I’ve had some spectacular meals in my life: the freshest ingredients, perfectly prepared, in beautiful venues. The best meals I’ve ever had, however, had more to do with the circumstances than the ingredients, and were dependent on the identity of the other diners or the kind person preparing the food. Those meals nourished my soul as well as my body.
“Food brings people together on many different levels. It’s nourishment of the soul and body; it’s truly love.” — Giada De Laurentiis
The best meals I’ve ever had were the embodiment of love.
Ninny biscuits and fried pies.
My grandmother Hattie was an old-fashioned cook. Everything on her table was made from scratch, from the fried chicken to the home-made pickles to the hot cobbler. But the foods I remember that bring a lump to my throat were her Ninny biscuits and fried pies.
Ninny biscuits were simply biscuits made by Hattie, who we called Ninny. They were not light and flaky, like the ones from the grocery store that pop open; they were denser, almost like a scone. She served them hot out of the oven, with softened butter, and honey squeezed from a container shaped like a bear.
If you’re not from southern Oklahoma, you may not be familiar with fried pies. You remember the Hostess Fruit Pie? Fried pies are like those, but also not like them at all. Real homemade fried pies are not flaky or coated with sugar like the Hostess version, and they are misshapen and smaller, almost like large cookies. They are homemade pie crust wrapped around the filling, and deep fried .
Ninny made biscuits and fried pies just for me. She probably also made them for her other 13 grandchildren, but she made me feel like she made them just for me. I tried to learn to make them at her side, but the recipes were “a pinch of this, a dash of that” — and mostly lard.
Fried pies are so ubiquitous in southern Oklahoma that when my mom had breast cancer, whe described her lump not in terms of fruit (the size of a lime or a lemon), but rather as the size of a fried pie. Yep, they were a central part of life when I was growing up, but not everybody had them made by Ninny.
Fried catfish, french fries and hush puppies.
My brother and dad would catch and clean the catfish, and my mom would dredge them in cornmeal and fry them up, along with french fries and hush puppies. I don’t remember having this after the age of 9, which was when my brother left home for college.
Playing-hooky lunch on Fillmore Street in San Francisco
There used to be a little joint in Pacific Heights on Fillmore Street. It was no more than 10 tables, butcher paper table cloths, and the most amazing Southern Italian food for lunch. And when my future husband suggested we play hooky one afternoon and have a long lunch instead of burying our heads in legal treatises, we took a cab to Vivande Porta Via. We shared roast chicken, little fried eggplant sandwiches, pasta, tiramisu, and a lovely bottle of barolo. Lunch lasted four hours, and I think we were both in love when we finished the tiramisu.
This lovely restaurant closed in 2009, when its chef tragically lost his sense of taste and smell. I have one of his books, the classic The Food of Southern Italy.
Spaghetti and Meatballs on New Year’s Eve
The first time my now-husband cooked for me was New Year’s Eve, and he made spaghetti and meatballs. I took one bite and cried. It was that good. The little voice in my head said, “Marry this man. You’ll get meatballs all the time.” So I did, and I do.
Wine Country Lunch at Tra Vigne
Oh dear. Another courtship-by-Vito story. I guess when he discovered the way to my heart (or perhaps I discovered the way to his?) it became a repeated theme.
He took me to Napa Valley and grabbed reservations at the vine-covered patio of legendary restaurant Tra Vigne. What I remember is the butternut squash soup paired with chardonnay. I will never forget the feeling of perfectly paired soup and wine, a beautiful day in Napa Valley, and sitting with my favorite person.
Tra Vigne is gone, but you can make its soup at Tra Vigne’s Butternut Squash Soup. I’ve made it, and it’s amazing. Do not skip the toasted pumpkin seeds and marscapone cheese. You can also check out The Tra Vigne Cookbook.
A very special In-N-Out Burger
Have you ever given birth? Good lord, it’s exhausting. And they won’t let you eat anything while you labor, in case you need surgery. Since I labored for 20 hours with my sweet (and worth every minute) son, I had not eaten for a long time.
He was born while we were living in Pasadena, so when I could finally eat again I requested In-N-Out.
Oh my. Has there ever been a better burger? Not for me.
Visitation Dinner
The night before my dad’s funeral we had a visitation at the funeral home. Afterwards I had a house full of people, travelers who had come to town to grieve and celebrate my dad. If I were a more extraordinary host, I would have prepared a lovely dinner for all our guests.
I couldn’t do it. I was preparing the eulogy for the next day and juggling arrangements. I was also EXHAUSTED, mentally and physically. Without me asking, or even hinting, two amazing and generous cooks (and dear friends) prepared a huge dinner for a small crowd, brought it to my house, set the table, chilled the wine, served dinner, and cleaned up afterwards. I could barely fall into a seat at the table, and I’m amazed I had the strength to bring the very good wine to my lips. (But somehow I managed.)
I remember a beautiful salad with Kalisa’s signature vinaigrette (An Everyday Vinaigrette), homemade focaccia, a sausage and polenta creation, and key lime pie. I’m not sure of the details — just that it was delicious. I felt loved and cared for, and very grateful that Kalisa and Judy had cooked and served us dinner. Right when I needed it most, people who loved me and my family showed up and fed us. Is there any better way to show love?
2 comments
Your lunch at Vivande Porta Via sounds oh, so romantic and charming! And I am in awe of what your friends did for you, cooking that meal on the night before your father’s funeral. Wow.
Wonderful!
I feel like I was there. 😋
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