grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Archives for 2012

Buttermilk Pie with Raspberries

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“Make You Wanna Slap Yo Momma”
Buttermilk Pie with Raspberries


This is an awesome pie. Adapted from Southern Memories by Nathalie Dupress, it’s an easy pie to bake. It will make you think back to your childhood and wonder why your mother only baked pies at Christmastime. Or Thanksgiving.  And that just might make you want to slap yo momma…

Ingredients
Favorite Pie Crust (homemade or not)
1 stick butter, unsalted, melted, cooled
3 eggs, room temperature
1/4 cup buttermilk
2 T flour, all-purpose
1 3/4 cups sugar
1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract
1/2 tsp salt


  • First of all, read this entire recipe before you even think about cooking.  This will eliminate surprises and make sure that you allow enough time to assemble and bake this pie.  It will turn out better. I speak from experience.
  • Secondly, gather all of your ingredients and measure them out beforehand. Yes, you will dirty more measuring cups and bowls, but you will know well in advance that you are out of vanilla or your flour has bugs in it, saving yourself a mad dash to the grocery store during mid-stir. Plus, you will feel like the Barefoot Contessa with all the little bowls sitting around pre-measured.  
  • Be sure to melt your butter and then let it cool to room temperature.  And the eggs need to hang out for a bit as well. While your butter is cooling and your eggs are chillin’, roll out your crust and press it into the pie pan.  Press it into the corners, and try not to stretch the dough. Stretching causes shrinkage while baking. And we all know shrinkage is ugly. Trim the edges and try to make them look somewhat neatly crimped.  But don’t worry too much about this…a rustic-looking pie tastes better and perfection is overrated. (I am assuming you are working with the pre-made Pillsbury pie crusts – the kind that you unroll. If you buy a pie shell, then just unwrap it.)  Once your crust is pressed into the pan and all trimmed, place it in the freezer for 30 minutes before baking. Trust me on this.
  • Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. 
  • In your KitchenAid or in a mixing bowl, mix the butter and eggs together until well combined.  (Did you melt your butter and then let it come to room temperature? If not, guess what? You just made yourself some scrambled eggs. If so, stop right here, make a scrambled egg sandwich for sustenance and start over…) Add the buttermilk and vanilla to the butter/egg mixture and mix well.
  • In a separate bowl, combine the flour, sugar and salt.  Stir this dry mixture into your wet mixture a bit at a time until mixed.  Don’t over mix. At this point you may want to drink it like eggnog.
  • Pour the filling into the crust and bake on the middle rack until set and lightly browned.  About 45 minutes. Cool to room temperature on a rack. Be patient. Raspberries or other tart fruit sprinkled on top will help balance the sweetness. Don’t put your raspberries on when the pie is warm. They will bleed. 
topped w/ pomegranate thingys 
Total shweetness!! Try not to slap yo momma. 

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.



This recipe was adapted from Central Market which adapted it from Southern Memories, by Nathalie Dupree.


But It’s Only Water Weight!

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Today marks the beginning of my 4th month! So far so good. I feel happy and calm and have really begun to enjoy the changes that are developing in my life. I’m taking better care of myself, eating organic and limiting red meat. And I sleep better. My friends have told me I have a glow.  The glow of retirement.  YesPleaseAndThankYou!

I retired from my 25 year banking career at State Bank & Trust on Halloween.  As I enter into my 2nd trimester of retirement, I think I’ve only gained 5 pounds.  But I don’t really know or care. As long as my jeans fit, no worries. The only time I really think about it is when I’m forced to weigh in for my annual physical at the insistence of Jennifer, my cute, tiny, female-DoogieHowser-ish internist. (There is something rather unsettling about explaining hot flashes to Jennifer, obviously born in the 1980s. I feel immediately more vibrant after a visit to Dr. Walter, who was given a proper, doctorly name, when gas cost $0.15 per gallon.) 

My husband, on the other hand, weighs himself at least 2 times a day, and ALWAYS after a big dinner.  This is so baffling to me, but quite entertaining. He steps on the scale, which is not accurate compared to Dr. Jennifer’s scale, and announces the results in summary format, but never stating the actual poundage to me.  “Well, I shouldn’t have had that burger at dinner,” incredibly disappointed in himself, sounding like Eeyore. Or, with a pleasant smile in his voice, “Turkey wrap at lunch” proud that the scale delivered positive news. I do not even say it – I soooo want to say it. I am trying my dead level best to be supportive.  After all, I’m a kept woman now. 

Seriously, does he not know about water retention? That no matter what he eats, foregoes or pukes up that day, he simply will NOT weigh less at night than he did in the morning. It’s a mathematical dieting fact of life.  To see a change, he must make a major lifestyle change, like donating a leg. He’s a very smart man. He structures complicated deals I only pretend to understand. He, of all people, should understand that these small weight fluctuations from morning to night are simple rounding errors! I sweat four days a week for months, eating only gluten-free, dairy-free, taste-free food with no obvious change, yet he hopes and believes in his heart that he can step on the scale after substituting fries for cabbage at dinner one night and truly lose weight? But then again, he is a man. They do have the advantage of somehow dropping 2 pounds after a satisfying bathroom break. And it’s not water…

After only one week of retirement, everyone began to ask me incredulously, “WHAT are you doing with yourself?”, as if I had been confined to complete bed rest and chicken broth. “WHAT on Earth do you do all day?”, blah blah blah. Oh puleeze! {insert eye roll here} Like these people could not entertain themselves for even one measly week? I was already into my 4th month and had not watched a minute of daytime television (except for a couple of episodes of Andy Griffith). But then again, I can entertain myself at Target.  I will admit, now that the tables have turned, I too made those catty comments to my stay-at-home friends, pretending to be so incredibly fulfilled when really, I was totally sleep deprived, envious and bitter. It was just a coping skill. We do what we have to do to get down the road.

I can see this clearly now that I am more rested and less stressed. I no longer track the prime interest rate or worry about the median sales price for Dallas County homes compared to the prior quarter, or whether the price per square foot has fallen in Preston Hollow. I am losing no sleep over the 30 year jumbo mortgage rate products. I have allowed myself to let go of this information, opening up my brain for new creative ideas and boosting my memory. John’s brain is jammed with every number he ever knew – his old phone numbers, apartment numbers, and every golf hole stroke/score. This is why he cannot remember important particulars such as the delicate working of the body as it relates to water weight retention. 

No longer do I have recurring dreams about falling or floating off into the upper atmosphere, or forgetting to go to my college classes an entire semester, or being naked at work.  My dreams are now very different, peaceful and specific – eating a bowl of peaches, swimming in the ocean or watching it snow. I know, I know. In only 90 days, I’ve become one of those people who annoys the hell out of me.  

Twenty-five years is a big chunk of my life.  Half of my life with the same bank owners and co-workers. I was a baby when I started working there – fresh out of Baylor University. There is no way to walk away and not leave a part of myself behind. Now I’m the customer. Tomorrow I need to drop by to do some banking. I know there will be fresh, hot, complementary coffee – with those awesome french vanilla liquid coffee mate singles – and juicy gossip waiting for me. I hope they don’t notice my extra 5 pounds. But really, it’s just water weight.




talya

Musical Pairings:
Uncle Kracker, “Smile”

That Bookstore in Blytheville

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Mary Gay Shipley has my dream job. She is the proprietor of That Bookstore in Blytheville near my hometown.  I recall in the mid-1970s when she first opened the store, it was The Book Rack.  At that time, it was more of a used book exchange.  Nearly every week, my mother walked into The Book Rack with a stack of paperbacks to trade and walked out with a new stack of volumes to read, fueling my addiction at a very early age. Of course, this was after an hour of browsing and chatting with the ladies there, who could always make wonderful reading recommendations over a cup of coffee. The book exchange idea proved to be a great recycling program, if you are one of those people who can let go of a book. I cannot.

For years, everyone simply referred to The Book Rack as “that bookstore in Blytheville“. I suppose Mary Gay decided to go with the flow, as eventually she officially renamed it. I doubt I have ever been to Blytheville without stopping there. It’s actually the reason to go to Blytheville. It’s a destination, not just a quick side trip on the way home from someplace else.

A few of my signed first editions.

Shiny, Clean, Aligned, Happy 

Mary Gay has attracted many impressive southern authors to book signings and readings, thus I have amassed quite an impressive collection of signed first editions.  I treasure these books. When our house nearly flooded a few years ago, I was fully prepared to strap a bookcase on my husband’s back, if necessary. I have many, many more autographed books than shoes. It’s not even close. 

If I ever move back home to Mississippi County, I plan to occupy the storefront until Mary Gay agrees to hire me. I have thought this through and feel certain that it would be to her advantage. She needs an understudy.  She has earned an understudy – someone who appreciates all things southern like whipping up the perfectly balanced pitcher of mint juleps or executing a successful late evening snipe hunt among friends.  
Most of my shoes.
Faded, Dirty, Jumbled, Sad
I would cheerfully fetch John Grisham from the airport for his book signing events, engage him in clever conversation about soybean futures and discuss his latest protagonist during the drive to Blytheville. 

One day I hope to see my own book for sale on the shelves at That Bookstore in Blytheville complete with an endearing quote from Mary Gay Shipley on the back cover. That is on the very TOP of my bucket list. (The understudy position is a teeny bit further down.) But honestly, I’m not a stalker, just a fan. I swear.

talya

Grace Grits & Gardening

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!