Nice day yesterday

The kind neighbor across the road blessed us not long ago with a gallon freezer bag full of filleted catfish.  He suggested I semi-thaw it and package it in smaller portions, but I hesitate to re-freeze any meat, especially fish.  I decided to invite my daughter's family over; there were six of them coming, and two of us.  That bag of catfish looked like a lot more than eight people would be able to eat.  My daughter likes to take pictures of her food and post them to Facebook.

Frying all that catfish kept two skillets occupied for a half-hour.  

This is my daughter's plate:  slaw made from our last head of garden cabbage, scalloped potatoes, green beans (store-bought and doctored up, I didn't have enough from the garden), corn bread, and catfish.  Folks, if you've never tried Louisiana Fish Fry, you simply must!  We like the New Orleans style; it's spicy, the way we like our fish.  If you want it really spicy, dip the fish in buttermilk first; this gives a thicker, crispy coating that almost makes you want to slap your grandma.  Oh, and we did manage to eat most of the catfish.  
Pardon that expression, I think I picked it up from Cliff.  

Grandson Brett had to put brakes on his car; Kevin helped.  

The great-granddaughter finally got past her fear of tractors and got the feel of this one.  

And she looked good doing it.   

Here she is pointing out something to her dad, who is celebrating his birthday today.  
So, all in all it was a good family day.  I can sure tell I'm getting older, though; cooking a big meal absolutely  wears me out for the rest of the day!  
By the way, my Canadian secret admirer is back, reading every entry I've ever done on this blog. Hello, Canadian reader:  If you ever make it to current entries, let me know what led you here and why you find my every word so interesting.   As I write this, you're still back in 2007.

About tomatoes, and more abundance

Pat/Texas (thanks for the nice compliment to my blog, Pat) asked, in a comment: "Question...do you put any lemon/lime in your tomatoes when canning? Some recipes call for it and actually say it has to be done, some don't mention it."

I looked at some USDA specifications on the Minnesota Extension Service website and found that, indeed, they recommend the addition of lemon juice. This is because some varieties of tomatoes aren't considered acid enough to be safely canned on their own. The varieties mentioned there are: Ace, Ace 55VF, Beefmaster Hybrid, Big Early Hybrid, Big Girl, Big Set, Burpee VF Hybrid, Cal Ace, Delicious, Fireball, Garden State, Royal Chico, and San Marzano.

One could use a pressure-canner with any tomatoes, and they'd be safe to use with no worries about acidity.

Once again, I live on the edge. I cold-pack tomatoes, and I have never added anything to make them more acid. However, I have not used any of the varieties mentioned above.

Of the ten quarts of tomatoes I put up today, two jars didn't seal. I'll put them in the refrigerator and re-do them tomorrow, after taking off the lids and making sure there are no seeds or chunks preventing a seal. I'll also use new flats on them.

To add to our plentiful food supply around here, the retired neighbor across the highway who often brings us fish showed up once again, with a cooler full of dressed catfish. He always tells me to take what I want, and I don't want to appear to be a glutton. So I tried to get Cliff to do it, but his hands were dirty.

I said, "I never know how many to take," and Cliff said, "Don't be silly; get us some fish."

I showed him. I just kept getting more catfish until he protested. Ha!

Sunday is turnip-planting day, and I went out in the midst of the weeds (I have plenty) and crops in the garden to till up a place to plant my turnips. I mostly plant them in memory of my mom, who loved them so much. Cliff hates them.

Remember the rule:

Plant turnips the twenty-fifth of July, wet of dry
Harvest turnips the twenty-fifth of October,
drunk or sober.

I use that saying in memory of the man who taught it to me, Don Owings. A sweet, sweet man, God rest his soul.

cast iron skillets

We have a neighbor who retired not long ago, and he's taken up fishing as a hobby. He heads often to Truman Lake with his boat, and on his return he shows up at our door with a generous amount of catfish, dressed and ready to fry. I roll it in Louisiana Fish Fry coating (the New Orleans style is our favorite), and we pig out. Yum.

Notice the black cast iron skillet on the right. That's one I inherited from Cliff's youngest sister when she was down-sizing her household goods. She got it from my mother-in-law, and who knows how long she'd had it. I have a smaller one that my mom gave me when I got my first apartment. I'm sure I stirred gravy in that skillet when I was barely tall enough to see over its edge. I used to have a huge skillet my mother-in-law gave me, many years ago. Once my kids grew up and left home, I seldom used it; so I gave it to my daughter, who has strict instructions to keep it in the family.

Did you know cast iron skillets really do contribute iron to your diet? And that if you keep them properly seasoned, they're almost as non-stick as Teflon? True, you can't toss them in a dishwasher, or use scouring powder on their insides... but I love them. And I love this quote from the esteemed Doctor Hannibal Lector:

"Look into the skillet, Clarice. Lean over it and look down. If this were your mother's skillet, and it may well be, it would hold among its molecules the vibrations of all the conversations ever held in its presence. All the exchanges, the petty irritations, the deadly revelations, the flat announcements of disaster, the grunts and poetry of love.

Sit down at the table, Clarice. Look into the skillet. If it is well cured, it's a black pool, isn't it? It's like looking down a well. Your detailed reflection is not in the bottom, but you loom there, don't you? The light behind you, there you are in blackface, with a corona like your hair on fire.

We are all elaborations of carbon, Clarice. You and the skillet and Daddy dead in the ground, cold as the skillet......."

It's history, I tell you. When I use my Wagner cast iron skillets, I'm holding history in my hands.

No corn bread tastes as good as that made in a cast iron skillet; the crispy, dark-brown crust on the bottom...

Well, now I'm wishing I had some corn bread for breakfast! I'm going to go get in the hot tub before I drool all over my keyboard.