A Love Affair With Southern Cooking_ Recipes and Recollections - Jean Anderson [147]
1. For the coleslaw: Place the cabbage and onion in a large nonreactive mixing bowl. Toss well and set aside.
2. For the dressing: Combine all ingredients in a small nonreactive pan and bring to a boil over moderate heat, stirring until the sugar dissolves.
3. Pour the hot dressing over the slaw and toss well. Cool to room temperature, then cover and refrigerate until ready to serve.
SMOTHERED LETTUCE
MAKES 6 TO 8 SERVINGS
My first job right out of college was with the North Carolina Agricultural Extension Service, first as an assistant home agent in Iredell County, then, nine months later, as Woman’s Editor in the Raleigh head office. In this newly created position, my job was to cover the activities of 4-H Club girls and Home Demonstration Club women for newspapers, radio, and television. I was forever on the road, sometimes driving as many as 500 miles a day. I loved it, especially the tips passed along by the state agents who’d been crisscrossing the state for years. “Whenever you’re in Morehead,” they’d tell me, “be sure to eat at the Sanitary Fish Market.” “If you’re near Hillsborough, lunch at The Colonial Inn.” “If you’re headed to the mountains and it’s not out of the way, by all means stop at the Nu-Wray Inn in Burnsville.” I did, time and again. Only thirty miles north of Asheville and now nearly 200 years old, the Nu-Wray offers a glimpse of early mountain life. It fronts the town common and still serves some of the no-non-sense country cooking that made it famous. Whenever I visited, I’d order the inn’s famous smothered lettuce (some Southerners call it “wilted” lettuce). What follows is my approximation of that salad and I think it comes pretty close. I like it with almost any meat or fowl. Note: Iceberg is the lettuce to use here because it adds welcome crunch. It should be coarsely chopped—easy enough if you use this method: Halve the head of lettuce from top to stem end. Lay each half cut-side down, then slice from top to bottom, spacing the cuts ½ inch apart but not separating the slices. Give each half a quarter turn and slice at right angles to the first cuts, again spacing them ½ inch apart. That’s all there is to it.
8 slices hickory-smoked bacon, cut crosswise into strips ½ inch wide
2½ tablespoons cider vinegar
2 teaspoons sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon black pepper
8 cups (2 quarts) coarsely chopped iceberg lettuce (you’ll need about a 1½-pound head) (see Note above)
6 medium scallions, trimmed and thinly sliced (include some green tops)
1. Fry the bacon in a large, heavy nonreactive skillet over moderate heat for 10 to 12 minutes or until the drippings cook out and only crisp brown bits remain. Scoop the bacon to paper toweling and reserve.
2. Pour all drippings from the skillet and measure. You’ll need ¼ cup drippings and if insufficient, round out the measure with corn oil or other vegetable oil. Return the drippings to the skillet; add the vinegar, sugar, salt, and pepper, and bring to a boil over moderate heat, stirring occasionally.
3. Quickly mound the lettuce and scallions in a large bowl, pour the hot dressing evenly over all, add the reserved bacon, and toss well.
4. Serve at once. This is a light, refreshing salad, so be generous with the portions.
MOLDED VEGETABLE SALAD
MAKES 8 SERVINGS
Does anyone love a gelatin salad more than a Southerner? I doubt it. Even my Yankee mother, who moved to Raleigh, North Carolina, after marrying my equally Yankee father, became quite southern in her adoration of “congealed salads,” although she took to few other things southern and in the forty years that she lived below the Mason-Dixon, always spoke with an Illinois twang. Never content to leave well enough alone, Mother was forever improvising with a molded salad recipe that she’d picked up from a neighbor, a friend, or a fellow club woman. Some, I have to say, were sweet enough to serve as dessert. My own favorites, however, were made with unflavored gelatin and contained plenty of fresh fruits or vegetables. This