Category: Local Ingredients

Summertime In A Jar: Blackberry Jam

Blackberry jam. Pure goodness. A rare and precious thing.

One of the most poignant and bittersweet memories in my childhood is of steaming vats of water in an already-steamy, un-airconditioned rustic kitchen, used first to slip tomatoes of their paper-thin skins and then to boil Ball jars filled with said tomatoes, chopped, until the satisfying “pop” of a vacuum jar meant they were safe to store. These bright red jewels (and others, like blackberry jam, and strawberry, too) lined the shelves of the stone steps that led to a dirt basement under the kitchen and ensured a winter’s worth of sauce and a fresh burst of summer flavor on even the bleakest days.

I was a reluctant helper. It seems the sauce always popped when I passed by, burning my skin, or the tomatoes were stubborn in their skins. Mostly I passed through the kitchen as quickly as possible, fleeing to books or shady spots on our wooded property, ever-mindful of snakes.

These days I understand better the value of those jewel-toned jars.

They represent plenty, excess even, so much abundance that it must be stored away. They guard against want on short days with not much sun and preserve a summer’s effort so that you can slide into those lazy days when there is two feet of snow on the ground outside the window.

Blackberry jam is one of the first products of early summer, ready before tomatoes bent the shoulder-high tomato plants under their weight. Gathered carefully, ever mindful of snakes that enjoyed resting on their ample leaves, blackberries turned into sweet-tart blackberry jam are one of life’s best pleasures.

My lovely friend Martha of Full Moon Acupuncture has happy blackberry vines in her Baltimore backyard and is generous with them This blackberry jam is made with only three ingredients: blackberries, sugar, and lemon juice. Because blackberries are naturally high in pectin, it is not necessary in this recipe for low-sugar blackberry jam.

The formula for blackberry jam is simple if you want a stereotypical batch: weigh your blackberries and use an equal amount of sugar. For me, this results in sickly-sweet jam that tastes more of sugar than sunshine-y blackberries. For this recipe, I weighed my berries and used half that amount of sugar. You could use even less for a low- or no-sugar blackberry jam, but that would take longer on the stove.

Low-Sugar Blackberry Jam

(makes five half pints, plus a little leftover)

Weighing your blackberries is the best option here, as cup measurements are challenging. I use half as much sugar as blackberries – it’s a good formula for a juicy, blackberry-forward, low-sugar blackberry jam.

Ingredients

Just over six cups of blackberries, by weight (50 ounces)

Just under 3 cups of sugar, by weight (20 ounces)

Two tablespoons lemon juice

Method

If you are planning on water bath processing your jam, get your jars ready first. Wash jars and lids in warm, soapy water while you bring a stockpot of water to boil on the stove. Boil clean jars for two minutes, then move to a clean dish towel. Dip lids, ladles, and anything else you will use in the canning process into the boiling water and set aside.

Put a clean plate in the freezer to test the blackberry jam for doneness. This will become clear soon.

Place blackberries, sugar, and lemon juice in another large pot (leave lots of headspace for the jam to foam). Mash slightly and bring to a boil.

Play something nice on the radio, or load up a podcast. Lower heat to medium low, and stir as the jam boils/simmers. Stir the foam down as it rises.

Over time, your jam will stop foaming, become glossy, and thicken substantially. This could take between 20 to 30 minutes. Be patient. Be attentive. Take this as an opportunity to be mindful.

To see if your jam is ready, remove the frozen plate from the freezer and spoon a bit of jam onto it. Let cool for a couple minutes, then drag a finger through the jam. If it makes a path that does not get filled immediately by liquid-y jam, it’s ready to can.

If the path fills in with blackberry jam, keep boiling and stirring. Wash the plate, dry completely, and put it back in the freezer. Test after another ten minutes until the path your finger makes stays clear.

Ladle blackberry jam into prepared jars, leaving ¼” headspace. If you are not planning on water bath processing, set aside and let cool at room temperature without moving overnight, then move to the ‘fridge or freezer.

To water bath can, heat a large stockpot of water to boiling. Carefully lower the jars of blackberry jam into the boiling water (make sure the water is at least an inch above the jars). Boil for five minutes, then remove to cool on the counter overnight. Listen for the lid to “pop,” indicating a seal. This might take a full 24 hours. If the lids don’t pop, you could either remove the lid, add a new one, and reprocess, or you can place in the freezer or ‘fridge.

Blackberry jam is good in the ‘fridge for a couple weeks (maybe more, depending on how much sugar you used), and correctly processed for years.

Recipe Notes

You could make a sugar-free blackberry jam with sweet berries and lots of time, too. Keep the lemon juice to brighten up your berry flavor.

For a blackberry jam recipe with pectin, follow the directions on the pectin package for best results.

If you prefer a seedless jam, strain the jam after it thickens and before pouring into jars. This is a bit of an arduous task but results in a silky-smooth jam.

Go even further and add a tablespoon of fresh lavender to the jam and let it cool slightly before straining again and processing as desired.

Baltimore, I Cain’t Quit You: Of Fruit Horses and Strawberry Freezer Jam

Open jar of mixed berry jam on faded wood.
Simple and delicious, every time.

Any time I get to feeling pretty low about Baltimore, like I maybe don’t want to stay here or I need to run away for a long time, something quintessentially Baltimore happens.

Tonight our local arabber* came through with his rhythmic jingle and frisky horse. He has been a fixture this spring, more so than in years past, but I never seem to have cash or need for vegetables or fruit when he hollers his way past my house. Tonight was different – I had both – and so slipped into my Converse, grabbed my dollars, and headed outside.

As I walked up, he was finishing with another customer, who was taking a picture of her young charge as he barely kept it together sitting on top of the horse. Once the kid slid down, he turned to me. I asked the arabber if he had any strawberries. He sighed, reached over the top of his fruit and handed me a pound that looked slightly worse for the wear.

“I just gave her all my berries,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and looking disappointed. “They was getting on. Don’t me wrong – some of them is still good. Go ask her for some. Let’s go ask her. I’ll hold your hand, and we’ll go ask.”

He grabbed my hand and we walked across the street, where the previous customer was already waiting with three more pounds of strawberries in her hands.

“I can’t use ’em all,” she said. “How many you want?”

“Put ’em in pancakes, or something,” the arabber said. “They still good.”

And waving off my offer of money, he simply said, “That’s just what you do for people.”

Baltimore is this scrappy little city that can’t find an honest mayor, likes to keep its races segregated, and has a hard time holding onto police chiefs.

But it’s also a city of 238 neighborhoods, neighborhoods that sometimes come together in ways that expose our shared humanity and the value of simple human kindness and generosity. Maybe I am grasping at straws(berries), but it was a beautiful, unexpected bounty that went beyond a standard bit of commerce.

So I came home with a warm heart and four pounds of strawberries, most of which, if I’m being honest (which I always try to be), were no good. I hulled and cut up the good ones and bundled the rest up for the chickens at The City Ranch (where I volunteer) – they will come running and be thrilled at the turn their morning takes when the strawberries come tumbling down.

The good ones made this small batch, use-it-up refrigerator/freezer jam that would make my Depression-era grandmother proud. Could not be simpler, and it is great for those who don’t want to make massive batches of fresh jam.

Some days, this city is a really great place to be.

Strawberry Freezer Jam

Ingredients

1 pound fresh fruit (strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, raspberries)

1 cup sugar

3 tablespoons lemon juice

Method

Clean the fruit. If you are using strawberries, roughly chop them, but otherwise, leave every other kind whole.

Place a small plate in the freezer. This will become clear shortly (or you could read through the whole recipe – always a good idea).

Combine fruit and all other ingredients in a heavy, high-sided saucepan and bring to a rolling boil for 20 minutes. You are looking for the jam to thicken a bit, but it will still be fairly thin while it’s hot.

A test: spoon a small amount of jam on the cold plate and let sit for two minutes. Drag a finger though the jam. If it stays separated, it’s ready. Otherwise, give it another couple minutes and check again.

Once it’s a good thickness, scoop into clean jars (any size, really) and set on the counter to come to room temperature before popping onto the freezer or refrigerator. If you freeze (up to four months), leave plenty of room for expansion. Otherwise, this fresh, delicious jam lasts for up to two weeks in the ‘fridge.

*For more on arabbers, read this excellent longform article on how arabbers are a dying (and crucial) part of city life in Baltimore, and watch this 2004 documentary We Are Arabbers to see them in action.

Fall Feasting: Crab Gnocchi With Arugula

Comfort.

It’s fall here now.

Two weeks ago week it was raining, turning the new-fallen leaves into slick mush on the sidewalks and making everyone who had been bitching about the heat grumpy about the rain. Last week the mercury topped 90, so the rain went away and people complained again about the heat.

Just today, the leaves have begun to unveil a reddish tint, and the weeks ahead look more like the calendar says it should.

Fall means sweaters and boots and jeans and dry weather and in Maryland, most of all, the best crab of the season. Crabs in September and October are fat and packed full. While many rush to crabs as soon as the temperature rises in May, I wait and am rewarded with the fattest, sweetest, and cheapest crabs of the season.

Stretch that crab with some pasta, but not any pasta: gnocchi.

I do not know what it is about gnocchi. It’s like pasta and potatoes had a light and fluffy baby that was fat-cheeked and so adorable it barely needed anything else to make it lovable.

But true confession time: Until this recipe, I had only tried gnocchi once.

It was at a restaurant in Little Italy in Baltimore, a place that shall remain nameless but based on reputation alone should have had someone’s nonna in the back making delicate little puffs of potato.

They certainly charged cash money like they flew Nonna over first class.

Turns out, their gnocchi was less than stellar. They were lukewarm and gummy, served in a quickly-cooling butter sauce with fairly tasteless Parmesan that may have seen the inside of a green can. It was not a good showing, and for years I ignored the presence of this dish in favor of anything else.

Turns out gnocchi is a great pasta dish for those avoiding gluten, and with some practice (see Recipe Notes), it is, indeed, that adorable baby it is supposed to be. Paired here with crab and a bit of arugula that has been gussied up with a light mustard dressing. It slightly resembles a coddie, that unique-to-Baltimore staple of cod and mashed potatoes, deep fried and served with yellow mustard. Delicious summer-into-fall meal when crabs are at their fattest and fall greens are starting to come in. Or fall-into-winter meal when you need something hearty to cheer you up against the waning light. Or really, any time you feel like something warm and comforting and slightly luxurious.

Crab Gnocchi With Arugula

(generously serves four)

Ingredients 

3 large baking potatoes (big’uns. Don’t skimp.)

2 large egg yolks, beaten

Salt

½ cup gluten-free all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting (regular AP works here, too, but see Recipe Notes)

1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

3 tablespoons butter

1/2 teaspoon fresh marjoram, roughly chopped

1 teaspoon fresh thyme, roughly chopped

1/2 pound crabmeat (jumbo lump or lump if you have cash money like that, or backfin if times are tight but not that tight)

Freshly ground black pepper

Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, grated

Greens dressing

2 tablespoons sherry vinegar

1 1/2 teaspoons Dijon mustard

2 teaspoons shallots, minced

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1/4 cup best-quality olive oil

1 pound arugula, washed

Method

Preheat oven to 400°. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and dust with flour.

Pierce the potatoes all over with a fork. Bake potatoes for about one hour, until tender.

Cut potatoes in half. Scoop the flesh into a potato ricer and rice them directly onto a clean countertop that has been lightly dusted with flour. Drizzle beaten eggs and one teaspoon of salt over the potatoes. Using two bench scrapers, one in each hand, work the egg yolk and salt through the potatoes with a light sweeping motion. Mix flour and nutmeg and over dough and use bench scrapers until dough begins to come together. Use your hands to knead the dough gently until smooth but slightly sticky.

Cut the dough into four pieces, rolling each into a ¾” thick rope. Cut the ropes into ¾” pieces. Leave them as they are, or, more traditionally, roll each piece across the tines of a fork to make ridges. Place gnocchi on the baking sheet.

When you are ready to eat, bring a large pot of salted water to a simmer. Working with a dozen or so at a time, drop the gnocchi into the water and cook until they float to the surface. Continue to cook for one to two minutes more.

In another large sauté pan, melt the butter. Use a slotted spoon or spider to remove gnocchi from simmering water and add it to the butter. Brown slightly then add fresh crabmeat to the pan to warm. Add fresh marjoram and thyme and cook for one minute.

Season with salt and pepper and cook over medium heat for one minute. Sprinkle with grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, if desired, or maybe a little Old Bay if you’re feeling hyperlocal.

Place all dressing ingredients in a small bowl and use a whisk to combine. Pour over greens and toss or serve on the side. Do not overdress greens.

Recipe Notes

  • Gnocchi takes longer than it seems like it should; it can be challenging to roll the ropes without them coming apart. The good news is that this recipe easily doubles and freezes well. You can spend a couple of hours making gnocchi and then pull them out of the freezer when you want. Uncooked gnocchi can be frozen for up to a month (first flat on a sheet pan and then in a resealable freezer bag). Cook in plenty of water, dropping them in just a few at a time. without defrosting. FULL DISCLOSURE: when I cooked them from frozen I did not follow the directions. I dumped them all in together and they became a big mushy mass. I drained them anyway, fried them in butter, and added fresh thyme and parmesan and we feasted royally.
  • As I developed this, I worked the gnocchi more than it seemed I should. If I had used regular gluten-filled all-purpose flour, these would have been gummy and awful. If you are not GF, I highly recommend borrowing some from a friend who is.
  • Using no crab is better than using crab from Indonesia. JM Clayton is my staple crab. Worth every single penny.
  • Also, a wealth of information on marjoram and its cousin, oregano, is available from the Herb Society of America. I found marjoram to be uncommon and was curious. I enjoyed the fact that marjoram is the herb of love, protection, and healing. Seems we could all use that these days. <3

 

Neighborhood Slow-Cooked Apple Butter

apples
Ugly apples make the best apple butter. #Trust

Growing up, we had an enchanted orchard on our property.

I grew up on the side of a mountain in western Maryland, about an hour from both Baltimore and DC. Our driveway was an old stagecoach route, and the core of our home – the kitchen, the room above the kitchen (mine, eventually), and the dirt-and-stone basement – was 100 years old when I was little.

My childhood being what it was, I spent a lot of time alone, and some of that outside, wandering around the 11 acres of our (mostly) wooded property with a dog, a lot of ticks, and many copperhead snakes. We had a creek that ran through the property, minor rocky caves, and the above-mentioned orchard.

The orchard wasn’t much to look at. With just two each of neglected apple and pear trees, the harvest was uneven and unpretty. In the way of children, I don’t remember any pruning or care taken for that orchard, and I don’t remember any formal apple picking from that orchard. The apples and pears started out small and gnarly and grew more so as I got older, but if I had to guess at a memory I would say they were probably delicious in the way that only non-hybrid, heirloom, planted 30-years-before dwarf apple and pears can be. I took them for granted, I am sure, but I do remember pies, apple butter, and baked apples – the core hollowed out and stuffed full of nuts, raisins, cinnamon, and brown sugar and baked until the apples softened and combined with the sugar to release a syrupy ambrosia.

I remember dappled light streaming through the overgrown branches, the dampness of moss, and a constant hypervigilant awareness of the possibility of snakes. There was a moss-covered rock I spent time on, dreaming and staring out through the golden green undergrowth into the deepness of the rest of the woods.

Fast forward thirty years to five acres in Marietta in 2010 and a modestly larger group of five apple trees (plus six blueberry bushes and a peach tree that was mostly dead and only ever produced one rock-hard but perfectly delicious peach in our time there). Same unkempt branches. Same unlovely apples, but in abundance this time, weighing the branches so that in the fall I thought perhaps the pruning might take care of itself. These were Macintosh apples, I guessed, and covered with black spots that the interwebs assured me would not hurt me but just weren’t pretty to look at.

The squirrels sure loved the apples. They would sit high in the tree and take one bite, hurling them to the ground, often just as we walked by. If they had better aim things might be different, but as it stood then our orchard was littered through the late summer and early fall with half-eaten and partially rotted apples, bees, and the sickly sweet smell of decay.

Even with the squirrels doing their wasteful best, the apples the first year we moved to that house were abundant. I sent my horse’s hoof trimmer home with bags, and anyone else who wanted some, from the neighbor to the mailman to the UPS driver. And still there were too many.

In our urban environment now, there is no easy abundance of fruit – unless you look for it. Just one alley over there is a peach tree loaded with small, hard, but soon-to-be-delicious peaches. Two blocks away is an apple tree, pruned back hard last fall in anticipation of a house sale but coming back gangbusters with big apples. A sad little peach tree shares that yard as well, and an overloaded crabapple tree is just down the block in a pocket park off an alley.

Last week I nearly missed the apple tree down the block. I meant to go on Sunday morning but couldn’t quite drag myself out of bed, and when I passed it walking home from teaching yoga on Wednesday, nearly all the apples within sidewalk reach were gone. I don’t know what kind of apples these are – their texture is spongy and the flavor is tart apple essence rather than a big, bounding punch in the taste buds. But they might as well be my favorite kind – they have the terroir of Hampden, Baltimore. This could be a positive or negative, depending on your perspective, but for me, in many ways this tree brings me back to that enchanted orchard and makes me feel more connected to this city that I am still trying to love in spite of its trash and corruption and inequality. I can come to this tree in all of its stages – barren limbs, shy little buds, bursting flower, heavy with apples, gently drooping with the coming cold – and it brings me a similar peace that I felt in the glade on the side of the mountain in western Maryland.

This recipe is an easy solution to a beautiful abundance of fruit – apples, peaches, or pears. It couldn’t be easier, and you don’t need a stupid Instant Pot to do it. Allowing it to slow-cook overnight (or during the day while you’re at work) deepens the flavors, caramelizes the sugar, and produces a nuanced fruit butter unlike anything I have ever tasted.

Share it with your neighbors.

Neighborhood Slow-Cooked Apple Butter

(makes about four pints)

Ingredients

A dozen or so apples, about six pounds, peeled, cored, and chopped  (see Recipe Notes)

1/4 cup granulated sugar

1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar

1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg (freshly ground if you can)

1/2 teaspoon ground cloves

hearty pinch of salt

Method

Place all ingredients in your slow cooker and stir to combine.

Let it cook on low for eight hours, or high for four to six. You sort of know when it’s done. Look for completely soft apples, like melted butter almost. If your slow cooker isn’t slow, keep an eye on it and watch for burning. If your apples are not very juicy, you can add a little apple cider (1/4 cup or so).

When the apples are cooked, use an immersion blender (if you have one) to blend until velvety smooth. If your apple butter is not a dark, luscious brown, it needs a little more time. You can let it cook on low for another hour or so.

If you don’t have an immersion blender, you can use a regular blender. Be mindful of lava scalding hot apple butter flying from the blender, though. That shit is deadly.

Recipe Notes

  • Because the neighborhood apples were not as flavorful as I would have liked, about half of my most recent recipe was supplemented by Braeburn apples, which are a good crunchy combination of tart and sweet. Straight up pie apples require more sugar to make a proper apple butter than I would like to use, so go for a mix of sweet and tart. For god’s sakes, don’t use Red or Yellow Delicious.
  • An apple peeler makes life so much easier. I use this one.
  • This recipe can be preserved with canning. The USDA would prefer that you use a pressure canner, but I have canned this by ladling hot apple butter into clean, sterilized pint jars and boiling in a water bath for 15 minutes.  If I don’t hear the pop of the lid, I eat it within two weeks, give it away, or freeze it. Some people add citric acid to deter bacteria, but I like to live on the edge.

Sheer Delight: Better Than They Oughta Be Fried Green Tomato Arepas

Fried green tomato arepa with pimento cheese. #FreshParsleyOptional

The Child and I visited my grandmother last week, the one who steals fruit from her assisted living facility. Busy summers and basic malaise have kept us away since the second week in June, but putting off a visit to a 98-year-old person is no good idea. Plus, The Child and I need to feel like we are on the road from time to time; our best conversations happen while the tires eat the miles, even if it’s just a short two-hour jaunt to rural Pennsylvania.

When we pulled up, she was sitting in the sun outside the entrance to the main building. Three young men were spreading mulch in the flower beds, and the day was that kind of almost-fall day where the sky is such a crystalline shade of blue that the trees are outlined in black.

She didn’t recognize my (new to me) car when we pulled in, so when Sicily and I walked up to her and said hello, she looked up with a blank face before she recognized who we were and a look of what can only be described as sheer delight spread across her features.  She said, “I was waiting for someone, and here you are!”

We should all be greeted with such an unabashed and open display of pleasure.

I have an unexpectedly close relationship with my grandmother, as does The Child. Through letters I have learned what her life has been, and in person I get to know this person in whom I see so much of myself. She takes joy in seeing her great-grandchildren and has vowed to live until they are all safely ensconced in college; because of this, we do not share The Child’s plans for a gap year, and we are selective about the information we share in general. She likes to know we are happy and recovered from “Dane’s incident,” “that unfortunate time” when he died in a car accident. We talk about the weather, and food, and she worries about the stock market.

Our visit was short, as it usually is. My grandmother is spry and quick still, but tired in the way that people approaching 100 can be, I suppose, after a long walk outside and a rest in the sun. On the way back to her room, we stopped in the residents’ garden plot to look at the produce, and I ended up with a bellyful of sun-sweet cherry tomatoes and a bag full of green tomatoes for later.

I haven’t had fried green tomatoes in a dog’s age. The last time was in a diner in the south, someplace below the fall line in southern Georgia. I have few fond memories of our 13 years living in that place, but southern food is one of them. It’s a foodway that uses scraps and makes do, and it seems to mesh perfectly with my grandmother’s Depression era philosophy:

Make do;

Do without;

Use it up;

Wear it out.

These recipes are a mash of that sensibility plus new-to-me flavors and foods. I have been mildly obsessed with arepas since White Envelope came to town, and enjoying smoky foods is also new to me. I advise adding any or all of these condiments and toppings liberally to each arepa. You can certainly mix and match. The recipe for Mushroom Bacon is not my own, so I am linking it here.

Fried green tomato arepa with mushroom bacon and chipotle mayonnaise.

For the record, I don’t believe in calling non-meat things a meat name, but this is how the original person wrote the recipe, so I am going with that. It is delicious but does not in any way resemble bacon. I chopped it up after it was all done, and that was the easiest way to eat it.

There is also the basic recipe for arepas themselves, plus Chipotle Mayonnaise and Fried Green Tomatoes.

I have gone back and forth as to whether or not to include my Pimento Cheese recipe and have decided, at the very last minute, to hold that back. You can use a store-bought variety, or use your own recipe. That shizz deserves its own post, and it’s worth the wait. #Trust

Bacon, lettuce, and fried green tomato arepa with chipotle mayonnaise.

I am pretty sure that when you present your people with any of these combinations they will gaze up at you with sheer delight as well.

Arepas With Assorted Delicious FIllings, Not The Least Of Which Is Fried Green Tomatoes and Chipotle Mayo with Bacon 

If you want to try all of these recipes, make them in the following order: Chipotle Mayonnaise (the night before, even), Pimento Cheese (if making your own), Mushroom Bacon, Arepas, and Fried Green Tomatoes.

Chipotle Mayonnaise

As with everything, adjust amounts to taste, but here’s the basic formula. Make this the night before.

Ingredients

1/2 cup mayonnaise

1/4 cup whole milk yogurt (or sour cream – whatever is in the ‘fridge)

3 teaspoons lime juice

3/4 teaspoon chipotle chile

1/4 teaspoon garlic powder

1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika

1 teaspoon stone ground prepared mustard

Method

Mix all ingredients together (I use a Mason jar – no clean up). Store in ‘fridge and use on damn near everything.

Arepas (makes 8 arepas)

Ingredients

2 cups masarepa (see Recipe Notes)

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 1/4 cup warm water

Method

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Place a cooling rack on a baking sheet and set aside.

Mix masarepa, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Add warm water and mix until smooth. Use 1/3 cup measure to divide dough into eight balls and shape into disks that are 1/2″ thick and about 3″ wide.

Heat a small amount of oil in a non-stick or cast iron skillet over medium heat. Working four at a time, fry the arepas on each side until golden brown, about four minutes each side. Transfer to cooling rack and fry the other four arepas.

Place in oven and bake for 10 minutes or until arepas sound hollow. Turn off the oven and leave arepas to cool and crisp.

Recipe Notes

  • You cannot use regular masa for this recipe, and the addition of baking powder makes it not quite traditional. But of the eleventy million times it seems like I have made these, this formula produced a creamy interior with a crispy shell. So there it is. You can find masarepa in most Latino grocery stores, occasional in a mainstream grocery store, and always online.

Fried Green Tomatoes

There really is no better way to use up those stubborn, lingering tomatoes clinging to the vine than Fried Green Tomatoes. If you aren’t a fan, take your green tomatoes, stick them in a cardboard box, and set them someplace cool. Check on them every now and then; they will gradually ripen and be just as sweet and delicious as the ones from the vine. Remove mushy ones fast; they really will spoil the whole bunch.

Ingredients

Green tomatoes (for eight sandwiches, I used four medium ones), sliced into 1/4″ rounds

1 cup soured milk (see Recipe Notes)

1 cup flour (I use gluten-free all-purpose flour)

1 cup cornmeal

Salt and pepper

Method

Slice tomatoes and place on paper towels. Some people salt them at this point to draw out the moisture, but not me. I let them sit on the towels and blot them dry.

Place a cooling rack on a paper-towel-lined baking sheet and set aside.

In a cast iron skillet, heat about 1/2″ of oil over medium heat.

Set up your breading station, left to right (or right to left if you are left handed): one dish of flour, one dish of milk, one dish of cornmeal.

Controversial direction #1: I do not season my flour. I season the tomatoes directly. Many will take issue with this. I don’t care. Do it however you choose. 

When your oil is hot, salt and pepper your tomatoes. Dip into flour, shaking off the excess, then soured milk, and finally cornmeal. Fry until golden brown on both sides (approximately four minutes total, but the temperature of your oil will dictate this a bit).

Controversial direction #2: Do not drain your fried tomatoes on paper towels. This will make them soggy. Remove them from the oil to your cooling rack over a paper-towel-lined baking sheet. If your oil was the correct temperature, the breading will not absorb too much, and this keeps them crispy. My grandmother drains hers on paper towels, but as Oprah says: When you know better, you do better.

Recipe Notes

  • Many recipes call for buttermilk, but if you don’t regularly drink it, you will end up with extra that just sits in the ‘fridge. To make your own, add one tablespoon of white vinegar to each cup of milk, stir, and let sit for ten minutes. Voila.

Assembly

Slice arepas down as you would a pita pocket; it’s up to you if you slice all the way through or treat them like a pocket.

Slip in a fried green tomato or two and then go from there. Favorite combos pictured above are: Bacon, Lettuce, and Fried Green Tomatoes with Chipotle Mayo; Fried Green Tomatoes With Pimento Cheese; Fried Green Tomato With Mushroom Bits, Pimento Cheese, Lettuce, and Chipotle. Any or all of these are delicious. Fresh herbs like maybe a little parsley or cilantro are also delicious.

If you want something simple and don’t have time for any fuss, just use pimento cheese and let it get all melty. So. Freaking. Delicious.