Sunday, May 18, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

Cauliflower has been on sale at 2 lbs. for $1 recently and I just can’t resist it. I know many people who think my love of cauliflower is bizarre and tell me so. When I ask them why, they always say that cauliflower has no taste.

Oh, but it does. The problem is that most people tend to think of it raw on a relish platter where the only flavor comes from the yogurt-dill dip in the center of the plate.

That is not what I have in mind. My maternal grandmother, Julia Urban, made a side dish she simply called “breaded cauliflower” and it was one of my favorite foods as a child.

Wedding photo of Joseph and Julia (Sinkovich) Urban.

We ate dinner (meaning lunch) at her house every Sunday, and on the Sunday nearest a family birthday we would celebrate by turning Sunday dinner into a “birthday dinner.” At a birthday dinner, not only was a homemade dessert guaranteed, but the person celebrating their birthday would get to choose an item for the menu.

You could choose anything, anything at all. My mom always wanted stuffed chicken breasts, which my grandmother deemed such a hassle that she would only make them for a birthday.

I always wanted breaded cauliflower. Every year, my grandmother would look at me quizzically and say, “Is that all?” She thought of it as just a side dish. And really, truly, it was all I wanted. I would just tell her, “You can pick the rest.”

I loved it so much that I didn’t really care what else was served. I was a glutton for the subtle creamy transition the cauliflower made as it roasted slowly in the oven. What a contrast to the buttery, crunchy toasted bread crumbs. Heaven!

I had made breaded cauliflower such an event in my mind over the years that I expected it would be involved when I got around to looking for a recipe. But it is very simple, with few ingredients and not much fuss. My grandmother never wrote this recipe down, as far as I know, but I was fortunate to get verbal instructions by phone from my mom. So we don’t have any exact measurements. No matter.

Julia Urban’s Breaded Cauliflower

Submitted by: Julie Cancio Harper

1 head fresh cauliflower (or 1 lb. frozen cauliflower)
plain bread crumbs
butter
salt & pepper to taste

1. If using fresh cauliflower, remove the leaves and cut the cauliflower into florets. Parboil in salted water for 10 minutes. You do not want the cauliflower to be fully cooked at this stage, or the final result will be too soft. It should still be firm, but not crunchy. (If using frozen, just snip the bag and pour the florets into the boiling water. Frozen cauliflower will only need about 5 minutes to parboil.)

2. In a large skillet, melt 1/2 stick of butter on low or medium-low heat. Strain the cauliflower from the boiling water, and transfer it to the skillet.

3. Add salt and pepper to taste and then turn the cauliflower in the pan until it is fully coated with butter. You can add more butter to the skillet if necessary — the bread crumbs tend to soak it up. This is all approximate and you can’t ruin it or anything, so give it your best guess. It’s going to taste great.

4. When the cauliflower is coated in butter, start with 1/2 cup of bread crumbs and sprinkle them over the cauliflower in the pan. Keep stirring and turning the cauliflower over and over until the crumbs are distributed evenly and they begin to soak up the butter.

5. Keep adding more crumbs in small amounts and stirring them in until you have the desired level of breading. Some like it light, some like a lot more crumbs. I like a lot of crumbs, so I probably use 3/4 cup or more by the time I’m satisfied.

6. Once the cauliflower is coated, pour it into a casserole and bake at 375 degrees (Fahrenheit) for 45 minutes or so. It will be hot, bubbling, and nicely browned.

Posted in recipes, weekend recipe collective, youngstown, cooking, love, nostalgia, celebration | 2 Comments »

Sunday, May 11, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

For years I’ve been concerned that the many fantastic family recipes I grew up with were getting lost as the older generations aged and passed away. Life and work have taken me far afield from my home and family. I want familiar, nostalgic foods to continue providing a sense of togetherness and comfort when I cook at home. And another bonus is that it gives us an opportunity to all be in better touch in the present.

As I planned my wedding last year, I thought a lot about how families evolve and grow and how food has played such an important part in the celebrations we’ve shared. And I decided that someone should create an heirloom cookbook for all of us to enjoy. I still intend to do just that, but in the middle of planning a wedding I wasn’t able to get sufficiently organized to request recipes and follow up. (The truth is out: I am not Wonder Woman.)

I’ve not given up on the idea. To guarantee I make some good progress building my recipe collection soon, I am starting a new feature here at Learning To Eat. I’m calling it the “Weekend Recipe Collective.” Each weekend I will post one recipe received from a friend or relative. I will include a story about why the recipe is special and if there are photos available, I’ll post those as well.

We’ll start with a favorite from my father’s side of the family because it was the first ancestral recipe I received.

My grandmother, Lois Cancio, was the switchboard that kept our extended family informed of all our mutual news no matter where we all scattered to geographically. In her retirement, as I knew her, she loved to read books, write short stories and poetry, and eat and cook good food. She made homemade ice cream and cooked with wine, and from the perspective I had as a ten-year-old, that was all a person needed to do to be considered a gourmet.

In 1994, my cousin Eli and I graduated from high school and my grandmother had us over for dinner to celebrate that milestone. It was in the summer, before Eli left for the Navy and I left for college. She asked if I had any special dinner request, and since it had been my dad’s favorite, I asked for her deviled steak.

Lois Cancio’s Deviled Round Steak

Submitted by: Edward “Steve” Cancio, my dad

“This is one of my favorite recipes that my mother made. Before she moved to Virginia in the mid-1990’s, I asked her if she would write it down for me. She did, on the spot and from memory.”

1 1/2 lb. round steak
all-purpose flour
1 onion, minced
1 garlic clove, minced
3 Tbsp. oil
2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
dash of cayenne pepper
1 tsp. prepared mustard
1 tsp. vinegar
1/2 c. tomato sauce
1 1/2 c. hot water

Cut steak into strips across the grain. Roll in flour. Brown meat, onion and garlic in hot fat. Stir in 2 tablespoons flour and the seasonings. Add remaining ingredients. Cover and simmer for 1 hour, or until meat is tender. Serve with rice, noodles or mashed potatoes.

Serves 4.

I’m fortunate that my father asked for the recipe before my grandmother died in 1996. And I’m double-lucky to have a scan of the recipe in her own handwriting. Just click the small pics below to see the full-size recipe card, front and back.

Posted in recipes, weekend recipe collective, youngstown, cooking, celebration, enthusiasms | 5 Comments »

Monday, March 31, 2008 by Julie Cancio Harper.

The first thing that Eric ever cooked for me was Chinese pie. When he described what he was making, I said, “You mean shepherd’s pie?” And he said, “I guess, if that’s what you’d call it.”

Back then we were still sorting out our regional differences — which mostly had to do with having different names for the same thing. I grew up in Youngstown, Ohio and Eric grew up in Dracut, Massachusetts. No one told me until I went to college that I was from the Midwest. I grew up with an extremely liberal father and had always felt as though I belonged to the East coast cultural experience. We make maple syrup, they make maple syrup. How different could it be?

I was visiting him at his dad’s house one summer and was baffled by long conversations the two of them would have each night before we’d go out to dinner.

His dad would ask him, “Are you wearing dungarees or chinos to dinner?” And Eric would say, “Well, where are we going?” And they would discuss the restaurant options, and for anything that wasn’t a pizza parlor, his dad would say, “Maybe I should wear chinos.” And Eric would say, “No, no people wear dungarees in there all the time. Chinos are too formal.” And his dad would say, “Are you sure? I usually wear chinos.” To which Eric responded, “You dress too formally. I’m sure dungarees are fine.” And this would go on and on as they tried to get dressed.

I was already starving and ready to go, sitting in the parlor and thinking that I wished they would sort out the apparel debate so we could get out the door. But I couldn’t offer help because I had no idea what they were talking about.

I knew they were talking about pants. But I couldn’t figure out what KIND of pants.

Growing up, there were no restaurants that I ever went to that had any sort of dress code — implied or spoken. As long as you wore a shirt and shoes and bottoms of some kind (pants, skirt, shorts, etc.) you were in the clear. So I had no idea why Eric and his dad were so troubled by the formality of their outfits. And, dungarees and chinos sounded like cowboy words to me.

Not wanting to sound like a rube by asking, I kept my mouth shut and puzzled over it myself. Eventually I figured it out: dungarees are jeans, chinos are khaki pants.

So what about Chinese pie? Is it just another term for shepherd’s pie?

Not quite. It has similarities: a layer of ground meat is topped with mashed potatoes and baked until golden brown and bubbling. But Chinese pie has a middle layer of corn (either canned, creamed, frozen or a combination) between the meat and potatoes. The meat — usually ground beef — is sauteed with onions, and sometimes green peppers. Each family recipe differs slightly, but Eric’s experience and Wikipedia agree that Chinese pie is a valid term with origins in the New World.

Chinese pie is a nostalgia food for Eric. He does not make it often, but when he does it means more than dinner. It is one of the dishes his mom used to make, and since she died when he was 16, cooking Chinese pie is a way for him to get back in touch with what dinner and family meant to his mom.

I’m a tinkerer. And when Eric’s not in the mood to make strait-laced Chinese pie, I offer variations.

We once made a “Tex-Mex” Chinese pie where one pound of organic ground beef was cooked with cumin and garlic, the mashed potatoes were full of sharp cheddar, and the corn layer was similar to Mexicorn® (corn with peppers), which is a registered trademark of General Mills and which I ate often when I was a kid. This gave me the chance to feel nostalgia connected to the Chinese pie experience, too.

Since I had the separate ingredients on hand and lacked brand-name Mexicorn®, I prepared my version of the corn layer from scratch: dice one onion, one jalepeño, half a red bell pepper; sauté in butter; add frozen corn, salt and pepper to your liking; cook through until hot.

It was very tasty.

I also have visions of an Irish-style pie where the mashed potato layer is replaced by colcannon. Perhaps the corn layer can be replaced with cubed carrots? Or parsnips? I haven’t decided yet — this one’s still in development.

Well, all the tinkering over time inspired Eric last Saturday. While I sat at my computer typing away, he sneaked off to the kitchen. It was not long before I peeked my nose around the counter to ask, “What is it that you’re cooking?”

It was a new Chinese pie. The organic ground beef was sautéed with one-inch slices of onions and diced green bell pepper. There was cumin and garlic and . . . something else in the beef. I wasn’t sure. It smelled exotic. “Cinnamon,” he said, and smiled. Whoa! A curveball from the traditional New Englander!

We made the mashed potatoes with non-fat yogurt (32 oz. on sale for $1!), a bit of cheddar, and a drizzle of olive oil to smooth them out.

“It’s my best Chinese pie EVER,” he said. I think and hope he meant “so far.” We don’t know what to call this one, but it doesn’t matter. The food, the enjoyment of cooking, and the memories of home, family, and love are all evolving each time.

Posted in cooking, youngstown, new england, trademark, nostalgia, love, dealings w/feelings, pie | 5 Comments »