I have a soft spot for thrifted, self-published, spiral bound cookbooks and campfire cookery books from the surplus store. I know many, if not most, of the recipes will be bad, but I read on compulsively. An optimist at heart, I believe that something important and authentic may have been left behind by regional American home cooks of yesteryear for the dogged researcher and American home cook of the 2020’s to stumble upon and amplify. Turns out I am not alone. There’s money to be made in reselling these tossed out treasures in the digital sphere.

It’s tough going, when whole decades of women cooking at home were completely captured by Big Industrial Foods; even those who professed a love for cooking didn’t exactly cook; they combined processed foods in various combinations. In the gathered recipes of the entire congregation of St. Thomas Episcopal Church of 1977, for example, only two women (that I can see) managed to break free from hegemony and publish “ethnic” recipes that call for, at their dimly remembered core, stock or sour cream instead of canned condensed soup and other brand name corner cutters. And by “ethnic,” we’re talking European—a recipe from Ukraine for chicken baked in sour cream—because ethnic recipes like Mexican “Fiesta Dip,” made with Velveeta and relish, and “Cashew Chicken,” which calls for cream of chicken soup, sherry, and crunchy chow mein from a can, have been thoroughly Americanized to the point of tragedy.

So thorough is the mind-washing, that recipe authors proudly testify to replacing whipped cream with synthetic dairy topping and are always sure to name their exact favorite brand of mayonnaise. One must go further back in time to find the originals, the very first Hangtown Fry or Joe’s Special.

Twentieth century middle-class American home cooking—comfort food—is often bland and heavy, drawing on a heritage of farm cookery except without the farm, the freshness and seasonal eating of forebears. It’s like peasant cookery, in that it often seeks to economize, to stretch a modest amount of meat into a casserole to feed a crowd, or to make something that is not meat taste like meat. Except it isn’t delicious like traditional peasant cookery. Someone forgot that offal and fish heads can make something humble both delicious and nutrient dense. One could argue that American home cookery of yesteryear is sanitized, without flavor, without heart even. Except when it’s not.

Many of us know the nostalgic pleasure of digging into a hot slice of Shepherd’s Pie on a rainy night. You can keep the gelatin salads of yesteryear, but a good tuna casserole always seems like a miracle to me. I don’t think I’m alone in enjoying casseroles, because Food and Wine published a recipe for Tater Tot Casserole, redesigned with an unctuous homemade bechamel. (Here, I draw the line. I refuse to eat Tater Tots since they are still bathed in metabolism-destroying seed oils.) I’ve never tasted turtle soup or crawfish bisque, but I’d like to. Such is the nature of nostalgia: one can be homesick for something one has never tasted.

I love Mark Bittman’s cookbook “How to Cook Everything Fast” because he simplifies, brightens, and freshens staples of American home cookery like Shepherd’s Pie, which he gives a crisp, satisfying quinoa crust. Julia Turshen’s version in “Simply Julia: 110 Easy Recipes for Healthy Comfort Food” tops a ground turkey filling with mashed cauliflower. The impulse to modernize the foods of nostalgia, to remake them as truly homemade, is real.

Sometimes I wonder why we are still playing with these old chestnuts when the most delicious flavors, the foods I most want to eat, are cosmopolitan. My mouth waters imagining, not a slab of meatloaf, but rather one of Yotam Ottolenghi’s salads dressed with pomegranate molasses, chile peppers, and a handful of dill. I can get to craving Ethiopian injera or missing the fish sauce chicken wings at PokPok in Portland, Oregon.

We have only gained, as American home cooks, with the passage of time and the integration of other cultures into our own, along with the hard work and innovation of foodies with good palates and a heart for the authentic who ushered in the return to farm to table and seasonal eating. This blog post aims to share the occasional bit of Americana, remade for the modern wine country table and with my wine pairing suggestions, when appropriate.

As always, this post is a work in progress; I’ll add to it from time to time. My goal is to inspire the joys of preparing nutrient-dense, delicious food for friends and family, enjoyed with good wine.

Hors d'oeuvres

Olive Surprises

Here’s a recipe I wouldn’t mind bringing back just as it is, along with cocktail rings (real or not) and caftans. You could ask your grandmother for the recipe—or your winemaker. Use olives stuffed with pimentos, garlic, sausage—endless possibilities. These savory bites are surprisingly good matched with PELLA Cabernet Sauvignon Napa Valley 2022. You wouldn’t want an aromatic white wine in your glass; the briney olive and cheddar beg for Cabernet.

In a food processor, combine 1/4 cup soft butter, 1 cup grated Cheddar cheese, 1/4 tsp. sea salt, 1/4 tsp. paprika, 1/2 cup flour. Shape dough around each olive, then chill for 10-15 minutes. Bake at 400 degrees F for 15 minutes.

Cocktail Meatballs

Yes, unreservedly, I say we bring back the cocktail meatball ensconced in its chafing dish glory. Nothing says cocktail hour like a plate of hot, delicately sweet and savory, protein-rich meatballs with optional toothpicks—sorry charcuterie boards! The problem: walk away from those vintage recipes that call for a can of pineapple or a jar of grape jelly—fast.

I’m not tempted to try the recipe in my vintage book for Sausage Balls, which calls for a sauce composed of equal parts currant jelly and mustard, no doubt a piquant combination. Instead, I made lamb meatballs and sauced them with a reduction of pomegranate juice and balsamic vinegar that gave them a shockingly beautiful midnight black sheen; I’m calling them Cocktail Meatballs Noir.

To make this recipe, you could use a good quality, premade lamb sausage from your butcher, remove the meat from the casing, and form uniform 3/4 inch meatballs. Or, make a lamb meatball as one would; I used 2 lbs. of organic, grass-fed ground lamb, ground chicken liver, a good scoop of mustard, whipping cream, and bread crumbs, browned in a pan, finished in the oven, then sauced and brought to a boil again before being served. Beautiful when paired with a red wine, maybe a peppery Syrah. My sauce recipe follows. Why this recipe matters: A cocktail meatball sauced in a piquant sweet and savory sauce whets the appetite and provides healthy protein.

Sauce Noir

Saute two diced shallots and 3 sliced cloves of garlic in a little butter. To the pan, add 2 cups of pomegranate juice, 1/3 cup balsamic vinegar (not true aged aceto balsamico, but rather the standard stuff), salt, pepper, 1/4 tsp. rosemary, a pinch of red pepper flakes, and a squeeze of honey or agave nectar. (If you wanted, you could substitute 1 cup of homemade stock for 1 cup of pomegranate juice.) Reduce the whole thing down into a lovely syrup, stirring frequently. If you wanted, you could add a bit more butter and a squeeze of mustard at the end to thicken the sauce.

Salads

24-Hour Layered Salad

The “24-Hour Salad” was once a staple of barbeques in the 1970’s, and I fondly remember digging through the layers and unearthing peas, shredded Cheddar cheese, hard boiled egg bits, bacon, and brown sugar sweetened mayo when moms said we kids needed a vegetable on the plate.

Can you think of a circumstance when refrigerating a salad 24 hours in advance, fresh under its hermetic dressing cap, the flavors mingling and improving, might be handy? I can. My reimagined version, with a dressing based on the flavors of elote, Mexican street corn, is delicious.

To make my dressing, combine roughly 1/2 cup homemade mayonnaise, 1/2 cup crema, 1/2 cup crumbled queso, 1 cup of grilled corn, salt and pepper to taste, a squeeze of lime juice and raw blue agave nectar and mix. You’ll spread this on top of your layers, which in my case included shredded little gem lettuces from my winter garden, chopped red pepper and purple onion, sliced avocado soaked in lime juice to prevent browning, chopped fresh mango, and toasted sunflower seeds and pepitas. Carefully spread the dressing layer on top, dust with chili powder, cover, and refrigerate until ready to eat, then serve with crushed tortilla chips.

Somehow the salad never needs a tossing; dragging the spoon through the layers does the job. SANNA Sauvignon Blanc makes a great wine pairing.

Chicken Baked

I’ll name this category after a stunningly simple recipe called “Chicken Baked” that I found in a spiral bound church cookbook, the blandness of which keeps me pondering human taste. Simple in a bad way, such that I’m almost tempted to make it, just to experience quite how bad chicken baked with a can of cream of mushroom soup mixed with a can of cream of chicken soup would taste.

Instead, let’s consider a neighboring recipe for a whole, cut-up chicken, first lightly breaded and browned, then baked in sour cream for three 25-minute intervals. At first glance, the effort of par-frying chicken and then baking it in sour cream might seem redundant, but I get it. Particularly when cooking the unevenly sized pieces of a whole chicken, the baking in sour cream renders uniformly tender, succulent pieces of meat. The browning gives a crisp top crust.

Chicken Baked

Chicken Baked in Sour Cream - Revamped

The original inspiration.

For my remade version, I used boneless chicken thighs, simply because that’s what I had on hand. While I don’t doubt that a sauce composed solely of three cups of sour cream would be delicious, I couldn’t help infusing my dish with more flavor, including stock, white wine, a bay leaf, sliced onion and garlic, cayenne pepper, and a healthy shower of fresh, chopped dill and mint. Delicious! Especially with a squeeze of lemon. The chicken was meltingly tender, yet crisp, the flavors layered; sour cream and browned onion are a delicious combination. Any time I have green herbs and lemon in a dish, I like to pair with Sauvignon Blanc, which vibes with those flavors, while cutting through the rich creaminess of the dish. Why this recipe matters? Slowly baking chicken pieces in dairy such as sour cream or creme fraiche is a solid method for obtaining meltingly tender chicken. We dodged the pitfalls of chemical-laden, processed creamy condensed soup to find this old gem.

Chicken Baked in Sour Cream

Dredge 6 chicken thighs in a little flour seasoned with salt and pepper, then dip each piece in beaten egg, and roll in bread crumbs. Brown in the pan (so that the surface is browned but interior still raw.) Lay the chicken pieces in a casserole dish, then brown a sliced onion and 3 garlic cloves in the pan. Surround the chicken pieces with the onion mixture and bake at 375 degrees F for 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, remove casserole and pour 1 cup of stock and 1/2 cup of Sauvignon Blanc around the chicken. Add a bay leaf. Bake for 25 minutes more. Remove the casserole and surround the chicken pieces with 1 cup of sour cream, into which you’ve mixed 1 tsp. of cayenne pepper. Bake for 30 minutes more. Remove to a platter, shower with chopped fresh dill and mint. Squeeze lemon over the platter, then serve.

Americana: Search for Lost Flavors