Judging a Book by Its Cover: The Southern Slow Cooker Cookbook

Due out August 2013. Hang tight kids!

UPDATE: I just found out that The Southern Slow Cooker is officially available for pre-order as of today!  So excited! Pre-order on Amazon.

They say never to judge a book by its cover, but the fact is we all do. Just walk into any Barnes and Noble (or hit Amazon.com) and visit the cookbook section and you'll see all those books with smiling celebrity faces and food porny photos with grab-you-by-the-shirt catchy titles and subtitles which, more often than not, bear words like "simple", "fresh" and "foolproof". This is the nature of our highly competitive game, to rope you in with luscious photos, peppy titles and sleek artwork that gets you to click, pick-up, open and flip pages, or simply remember come Christmas gift time.

Only a few days ago, we (me and the folks at Ten Speed Press) decided on the cover (shot by Erin Kunkel) for "The Southern Slow Cooker" cookbook and it wasn't easy. We narrowed the choices down to three based on recipes in the book-- a lovely shot of black-eyed peas and stewed tomatoes, a soul satisfying photo of a bowl of beef stew and the picture above featuring a bowl of Chesapeake Bay crab and corn chowder topped with fresh corn relish. All three of these recipes are built for slow cooking, so theoretically any of them could grace the book's cover. However, we wanted this cover to truly stand out, not only from the hundreds of other cookbooks out there, but also from other slow cooker cookbooks (which tend to feature lots and lots of stew, chili and the like), so crab chowder it is. It's Southern, fresh and flavorful, perfect for the slow cooker and a little different from the rest.

And I'm going to come right out and say, I like it. A lot. Naturally, I hope you do, too, so much so that you'll just have to get a copy when the times comes (behold the shameless plug). In the meantime, I am down to the final copy edits and crazy as it sounds, the book will soon be available for pre-order. How the heck did that happen so fast?

Stay tuned here, here and here for updates, sample recipes and all other kinds of slow cooking goodness, and I'd love to hear what you think of the cover so feel free to chime on in!

Best to everyone this holiday season....

Kendra

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I Just Signed a Cookbook Deal

I'm super excited to announce that I have just signed on to pen a cookbook with Ten Speed Press/Crown Publishing Group. The Southern Slow Cooker: Big-Flavor, Low-Fuss Recipes for Comfort Food Classics is set to come out next summer 2013.

I could not be more pleased to be working with Ten Speed again, and I am so proud to be in the company of such amazing authors whose cookbooks I've dog-eared and dirtied up time and time again: Martha Foose, Virginia Willis, Andrea Nguyen, Mollie Cox Bryan and David McMillan to name a very few.

It's going to be a very busy, hot-in-the-kitchen summer for me as I slug through lots and lots of recipe testing (think soups, stews and other steamy foods), but I couldn't be happier. Stay tuned here for updates along with a glimpse of what goes into the making of a cookbook. It's going to be fun ride!

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Remembering Granny and the Church Potluck

True art.

Per my last post, and also this amazing tribute by LA Times food writer extraordinaire, Jen Garbee, many of you are now aware of the passing of our family's matriarch, my dear Granny Boohler. For the past week I've been with my family back in Bluefield, West Virginia, where we gathered to share stories of her long and very fulfilled life along with remembrances of a lady (and dedicated nurse) who did so much for the people of Mercer County, West Virginia.

With the East River Mountain as our backdrop, we celebrated her with plenty of laughs, lots of tears, and in her honor, a whole mess of tasty Southern cooking. My granny was an amazing cook. In fact, she was so popular with the locals, even a certain Senator who was also raised in the hills of West Virginia, visited her tiny residence more than once just to get a spoonful or two of her brown beans and cornbread.

Granny would have wanted nothing less than for all of us to stuff ourselves silly on her behalf, because as she used to declare in abundance, "You still gotta eat!"

So, here's a couple of snapshots of some of the wonderful food we shared in Granny's honor, most of which was provided by the lovely ladies from her church in Green Valley, WV. It's often this kind of cooking, unadulterated yet prepared with love and honor for a lost soul, that is arguably the best in the world.

There's got to be fried chicken.

Macaroni salad (heavy on the mayo) and two kinds of potato salad.

Nanner Pudding.

Pea salad, strawberry salad, orange salad & those famous deviled eggs.

Had to get a West Virginia pepperoni roll for the road.

This what we did to that pepperoni roll...added Oliverio Peppers and cheese.

The view about a mile from where Granny is buried.

R.I.P.

©2012 Fatback and Foie Gras. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without permission.

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A Tribute to My Grandmother: Beulah Ann Bailey 1911-2012

It is with great sadness that I write this post. Yesterday, I lost one of the most important and influential women in my life, my grandmother, Beulah Ann Bailey, who passed away a single day shy of her 100th birthday. While many people in her home state of West Virginia knew my grandmother for her tireless work within the medical field as both a public health nurse and advocate for better healthcare (specifically women and children's healthcare for the farthest reaches of Appalachia), to me she was just "Granny Boohler", a witty, often hilarious (prankster), loving, God-fearing Southern lady who always had an extra place setting at her dinner table for anyone looking for a slice of applesauce cake and some casual conversation.

And, she could cook. I've written about Granny's culinary prowess in the kitchen before (actually, both of my granny's are gifted cooks), and I count my blessings often that I was allowed to watch over her shoulder as she stirred, sliced and added a pinch of this or that. Granny whipped up multi-course meals featuring real-deal Appalachian-style Southern cooking well into her 90's, with many of her recipes being passed on to us kids as oral renditions that often contained the phrase, "just eyeball it". Granny wasn't big on measuring, and only on rare occasion did I ever see her crack open a cookbook, but several years ago she did pass on to me a big box of scribbled recipe postcards and torn pages from her personal collection. I've been slowly working through transcribing each one (some are in my first cookbook) in an effort to preserve them in their original form as true family heirloom recipes dating back hundreds of years. Angel biscuits, white gravy, fried apple pies, cider slaw, chow chow, peach ice cream, even my grandfather's canned sausage recipe is in that box, and their words and phrases still speak to me. In jotted notes and asides, I can hear echoes of my grandmother's voice, "one more tablespoon of sugar here" with an arrow pointed to a baked apple recipe, and next to her recipe for lime congealed salad, "Brought this to Mercer County ladies luncheon. Big hit. Serve with crackers."

Granny, Grandpa Woodrow and Aunt Barbara eating salted watermelon at the old house Princeton, WV

In true grandmotherly form, Granny loved the act of feeding people, so much in fact that she rarely ate anything herself. In the above photo, you are witnessing one of the rare occasions where she is actually sitting down at the table. We used to have to coerce her into taking an open seat with a declaration of, "no getting up until you've eaten at least half of this". She'd finally agree, sit down, take a single bite, and before you knew it (just when your back was turned), she'd be back in front of the oven stirring a big pot of pole beans or opening the oven to check on the potato rolls. Nothing brought her more joy than giving to others. It was something she felt compelled to do in all areas of her life.

When it came to work, in addition to her endless commitment to providing affordable healthcare (i.e. oftentimes free) to the many low income families throughout Appalachia (she immunized over 10,000 local children, helped found the Mercer County Health Department, and worked as a nurse for over 50 years helping to eradicate diseases such as diphtheria, polio, and small pox), she also spent many years counseling people suffering from substance abuse and mental illness, which is sadly still a very real problem in the Appalachian mountains.

Granny grew up right along the western North Carolina/Virginia border in Elk Creek (she is on the far right in the above photo). After graduating high school, she went to nursing school and eventually graduated from Vanderbilt's Peabody College of Medicine. It wasn't long before she married my grandfather and eventually had two sons: my father, Kent Bailey, and my uncle, Roger Bailey (the youngest of the two in the below photo).

While perusing some old photos last week, I came across this one, and for the life of me, could not figure out who the man was to her right...

...until my mom informed me that this young gentleman is Senator Jay Rockefeller, who like Granny, has also worked tirelessly for healthcare reform throughout West Virginia. Another photo, shows her and my grandfather standing next to Senator Robert Byrd, (pictured below) who was not only her personal friend (he used to come over to her tiny rancher just to get a bowl of her famous pinto beans and cornbread), but also a staunch advocate for equal healthcare for all West Virginians.

As young people, we tend to see our grandparents simply, as those sweet, doting elderly folk who send you birthday cards with five dollar bills inside and who are quick to offer you a big bear hug. It's often later in life that we are given the gift of insight, the ability to see our family members in a totally different way-- as children who once played by a fast running mountain creek in N.C., as wives who met, fell in love, suffered the pain of childbirth and raised two boys who, like their mother, also went on to change lives by devoting themselves to the mental healthcare field. There's a keen sense of enlightenment that comes from realizing your Granny, the same one who could cook a ten course meal in a 60 square foot kitchen, not only served her family, her church, and her community, but perhaps helped to change the course of existence for so many needy families.

Wife. Mother. Nurse. Advocate. Life Changer. This is what Beulah Ann Bailey was to many, but to me, she will always simply be my Granny Boohler.

Happy Birthday Granny
Love, Kendra

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Hot Rolls and Sweaty Cooks

This post doesn't include a recipe. It doesn't boast any drool worthy photos nor does it link to anything. This post is a story, a tribute to all the amazing mothers in my life, who not only own it in the kitchen, but also own my heart. This is for my mother, Patty Bailey; my Granny Boohler back in Princeton, West Virginia, and my Granny Belcher also in Princeton West Virginia. This story also honors my Aunt Barbara Bailey in Johnson City, Tennessee, my Aunt Barbara DeMary in Fairmont, West Virginia, my "other mother" Mrs. Jane Haney in Richmond, Virginia, and my mother-in-law, Kathy Dalesandro (all the way out west!) in Carmel, California.


Happy Mother's Day.

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I remember how my Granny Boohler’s West Virginia kitchen always smelled like hot rolls. Warm and yeasty, the room would bloom with the aroma of fresh baked bread. I’d open the oven door, letting the hot rush of doughy air sweep across my face, waiting to see if the tops had browned, so I could have one roll fresh out. Granny would sneak up behind me and quickly close the door. “You’re lettin’ all the good air out!” she would cry, and then go back to stirring the sausage gravy so it didn’t clump.

Meanwhile, my Aunt Barbara would be laying out the plastic tablecloth—the one with dogwood flowers on it—and topping each place setting with a bright red hand-stitched placemat along with mismatched plates and silverware. Mom would be bustling to and from the basement (where all the “big food” was kept in another fridge) lugging up the country ham, the crispy-skinned turkey, and the giant pot of green beans cooked in fatback. (You know you’re a true host when you need two refrigerators to hold all the food you’ve been cooking.)

As a young girl, my job was always the hors d’oeuvres. Granny would proclaim, “We can’t have dinner without hors d’oeuvres!” which I always found funny since most of our dinner “guests” munched on them while wearing dirty sweatpants and wife beaters. I would cube some Colby cheese, get out a few jars of bread-and-butter pickles, throw in a handful of green olives stuffed with pimiento, and then artfully arrange it all in Granny’s signature depression glass serving dish. Voila! Hors d’oeuvres.

Now, the “guests” were the men in our family, who avoided the kitchen much in the same way they avoided the washer and dryer and detergent in general. You see, it worked like this. The women cooked the food, served the food, and cleaned up the food while the men ate the food. They had their place—in front of the television, asking for refills of sweet tea and slices of applesauce cake. Simple and highly efficient in a patriarchal sort of way.

In truth, kitchen life for us ladies was easier when we were in total control. Never did I walk into that kitchen and see one of the boys frying up a mess of apple pies draped in one of grandma’s aprons proclaiming, “Come and get it!”, and never did I want to. We worked much faster as an all-female group. Each of us had her unwritten and unchanging role. My mother and aunt were in charge of cleaning up after Granny, who was well known to leave an apocalyptic mess in her wake. Some nights, it literally rained dirty dishes. They’d be piled up on the kitchen table, the counters, the stoves, in the sink, and even outside on the back porch with all kinds of half-charred, partially congealed vegetable, meat, and fat leavings. It took hours to scrub all those dishes by hand. And the best part was you got to do it all over again the next night. Brittle fingernails and cracked hands were our birthrights.

Granny may have left us with quite a mess, but she sure could cook up a lot of food. From apples to zucchini, she did it all. She’d cook all day every day for a solid week, and everything down to the white bread for leftover turkey sandwiches was made from scratch. One day, she’d make nothing but cakes and pies: coconut, pound, chocolate, chess. Next day would be candies and cookies: turtles, fudge, bourbon balls. Then onto breads: potato rolls, banana bread, zucchini bread. As the grand day of eating approached closer, the turkey, the whole ham, the sweet potato casserole, and the brown beans would be cooked up and stored in the basement fridge with all the other goodies. Finally, the salads would be made: congealed, potato, slaw. The last day would be reserved for gravies, biscuits, punch, and other last-minute doings such as opening fresh jars of blackberry jam, apple butter, and chow chow. This is what country cookin’ is all about: flour dusting every biscuit and filling each homemade pie with pure love drawn from the enduring sweat of a hardworking cook.

And Granny’s kitchen was small—really small. Imagine a cluster of frenetic women swarming around trying to find space to lay down just one more squash casserole, bumping into one another, knocking over the ice trays laid out for the sweet tea. Imagine all four burners on the cooktop gleaming orange, bubbling over with various gravies and boiling white potatoes. Imagine an oven continuously pumping out black smoke every time you dared to open it (since it hadn’t had a real cleaning in years). Imagine no ventilation, no dishwasher, no counter space, and no refrigerator space. Imagine sweating more than you thought you had in you and still making enough food for an entire congregation. Imagine the best time of your life.

Yet, this is how we did it. There was rarely an occasion—we were the occasion. Granny would break out the Fostoria serving platters and the carnival glass, and we always had some kind of green punch served from the antique punchbowl that usually resided in the basement. Gospel music would play from an old 8-track in the adjoining living room, and sometimes Granny would put on a little bluegrass from the tape recorder that rested permanently on the buffet—a little Flatt and Scruggs or her favorite, Mac Wiseman’s, “Tis Sweet to Be Remembered.”

We didn’t have much, but we had a lot, and Granny made sure none of us ever cared about the difference between our family meal and the lobster tails served in some fancy restaurant on real see-through Limoges china. Because this meal, like all of our meals, was special. Granny worked with what she had, and it didn’t matter that our forks didn’t match or the cole slaw was a little on the sugary side or the punch bowl had a big chip in the rim. This was a feast made from the fortitude of great Southern women treasured by strong, hardworking Southern men. The table was often silent while we ate, not because we were lacking in conversation, but out of respect. A good meal should be savored like a hot roll fresh from the oven and a good host should be cherished, not for what she has, but for what she offers.

This story was original published in "White Trash Gatherings: From-Scratch Cooking for Down-Home Entertaining" (Ten Speed Press, 2006).

©2012 Fatback and Foie Gras. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without permission. Pin It Now!

Five Tips for Hosting a Church Potluck Supper Southern Baptist Style

Go big or go home.

Yesterday, my husband and I joined my parents at their church, First Freewill Baptist in Richmond, to enjoy some seriously good gospel music followed by a potluck supper of epic proportions to celebrate the church's 60th anniversary. As the sweet tea flowed, dish after dish was laid out on (count 'em) three separate tables that overflowed with more food than I've seen in years. From country ham biscuits and fried chicken to pecan pie and sweet potato dumplings, homemade food that was carefully made with love was presented end to end inside the church's fellowship hall.

As someone who grew up in the Baptist church, potluck suppers hold a special place in my heart, not only because the food is so amazingly good (and I'm talking Jesus can take me now cuz it just doesn't get any better kinda good), but because each and every dish is created with great care and thought. The goods you'll find at a church potluck is food truly made with love. There's no highfalutin cooking going on here-- just solid, soul warming comforting eats that's been sifted, stirred and made from scratch just for you. Believe it or not, potluck's are more about sharing and giving of yourself than actually eating, although arguably the eating part sure is fun. Whether your cooking skill set is advanced baker or can't boil water, your dish is always welcome on the church potluck table, and it goes without saying, more really is merrier.

For those of you who have yet to enjoy a true Southern-style Baptist church potluck, I've assembled a few potluck fundamentals to give you an idea of what you're missing.

There must be at least five platters of deviled eggs.
Deviled eggs are the Southern church potluck's equivalent to, I dunno, utensils. They absolutely, positively must be on the table and in multiple varieties. From paprika sprinkles to plain, from mustard-tinged to mayo heavy, and from sweet pickles to no pickles at all, deviled eggs have got make and appearance. Note: potluck deviled eggs should always be served from a special deviled egg platter and you get bonus points if you also bring a creamy potato salad made from any leftover boiled eggs.

Casseroles and meat.You can't have your pudding if you don't eat your meat, and at a church potluck that means fried chicken (always), country ham (a must), sliced roast beef, turkey, pineapple studded baked ham, ham sandwiches and/or biscuits (always), and definitely multiple varieties of meat-based casseroles, which nine times out of ten, will be made with some sort of cream of mushroom soup.

Hello Jell-O.

No church potluck is complete without an array of Jell-O/gelatin/grease-cutter salads. More often than not, these salads will be made with canned pineapple, strawberry gelatin and boast multiple layers of goodness in the form of cream cheese, whipped cream, nuts, and if you're really lucky, crushed pretzels. Lime Jell-O salads are also acceptable, especially if they are made with cottage cheese and studded with pimentos. Bonus points if you bring your Jell-O salad in a circular or rooster mold versus a casserole dish.

There must be a stupid number of desserts including banana puddings.
Notice the plurality of "banana puddings". This is because more than one combination of vanilla pudding mix, bananas and Nilla wafers is required for the dessert tables (tables) which will be locked and loaded with an array of homemade street treats designed to get any young child properly high on sugar. You can bet there will be more than one pound cake, several pies (pecan, sweet potato and strawberry if the weather's warm), multiple cheesecakes, definitely brownies, and something layered with pineapple, whipped cream and canned cherry pie filling. If you're really lucky, someone will bring a vat of homemade butter pecan or peach ice cream, although this is usually reserved for the church ice cream social which I hope to address in a future blog post.

Dainty eaters should not apply. Pile up that plate or someone will do it for you.
One certainty at any church potluck is that this is NOT the place to watch your caloric intake. Run an extra mile (or 5) before you go so you can pile that bad boy up because if you don't, one of two rumors will probably be started about you-- the first being that you have some kind of eating disorder or second, and this is far worse, you don't like the food. A good rule of thumb is to avoid most anything of the salad variety (Jell-O, potato salad, macaroni salad and creamy slaw notwithstanding) and go straight for the good stuff-- grape jelly meatballs, turkey and stuffing, green beans cooked in fatback, macaroni and cheese, mystery casserole, twice baked potatoes, baked beans, mashed potatoes, pigs in a blanket and anything doused in gravy. And, you've got to really load it all up or risk having a church lady snatch it out of your hand and do the job for you. Trust me. I've had this happen and it ain't pretty.

Been to a church potluck and have a story or recipe you'd like to share? I'd love to hear it.

©2012 Fatback and Foie Gras. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without permission.

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The Friendliest Little Restaurant on Earth

Hometown Restaurant Peterstown, WV

Sometimes you've just got to go back to the basics, to those warm and familiar places that bring you comfort, especially in times of need. Recently, I lost my youngest cousin, Evan. He passed away tragically and far too young. The emptiness that is left inside my heart still resonates with each heavy breath, so much so that I wish I could sigh the sadness right out of me, but I can't. Instead, like the rest of my family I'm filled with a constant dull ache and an insatiable yearning for him to return to us.

It's times like these that I eye my surroundings with a keener vision. Perhaps I'm just seeking that proverbial pat on the back from a stranger which will remind me that yes, there is still plenty right with this world (don't we all seek this to some extent?) or maybe I'm simply craving an earnest, "How ya'll doing today?" from a total stranger so I'll be reminded of home. These minute gestures magically seem to fill the void, or at least a little part of it and that's enough for now.

Hometown Restaurant, located in the quaint mountain town of Peterstown, West Virginia which sits right along the Virginia/West Virginia line, fills my void.

Serving up good old country cooking with a decidedly West Virginia mountain flair (think brown beans and cornbread and my personal food addiction, the West Virginia slaw dog), Hometown is a no-frills, come-on-in-and-grab-yourself-a-seat spot located on the main road in town. There's a nice, little salad bar with all the usuals, including a particularly good homemade potato salad, along with a hot bar of rotating lunch specials that are appropriately doused in some kind of gravy.

Hometown's real-deal slaw dog with homemade chili sauce on a buttered New England split bun

There's an a la carte menu available offering up an array of tasty, home cooked goodies, ranging from Texas toast hamburgers (another West Virginia tradition) and country ham dinners to vegetable plates and fried fish meals that are all VERY reasonably priced.

Nearly everything at this 26 year old restaurant is made from scratch and it's pure grandma's cooking, especially the homemade cakes, pies and rolls. We sampled a coconut cream pie that boasted the tallest, most perfect meringue I've ever seen. It was so good we devoured it before I could even get a snapshot, so I guess you'll have to get your own slice to really see what I mean.

While the food is undoubtedly good, it's the company that makes this place so special. We weren't at our table all of five minutes before an older gentleman on the other side of the room got up from his table, walked over to us, shook our hands and simply said "Welcome". He then returned to his table and quietly finished his meal. Who does this anymore? He wasn't an employee, and as far as I know not affiliated with the restaurant other than being a patron, yet he took the time to make us feel special in a place where everyone knows everyone, but no one knew us.

As we worked through our meal of slaw dogs, beans and cornbread and blackberry cobbler, nearly everyone who walked by our table took a moment to wave a kind hello along with a quick "how ya'll doing?" From local farmers still in their overalls to a large group of dust-covered men coming in from a nearby construction site to the restaurant's seasoned servers, many of whom have been working here for 20-plus years, it was as if the whole place had invited us into their private dining room.

I can think of no better way to welcome your guests than to create an atmosphere where food, fellowship and good old-fashioned mountain-style hospitality is all that matters.

And, if you feel like you might need an extra prayer or two said on your behalf, Hometown's got you covered. Just fill out this form with any prayer requests and drop it in the box on your way out. It sure beats just grabbing a mint.

What Hometown Restaurant offers its diners is not unique. No one's claiming to reinvent the wheel when it comes to the soul-satisfying, stick-to-your-guts, home-cooked food they serve each week. What makes Hometown so special in my book are the little things-- the way a stranger shakes your hand with purpose, how a waitress beams with pride as she lays down that piece of towering homemade coconut cream pie, and how a passer-by who you've never met takes the time to stop by your table just to offer a "glad you're here" as if somehow he magically knows your heart is heavy.

Hometown Restaurant
Route 219
Peterstown, West Virginia
No booze
No bad language

©2012 Fatback and Foie Gras. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without permission.

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Southern Collard Greens with Ham Hocks

Yesterday, while working on a recipe for BBQ'd Meatloaf for Food Republic, I got an overwhelming hankering for a pot of greens to go with it. Perhaps it's the cool weather coming on or the fact that I might be a tad iron deficient, but whatever the reason, I just had to have some.

So I hit the store, grabbed a bag of mixed greens and a couple of hams hocks and set out to simmer a pot 'o greens to go with my meatloaf. After finding inspiration from Susan Russo's recipe for Southern-Style Greens, which was originally published on NPR as part of her take on a non-Southerner getting her first taste of Southern cooking (and greens), I thought it's about time I work on my own version.

Surprisingly, I've never published a recipe for greens. There's a recipe for slow-cooked kale in fatback in my book, but not collards or any mix thereof and definitely not anything involving ham hocks. I grew up eating all kinds of slow-cooked vegetables, and as Susan mentions, often they were more "browns" than greens. When it came to cooking greens in our house, it was all about the fatback, which while mighty tasty in its own right, never offered that signature smoked hammy flavor I crave in my greens, so after playing around with a couple of combinations including chicken broth, no chicken broth, lots of cider vinegar or less, cayenne or none, and of course, a ham hock, I settled on this recipe for a pot 'o greens, which not only is the perfect accompaniment for a big slab of meatloaf, but might even win over a couple more non-Southerners.

Pot 'O Greens with Ham Hocks

Serves 6

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 large ham hock
1 large garlic clove, smashed
4 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 16-ounce bag of pre-washed and cut collards or mixed greens of choice (or wash and slice you're own)
3 tablespoons cider vinegar (adjust this to your liking)
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
Salt, to taste
Generous amount of freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Toppings can include: more cider vinegar, hot sauce, minced onions, crumbled bacon, hot pepper vinegar or chow chow relish

In a large pot, heat your oil. Add ham hock and toss it around a bit. Add garlic and cook for one minute, being careful not to burn. Add chicken broth, greens, vinegar and cayenne. Bring up to a gentle boil. Add salt and black pepper. Then cover and simmer for 45 minutes to an hour or until greens are tender to your liking.

Serve in bowls with wedges of warm cornbread (I'm a fan of my dad's country grit bread) and whatever toppings you want. Be sure to spoon extra pot likker into each of the bowls just before serving.

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Fresh Butter Beans Sauteed in Butter and Bacon

Fresh butter beans somehow taste better when sauteed in a cast iron skillet

Every summer, I scour the farmer's markets in an effort to hunt down these rare little gems. Whether you shuck your own or buy them bagged and ready, the sweet, starchy flavor of fresh butter beans can't be beat. I consider butter beans a sort of ode to the end of the growing season since they seem to magically appear and disappear in a matter of months. Grab them up while you can because when they're gone, they're gone. 

For the complete story, check out my article in the Richmond Times Dispatch featuring the basics on how to identify and maximize the flavor of these small but mighty beans.

Fresh Butter Beans Sauteed in Butter and Bacon

If you can manage to score end-of-summer fresh butter beans, this decadent recipe makes an excellent accompaniment to grilled pork loin with sauteed apples, a couple of jumbo lump crab cakes or a pile of fresh-fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

Kendra Bailey Morris

Makes 4 to 6 servings.

1 tablespoon unsalted butter
4 slices bacon, chopped
2 cups fresh butter beans, shelled and rinsed
½ cup low-sodium chicken stock
Fresh herbs of choice, minced to taste (such as chives, oregano or basil)
Salt and pepper, to taste

In a cast-iron skillet, sauté the bacon and butter until crispy. Pour off half the bacon grease and discard. Add butter beans and stock and bring up to a gentle boil. Then cover and cook about 10 to 12 minutes or until the beans are tender. Season with fresh herbs and salt and pepper. Then uncover and cook a couple more minutes until most of the liquid has evaporated. Pin It Now!

Five Kitchen Must-Have’s For Down-Home Country Cookin'

Kendra Bailey Morris

Things are getting rowdy over at CNN's kickin' food blog Eatocracy

Who knew that a Top Five Country Cookin' food post could incite such controversy?  From obesity in America to what defines Southern cooking, the comment section has lit up. Looks like the war between the North and South is back in business.

See for yourself ...

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