grace grits and gardening - ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

How High’s the Water Mammaw Ruby?

June 13, 2014 By Talya Tate Boerner

Most of Mammaw Ruby’s customers lived in Victoria and Luxora. She even sold Avon to the gypsies living on the edge of Osceola. On Saturday, I helped her with deliveries. Her car was crammed with white sacks filled with lipsticks and lotions and rose-scented perfume. She said while we were out, we needed to see how high the Mississippi River had risen with all the recent rain, in case Papa Homer needed to build an ark.

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Mammaw Ruby wasn’t known for her driving abilities.

Driving to the top of the levee, she hogged the entire road. I held my breath and prayed no one was speeding up the other side.

As her car straddled the levee, the river roiled only inches away lapping against the asphalt.

A tree floated by.

“I’ll swanee! We’re stuck!” Mammaw said in a panic. “I can’t turn around.”

“Let me out. I’ll walk.” There was no way I was going to drown in Mammaw’s car when she plunged over the edge. Even though I was a good swimmer, the current was dangerous. Daddy said if we EVER swam in the Mississippi River, we would surely drown.

Before I could escape, Mammaw reversed the car and backed down the levee the way we had come. The motor moaned. My knuckles cramped and clutched the door handle as I prepared to jump.

Later that night, I relayed the story to Momma at the supper table. Momma promised we would never again ride with Mammaw Ruby. Momma forgot all about that promise the next time she needed a free babysitter.

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

Johnny Cash – Five Feet High and Rising

Fried Green Tomato Recipe. Yes!

June 10, 2014 By Talya Tate Boerner

The fried green tomato recipe did not originate in the South. Crazy, huh? We all know necessity is the mother of invention, and if you think about it, this makes sense. Down south while we leisurely enjoyed juicy red tomato sandwiches with no thought of winter, our northern friends were in an all out panic trying to use unripe tomatoes before the first freeze.

They outdid themselves.

But let’s be real. Southerners embraced the fried green tomato. And now we claim it as our own.

Since I was planning to be out of town when my tomatoes ripened, I fried a couple of green ones. After reading several recipes on the Food Network and Allrecipes, I came up with this version. The best I’ve ever eaten! You’re gonna want to try this today.

Fried Green Tomatoes.

Print Recipe

Ingredients Method

Ingredients

Oil
2 medium sized green tomatoes cut into 1/4-inch slices
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
6 Tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 tablespoon garlic powder
2 eggs
1 tablespoons buttermilk
3/4 cups Italian-seasoned bread crumbs
Pinch cayenne pepper
Parmesan Reggianno
Chopped Green Onions

Method

Pour oil in skillet and warm to medium heat. (About a half inch of oil.)
Lightly salt and pepper both sides of tomatoes.
Mix flour and garlic powder in a shallow dish.
In another shallow dish, beat eggs with buttermilk.
In a third dish, combine bread crumbs with cayenne.
Dredge tomatoes through the flour, then the eggs, and then the bread crumbs.
When oil is hot, add a few pieces at a time. Don't crowd them. Cook about 2-3 minutes. Drain on paper towels. Sprinkle with Parmesan and chopped green onions (optional).
Serve with your favorite dipping sauce, but they don't really need anything else...

The best fried green tomato recipe. Ever.

Oh yes.

Happy eating!

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing: (not really)

Riding with a Farmer

June 8, 2014 By Talya Tate Boerner

We were driving to church for my cousin’s wedding when Daddy pulled off the highway and stopped the truck. “What are you doing?” Momma asked, even though she knew the answer. Riding anywhere with a farmer meant factoring in lots of extra time. Daddy drove slow enough to watch cotton bolls open from the highway.

“We’re gonna be late,” I moaned and applied another coat of strawberry lip gloss. I hated to be late for anything, plus I was in charge of the guest book.

Daddy grabbed his hoe from the back of the truck, ambled across the shallow ditch, and waded through rows of knee-high cotton. He wacked down the annoying weed wearing his new sport coat from Westbrook’s.

Momma sighed.

All the Tate girls had been trained to scan the horizon for johnsongrass. Teasing and waving in the breeze, the offensive plants were easy to spot, a different shade of green standing taller than the crop.

Daddy had some of the cleanest fields in Mississippi County. Everyone agreed.