Waldorf salad is another one of those things that can just be kind of tossed all together according to the taste buds of the cook. And if you’re a really sweet, kind cook, you will take into consideration your family’s/guests’ taste buds also.
But what if the item to be served is not a matter of taste so much as it is texture??
This very thing has happened in Mrs. Hate’s family—a texture issue brought to the forefront by none other than her son-in-law.
Waldorf salad showed up on the dinner table on a fairly regular basis when I was growing up. Here’re the ingredients:
- apples (your preference of a tasty, crisp eating apple…back then apples were generally of the Red Delicious persuasion)
- mayonnaise (used to use Kraft until they completely lost their cool AND their mojo when they changed the recipe several years ago..I HATED that little corporate decision (ridiculous), but rallied and discovered Duke’s mayonnaise…really quite good)
- celery, diced
- pecans, diced
- marshmallows (why not use miniature)
And here’s how to put it all together!!
Peel or don’t peel your apples and cut in small chunks.
Add all other ingredients to your liking and proportion.
This must be the shortest Mrs. Hate recipe yet!!
But what about the rest of the recipe title…”fruit and mayonnaise and marshmallows and nuts all mixed together freak me out”?
Love that son-in-law, wouldn’t swap him for the world, he worships my daughter (she’s worship-worthy to the nth…a kumquat if there ever was one)…but his food quirks can be a challenge to the cook.
This is the type of son-in-law who throws his all into everything—intense, cheerful, thoughtful, curious, smart, talks a mile a minute, multitasks like Hydra in Greek mythology could have if cell phones and tablets and laptops and all such things had been around in myth time—but you put an innocent, harmless bowl of Waldorf salad in front of him and he says:
“WHAT IS THIS WITH ALL THIS FRUIT AND MAYONNAISE AND MARSHMALLOW AND NUTS IN IT? THINGS WITH FRUIT AND MAYONNAISE AND MARSHMALLOWS AND NUTS ALL MIXED TOGETHER FREAK ME OUT!!”
Well son, you are easily freaked out—a little high strung there it seems.
The poor thing kind of paled when we told him what it was and how much we loved it and could eat it by the bucketful.
Since he’s a big talker anyway, and my sisters and I were curious about just what was it about Waldorf salad that was so freakishly scary, we…asked him!!!
He started making his case for the fact that, individually, he LIKED all those ingredients and had no PROBLEM with them…individually.
But you mix them all together and the texture just…freaked him out.
We love him. He’s ours, all ours.
But Waldorf salad RULES, I don’t care who you are!!
HATE POINT: the new Kraft mayonnaise
LOVE POINT: that son-in-law
Oh my word, the stress that can come when one thinks about what to name her blog.
Will the fate of the blog hang on just how eye-catching that name is?
Will the name avoid being laughed at, criticized, or ignored?
Will the name go down in social media history?
Ummmm…Mrs. Hate is babbling now. That brain of hers is just dreaming up all sorts of stuff and wandering, so back to the origin of the name.
Mrs. Hate’s younger sister has a son who is observant, precocious, and on the autistic spectrum. You never know what he might come out of his mouth at the oddest times, but that’s okay, because it usually gives the family lots of anecdotes to chew over and laugh about.
This nephew has a cousin on “the other side” of the family, meaning his half-sisters’ paternal cousin…what you could sort of call “kissing cousins” here in the South. This particular cousin is a very pleasant young lady, except she tends towards the negative all along (pleasant, yet negative…can’t explain it).
So, the nephew is just hanging around playing his video game or whatever it is and all quiet, while his sisters and the cousin are blah-blah-blahing about girl stuff. After the cousin leaves, the nephew very calmly and matter-of-factly say “she’s just a Mrs. Hate; she always is hating something.”
Well, that’s been a family joke of sorts for some years now. At some point, even the cousin was let in on her new name, and she had the grace to be cool with it.
Then came the day when Mrs. Hate solicited a blog name opinion from younger sister. She ran a few name ideas by younger sister, told younger sister how she was generally going to “handle” the blog, and younger sister said “you need to call yourself Mrs. Hate since it sounds like you’re going to be ranting and raving and hating all along”.
Mrs. Hate it is, then. Thanks, Will 🙂 🙂 This post is dedicated to YOU!!!!
Mrs. Hate looooves biscuits. You can’t say it any plainer than that.
How do I love thee, O Biscuit?
Let me count the ways:
- biscuits with butter
- biscuits with blackberry jelly
- biscuits with crabapple jelly
- biscuits with fig preserves
- biscuits with honey
- biscuits with Flowing Gold syrup
- biscuits with pan sausage
- biscuits with country ham
- biscuits leftover, halved, buttered, and put under broiler the next day
And then, of course, you’ve got throwing in some stale biscuits when making your dressing at Thanksgiving and Christmas AND, every now and then, playing around with turning them into a sort of biscuit pudding.
Picture a small country town in South Georgia circa 1962. There’s a farm—not too big, not too little—with a maid (who now would be referred to as a housekeeper)—not too skinny, not too fat (and this description is important for reasons discussed later)—wearing a white uniform. There will never be a better biscuit maker than Matt, point said.
Mrs. Hate remembers Matt as representing security, stability, love, kindness—all attributes we all need to possess, and our possession begins by having them demonstrated to us by others. Matt was a part of the nascency of these attributes in Mrs. Hate; her talent in biscuit-making was perfection, but her kindness and love superseded even biscuits. Love and kindness are eternal, the eating of a biscuit temporal. But the memories of those biscuits and the loving hands that made them…goodness gracious, what memories…
Now, as all good cooks have the talent of making things looks easy (in other words, things you THINK are so simple, but in reality there’s a knack to it so that sometimes you end up banging your head against the wall and say “why can’t I just COOK this and make it turn out right? there’s ONLY THREE LITTLE INGREDIENTS!!! Mrs. Hate’s getting worked up a little here in case you couldn’t tell), Matt didn’t disappoint in making biscuit-making look easy.
So what are the three little ingredients for Matt’s biscuits that can make strong women cry—and then headbutt the wall??
White Lily self-rising flour
buttermilk (whole please, not fat-free)
alas…no image of Land O’Lakes whole buttermilk could be found,
so just imagine your local grocery store’s buttermilk pictured here
**sidebar** of course, it’s much more traditional to use plain (all-purpose) White Lily flour and add your baking powder and salt, but MY MAMA said it was okay to use self-rising flour, and MY MAMA was as Old South scratch cooking as there could be. R.I.P. Mimi—we still talk about you, dream about you, wonder about you, analyze you.
So, back to the biscuits.
Now Matt could make biscuits without measuring…of course!! (headbutt time on the coolness and savoir faire of no measuring)
She would pour the flour into a what we called dough bowl, which was an old (again, of course!! wasn’t EVERYTHING old in Mrs. Hate’s childhood??) wooden bowl with dimpled gouges here and there. The gouges sure didn’t come from biscuit making, because all of that’s “by hand”, but probably just came from handling and slamming the bowl around when throwing it in the cabinet. (“Throwing” is showing up more and more in these little stories—one would think there was a lot of VIOLENCE and PASSION and SOUTHERN GOTHIC-NESS going on in the household, but no, it was just a busy little place.)
So, back to the biscuits for the second time.
**second sidebar** the buttermilk should be cold (don’t get it out beforehand to come to room temperature like you would generally do with cake-making), and IMPORTANT NOTE: always keep the Crisco in the refrigerator…you want it to be cold for biscuit making, and refrigeration also keeps it from going a little rancid.
Spoon in some Crisco (shortening) and get those little fingertips working. You want to just riffff the Crisco into the flour with a delicate touch of thumb rolling the Crisco over the fingertips, primarily the index and middle fingers, with a little ring finger action for extra riffff. Little finger not really necessary. Think on that statement.
You will have MAGICALLY known how much Crisco was necessary. If your magic levels are low on biscuit-making day, let’s say a couple of big spoonfuls (a little over 1/4 cup) of Crisco—the size of spoon you dish up vegetables with—and the flour (backtracking here) should be maybe 2 cups would do’ya.
And, if you’re a voracious, insatiable, manic, lunatic-crazy cookbook reader, surely you will have read all through the years about “work the shortening into the flour mixture until there are pea-sized lumps, but they don’t have to all be exactly the same size, you need some variation for flakiness blahblahblah”. All that is true. Plus (and often you will read this) you don’t want to overwork the dough; toughness results. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but toughness should not be in the heart of a biscuit.
Okay, and moving right along…
Get the buttermilk out of the refrigerator (whole, remember—the thought of low-fat buttermilk makes Mrs. Hate hate), shake it up good (so all the yummy fat is distributed), and pour in enough (about 1 cup) to make a slightly sticky dough when stirred with a fork (there’s that magic fork again which, after having tended to the hoecakes, is now tending to the biscuits—that fork earns its keep in this kitchen!!). And some folks even have special forks treasured for biscuit making and other cooking odds and ends…Mrs. Hate has HEARD of this and even seen a PICTURE of this…and the fork just looks like an old broke-down fork with maybe a tine or two missing. Will wonders never cease!!
So, you’ve stirred the dough, it’s sticky (searching for comparable analogy here—is that a somewhat redundant pairing of words?—and failing miserably), and now time to get a little creative like you did with the hoecakes.
Get the dough board out (not bowl), flour it with a handful of flour and swoop it around on the board, throw the dough on the board, dust your hands with flour, and lightly, gently knead for a few turns. So pretty when it’s done right. It goes from a sticky and slighty damp-ish looking mess to an immaculately smooth ball with a dull flour finish, if you do it right…just saying. Just thinking about that smooth dough ball takes Mrs. Hate back back back to that time in her childhood when she and her parents and her sisters and Matt were healthy and energetic and young.
Rolling pin or pat out the dough?? Let’s end up with a rolling pin, with a little flour dusted on it. Put your dough ball on the floured board, pat it with your hands a little to get the thing started, then lightly press/roll with pin.
The dough needs to be in the neighborhood of ⅜” thick. You can go a little more or less thick depending on your vision of a perfect biscuit. Personal preference is perfectly proper here (looove that alliteration…if any reader has seen Brideshead Revisited—the one with Jeremy Irons and Anthony Andrews—the Anthony Blanche character was a m-m-m-master of stuttering alliteration).
Cut the biscuits out. A 2-3” biscuit cutter is recommended. However, in a pinch, one could take an old (Good Lordamercy, were Mrs. Hate’s folks packrats with old stuff or WHAT?!?!?!?) jelly jar, place it on the dough, and use a sharp knife tip to cut around the jar rim. Eureka!!! Biscuits!!!
Place the biscuits—all touching, please, all cozy and nestled next to each other—in a cast iron SKILLET, not a SPIDER (see hoecake post). Or, entirely okay to put the biscuits in old aluminum pie plate or even a 9×13 Pyrex dish. Some people like to spritz the pie plate or Pyrex with a little Pam—hmmmm on that, as Matt sure didn’t use any of that Pam stuff back in 1962. And please be advised here that a biscuit pan is kind of whatever, but cornbread is really only made in an iron skillet. Sometimes at holidays a Pyrex dish is okay for cornbread because the sad truth is it’s going to be crumbled up for dressing anyway, but for eating cornbread on its own, you really, really need an iron skillet to develop the crispy cornbread crust…another post, another day, and another alliteration.
You’re looking at probably a dozen biscuits here, maybe fewer. Just depending.
An oven temperature of 500 degrees sounds mighty high, but it works.
And before oven-time, some people melt some butter in a bowl (confession: microwave) and use fingertips (why bother using a brush?) to slide some butter around on the top of raw biscuit.
Handy Tip: it would behoove you to always have some Land O’Lakes butter on hand, and unsalted is really all you need—most of the time, like 99.9% of the time.
Almost done, you hanging-in-there readers you!!
Take the biscuits out when golden-y brown on top (ten-ish minutes or so).
And as good as they are same-morning/dinner/supper made, they are equally as delicious next morning prepared this way:
Split them, put a little softened butter on cut surface, put on cookie sheet with tin foil on it (or you can get all free-spirited and just put them on whatever…skillet, cookie sheet, old roasting tray, it’s okay), have that oven on BROIL, place in oven with door kind of cracked open and check verrrry frequently—it won’t take long. You just want them lightly toastified with a little crunchy thing going on. Heavenly.
And why was it important to describe Matt as being not too skinny and not too fat??
Matt, that precious angel on Earth, developed stomach cancer. Mrs. Hate’s mother and Matt were very close, and MHM (trying out this acronym here for brevity and typing efficiency) talked so long and so hard to Matt about going to the doctor, but Matt was a Jehovah’s Witness, and there are lots of Witness beliefs about medical procedures, blood transfusions, etcetera. No matter how much Matt loved MHM, she just couldn’t bring herself to go to the doctor.
So the wonderful Matt got cancer-skinny, but with a swollen stomach. In the saddest of ways, she was both too skinny and too fat. However, she was still perfect, of course, because love and kindness exist no matter our physical condition.
HATE POINT: canned biscuits
LOVE POINT: Matt and the memory of her sweet face