I have a soft spot for thrifted, self-published, spiral bound cookbooks and campfire cookery books from the surplus store because of our daughter Pella, who began collecting and cooking from them when she was in high school, during the pandemic shutdowns. I know many, if not most, of the recipes will be bad, but I read on compulsively. An optimist at heart, I believe that something important and authentic may have been left behind by regional American home cooks of yesteryear for the dogged researcher and American home cook of the 2020’s to stumble upon and amplify. Turns out I am not alone. There’s money to be made in reselling these tossed out treasures in the digital sphere.

It’s tough going, when whole decades of women cooking at home were completely captured by Big Industrial Foods; even those who professed a love for cooking didn’t exactly cook; they combined processed foods in various combinations. In the gathered recipes of the entire congregation of St. Thomas Episcopal Church of 1977, for example, only two women (that I can see) managed to break free from hegemony and publish “ethnic” recipes that call for, at their dimly remembered core, stock or sour cream instead of canned condensed soup and other brand name corner cutters. And by “ethnic,” we’re talking European—a recipe from Ukraine for chicken baked in sour cream—because ethnic recipes like Mexican “Fiesta Dip,” made with Velveeta and relish, and “Cashew Chicken,” which calls for cream of chicken soup, sherry, and crunchy chow mein from a can, have been thoroughly Americanized to the point of tragedy.

Images above of the Pekin Noodle Parlor in Butte, Montana, the oldest continuously operated Chinese restaurant in the United States. The Americanized Chinese dish “chop suey” once satiated the appetites of hungry miners. Today’s version comes with a garnish of sliced cold cuts.

So thorough is the mind-washing, that recipe authors proudly testify to replacing whipped cream with synthetic dairy topping and are always sure to name their exact favorite brand of mayonnaise. One must go further back in time to find the originals, the very first Hangtown Fry or Joe’s Special.

The Prudence Penny Regional Cookbook, published for The San Francisco Examiner.

Fortunately, I have Pella’s copy of my grandmother’s Prudence Penny Regional Cookbook, published in 1939 so that I can see what was nudged out by post World War II American prosperity, and from what I can see, recipes calling for canned goods replaced recipes calling for whole hogs, pigs’ heads and knuckles, goose feet, and opossums. The shift from labor to convenience must have seemed dramatic to the home cook. The book purported to explore ten regions of American cooking, and editors even consulted expert panels of 30-40 women for each region’s cookery, including New England, Southern, Pennsylvania Dutch, Creole, Michigan Dutch, Mississippi Valley, Wisconsin Dutch, Minnesota Scandinavian, and Western regions, with a thin annex called “Cosmopolitan America” that included a smattering of Italian, Russian, and Middle Eastern recipes.

Photo of Jennifer’s great grandfather, Roy Anderson, on his farm in Swede Bottom, Minnesota. The Weston A. Price Foundation recommends healthy dietary principles that would have been in keeping with farm-to-table eating of yesteryear, such as the following: avoid all refined and denatured foods; include animal foods; emphasize nutrient-dense foods like organ meats, animal fats, eggs, raw dairy, shellfish, fish liver oils, and fish eggs; eat some animal food raw and cook most plant foods; enjoy lacto-fermented condiments and beverages; soak seeds, grains, and nuts to minimize anti-nutrients and enhance digestibility; enjoy saturated fats, while avoiding industrial seed oils; consume animal foods from land and sea to balance omega-6 and omega-3 fatty acids; used unrefined salt liberally; include gelatinous bone broth in soups, stews, and sauces.

The flight from farm cookery and adherence to brand name devotion seems part of a larger movement away from the farm post World War II—even a new culture of agrarian shame. One of my paternal grandfathers was a high school math teacher and farmer in Swede Bottom, Minnesota prior to the War. Because of his calculus skills, he was sent by the Army Corps of Engineers to get a graduate degree in electrical engineering instead of going to the Front. After the War, he became a professor at Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo in California. It never occurred to me that he might look down upon manual labor until one day he subtly patronized Kristof for working in viticulture. I’d taken him to visit Saddleback Cellars, where Kristof was associate winemaker. Kristof was spraying down the crush pad when my grandfather said, “Well, everyone has to start somewhere.” He had no appreciation of the high status of Napa Valley wineries or the intellectual component of winemaking.

Edna Lewis’s culinary classic, *The Taste of Country Cooking*, captures what true seasonal, farm-to-table eating was once like. First published in 1976, this beautiful book is a reminiscence of her childhood in rural Virginia in the early part of the 20th century.

From the 1950s on, middle-class American home cooking—comfort food—was sometimes bland and heavy, drawing on a heritage of farm cookery except without the farm, the freshness and seasonal eating of forebears. It’s like peasant cookery, in that it often seeks to economize, to stretch a modest amount of meat into a casserole to feed a crowd, or to make something that is not meat taste like meat. Except it isn’t delicious like traditional peasant cookery. Someone forgot that offal and fish heads can make something humble both delicious and nutrient dense. One could argue that American home cookery of yesteryear is sanitized, without flavor, without heart even. Except when it’s not.

Many of us know the nostalgic pleasure of digging into a hot slice of Shepherd’s Pie on a rainy night. You can keep the gelatin salads of yesteryear, but a good tuna casserole always seems like a miracle to me. I don’t think I’m alone in enjoying casseroles, because Food and Wine published a recipe for Tater Tot Casserole, redesigned with an unctuous homemade bechamel. I’ve never tasted turtle soup or crawfish bisque, but I’d like to. Such is the nature of nostalgia: one can be homesick for something one has never tasted.

I love Mark Bittman’s cookbook “How to Cook Everything Fast” because he simplifies, brightens, and freshens staples of American home cookery like Shepherd’s Pie, which he gives a crisp, satisfying quinoa crust. Julia Turshen’s version in “Simply Julia: 110 Easy Recipes for Healthy Comfort Food” tops a ground turkey filling with mashed cauliflower. The impulse to modernize the foods of nostalgia, to remake them as truly homemade, is real.

A dive into the retro and recherche also unearths the glamorous pleasures of steakhouse and cocktail cuisine, sparked by prosperity. Who doesn’t love Shrimp Cocktail and canapes, Surf & Turf, Lobster Thermidor, Cherries Jubilee (and other desserts flambeed for drama), Baked Alaska. To me, a chafing dish embodies optimism, and I fondly remember childhood gatherings that included buffets and punch bowls filled with soda pop and sherbet.

Vintage poster from the California Wine Advisory Board. Original art by Amado Gonzalez, born in Guadalajara, Mexico in 1913 and known for his work on the Coit Tower Murals and as an instructor at City College in San Francisco. His illustrations during the heyday of print advertising in California capture the optimism of the era. Kristof and I found a pristine collection of vintage posters while wandering around a thrift store in Kingsburg, California decades ago.

Sometimes I wonder why we are still playing with old chestnuts when the most delicious flavors, the foods I most want to eat, are cosmopolitan. My mouth waters imagining, not a slab of meatloaf, but rather one of Yotam Ottolenghi’s salads dressed with pomegranate molasses, chile peppers, and a handful of dill. I can get to craving Ethiopian injera or missing the fish sauce chicken wings at PokPok in Portland, Oregon.

We have only gained, as American home cooks, with the passage of time and the integration of other cultures into our own, along with the hard work and innovation of foodies with good palates and a heart for the authentic who ushered in the return to farm to table and seasonal eating. This blog post aims to share the occasional bit of Americana (the good, the bad, and the so-bad-it’s-good), remade for the modern wine country table and with my wine pairing suggestions, when appropriate.

As always, this post is a work in progress; I’ll add to it from time to time. My goal is to inspire the joys of preparing nutrient-dense, delicious food for friends and family, enjoyed with good wine.

Beverages

Orange Julius

The current mocktail trend makes me hopeful that homemade soft drinks in all their variety—from tonics to probiotic rich, naturally fizzing, low-alcohol sodas, to good homemade juices—will start to displace industrial beverages in aluminum cans. I can’t think of a chicer beverage to serve for brunch in the garden than this Orange Julius, made with oranges freshly picked from the tree. I’d serve it, along with sparkling water and Sauvignon Blanc, and ditch the Mimosas.

To make one serving, juice two oranges and blend the juice with 1 Tablespoon of malted milk powder and a drop or two of stevia. Pour into a glass and then add cold sparkling water as desired. Add a dash of nutmeg to the top.

Hors d'oeuvres

Olive Surprises

Here’s a recipe I wouldn’t mind bringing back just as it is, along with cocktail rings (real or not) and caftans. You could ask your grandmother for the recipe—or your winemaker. Use olives stuffed with pimentos, garlic, sausage—endless possibilities. These savory bites are surprisingly good matched with PELLA Cabernet Sauvignon Napa Valley 2022. You wouldn’t want an aromatic white wine in your glass; the briney olive and cheddar beg for Cabernet.

In a food processor, combine 1/4 cup soft butter, 1 cup grated Cheddar cheese, 1/4 tsp. sea salt, 1/4 tsp. paprika, 1/2 cup flour. Shape dough around each olive, then chill for 10-15 minutes. Bake at 400 degrees F for 15 minutes.

Cocktail Meatballs

Yes, unreservedly, I say we bring back the cocktail meatball ensconced in its chafing dish glory. Nothing says cocktail hour like a plate of hot, delicately sweet and savory, protein-rich meatballs with optional toothpicks—sorry charcuterie boards! The problem: walk away from those vintage recipes that call for a can of pineapple or a jar of grape jelly—fast.

I’m not tempted to try the vintage recipe above for Sausage Balls, which calls for a sauce composed of equal parts currant jelly and mustard, no doubt a piquant combination. Instead, I made lamb meatballs and sauced them with a reduction of pomegranate juice and balsamic vinegar that gave them a shockingly beautiful midnight black sheen; I’m calling them Cocktail Meatballs Noir.

To make this recipe, you could use a good quality, premade lamb sausage from your butcher, remove the meat from the casing, and form uniform 3/4 inch meatballs. Or, make a lamb meatball as one would; I used 2 lbs. of organic, grass-fed ground lamb, ground chicken liver, a good scoop of mustard, whipping cream, and bread crumbs, browned in a pan, finished in the oven, then sauced and brought to a boil again before being served. Beautiful when paired with a red wine, maybe a peppery Syrah. My sauce recipe follows. Why this recipe matters: A cocktail meatball sauced in a piquant sweet and savory sauce whets the appetite and provides healthy protein.

Sauce Noir

Saute two diced shallots and 3 sliced cloves of garlic in a little butter. To the pan, add 2 cups of pomegranate juice, 1/3 cup balsamic vinegar (not true aged aceto balsamico, but rather the standard stuff), salt, pepper, 1/4 tsp. rosemary, a pinch of red pepper flakes, and a squeeze of honey or agave nectar. (If you wanted, you could substitute 1 cup of homemade stock for 1 cup of pomegranate juice.) Reduce the whole thing down into a lovely syrup, stirring frequently. If you wanted, you could add a bit more butter and a squeeze of mustard at the end to thicken the sauce.

Hot Dips

I don’t think hot dips ever really went away, even during the low-and-no fat 1990’s. The reason? They’re delicious. (I have been known to bring a trio of hot dips to the Association of Parents and Teachers meeting.) It does seem to me that home cooks of the past were a little too quick to mix what was on hand (tinned crab meat? onion flakes? can of clams?) with a base of mayonnaise, cream cheese, sour cream, and cheese and call it a dip. A fresh, lively, modern version of the hot dip uses, I think, a quality mayonnaise made with olive or avocado oil and balances savory flavors like miso or Worcestershire sauce, fresh herbs, bright acid like lemon, and vegetables to good effect. A crisp Sauvignon Blanc like our SANNA harmonizes with green vegetables and cuts through rich cream and cheese like a knife. Having said that, my slow crawl through the hot dishes of Americana is making me feel dredged in mayonnaise and cream sauces at this point!

Crab Rangoon

A guilty pleasure, Crab Rangoon may not be authentic, but it’s case in point of so-bad-it’s-good. Worth making at home? Considering that the last time I ordered the fried dumplings in a restaurant, and they came with neither crab nor cream cheese, yes. Preparing the dish at home is not difficult, and it yields a platter of crispy tidbits that channels a celebratory cocktail hour. Plus, when you make them at home, you choose the healthy fat for frying. And it’s easy to upgrade the filling with real crab, green onions, garlic, ginger, and soy sauce, in addition to the cream cheese that fairly screams, “Americana!” Perhaps it goes without saying that zippy Sauvignon Blanc is an excellent counterpoint to the rich cream cheese and seafood.

Salads

24-Hour Layered Salad

The “24-Hour Salad” was once a staple of barbeques in the 1970’s, and I fondly remember digging through the layers and unearthing peas, shredded Cheddar cheese, hard boiled egg bits, bacon, and brown sugar sweetened mayo when moms said we kids needed a vegetable on the plate.

Can you think of a circumstance when refrigerating a salad 24 hours in advance, fresh under its hermetic dressing cap, the flavors mingling and improving, might be handy? I can. My reimagined version, with a dressing based on the flavors of elote, Mexican street corn, is delicious.

To make my dressing, combine roughly 1/2 cup homemade mayonnaise, 1/2 cup crema, 1/2 cup crumbled queso, 1 cup of grilled corn, salt and pepper to taste, a squeeze of lime juice and raw blue agave nectar and mix. You’ll spread this on top of your layers, which in my case included shredded little gem lettuces from my winter garden, chopped red pepper and purple onion, sliced avocado soaked in lime juice to prevent browning, chopped fresh mango, and toasted sunflower seeds and pepitas. Carefully spread the dressing layer on top, dust with chili powder, cover, and refrigerate until ready to eat, then serve with crushed tortilla chips.

Somehow the salad never needs a tossing; dragging the spoon through the layers does the job. SANNA Sauvignon Blanc makes a great wine pairing.

(Rethinking the) Gelatin Salad

My instincts told me that there are really only two viable ways to go with gelatin: one, a sweet, fruit-flavored gelatin (with a good glug of red wine in it)—or some other dessert gelatin—or two, a traditional aspic in which cold meat is enrobed in its own delicious chilled consomme. (And in which case it’s time to consult a classic French book, not look to Americana.)

Some people say that one of the pleasures of aging is that you know your own mind and don’t have to waste time trying things you’ve learned from experience that you don’t like. But I’m not so sure. It’s always good to have an open mind. So I made a simple, vintage recipe for avocado gelatin simply flavored with lemon juice and celery salt and dressed it up with chilled shrimp in a dressing of mayonnaise spiked with yuzu kosho, and mixed with chopped celery, pimiento, and hearts of palm—a sort of shrimp cocktail sidecar with a lettuce leaf or two. Delicious!

The avocado gelatin itself? That’s got to be an OH HELL NO for me. So, perhaps my instincts were right. Although…I can imagine recreating this sort of salad with a gelatin of vodka-spiked V-8 juice or a sort of Bloody Mary gelatin salad. That might actually be good, decorated with chilled seafood, celery stalks, and blue cheese. Am I going to attempt it? No, I’m more excited about making a classic aspic at some point, but for now, I’m mayonnaise-fatigued and need a break from Americana.

Chicken Baked

I’ll name this category after a stunningly simple recipe called “Chicken Baked” that I found in a spiral bound church cookbook, the blandness of which keeps me pondering human taste. Simple in a bad way, such that I’m almost tempted to make it, just to experience quite how bad chicken baked with a can of cream of mushroom soup mixed with a can of cream of chicken soup would taste.

Instead, let’s consider a neighboring recipe for a whole, cut-up chicken, first lightly breaded and browned, then baked in sour cream for three 25-minute intervals. At first glance, the effort of par-frying chicken and then baking it in sour cream might seem redundant, but I get it. Particularly when cooking the unevenly sized pieces of a whole chicken, the baking in sour cream renders uniformly tender, succulent pieces of meat. The browning gives a crisp top crust.

Chicken Baked

Chicken Baked in Sour Cream - Revamped

The original inspiration.

For my remade version, I used boneless chicken thighs, simply because that’s what I had on hand. While I don’t doubt that a sauce composed solely of three cups of sour cream would be delicious, I couldn’t help infusing my dish with more flavor, including stock, white wine, a bay leaf, sliced onion and garlic, cayenne pepper, and a healthy shower of fresh, chopped dill and mint. Delicious! Especially with a squeeze of lemon. The chicken was meltingly tender, yet crisp, the flavors layered; sour cream and browned onion are a delicious combination. Any time I have green herbs and lemon in a dish, I like to pair with Sauvignon Blanc, which vibes with those flavors, while cutting through the rich creaminess of the dish. Why this recipe matters? Slowly baking chicken pieces in dairy such as sour cream or creme fraiche is a solid method for obtaining meltingly tender chicken. We dodged the pitfalls of chemical-laden, processed creamy condensed soup to find this old gem.

Chicken Baked in Sour Cream

Dredge 6 chicken thighs in a little flour seasoned with salt and pepper, then dip each piece in beaten egg, and roll in bread crumbs. Brown in the pan (so that the surface is browned but interior still raw.) Lay the chicken pieces in a casserole dish, then brown a sliced onion and 3 garlic cloves in the pan. Surround the chicken pieces with the onion mixture and bake at 375 degrees F for 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, remove casserole and pour 1 cup of stock and 1/2 cup of Sauvignon Blanc around the chicken. Add a bay leaf. Bake for 25 minutes more. Remove the casserole and surround the chicken pieces with 1 cup of sour cream, into which you’ve mixed 1 tsp. of cayenne pepper. Bake for 30 minutes more. Remove to a platter, shower with chopped fresh dill and mint. Squeeze lemon over the platter, then serve.

Pot Pies

Scallop Pie

I understand that oyster pies were once a staple in regions where oysters are plentiful, but somehow I can’t bend my mind around the idea of layering oysters in a cream sauce; an oyster, to me, is something so fresh it’s still eaten alive, or perhaps grilled and served with butter in the shell. What about a scallop pie? I wondered. The result was delicious.

For my base, I sweated aromatic vegetables (leeks, celery, fennel, onion, garlic) in butter, then made a roux by adding flour. I thickened the roux with clam juice, white wine, milk, and heavy cream and flavored it with chopped tarragon, marjoram, and dill and Worcestershire sauce. Off the heat, I mixed in 2 lbs. of lovely, small bay scallops (and made a mental note to use bay scallops more often, in everything from ceviche to pasta). Then I covered my skillet with very thin rounds of biscuit dough, sprinkled with paprika. When baked in a 400 degree F oven for 30 minutes, the pie is bubbling hot, the scallops are tender, and the biscuit rounds are nicely crisped on top.

Kristof and I agreed that the scallop pie was fresh, light, and modern, plus more delicious than anything we remember eating in a seafood restaurant lately. Our SANNA Sauvignon Blanc ‘22 was the perfect accompaniment to the cream and herbs in the dish, brightening the flavors like a squeeze of lemon. As far as Sauvignon Blancs go, we really wouldn’t want one that had been aged on its lees in oak for texture and richness or that had residual sugar; that style may command a bigger price tag and a higher point rating, but the crispness of a stainless steel fermented wine is really what you want with this type of dish. As Kristof put it (and wine critics may not always get this), we make wines that we like to drink. With dinner.

Americana: Search for Lost Flavors