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.

Hunt for the perfect chicken-salad recipe is over in this garden-fresh recipe

My love connection with the perfect chicken salad began when I was a child.

The lunch counter at McKnight Drugs on the square in downtown Garland made to-die-for chicken-salad sandwiches. In my earliest experience with take-out food, my mother would call McKnight's and order three chicken-salad sandwiches on toast with a dill pickle spear on the side of each.

My mother would drive me to the square, deposit me on the curb, plant some crisp dollar bills in my hand, and send me in to pick up our "to-go" lunch for that day. The sandwiches would be wrapped in waxed-paper squares held in place by a toothpick. Once at home my mother, my daddy, and I would slowly savor each delectable bite of this inimitable meal.

Ever since then I've been on the hunt for the perfect chicken-salad recipe.

My search ended a few days ago when I tried a recipe for Orange-Chicken Salad. No way it even compared to that of McKnight's, but it was a most unusual, interesting twist on a great summertime staple and featured garden-fresh green beans to give it special appeal. The recipe, from Family Circle magazine, long ago was clipped and ever since has been languishing in the "someday" pages of my summer recipe album. Worth the wait, I must say!

I loved the addition of the fresh green beans, spinach, and mandarin oranges (you could substitute fresh oranges that had been peeled and sectioned, with the white membrane removed.) Although doing so is unnecessary, I doubled the ingredients for the dressing and opted to used sugar-free maple syrup to keep the sugars at bay. With some slices of fresh cantaloupe on the side Orange-Chicken Salad made for an ideal summer dinner.

McKnight Drug is long since closed on the square, its owners retired, and has given way to the location for a storefront church in its old corner of the square in what is now known as Historic Downtown Garland (I'll be having a book signing three-doors down at 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. on Saturday, July 3, in The Generator), but I never stroll by that section of downtown without remembering my beloved chicken salad.

I'm glad I found Orange-Chicken Salad, made with healthy, garden-fresh ingredients to help preserve that memory.

Orange-Chicken Salad

4 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves (5 ounces each)

2 cups chicken broth

1/4 teaspoon garlic powder

1 pound green beans, trimmed, cut into 2 1/2-inch segments

1 bag spinach

1 (15-ounce) can mandarin oranges, drained, juice reserved

(you can sub sections from fresh oranges)

1/2 cup chopped almonds

Dressing:

1/3 cup fat-free sour cream

2 tablespoons reserved mandarin orange juice

1 teaspoon lemon juice

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon black pepper

1/8 teaspoon hot pepper sauce

Place chicken, broth, and garlic powder in a large saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat; reduce to simmer. Cook until chicken is done, about 10 minutes. Add beans during last 5 minutes of cooking. Remove chicken to cutting board. When it is cool enough to do so, cut in small chunks. For dressing, stir together sour cream, reserved orange juice, maple syrup, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and hot-pepper sauce. Add spinach and toss entire mixture. Scatter chopped almonds on top and serve. Makes 4 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.

Fresh corn makes vegetable medley a scene-stealer for a summer potluck

Look out, summer potluck meals and family reunion food tables! A new blockbuster recipe I've just discovered is sure to start making the rounds.

If the health-appeal factor doesn't wow you, the sheer colorfulness of it will! This recipe would be a sure scene-stealer at any covered-dish occasion.

"Lemony Vegetable Medley" that I prepared last night with the first ears of corn from our very own garden (yes, it finally got as high as an elephant's eye!) is the most inventive and most flavorful dish I've tried in a long time--and that's saying a lot, since we've had some winners lately.

Hubby cast his oft-skeptical glance at the project when I asked him to get some radishes for me in the produce section of the grocery store. He couldn't imagine how sliced radishes would "go" with corn and steamed green beans in this marinated mixture.

He was the first to sing the praises of the dish, however, and wanted more and more. He said it was the most colorful salad he'd ever eaten and that it was like devouring health personified. Can't get better reviews than that!

The ingredient that "made" this medley, however, was the fresh garden corn. How eager we'd been to go out and raid our very own stalks.

The good news was that what we brought in was great and tasted terrific; the bad news was that we'll use it all up in just a couple of dishes. No voluminous corn harvest this year, I'm afraid.

Hubby is bemoaning the fact that he left much of the garden planting to the yard man. In retrospect we can see that our yard man planted things too close together and not as carefully as he should have. The corn, the tomatoes, and the peppers are all tightly bunched without a lot of growing room. (Gardening was not our yard guy's thing and was done in haste so he could quickly get back to mowing.) Hubby resolution: he'll do the planting himself next season and let the yard man stick with mowing. When you care a lot--and he cares bunches--garden-tending's just not something you leave to someone else. We live and learn.

However, we can be thankful for what corn we were able to bring in. And when we dined last night on "Lemony Vegetable Medley" (thanks, "Celebrating a Healthy Harvest" recipe booklet), we enjoyed it down to the very last kernel!

Lemony Vegetable Medley

2 cups corn (about 3 large ears), cooked

2 cups green beans, lightly steamed

1 cups radishes, thinly sliced

1 cup red bell pepper, sliced

Dressing:

1/3 cup lemon juice

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon mustard

2 tablespoons cooking oil

2 tablespoons chives, chopped

pepper to taste

Mix dressing and set aside. Combine vegetables in large bowl. Add dressing and refrigerate for 1 hour. Stir and serve.