondered whether we’d ever see any of the luxurious citrus like that on our neighbors’ trees. This year was our lucky year! Gorgeous golden orbs finally emerged from those branches at our place. Just had to find a special recipe that would feature oranges aplenty.

About the same time, the Kroger grocery circular appeared in our mailbox. It featured a recipe for Baked Fish Tacos that had oranges as a main ingredient. Segments from our yield of oranges were quickly removed and readied for this healthy and yummy entree.

We’ve heard about farmers who are reluctant to butcher a cow they’ve cared for from birth. We had no such sentimental ties to the yield of an orange tree we once planted at knee-height. We enjoyed this orange-studded menu item to the fullest!

Baked Fish Tacos

1/2 cup plain panko breadcrumbs

1 teaspoon cumin

1 teaspoon coriander (I substituted parsley flakes)

1 teaspoon chili powder

4 tilapia fillets, cut in half lengthwise

salt (or salt substitute) and pepper

1 cup plain Greek yogurt

1 to 2 chipotle peppers, minced (or a pinch or two of cayenne pepper)

2 oranges

1 bunch cilantro

8 soft flour tortillas

1 lime quartered, for garnish

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. In a small bowl combine the breadcrumbs, cumin, coriander, and chili powder. Place the fish on a parchment paper-lined cookie sheet; season fish with salt and pepper. Top each fillet generously with the breadcrumb mixture. Bake the fish for 5 to 10 minutes, or until the fish is firm, opaque, and has reached a safe internal temperature of 145 degrees. Meanwhile, in a food processor, combine the yogurt and chipotle peppers. Transfer to a small bowl; keep refrigerated until you are ready to eat. Prep the rest of the ingredients: Peel the oranges, separate into segments, and remove any seeds. Clean the cilantro; remove the stems. To assemble tacos place 1/8 of the fish in the center of a tortilla. Smear some of the chipotle yogurt on the tortilla. To each add 2 orange segments and some fresh cilantro. Refrigerate any leftovers. Makes 8 tacos. (Source: Kroger grocery MyMagazine)

Once again, adding green onions blasts dish to the stars!

My fresh green onions have done it again. Remembering my Bistro Chicken Salad and how pulling a handful of green shoots from the soil and chopping them up for this dish brought enough zing to blast me to the stars, I just had to add them to a recent entree of Tuna Cakes with Creole Mayonnaise. Utter delight!

The Tuna Cakes recipe from Southern Living’s recent “No-Fuss Dinners” article appealed to me simply because of its title. Who doesn’t respond to a headline advertising easy meals that “take the pressure off weeknights”? Especially on days when I go sit with Grandmunchkin in the afternoons to help out his mommy, getting a quick meal on the table after I arrive home late is always a challenge. I also loved the idea of stirring up the zesty “Creole Mayonnaise”—regular fat-free mayo spiced up with Creole seasoning and lemon juice—as a topping. I always welcome suggestions about how to enhance a prosaic can of tuna fish.

After all that, however, the mixture still looked a little bland to me. That’s when I remembered our green onion rows that proudly wave in the March wind. I stepped to our backyard garden plot and pulled one that looked especially hardy. A thorough rinse, a few chops on the cutting board, a good stir into the tuna mixture, and this evening meal just took on new dimensions.

A word about the prosaic can(s) of tuna fish, however. The recipe below (originated from Southern Living, as I mentioned) calls for 2 extra-large cans of tuna or 5 of the small ones. I had only 2 small cans on hand, so I stirred it up with those 2 but stuck with the portions in the regular recipe. Even with this adaptation, the amount made 8 servings of nice-sized, flavorful patties—ample for a couple of good meals for me and Hubby.

Tuna Cakes with Creole Mayonnaise

2 (12-ounce) cans solid white tuna in spring water, drained well (5 5-ounce cans solid white

tuna in spring water, drained well may be substituted)

1 1/4 cups Italian breadcrumbs (I used two large slices of whole-wheat bread, pulsed them in a blender, and added 2 teaspoons Italian seasoning to make my crumbs instead of buying already-packaged ones)

2 large eggs, lightly beaten (or 1/2 cup egg substitute)

2 teaspoons lemon zest

2 teaspoons Dijon mustard

1 cup fat-free mayonnaise, divided

1 1/4 teaspoons Creole seasoning, divided (I use the salt-free variety)

1 cup chopped fresh green onions

1/4 cup olive oil

1 teaspoon lemon juice

Drain and rinse tuna. Place tuna and breadcrumbs in a large bowl; stir in eggs, lemon zest, mustard, 1/3 cup mayonnaise, and 1 teaspoon Creole seasoning. Shape mixture into 8 (3-inch) patties. Cook 4 patties in 2 tablespoons hot oil in a large, nonstick skillet over medium-high heat 2 to 3 minutes on each side or until golden; drain on paper towels. Repeat with remaining tuna cakes and oil. Combine lemon juice and remaining 2/3 cup mayonnaise and 1/4 teaspoon Creole seasoning. Serve with hot tuna cakes. Makes 8 servings.

Mixed Veggie Casserole with Cheese a great side for barbecue at celebratory meal

OK, we had the barbecue beef and the salad for the dinner to be served after our little munchkin's baby dedication. But what about other sides? My daughter was set to prepare her favorite Company Potatoes recipe (appearing in my first cookbook, Way Back in the Country) that goes great with just about anything. But our crowd was not big on baked beans or any of the traditional barbecue match-ups.

I did an Internet search for vegetable casseroles. On nancysrecipes.wordpress.com in a feature called "A Recipe a Day" I discovered this mixed-veggie casserole that resembles the legendary green-bean dish that's stock-and-trade of Thanksgiving fare—baked with French-fried onions on top and mixed in and featuring cream of mushroom soup as part of the sauce. The original recipe called for frozen mixed veggies to be added, but I modified it so we could serve it the "garden-fresh" way, of course. Steaming some fresh veggies I had on hand made the mixture more healthy and was a good way to use up some leftovers.

Munchkin didn't get to sample any of our goodies that were prepared in his honor for the after-dedication meal. He was very content to nurse and have his supplemental bottle. But because of him we had a good excuse to indulge in some wonderful food. Mixed Veggie Casserole with Cheese was a big hit with the partygoers.

Mixed Veggie Casserole with Cheese

1/4 cup fresh corn, cut from cob

4 carrots, peeled, sliced into 1/2-inch slices (enough for 1 cup of carrots)

1 cup fresh trimmed green beans, cut into 1-inch pieces

1/2 cup frozen peas, thawed

1 (14-ounce) can reduced-sodium cream of mushroom soup

1 cup shredded Swiss cheese

1 cup nonfat sour cream

1 (6-ounce can) French-fried onions

1/4 teaspoon pepper

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Set aside 1/4 cup cheese and 1/4 cup French-fried onions. Steam fresh carrots, corn, green beans, and cauliflower 3-4 minutes on high in microwave until vegetables are tender. Drain. Add peas. In large bowl combine veggies, soup, 3/4 cup cheese, sour cream, 3/4 cup onions, and pepper. Pour all into greased 2-quart casserole dish, Bake 30 minutes. On top sprinkle reserved cheese and onions. Bake 5 more minutes. Serves 6-8.

Cucumbers and Onions in Vinegar: the Grand Pooh-Bah of Summer Foods

When I was making my list of summer "must-haves" before waning August days try to steal our joy, I neglected the Grand Pooh-Bah of Summer Foods: Cucumbers and Onions in Vinegar.

Something about that tangy, always-makes-you-sneeze, vinegar and water combination that the cukes and onions soak in to give them their flavor bespeaks of a scorcher summer day.

Cucumbers and Onions (some people throw in a chopped-up tomato for a little color and taste alternative) couldn't be simpler to prepare, yet until now, when I'm my making list and checking it twice about what not to neglect before summer draws to a close, it hadn't occurred to me--we hadn't indulged in this one yet.

How could I overlook it, since it bears a place of honor in my new cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden? It's a featured recipe as I describe my cousin Lynda's surprise wedding to her prince, George, and the memorable barbecue meal that followed.

Our cousins Bill and Jana brought Cucumbers and Onions fresh from their garden to serve at the lunch, which featured Mesquite Barbecue from the popular Mesquite eatery that our Uncle Herbert founded and where he became legendary for his Oyler Pit. (The recipe below can be attributed to Bill and Jana.)

It was a perfect complement for that barbecue, although last night at dinner it also went wonderfully well when Hubby and I dined on Cabbage Sloppy Joes (in a future blog I'll write more about that splendid recipe.) And yes, as if to pronounce Cucumbers and Onions in Vinegar a hit, Hubby graced it with a big sneeze as the pepper and the eau de tangy brine tickled his nostrils.

Hubby is bummed that our cucumber supply, despite all the vast, leafy vines that covered a portion of the garden, wasn't voluminous this year. It's on his 2011 Garden Resolutions list for next summer--a better cucumber patch.

But the few we have remaining we plan to enjoy down to the last tiny morsel floating in the vinegar-and-water sea. Summer, last just a little longer so we can enjoy all your good foods.

Cucumbers and Vinegar in Oil

2-3 medium cucumbers

1 medium onion

1/2 cup vinegar

1/2 cup water

1 teaspoon salt(we use salt substitute)

pepper to taste (the more you can stand, the better)

Peel cucumbers and slice horizontally. Slice onions crosswise. Put cucumbers and onions in a bowl. Pour vinegar and water over them. Stir to mix. Chill several hours before you serve. Serves 6-8.

Even without a partridge, new pear tree yields fruit for delicious cake

No, our pear tree has no partridge, but that's about the only thing it lacks.

Were we excited when we looked out our patio door and spotted the telltale signs of growth on our relatively new pear, which we have had in the ground only about two years!

"They'll be small this year," Hubby projected, ever optimistically, about the expected fruit. "Next year will probably be its year to shine."

Happily he was wrong. The small green projections kept growing and burgeoning--until they suddenly became the size of those you see in the grocery store produce aisle. They even sported a trace of characteristic amber blush, as though they were straight out of a still-life painting. Just beautiful. We admired and admired--but didn't pick. They still were way too firm to the touch.

"They'll ripen up soon," Hubby projected.

Wrong again. The pears just kept hanging there; they weighed down the branches. Birds began eyeing them longingly, or so we feared.

As a test case we brought one of the fruit in and set it on the window ledge to ripen. Works for peaches, why not pears? A few days passed. The supposedly ripening pear still was like a brick--a beautiful brick, but decidedly non-edible. Hubby tried to cut up one to use in a smoothie--bad choice.

Good ole Google. I entered my question, "How do I get pears to ripen?" Instant comfort--I wasn't the first to struggle with this dilemma. Google empathized and furnished me the answer to someone's similar query: Place unripened pears in a brown paper bag, keep bag closed, store away from light in a dry place. To speed things along, alongside them in the bag place another already ripe fruit. All this we did; our bagged pears hid out with a ripened apple.

Two days later--fulfillment! Wonderfully soft pears, thoroughly ripe and ready for a smoothie, Hubby supposed. Not so fast, I told him. I pulled out my Pear Cake recipe (from my new cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden). The first time I baked this cake years ago, I did so with pears from my neighbor's orchard. This time I wanted the privilege of using my own.

The recipe suggests baking the cake either in a tube pan or loaf pans; I chose the loaf pans so I could make two--one for now and one to freeze to take to my daughter next month when New Grandboy arrives. Then I added a glaze--not mentioned in Way Back in the Country Garden but a favorite that I like to use to give breakfast breads or loaf cakes a little something special.

The resulting cake with its fresh pear morsels was such a gift, I felt as though I'd been handed the partridge, two turtledoves, three French hens, four calling birds, and five golden rings all tied up in one special package.

Pear Cake

3 cups chopped pears

2 cups sugar (I used sugar substitute)

1 cup oil

3 cups all-purpose flour

2 eggs (I used egg substitute)

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground cloves

1 teaspoon ground allspice

2 teaspoons soda

1 teaspoon salt (I used salt substitute)

1 cup pecans, chopped

Mix first three ingredients; let stand for one hour. Beat eggs and add to pear mixture. Sift all dry ingredients together and add to pear mixture. Add chopped pecans. Pour into greased and floured tube pan or two loaf pans. Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour.

Glaze:

3/4 cup sugar (or sugar substitute)

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1 teaspoon butter flavoring

1/2 teaspoon almond extract

1/4 cup orange juice

Mix ingredients in bowl. Immediately when the cake is out of the oven, use toothpick to pierce the cake all over, but don't leave the toothpick in the cake. Spoon glaze over each loaf. Allow to cool in pans.

The cabbage recipe that launched a new cookbook and spawned a significant discovery

My hubby asked whether I knew the whereabouts of his plastic vitamin case.

"It's over there on top of the recipe box," I absently instructed him. Then remembering, and with a chuckle, I teased, "You know, the little brown box that launched a new cookbook."

Very true. This innocuous-looking brown wooden box, devoid of any kitchen decor but strictly practical and utilitarian to suit her purposes all those years, contained the discovery that prompted me, quite unexpectedly, to write my new Way Back in the Country Garden cookbook--the cookbook that prompted this blog, The Newfangled Country Gardener--and that started the dizzying promotion events that now swirl around me and my family.

The recipe box belonged to my Aunt Frances, our family's 102-year-old treasure and the last surviving member of Hubby and my parents' generation. Widowed for decades and childless, she doted on all her nieces and nephews; we, her primary caregivers, doted on her in return.

When she passed from us a year ago in May, the recipe box that for years she had kept fell into my possession. One day late last summer I casually thumbed through it. I was convinced I'd find nothing new. After all, my first book, Way Back in the Country, released in 2002, had mined every family standout family recipe that I could collect from my relatives and from my mother's recipe grouping that I also inherited on her passing.

As I dug into Aunt Frances' brown box, however, the first item that surfaced was the recipe for Cabbage Rolls, with Aunt Frances' notation that she often prepared this for Sunday-school covered-dish luncheons. That's strange, I thought to myself. I don't remember knowing about this one.

Then other new items began to crop up among the familiar. Okra Creole; Brown Sugar Apple Pie; Sauteed Okra, Corn, and Tomatoes. I began to realize that all these newly discovered recipes had a common theme--all were to be prepared with items that are homegrown--just the theme that I'd been contemplating with the rise in interest in home gardening that the Great Recession and other issues have spawned.

Besides my recipe-box find, I had been scribbling down some new stories that had poured off Aunt Frances' lips like rainwater during the last few years of her life. Even when her advancing age impaired her short-term memory slightly, our aunt always could be lightning-sharp about events that happened in days gone by. Vivid details about the legendary Oak Cliff Tornado which passed frighteningly near her Dallas home in 1957 and about Grandma Harris' serving Tomato Preserves when Aunt Frances and her sisters were schoolgirls were part of our aunt's clear recall in those latter days. As fast as she could reel them off, I recorded them--and then realized I had another book of family lore--lore beyond what I'd already captured in Way Back in the Country eight years ago--in the making.

When, recently, our 2010 garden brought forth its first cabbage head, I hauled it in and immediately had to turn it into Cabbage Rolls--admittedly a bit tedious to assemble (I can just imagine meticulous Aunt Frances carefully stuffing each individual cabbage leaf and then fastening each with a toothpick to secure). The actual cooking occurs for an hour in a covered skillet (you also could use a crock pot), with the pungent aroma filling every crevice of my kitchen as the mixture bubbles throughout the day and makes all the effort worthwhile.

When we at last dined on Cabbage Rolls, the delicious meal--combined with the fun I'm having seeing my new cookbook get in others' appreciative hands--made me immensely grateful for Aunt Frances' little brown box that spawned it all. Besides, the box does make a great spot on which Hubby's plastic vitamin case can rest.

Cabbage Rolls

8 cabbage leaves

1/2 cup brown rice

1 cup water

1/2 teaspoon salt (we use salt substitute)

1 pound ground beef (we used ground turkey)

1 tablespoon finely chopped onion

1 (1/2-ounce) envelope spaghetti-sauce mix

1 (1-pound) can whole tomatoes, undrained

1/4 cup evaporated milk, undiluted

Steam cabbage leaves in water for 8 minutes or until they are slightly softened; drain thoroughly. Combine rice, water, and salt; cook covered 20 minutes or until rice is tender. Mix together cooked rice, beef, onion, and 1 tablespoon spaghetti-sauce mix. Fill each leaf with approximately 1/3 cup meat mix. Fold leaf over meat; tuck in ends; fasten with toothpicks. Place rolls with overlapped side down in large skillet that has been sprayed with cooking spray. Mix together tomatoes and remaining contents of sauce-mix envelope; pour over cabbage. Simmer covered for 1 hour. Place rolls on platter; remove toothpicks. To tomato liquid in pan add evaporated milk. Simmer until thick but do not boil. Serve cabbage rolls steaming hot with sauce. Makes 4 servings.

Salad a stunner on live TV as talk show focused on joys of gardening resurgence

Would my speckled blue spongeware bowl be too "busy" to allow the cameras to focus?

Would my romaine lettuce wilt under the spotlight?

Would I remember the list of ingredients when I had to regurgitate them for the talk-show host?

I'm sure veteran TV cooks Racheal Ray and Paula Deen never have such concerns.

But Friday when I had to prepare Tangy Orange-Pecan Salad (I even devised the acronym TOPS to help me remember the name of the dish in case I blanked on live TV) for the Arizona Midday talk show, a thousand concerns such as these ran through my mind before I stepped on the stage with host Destry Jetton.

When my first cookbook, Way Back in the Country, debuted in 2002, I became highly familiar with cooking on live TV. Stations in a numerous places asked me to be a guest and to prepare my "Golden Corn Bread" that was featured in that book's first chapter. I became so accustomed to my corn bread preparation, I could have gone through those motions in my sleep.

But Friday's appearance to help promote my new book, Way Back in the Country Garden, was a first on live TV for me to prepare Tangy Orange-Pecan Salad, which I had chosen specially for this Arizona audience because oranges and other citrus are so plenteous in Arizona citrus groves. TV stations ask you to bring a sample of the finished product as well as the recipe in various stages of preparation (cut up orange sections in a bowl, dressing in a clear-glass container, spices mixed and ready to add.) My brain cells were eight-years older than when I did this previously. Could I remember everything I was supposed to do and say during the brief three-minute time segment?

Thankfully my host, Destry, a seasoned TV personality on this NBC affiliate, made the process comfortable (beforehand we discovered she had been a Texan some years back and even worked in the same city at the same my son was employed there. Small world!) She interviewed me about why I believed home gardening is experiencing a resurgence. She was enthusiastic about my recipe and even asked me why this particular recipe, Tangy Orange-Pecan Salad, was special to me (in the cookbook I write that I first prepared it last January when we were in Phoenix for our grandson's birth at the height of Citrus Season.)

Despite my niggling concerns, my spongeware bowl looked fabulous on camera. I spieled off the recipe ingredients fast and accurately. The crunchy romaine held up great and looked delectable with the orange sections, pecans, parmesan cheese, and cilantro on top. And best of all, the camera focused on the cover of my new book again and again! Great publicity!

Doubt if I'll be edging out Rachael or Paula, but I'm pumped and ready to cook on camera again any time.

Tangy Orange-Pecan Salad

4 navel oranges

1 lemon

1 tablespoon sugar (we use sugar substitute)

1 tablespoon oil, such as olive oil or canola

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 (16-ounce bag) romaine, washed, dried and chopped

1/3 cup cilantro, chopped

2 tablespoons grated parmesan cheese

1 cup broken (not chopped) pecan halves

Peel and section three oranges; remove white membrane; cut orange sections into bite-sized chunks. Set aside. Into small container squeeze the juice of the remaining orange. Squeeze the juice of the lemon into the container. Combine sugar, oil, salt, and cinnamon. Whisk into juice. Place chopped romaine into mixing bowl. Add dressing and toss. Onto serving bowl place lettuce that has been tossed with dressing. Sprinkle on orange segments, chopped cilantro, and parmesan cheese. In small nonstick skilled toast broken pecans for about five minutes until they become brown. Sprinkle on top of salad. Makes six servings.

Mixed berries make a wonderful showing in this unusual crustless "pie" recipe

When is a pie crust not a pie crust?

When it's the shell of an apple that cleverly acts as a holder for pie ingredients.

Just days ago I discovered a fun new recipe, the outcome of which was brimming with health and goodness but amazed me at its ability to taste like a pie without the usual flour/water/oil crust.

The secret was finding baking apples such as Granny Smith that are tart and are designed to be baked in the oven rather than merely eaten as snacks.

Our grocery happened to be running a special on its fresh shipment of blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries--the first three ingredients in the Baked Apples with Berries recipe I'd just discovered. (Thanks again to my "Celebrating a Healthy Harvest" booklet, which has recipes categorized by fresh fruits and vegetables. Each fruit or vegetable features two recipes that can be prepared with that particular produce item.)

Besides being sure to use baking rather than snacking apples, another key to this recipe is to core the apple only three-quarters of the way down rather than hollowing out the full depth of the apple. Leaving some uncored portion at the bottom retains the fruit mixture during the baking process and helps the skin serve as the "pie shell" I mentioned. The rest of the instructions appear below.

After baking this concoction for 45 minutes, the apple skin made a wonderful holder for the baked berries and then the yummy fruit and yogurt mixture that's added after baking.

We dined on our Baked Apples with Berries at dinner while they were warm from the oven and saved the remaining two stuffed apples for the next day's lunch. For lunch I ate mine cold, straight from the refrigerator--equally delicious!

Baked Apples with Berries

1 cup fresh blackberries

1 cup fresh raspberries

1 cup blueberries

4 large baking apples (I used Granny Smith), washed

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 cup low-fat vanilla yogurt

2 teaspoons honey

slivered almonds (optional)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Core apples about three-quarters o the way through the apple. Start at the stem. Make the hole more than 1 inch wide. Place apples in baking dish that has been sprayed with cooking spray. Rinse and drain berries. Combine berries and then pack berries firmly into the opening in each apple. Set extra berries aside. Bake apples until they are soft, about 45 minutes. Divide remaining berries in half. Crush half the berries and then mix with yogurt, cinnamon, and honey. Serve apples with yogurt topping and extra berries sprinkled on top. Sprinkle slivered almonds on top if desired.

Plum-peach dish summarizes childhood summers; yields a winner of a dessert

If ever a dessert existed that--all in one dish--encapsulated the summers of my childhood, it's the spectacular Plum-Peach Crumble.

But previously I've always had to hit the grocery store produce aisle or borrow from someone else's fruit trees to complete the process of making it.

Not this year! I'm proud to report that every smattering of peaches and plums needed to hatch up this wonderful creation hailed from my own back yard.

Our plum tree, for the first time, yielded a bevy of baby plums--prolific, sweet, and juicy. Into the pie mix they went, along with a small sackful of peaches I'd been hoarding until the plums were ripe and ready.

For dessert last night we had the Moore Orchard-produced Peach-Plum Crumble. O, was it a spectacular treat!

The reason Plum-Peach Crumble encapsulates my childhood is very simple. In the yard my parents purchased to build their home on Garland's South 11th Street were two kinds of fruit trees--peaches and plums. Summers were spent with me alternating between these delicious fruit: after lunch one day I'd snare a fresh peach for dessert; another day I'd grab a plum.

My parents were fortunate to get a ready-made fruit orchard in their back yard and that they didn't have to spend years cultivating one. That had been done by their neighbor, Brother Hunt, a retired Baptist minister who tended his gardens situated in the vacant lot that was next to his home on South 11th (now part of Historic Downtown Garland).

My parents had spotted the empty lot as a potential location for the house they wanted to build near downtown. They wanted to locate in an area in which their only child could walk to all 12 grades of school. Brother Hunt's vacant lot was only one block from the junior high and high school and two blocks from the neighborhood elementary.

My mother approached Brother Hunt's daughter, who taught typing at the high school in which my mother had been school secretary. But Louise Hunt told my parents that her dad enjoyed his fruit orchard too much to part with the lot on which it was located.

My parents had been headed out to close the sale on another lot, some five blocks away—their distant second choice. But Louise Hunt's phone call caught them in time. Her dad was getting up in years, she said, and couldn't tend the garden as he once had, so he had reconsidered. He would sell them the 11th-Street lot which housed his prized peach and plum trees, as well as an expansive vegetable garden. My parents were ecstatic to get their first choice of lots and told Brother Hunt he could pick fruit off his former trees any time he liked.

When Brother Hunt sauntered through the hedge to visit his former garden, he enjoyed talking with the loquacious little girl who now lived on the lot. The older retired preacher and the pipsqueak young neighbor became best buddies. But I'm surprised he ever found any fruit left on his trees. I usually had beat him to the peaches and plums that he had given their start.

Some years back I happened onto this recipe for Plum-Peach Crumble (now contained in my new book, Way Back in the Country Garden) and couldn't believe my good fortune. I've baked it for several summers in a row. But this year--our prized fruit orchard sourced the entire concoction. Brother Hunt, long in Glory but whose memory still remains with that now-grownup pipsqueak young neighbor--his buddy--would be so pleased.

Plum-Peach Crumble

1/4 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup granulated sugar (we use sugar substitute)

1/2 teaspoon salt (we use salt substitute)

1/2 stick butter

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1 egg (we use egg substitute)

1/4 cup granulated sugar (or sugar substitute)

1/2 cup heavy cream (we substitute skim milk)

1 teaspoon almond extract

3/4 pound plums, peeled and chopped (about 1 1/4 cup chopped)

3/4 pound peaches, peeled and chopped (about 1 1/4 cup chopped)

fat-free whipped topping or fat-free vanilla yogurt

slivered almonds

Mix together brown sugar, 1/2 cup granulated sugar, and salt. Cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in flour. Divide mixture in half. Set one-half aside. To other half add cinnamon, baking powder, and 1 egg. Blend well. Press into bottom of 9-inch square pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 5 minutes. When the crust bakes, whisk together remaining 1/4 cup sugar, 1 egg, cream (milk), and almond extract. Remove crust from oven and spread chopped plum and peaches on top. Pour cream mixture over fruit. Sprinkle with reserved half of butter-blour mixture. Sprinkle with additional brown sugar if desired. Bake at 350 degrees until crumb topping is browned (about 20-25 minutes). Serve warm with whipped topping or fat-free vanilla yogurt and slivered almonds.

For this "J", flexibility with recipe ingredients can have big payoffs

Where recipes are concerned, I've never been much for adapting.

If a recipe says 1 cup pecans, to me that means 1 cup and not a sprinkling more. If it calls for six ingredients, I follow it to the letter of the law. If I don't possess all the items it calls for, I simply bypass the recipe and select another one.

I recently edited a book in which the author stated that she viewed any recipe as merely as "suggestion" as to how a food item should be prepared. To the basic framework she always added, subtracted, and modified at will.

When I ran across that statement in her copy, I mentally rolled my eyes. A suggestion? I'd starve before I ever failed to follow a recipe down to the last jot and tittle.

My hubby of course would assess that this is because I'm a die-hard "J" on the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, a renowned personality inventory that helps people understand themselves better. A "J" doesn't flex much and usually is as rigid as the day is long, according to my hubby, who naturally is a Myers-Briggs "P" (don't fence him in! Give him lots of room to go with the flow!) Yes, opposites attract!

All this is a prelude for saying that surprisingly, I've found myself actually flexing a lot more lately when I'm preparing a recipe. For example to the ingredients for "Lemony Vegetable Medley" in yesterday's blog--I shocked myself by adding some thinly sliced carrots to the green bean-corn-radish-red pepper potpourri before marinating. I had some leftover carrot chips on hand and thought, "Bet that would add some extra zing." Yes, that's me, Kay--the die-hard "J"--actually coloring outside the box from what the recipe originally said.

But because I adapted with that recipe and added the carrot on a whim, that left me carrot-less last night when the time arrived to prepare "Calico Beef Burgers", which I earlier mentioned is one of my summer "must-have"s. Calico Beef Burgers, which we sub with ground turkey instead of ground beef, calls for 1/2 cup grated carrot to be mixed in with the meat before one forms the burger patty. Since I was without a carrot, I surveyed the fridge and with a nonchalance that would make any "P" proud, asked myself, "Now what do I have . . .?"

The answer? Corn--left over from Monday night and the "Lemony Vegetable Medley." A couple of ears still were available. Hubby had picked them from his garden a few days earlier. I quickly microwaved them, cut the kernels from the cob, and stirred in the corn in place of the 1/2 cup grated carrot.

The result? An absolute meal in a burger patty, which contained meat, cheese (dairy), green veggie (green onions), potato (carbohydrate/fiber), and corn (fiber again). On a whole wheat bun I added spinach leaves (which we usually substitute for lettuce) to make the whole thing even more healthy.

Hubby said he didn't miss the carrot at all, though I'll probably return to the original recipe when I stir up some "Calico Beef Burgers" (from my cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden) again. On the other hand, flexing was so enjoyable, I might just sub a little grated zucchini next time!

Calico Beef Burgers

3/4 cup pound ground beef or ground turkey

1 cup cold cooked potatoes, riced or mashed

1/2 cup shredded carrots

1/4 cup finely chopped green onion

1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

1 egg

1 tablespoon steak sauce

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon pepper

Combine ingredients; shape into patties. Grill burgers. May be served on a toasted bun or by themselves with a little salt-free ketchup on top.

Don't let the title fool you; "mid-summer" salad recipe with ingredients fresh from the garden is perfect any time

The recipe's name was "Mid-Summer Salad", but who says it can't make a good meal in early summer as well?

As I prepared this recipe for a June evening meal, I couldn't help but wish I were doing so on a mid-summer date a few weeks hence. That would mean that our expected baby grandson would be very near his arrival time. Wa-hoo! We can hardly wait! Now that will be a cause for celebration! But back to "Mid-Summer Salad."

"Mid-Summer" in the recipe name perhaps refers to the fact that some of the ingredients, such as the tomatoes and cucumber, would be reaching their peak in the garden in mid-summer and hence would be available for salad-making about that time.

Regardless of the trivia about the name, Mid-Summer Salad was memorable and delicious. (Thanks to my booklet, Celebrating a Healthy Harvest, from the Chickasaw Nutrition Services, which contained the recipe.) In preparing it I learned two things:

* Green onions, fresh from our garden (they're really just the tops of regular onions), add an incredible zest to a salad mixture. In this recipe they're part of the dressing. They really make this salad sing. The one-tablespoon mustard added to the dressing adds to the flavor as well.

* Keep the cut-up avocado in a salad from turning brown by dumping the seed right into the salad mixture. The presence of the seed keeps the avocado green. (I learned this on Sunday from Ishmael's mom, who attended--and brought homemade Guacamole for--our backyard fiesta. I wrote about this in my Monday blog about my "new-beginnings" Peach Cobbler. As I scooped out my Guacamole helping onto my plate, a medium-sized seed plopped right onto the plate with it. Margarita told me she puts seeds in all her guacamole. Indeed it was the brightest, freshest green color imaginable.) Of course many people sprinkle a cut avocado with lemon or white vinegar to prevent browning.

Many people also know the tip that to ripen an avocado, place the fruit in a brown paper bag in a cool place for two to five days. Daily check for ripeness. Refrigerate ripe avocados; use within three days.

I added the avocado seed to my mixture for my Mid-Summer Salad. Truly the avocado stayed bright green and never turned brown even hours after the salad had been in the refrigerator. Thanks, Margarita, for the suggestion!

Because of the addition of the diced chicken breast, Mid-Summer Salad--served with some warmed tortillas on the side (also left over from Sunday's fiesta)--made an ideal entree for a light summer meal. Here's to Mid- (or in the case of our salad, Early) Summer!

Mid-Summer Salad

8 cups mixed greens (we used spinach)

2 eggs, hard-boiled, chopped

1/2 pound cooked boneless chicken breast, diced

2 tomatoes, diced

1 cucumber, sliced

1 avocado, diced

Dressing:

2 tablespoons vinegar

2 tablespoons diced green onions

1 tablespoon mustard

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon black pepper

2 tablespoons cooking oil

Mix dressing ingredients in a small container. In a large salad bowl mix and toss greens, eggs, chicken breast, tomatoes, cucumber, and avocado. Add dressing and toss thoroughly. Chill and serve. Makes 4 servings.

Despite frustrating allergies, nothing keeps us from our prized pecans

The same dance occurs about this time every year.

My hubby threatens to cut down our prized, paper-shell pecan trees.

These very same trees are the treasure trove of our most exemplary pecans--so sweet straight from the nut that they taste almost like candy--with shells so thin you can crack them using your thumb.

Our property contains nine pecan trees, but we usually make the pecan crop from the seven others available to friends, neighbors, and pecan-seekers from the general public who know our block is the source of free pecans and who annually line the curbside in the fall.

The annual yield of our two paper-shell pecans is ample for all our personal pecan needs for the year ahead.

My hubby loves the trees and what they produce, but he takes pity when he sees my eyes almost swollen shut from my late-in-life-onset pecan allergy when the trees shed their green, tassel-like "catkins", or pollen-producing flowers, in the late spring. I have to swear off my contact lenses for weeks on end while I wait for catkin-shedding period to pass.

"Let's just cut them down," he always threatens of our towering paper-shell producers, which happen to be the pecan trees nearest the driveway and house and therefore the ones with the greatest impact on my allergies.

If we ever seriously entertained such a thought, my parents likely would rise up from their burial spots in protest and haunt us forever. My daddy's pecan trees on his lot around my growing-up home (just down from us on Garland's 11th Street) were like children to him. He took such pride in their fertility. (Only when my hubby and I lived on the East Coast during our past pilgrimage was I fully aware that not every state possessed such a prize native treasure as the stately pecan.)

Even when she was on hospice, my mother one fall was fretting over who would pick the pecans that layered her yard unpicked. She ultimately called a friend who was a local baker to help herself to the nuts that would go into some of that friend's bakery specialties.

My Nanny's Pecan Pie recipe is one of the first dishes we annually make in the fall when the first new pecans are brought in. I usually follow that by stirring up Pecan Pie Muffins (both of these two recipes are in my first cookbook, Way Back in the Country.) Some other favorites are Sour Cream Apple Cake and Caramel Apple Coffee Cake (the last one appears in my new cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden.)

What would I do if my hubby carried out on his annual comment and we had to look elsewhere for our marvelous paper-shells?

In the end I didn't have to worry. We decide to put off for at least another year any decision about tree-removal. I slogged through another spring and the pecan-tree discharge. My daughter's optometrist friend suggested to her that I store my allergy drops for my eyes in the refrigerator to make them more soothing when applied. I ordered a new lens (gas-permeable) for my left eye, which seems to be the one most sensitive to the shedding. I built my wearing time back up. I persevered. All for those buttery, paper-shell pecans, which, incidentally, are rich in omega-6 fatty acids and therefore help people maintain good health.

After all, they're what make my new recipe for Citrus Pecan Spinach Salad, which we enjoyed this weekend and my hubby pronounced "the very best salad ever", sizzle!

Citrus Pecan Spinach Salad

1 (9-ounce) bag ready to eat spinach

1 green apple, cut in very thin slices

1 (15.25-ounce) can tropical fruit mix, drained

1/3 cup feta cheese

1 handful pecans, broken in pieces (not chopped)

1/4 cup olive oil

2 tablespoons raspberry vinegar

2 tablespoons raspberry preserves (we use sugar-free)

On a pie plate place pecans in a layer. In a 350-degree oven toast pecans until they are brown (about 8 minutes). Set aside to cool. For dressing, mix olive oil, raspberry vinegar, and raspberry preserves. Refrigerate for 15 minutes. In salad bowl toss spinach, thinly sliced apple, drained fruit, and feta cheese. Toss together with refrigerated dressing. Add toasted pecans and toss again slightly to coat nuts. Serves 4.

Garden-fresh tomatoes add missing ingredient to these very "elementary" beans

My hubby couldn't have been more insulted. The recipe card that I, with a hopeful look on my face, plunked in front of him was labeled "Beans 101."

Hubby fancies himself as the Grand Pooh-Bah of Bean-Cooking. My recipe card with its unusual title apparently hinted to him that he might have something yet to learn on the subject.

Why “101”? his expression seemed to say. I'm already on the doctoral level where beans are concerned.

Nevertheless, he undertook the recipe and helped me out with what would be the next night's dinner. After all, he'd already been commenting that we'd need to have some homemade beans again sometime soon. And besides, the recipe card hailed from his beloved Chickasaw Nutrition Services office. As a citizen of the Chickasaw Nation, to him these freebie recipe cards (mentioned in yesterday's blog) are—like everything else Chickasaw—sacrosanct.

Some 10 hours later, after the concoction bubbled on low overnight (and greeted us in the morning with an awesome aroma), hubby had a frown on his face when he sampled the mixture. "Needs something," he murmured with furrowed brow.

He grabbed the salt substitute and poured some into the crockpot. Not sufficient, he determined on taste. Next he browned some ground turkey (our substitute for ground beef) and dumped it in. Improving, he assessed. Then he thought of tomatoes--fresh tomatoes from the garden, or the canned-and-drained variety as a substitute. Now that's getting tasty, his pleased look communicated.

For our purposes we changed the name of the recipe to Tomato Chili Beans. Fresh tomatoes had saved the day, added lycopene and vitamins C and A, and given the chili beans an improved color, with red chunks bobbing in the liquid. (Cooked tomatoes are said to have even more health benefits than raw ones do.) We heaped our soup bowls high and then dabbed on sour cream with a dusting of shredded cheese and slices of avocado.

Beans 101 turned out to be a fine refresher course in perseverance and ingenuity. And as Grand Pooh-Bah of Bean-Cooking, my husband can add one more success story--this time with Tomato Chili Beans (see below)--to his repertoire.

Tomato Chili Beans

3 cups dried pinto beans

1/2 small onion, diced

10 sliced jalapenos (optional)

1 1/2 tablespoons chili powder

2 teaspoons black pepper

12 cups water

salt to taste

about 6 tomatoes, peeled and seeded (or 1 14-ounce can salt-free diced tomatoes, drained)

1 pound ground turkey, browned and drained (optional)

sour cream

grated cheddar cheese

sliced avacado

Wash and sort 3 cups of pinto beans. Discard any small stones. Place beans in a slow-cooker and fill with 12 cups of water. place small diced onion and jalapenos (if desired) in slow cooker. Add chili powder and black pepper. Add tomato. Add browned ground turkey, if desired. Cook on high for 1 hour; then turn down to low to cook overnight (10 hours). Check water level in the morning. May add more water if needed. Cook on low all day and served in the evening. Spoon into bowls. Add sour cream, cheddar cheese, and avocado.

That healthy veggie, zucchini, wins kudos in entree for sultry summer evening

My hubby has only a few, minor pet peeves. These include—

• finding used tissue stuffed under my pillows when he makes the bed;

• finding dishes stacked in front of his coffeemaker, thus barring easy access to his java;

• finding that someone has taken out the kitchen trash without fitting a fresh trash bag onto the waste can;

• being unable to locate a pen or pencil when he's on the telephone and needs to scribble something;

• running out of paper goods (i.e., finding the paper-towel holder empty without any spares).

(He's easily pleased, don't you think? And you'll notice I didn't even mention the ubiquitous direction-of-the-toilet-paper thingy. He's cool on that one.)

But one irritation can spur him to a major meltdown. His PETTEST PEEVE of all has nothing to do with the genre of the above irritations: it's finding the kitchen oven on with me baking something on a hot summer day. Hubby believes this is the highest waste of energy; it heats up the house and causes the air-conditioner to pump more. Thus it drives up the fuel bill. He believes a ban should be enacted on all summer baking and that we should turn to more energy-conserving types of food preparation. (Of course that would eliminate the peach cobblers and peach muffins and all the other peach baked goodies I rhapsodized over yesterday, wouldn't it?)

His penchant for the un-oven baked caused him to be ecstatic over a meal one night this week; it had Sauteed Zucchini and Fettuccine as its main course. (Since our Texas temps already are nearing the triple digits, concern about heating up the kitchen makes excellent sense.)

From our May visit to the Chickasaw farmer's market we had just a handful of items unused; a tad bit of zucchini was one of them, but that tad was plenty for a recipe I'd been wanting to try. Sauteed Zucchini and Fettuccine (which I borrowed from Family Circle magazine) called for only two large zucchini, trimmed and shredded.

This light summer meal was absolutely perfect for a sultry summer evening. The toasted pine nuts (toast them in a countertop toaster oven to avoid the forbidden "oven-baking") add a perfect touch and make the pasta dish feel substantial. Parmesan cheese lends texture and, of course, flavor. We served it as an entree alongside a stir-fried vegetable medley dish (more on that tomorrow). As my hubby remarked about the meatless main course of Sauteed Zucchini and Fettuccine, "This was enough--very filling."

He can expect to see more of it on the table before the summer ends. That giant vegetable plant in the corner of his garden--the plant he thought was yellow squash? Turns out to be zucchini, with tiny zucchinis bursting forth all throughout its massive leaves.

If I only could find a way to "un-bake" zucchini muffins. My cousin Jana's recipe in my new cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden, makes the best use ever of that healthy vegetable.

Sauteed Zucchini and Fettuccini

8 ounces fettuccini pasta

4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

2 tablespoon minced garlic

2 large zucchini (1 pound total), trimmed and shredded

1/2 cup pine nuts, toasted

3/4 teaspoon salt (we used salt substitute)

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice

2 ounces shaved Parmesan cheese

Cook fettuccini according to package directions. Drain and place in a large serving bowl. Heat a large nonstick skillet over high heat until very hot. Add 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, garlic, and shredded zucchini. Saute for 1 minute. Add zucchini to pasta in bowl along with pine nuts, salt, pepper, lemon juice, and remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil; toss to combine. Sprinkle with shaved Parmesan cheese and serve immediately. Makes 4 servings.

The call of the cornstalks makes recipe a must-fix

I never could understand it. My mother would gaze on all the chocolate-laden desserts on display in the cafeteria dessert line and swiftly pass them up, along with the seductive coconut pie with the three-inch-high meringue and the apple cobbler with its sugar-dusted lattice top. She'd ignore the tangy lemon cream pie with the frothy whipped-cream topping. She'd even turn her nose up at the four-layer carrot cake decked with cute little carrots crafted with orange icing.

What, instead did she pick?

Bread pudding, of course. The most prosaic of all choices, and she'd select it every time. Pudding with bread? Wasn't a dinner roll enough? I shook my head in puzzlement as I hastily pulled some chocolate three-layer decadence onto my tray.

Maturity among the taste buds did its work on me. Now, what's my first choice in the cafeteria line (provided one can still locate a cafeteria!)? Bread pudding, of course. I've become a bread-pudding-aholic. These days I’m crazy for it. I have recipes for every variety known. In my first cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden, Pumpkin Bread Pudding got the nod. In my new cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden, Apple Bread Pudding, made with fresh apples, got rave reviews. Chocolate Bread Pudding is another hands-down favorite of mine.

I now consider bread pudding of any variety to be the dessert of royalty. Mother, I take it all back. Mothers are always right.

Perhaps that's why the recipe for Fresh Corn Bread Pudding caught my eye and made it to my "must-try" list. (Earlier I mentioned that I'm cooking my way through my wish-list of recipes that have been gathering dust in my binder for numerous seasons. Corn Bread Pudding is one that I repeatedly bypassed but promised myself to prepare.)

It was billed as a cross between corn pudding and cornbread. Most importantly it calls for fresh corn cut from the cob. While we're waiting for our own garden's cornstalks to get as high as an elephant's eye (looks like maybe about three weeks to go), we found a good deal on corn at our Kroger this week. Corn Bread Pudding (from a long-ago Family Circle magazine) was a great way to use a bunch of it quickly.

This delightful concoction is sweet enough to be mistaken for dessert, but it also makes a terrific side dish as well as an almost-bread serving. My hubby and I even served it to ourselves as a main course alongside a colorful vegetable salad. For my daughter, who slathers ketchup on most everything, Corn Bread Pudding is certainly ketchup-worthy. And for last night's meal I dressed it up with a little sour cream/dill sauce that I had prepared for another entree. What a great combination!

Corn Bread Pudding, with three cups of corn kernels in it, is plenty fibrous, moist, and sweet. But best of all, before too many days I can walk out my door a few steps, visit my elephant's-eye-high cornstalks, and prepare it from fresh ingredients found in my own back yard!

Fresh Corn Bread Pudding

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

1/2 cup cornmeal

2 tablespoons sugar (or sugar substitute)

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt (or salt substitute)

2 cups buttermilk (or 4 1/2 teaspoons vinegar with enough milk added to make 2 cups)

4 large eggs (or egg substitute)

3 cups fresh corn kernels cut from 4 to 6 ears

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 7-inch-by-11-inch baking dish. In a large bowl whisk together the cornmeal, sugar, baking soda, and salt in a large bowl. Pulse buttermilk, eggs, and 3 tablespoons melted butter in a blender or food processor until smooth. Add corn and pulse a few more times (the mixture should be lumpy with visible kernels). Whisk buttermilk mixture into cornmeal mixture. Pour into prepared baking dish; bake 35 to 40 minutes until edges are golden brown and center remains slightly jiggly. Transfer to a rack to cool. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Thoughtful family provided new definition of "funeral food" —a mother's recipes

No funeral gloom was to be found in the hallways of Restland Funeral Home in Dallas on Friday of last week. The next-of-kin was handing out recipe books to those who arrived to pay their respects!

This certainly didn't mean that Kay Hall and her family members weren't deeply grieved that their mom, Janelle Ellis Gilstrap, 84, had passed from this life. No words exist to adequately describe the profound sense of loss when one's mother is gone from this earth.

But this celebration of Mrs. Gilstrap's homegoing to heaven also was a commemoration of her life as a "Proverbs 31" woman--and how she frugally guarded her food dollar during tight times and cooked extraordinary meals on a shoestring budget.

Some of those extraordinary meals were remembered in the booklet called "Janelle's Favorite Recipes for You" that Kay distributed as loved ones and friends filed in for visitation. What a neat idea--and a neat keepsake to cherish in recalling the deceased person! I felt as if I knew Mrs. Gilstrap a little better after I read about her favorite foods to prepare--many of them from garden yield.

Kay has been my friend since junior high. She was a bridesmaid in my wedding in 1969 and has done an above-and-beyond job of keeping in touch although we've lived apart for most of the years we've known each other. I'll never forget how thoughtful her mother was when I visited the Gilstrap home while I was a college student. After she learned I was on a diet (aren't we always?), she quickly scrambled to serve me something healthy that she knew was legit on my "eating plan".

After Kay handed me my souvenir copy of Mrs. Gilstrap's recipes, I lamented the fact that I hadn't possessed them months earlier so I could include a few in my new cookbook, Way Back in the Country Garden. Mrs. Gilstrap, born in Jewett, TX, was a thorough East Texas cook who certainly would have resonated with my recipes from six generations of my East Texas farm family. Kay told me that many of Janelle’s recipes were obtained from Mrs. Gilstrap's own mother, Bertha Ellis.

Cooks of her day (represented by many of the moms and grandmas of us Baby Boomers) lived through the Depression and therefore had to become highly resourceful. As a result many of them became "Gourmet Country Cooks". They used what they had, which often was little and was represented merely by what they could pick from the garden patch outdoors, and learned to cook it "to the max"--creatively and inventively, with whatever was on hand. A few of these in Kay's mom's collection included Sweet Potato Souffle, Homemade Vegetable Beef Soup (featured below), and Pickled Peach Salad.

What Kay did in handing out recipes to funeralgoers underscored the precise premise of my two cookbooks--that linking recipes to those who prepared them is a critical part of preserving a family's history and that a part of us lives on when food items that we popularized are served again and again with the simple mention that, "Oh, this is chocolate pie just like Great-Aunt Gertie prepared." Younger ones who didn’t know Great-Aunt Gertie will still carry a special memory of her when they consume her legendary pie.

So thank you, Mrs. Gilstrap, for giving to the world your daughter, whom I count as a special friend, but especially for these recipes that will enable many of us to try to replicate your cooking abilities long after you've become a veteran of heaven. I salute cooks such as you who can teach us much about being good stewards and about making the most of what we have.

Homemade Vegetable Beef Soup

Water

1 pound lean meat

1 onion, chopped

(Boil meat and onion in water. Meat may be cooked separately at first to degrease.)

Add:

4 carrots, sliced

4 potatoes, cubed

(Cook 5-10 minutes.)

Add:

1 can tomato soup

1 can tomato paste

1 can corn (or fresh corn cut from cob)

1 can green peas

(Cook until carrots and potatoes are done.)

Add:

1 cup macaroni.

(Cook until macaroni is done.)

"Mint" to be--the persevering mint plant has some redeeming virtues after all

Words I never thought I'd hear myself say—"Did he really dig up all of it?"

All last year I wished the pesky mint plants in my flowerbed closest to the back porch would magically disappear.

Efren, who helps us with our yard, weekly--at my instruction--plowed most of it under, but almost immediately sprigs would begin peeking their heads up again--around the gladiolus, through the lantana, and under the hydrangea planted nearby.

No matter how many times we'd uproot it and turn the soil over and over again, before long mint springs would return to their habitat. (One Internet comment called mint the "demon spawn of all garden plants". Apparently I'm not alone in my frustration.)

"You can never get rid of mint," Efren finally told me by way of explanation. "It'll always grow back no matter what you do." Mint, indeed, seemed to persevere.

At first I mumbled, "Grrrr", at Efren's counsel . . . then I realized that his words, indeed, would preach.

Suddenly I began to see that nuisance mint plant in a different light. I'm at a stage in my life in which my heart's greatest desire is to PERSEVERE . . . to persevere in healthy living, to persevere with my gardening. to persevere in prayer, to persevere against some seemingly insurmountable obstacles I face, to persevere in seemingly impossible projects on which I'm working, and to endure in a host of other ways.

Recently, in fact, I underlined in my Bible the verse, We considered blessed those who have persevered (Jas. 5:11). It goes on to mention Job, by example, and cites his perseverance as a character trait to be modeled. Those who persevere are considered blessed, or happy.

My mint sprigs don't let any obstacle stand in their way--even another plant that has been put in the dirt over where they belong. They just keep nudging their way upward until victory is achieved. (One nontoxic suggestion I turned up: mix one gallon white vinegar, two cups salt, and a squirt of dishsoap into a well-marked spray bottle. Coat the mint plants liberally again and again, but don't expect it to ever work fully.)

Which brings me back to the comment I reported in my opening paragraph. This year as the garden started to materialize, I initially saw no mint sprigs. I asked my hubby what happened; he said Efren made a very thorough sweep of them as he got the flowerbeds ready for spring.

"Did he really dig all of it up?" I asked. Golly gee whiz, I did like to have an occasional mint sprig in my iced tea or lemonade along with using it for recipes that call for it. Besides, the fresh mint was fragrant as I passed the flowerbed near the porch. I wasn't actually ready for ALL of it to be gone.

I needn't have worried. Sure enough, before very many weeks, the mint again persevered. Although the amount was greatly reduced in number from last year, I had ample mint plants from which to prepare the Fresh Corn and Tomato Bruschetta Salad recipe that appears below. Mint is the ingredient that gives the Fresh Corn and Tomato Bruschetta Salad (recommended by Prevention magazine) its extra bit of pizzazz.

(Besides mint, this recipe utilizes freshly picked sweet corn, which doesn't have to be cooked but simply is cut from the cob, as well as tomatoes, green-onion tops, and sweet onion. It's a good source of antioxidants for the heart and lutein for the eyes. The dish also can be served as an appetizer spread on bread or toast.)

When I served my Fresh Corn and Tomato Bruschetta Salad at dinner one night last week, amid a sea of compliments, I felt blessed . . . or happy . . . indeed. Must have been "mint" to be.

Fresh Corn and Tomato Bruschetta Salad

2 cups cherry tomatoes or Roma tomatoes, cut into small sections

1 cup chopped tomato

1/2 up chopped Vidalia or other sweet onion

1/4 cup chopped fresh mint

2 tablespoons copped fresh basil

1 1/2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar

1 tablespoon chopped green onion tops

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Combine corn, tomatoes, onion, mint, basil oil, vinegar, onion tops, salt, and pepper. Toss well.

Once the rage, WW II Victory Gardens and memories thereof inspire us today

The world's "champeen" Victory Garden-grower passed from this life a year ago tomorrow.

Our Aunt Frances, up until a week before she died last May 22 at 102, was still recalling how she and Uncle Herbert once raised their own food to reduce the pressure on the food supply brought on by World War II.

Any time my hubby and I arrived at her assisted-living facility and mentioned that our new garden looked promising or that we had just brought in our first peaches or that we were planning to put up this year's beet pickles, immediately Aunt Frances' eyes would light up. She always would reply, "Oh, you know, Herbert and I had a Victory Garden during World War II. He grew tomatoes the size of grapefruit just outside our door."

Even though she might be a little forgetful about remembering names, Aunt Frances--my mother's older sister, to whom my new book, Way Back in the Country Garden is dedicated--never forgot a single detail about this 1940s enterprise, which saw citydwellers such as Frances and Herbert set aside plots in their yards to cultivate their own homegrown food.

As war raged overseas, Victory Gardens became a major part of daily life on the home front. The government called on citizens to feel empowered by their contribution of labor and rewarded by the produce grown.

Besides tomatoes, she and Herbert also had large expanses of speckled butterbeans that scaled their cedar fence at their bungalow on South Montreal Street in Dallas' Oak Cliff.

Afterward a leviathan canning effort in Frances' kitchen followed the harvest. Aunt Frances and her lifelong friend, Olive Rhodes, would labor over batches of stewed tomatoes, butterbeans (see recipe below), and other items.

As with quilting bees of old, girltalk and fellowship shared over the hiss of the pressure-cooker and the steam of boiling-water baths forged relationships forever. No wonder Aunt Frances, though wheelchair-bound and frail with advancing age, had this memory ready for immediate recall every time my hubby and I made chance mention of our own garden!

Her recipe, Butterbeans with Ham, is memorable as well.

Aunt Frances, we miss your stories, miss how your eyes twinkled when you recalled the long-ago, and--even though you were thoroughly ready to go meet your Savior and be reunited with Uncle Herbert--miss having you on this earth.

On this anniversary of your passing, we celebrate your life and thank God that because of your faith in Him, you are enjoying a Victory in heaven even greater than the one your Victory Garden ever brought.

Butterbeans with Ham

1 pound fresh butterbeans

1/2 cup bacon drippings

1 cup green bell peppers, chopped

1 cup onions, chopped

1 cup celery, chopped

3 teaspoons garlic powder

1/2 pound cooked ham, cubed

2 ham hocks

1 cup green onions, chopped

1/2 cup fresh parsley, chopped

salt and pepper to taste

Rinse and sort beans. In the refrigerator soak them overnight in cold water. When they are ready to cook, rinse beans once again in cold water. In large pot melt bacon drippings. Add bell peppers, onion, and celery. Saute until vegetables are tender. Add garlic, ham, and ham hocks and cook 5 additional minutes. Add butterbeans and enough cold water to cover beans about 2 inches. Add green onions; bring to a rolling boil. Reduce to simmer and allow to cook 30 minutes. Stir occasionally to keep vegetables from scorching. Continue to cook about 1 hour until beans are tender. Stir occasionally. Season to taste with salt and pepper. With a stirring spoon mash about 1/4 of the beans against the side of the pot until they are creamy in nature. Garnish with parsley. Be sure the beans are tender before you serve them. Serves 6-8.

A bubbling good use for farmers market apples--and an assuaged conscience, to boot!

Visiting a farmers market is great fun, but the challenge occurs when you arrive home: how to quickly prepare those great fruits and vegetables before they go bad.

One day last week my hubby and I drove back from Oklahoma with a truck full of goodies from the Chickasaw farmers markets we visited in Ardmore and Madill. You can read more about our farmers-market shopping in my new book, Way Back in the Country Garden--especially in the chapter "One Smart Indian."

The Chickasaw Nation, of which my husband is a citizen and an elder, provides funds to its elders so they can buy locally grown, fresh produce and learn more healthy food preparation instead of cooking canned vegetables that likely have more sodium and other additives. We love to utilize this benefit and during our trip last week visited several roadside stands and brought home some delicious-looking produce.

But how to get it all prepared quickly--especially the huge sack of apples we toted in with us?

I remembered a recipe for "Farm Apple Pan Pie" (featured below) that has been in the front sleeve of my "summer" recipe binder--yet never prepared. Do you have recipes such as this--always on your wish-list to fix, yet you bypass them again and again with a promise of "some day"? This recipe requires five pounds of tart apples--a perfect usage for this bounty of gorgeous apples that we needed to utilize fast.

While I left to visit the cemetery (Sunday 5/16 was the anniversary of my dad's passing--17 years) to put some fresh-cut roses on his grave, my sweet hubby agreed to peel the apples. Bless my dear hubby, before you feel sorry for him, please know that he used one of those no-brainer Apple-Peeler-Corer-Slicer devices that you can get through Pampered Chef. It skins the apples, peels and cores them, and slices them into tiny, delectable bites all at one time. So he zipped through those five pounds of apples in a heartbeat (and saved the skins--the healthiest part of the apple--to use in his homemade smoothies. I'll write more about that later in another blog.)

After that part, the remainder of assembling the Farm Apple Pan Pie was simple--a dusting with sugars (brown and regular) mixed with spices, an egg-yolk pastry, and placing all this in a jelly roll pan. The recipe calls for a double crust, but I used a lattice top instead (so I could watch the apples baking.) Truthfully, I had an excess of crust and apples, so by making a bit extra amount of the sugar "dusting" I had enough for a second pie in a small pie plate!

You can't imagine what a delicious dish this made! We thought we trumped the folks in Willcox, AZ, who run the Apple Cider Mill (one of our favorite stopovers on the road from Dallas to Phoenix) and serve memorable apple pies. Stopping in there for one of their homemade pies makes the last four hours of that long trip to Phoenix more bearable. But now I had one on them--my own apple creation!

Fifty minutes later out popped my Farm Apple Pan Pie--brown, bubbling, and wonderful (prepared with health-conscious substitutes such as Splenda, No-Salt, and Egg Beaters, by the way). I had used up a significant portion of my farmers-market produce; I had assuaged my conscience by preparing a long-put-off recipe; best of all, I had a spare pie to store in the freezer for another day when a homemade dessert would be handy!

Farm Apple Pan Pie

Egg Yolk Pastry:

5 cups all-purpose flour

4 teaspoons sugar (I use sugar substitute)

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1 1/2 cups shortening

2 egg yolks, lightly beaten (I use egg substitute)

3/4 cup cold water

Filling:

5 pounds tart apples, peeled and thinly sliced

4 teaspoons lemon juice

3/4 cup sugar (or substitute)

3/4 cup brown sugar

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon salt (I use substitute)

Milk

Additional sugar

In a bowl combine flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder; cut in shortening until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Combine yolks and cold water. Sprinkle over dry ingredients; toss with fork. If needed, add additional water 1 tablespoon at a time, until the mixture can be formed into a ball. Divide dough in half, On a lightly floured surface roll half of dough to fit a 15-inch-by-10-inch-by-1-inch baking pan. Sprinkle apples with lemon juice; arrange half of them over dough. combine the sugars, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt; sprinkle half over apples. Top with remaining apples; sprinkle with remaining sugar mixture. Roll remaining pastry to fill pan; place on top of filling and seal edges. Brush with milk and sprinkle with sugar. Cut vents in top pastry. Bake at 400 degrees for 50 minutes or until crust is golden brown and filling is bubbly. Makes 18-24 servings.