When I started to think about recipes to share for the holiday season, I had a sudden, overwhelming memory of Jezebel Jelly. I would never have put it on my list of stand-out memories, but it popped into my mind quicker than lightening and that I could not ignore.

Jezebel Jelly is a quickly made tangy condiment that seemed to have a real heyday when I was a kid.  At every Christmas function someone, who had been asked to bring an appetizer, would sail into the kitchen in her party dress and clacky high-heel shoes with her most festive Christmas plate and spreading knife, sometimes all tucked away in a basket with a colorful napkin.  Talking a mile a minute undoubtedly, she’d pull out her plate, unwrap a block of cream cheese, plop it down – just the block, as is.  Out came the jar of Jezebel Jelly, with its hand-written label and little fabric cap tied with a gold stretchy cord., and it was poured over the cream cheese and served with crackers (frequently Triscuits, if I remember correctly).  That was that.  Jezebel Jelly was the refuge of the non-cook.  It was, I believe, a popular gift, easy for even the most kitchen-phobic to stir up and prettily package, with the appearance of being homemade without the work.  Eventually, the Jezebel and cream cheese appetizer was replaced by the even-less-work block of cream cheese smothered in Pickapeppa sauce from the bottle. Call that a bonus recipe.

There are lots of people who seem to want to trace the origins of Jezebel Jelly, or Jezebel Sauce as some call it, and figure out why this spicy spread was named after a biblical woman of ill repute.  I don’t know.  Frankly, it always speaks to me more of 1938 movie Jezebel, in which Bette Davis plays a fickle Southern belle whose wily ways hoist her on her own petard in the end.  It is said that Bette was denied the role of Scarlett O’Hara, and this was her chance at Southern belle stardom.  Personally, I think Bette’s sassy, strong willed Julie is a better performance and a richer character. 

At a party not too long ago, where all the ladies brought some sort of pick-up food for the buffet, one contribution stood out.  A lovely pottery dish with a cheesy, bubbling spread, full of flavor and punch.  Everyone tracked down the person who brought this and begged the recipe.  To our surprise, she told us it was “just that Jezebel Jelly.”  She’d prepared it the way her mother had for parties by whipping the cream cheese with a little cream, spreading it in the dish, pouring the jelly over it and heating it until bubbly.  She served it with baguette slices and it was a huge hit.  Most of the people in that room had not had Jezebel Jelly in ages and we were all delightfully surprised, and reminded that things become classics for a reason.  Her presentation, I must say, was much more elegant than the sauced block version.

So all these memories made me want to share Jezebel Jelly again.  Jezebel Jelly has a real kick to it, so it goes well with creamy cheeses. Try it poured over a block of cream cheese if you want, or in the hot dish version. It goes well over a baked brie. It makes a great spread on a turkey or ham sandwich, and is an excellent accompaniment to pork.  Use it as a glaze for a pork loin or a sauce for pork chops.  And it is wonderful with that other classic Southern party tradition, a great silver platter of sliced, roasted pork tenderloin or a joint of country ham served with bite-sized biscuits or rolls.  Jezebel Jelly in a silver bowl alongside will be a real treat, and probably bring back some happy memories.

And for the record, the nice little bonnet and tie on the jar in the photo are from, let’s say, a vintage set found at the very, very back of a drawer in my mom’s kitchen, from the days when she gave jarred gifts.  I do like to be authentic.

Jezebel Jelly

My version is adapted from several recipe cards I found tucked in a drawer.  I think they came from my mother, but they are not in her handwriting. Traditions do pass around.

1 (12-ounce) jar apricot jelly

1 (12-ounce) jar pineapple preserves

1 (5-ounce) jar prepared horseradish

1 (1.38-ounce) jar dry mustard powder (1/2 cup)

Coarse ground black pepper

In a medium bowl, mix the apricot jelly and pineapple preserve until smooth and combined.  I like to use a hand mixer, but you can stir vigorously with a spoon.  Blend in the horseradish until combined, then sift in the mustard powder and mix to combine.  I really recommend sifting the mustard.  This jelly has got enough kick without a lump of mustard powder in one bite.  Grind in lots of black pepper and stir to combine.

Leave the jelly in the bowl for an hour or so to blend the flavors, the scoop into airtight jars or containers and refrigerate.  The jelly will last for a month.

I would hazard a guess that the cranberries on the Thanksgiving table are one of the more polarizing dishes.  You can’t have Thanksgiving without cranberries, but the divide between sweet and savory, jellied or chunky, canned or homemade is probably the source of mnay under-the-breath comments and drive-to-grandma’s complaints.

I have never been a fan of the cranberry sauce from a can – we have never had it.  But I know some people are absolutely devoted to it. The round, ridged shape, the squoosh it makes when it slides out of the can. It’s more about memories and tradition than taste for most, and that’s okay, because in truth, a lot of the Thanksgiving ritual is about just that.

Personally, I like a sweet, slightly chunky cranberry sauce – I’ll call it more of a compote than a sauce.  And since I host and cook Thanksgiving, I get to choose.  Ginger is a lovely, warming spice that pairs with cranberries beautifully and will also complement the other dishes on your table.  Layers of ginger flavor from ginger ale, fresh ginger and ginger preserve make this a special standout.

Use a good, real ginger ale or ginger beer for this – one that has actual ginger as an ingredient and is not just flavored corn syrup.  Luckily, at many markets you can find single bottles of good ginger ale like Blenheim or Reed’s. You will find ginger preserve at upscale markets, or well-stocked markets with the “fancy” jams and jellies.  I find it regularly at my supermarket.  The amount of sugar you use will depend on the sweetness of your preserve and ginger ale, so taste both and add as you like.  You can add more sugar toward the end of the cooking time if need be. And of course, this is great spread on a leftover turkey sandwich.

Cranberry Ginger Compote

1 (12 ounce) bag fresh cranberries

12 ounces real ginger ales or ginger beer

½ cup ginger preserve

1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger

5 Tablespoons (more or less) sugar

Place the cranberries and ginger ale in a medium saucepan and place over medium heat.  Stir in the preserve, grated ginger and sugar until the preserve and sugar have melted.  Cook the cranberry compote, stirring occasionally, until the berries have burst and the mixture has thickened and reduced, about 15 – 20 minutes.  Cool completely, then refrigerate, covered, for up to 4 days.

Makes about 2 cups

I am told that pimento cheese is a uniquely Southern delicacy, one of the many and diverse foodways for which our region is known.  I did not know this.  Not until about ten years ago, when I read that fact in a magazine.  I, of course, knew about pimento cheese, I just assumed it was universal.  You see, I did not grow up in a pimento cheese family.  My mother was not a great fan, so it did not feature on our lunch or party menus.  As a child, I only ever had the occasional blob of red-spotted techno-orange wallpaper glue on white bread at some friend’s house.  The kind of Pimento Cheese Spread purchased in plastic tubs from that top shelf of the dairy aisle next to the limburger and neon yellow Egg Salad.  That was my experience of pimento cheese, and I had no real interest in exploring its possible virtues.  I also had a childhood adversity to mayonnaise, which in retrospect I cannot fathom.  Ah, the years of wasted youth.

As an adult, I discovered that many people around me have strong opinions on pimento cheese.  Fond childhood memories of Grandma’s homemade pimento cheese (but don’t tell my mother, I liked hers too, but Grandma’s was better…).  I couldn’t help but be curious. Had I really missed something?  Then the showers started to fall in my life – wedding showers, baby showers.  Almost non-stop for a large section of my twenties.   Pimento cheese figures heavily at these events.  It is considered easy to prepare, delicious, and something everyone likes. The “pate of the South.”  So I started to try the little finger sandwiches, or delicate molds of pimento cheese served with crackers, sometimes even celery sticks stuffed with the mix.  And I had a revelation.  It’s good.  Like stupid good.  I became something of an expert.  There were certain ladies who always volunteered to bring “MY pimento cheese” as their contribution to the shower spread, and some who were asked, or begged, to bring their version.  It is quite a point of pride among the lace tablecloth set.

When I launched into the world of party planning , I always counseled my clients, and brides, to build a menu that was personal to them.  To serve a favorite cookies from Aunt Susie’s recipe, pasta to commemorate your first date at the Italian restaurant or pralines to pay homage to a Louisiana family heritage.  It became sort of signature of the events I planned.  I built multi-tiered Krispy Kreme groom’s cakes, served late-night Krystal hamburgers on silver salvers and filled champagne buckets with ice cream sandwiches.  So I always asked – what is a personal favorite food you’d love to serve at your event.  I cannot tell you the number of times pimento cheese was on the list.  So elegant little pimento cheese sandwiches, with the help of a favorite caterer, became a regular fixture and frequent request. At the events I worked, I rarely ate or maybe scarfed down a few appetizers in the kitchen.  A few kind caterer friends would make me a sandwich to be eaten alone on the loading dock.  But I always had room for the pimento cheese.  I did a party in Mississippi about an hour or so outside of Memphis that was a fun, country affair by the river.  We fried catfish and hushpuppies and made little barbecue sandwiches and of course served the pimento cheese delights as a passed hors d’oeuvre.

At the end of the night, my caterer friend sent me home with a tin tray of sandwiches, bless her.  As I drove home through the dark Delta night, well past one in the morning, I snacked on a few of those little sandwiches.  When I got home sore and exhausted, I left everything in the car except that tray.  I took it inside to wrap up the remaining sandwiches to last me through another week of crazy parties.  They were gone.  I’d eaten every one.  This was a roasting pan – like 10” by 8” and three inches deep.  Gone.  In one sitting.  It may have been the best night of my life.

As I set out to develop my own recipe, my aunt (from the non-pimento cheese side of the family mind you) had a health issue.  And, as is always the case, the food from friends in neighbors poured in.  I went to visit (and organize the overloaded fridge) and I found no less than five batches of pimento cheese, each completely unique.  One was clearly made from the processed cheese that comes in a roll, one had hard-boiled eggs in it and one had some sort of small crunchy bits – we couldn’t decide if it was pumpkin seeds or an accidental bird-food spill.  It was helpful, if painful, learning experience.

So now I have done all the work for you.  Below is clearly THE  BEST recipe for pimento cheese.  Clearly the only one worth making EVER. To even consider the folly of veering from this, the ONLY proper way to make pimento cheese, is a monumental mistake. 

It’s quite the happy coincidence that my intials jibe so well…

PC’s Pimento Cheese

Here are my secrets: the key to good pimento cheese is the blend of cheeses. Grinding the walnuts and pimentos adds flavor throughout instead of the occasional bite of pimento.  Too much mayonnaise takes away from the cheesy flavor, but use how much you like.

1 cup walnut halves (or pecans)

1 (2 ounce) jar of chopped pimentos

2 teaspoons garlic salt

dash of cayenne or shot of hot sauce to taste

1 (8 – ounce) block extra sharp cheddar cheese

1 (8 – ounce) block sharp white cheddar cheese

1 cup mayonnaise, more or less

Place the walnuts, pimentos (with their liquid), the garlic salt and cayenne in a food processor with the steel blade and pulse a few times to chop the walnuts and blend the pimentos.  Do not let the mixture turn into a paste.  Remove the steel blade and fit the grating blade.  Grate the cheeses.  Turn the mixture into a bowl, scraping the sides well.    Add the mayonnaise a little at a time and stir to blend to the desired consistency.

 Serve as a filling for sandwiches or with saltine crackers.

This will keep in an airtight container for a week.

One lazy evening, on a desperate-for-dinner freezer scrounge, I came across a half used log of frozen herbed butter – a beurre composée if you will.  I like to make these with the summer glut of herbs and roll them into waxed paper wrapped logs.  This butter has myriad uses, but I mostly use it for grilling.  When you have a really good piece of meat, simply grilled, it doesn’t need too much messing with.  A little pat of herby butter on top is just the right finishing touch – to a steak, a burger, pork chops, chicken. 

On this particular night, hungry, grumpy and lazy, I grabbed the small butter log, boiled up some pasta and stirred in the compound butter.  Perfect! This became a regular on my lazy menu.  When I make up a compound butter, I take a little extra and wrap it up alone for use on pasta.  When I have folks over for grilled food, I put aside a little butter for a pasta dinner the next night.  You know – after company when you can’t be bothered to dirty up more dishes or slave over the stove.

Making meatballs for the freezer inspired the butter ball concept.  Forming little balls, freezing separately, then tossing in a bag.  I portion these with my medium sized cookie scoop, which I’d say is about 2 Tablespoons, and keep them in a freezer bag.  One ball is enough for a good serving of pasta.  If you make pasta for more than one, just pull out as many balls as you need, adding them one at a time until you hit the jackpot. Thawed out, this is also a great spread for garlic bread.  If your are feeling industrious, double or triple the recipe.

Pasta Butter Balls

3 cloves garlic

1 teaspoon salt

6 large fresh basil leaves

1 Tablespoon fresh oregano leaves

2 Tablespoons fresh parsley leaves

1 Tablespoon grated lemon zest

½ cup freshly grated parmesan cheese

Several grinds of black pepper

1 teaspoon salt

8 ounces (2 sticks) best quality butter, room temperature

Place the garlic cloves and salt in the bowl of a small food processor.  Pulse until finely chopped.  Drop in the torn basil leaves, oregano leaves, and parsley.  Pulse several times, scraping down the sides of the bowl occasionally until finely chopped.  Add the lemon zest, parmesan, pepper and salt and pulse until finely chopped and well combined.  The mix should look like soft breadcrumbs.  Add the butter in pieces and blend until thoroughly combined.  Stop and scrape down the sides of the bowl and break up any large butter chunks.

(This can absolutely be done by hand, just finely chop the garlic with the salt and then add the herbs and zest and chop finely.  Stir the pepper, salt and butter together in a bowl, using a fork to mash everything together).

Line a plate or baking sheet with waxed paper and set aside.  Using two spoons or a cookie scoop, make balls from the butter and place on the lined baking sheet.  Freeze until hard, at least 2 hours, then transfer to a freezer bag or container.  These will keep in the freezer for up to six months.

To use, cook pasta as normal, drain and reserve a little of the cooking water.  Put the pasta back in the pot and stir in the desired number of butter balls, one at a time, until melted.  Drizzle in a little cooking liquid to loosen the pasta.

Makes about 10 balls

I don’t know that this recipe qualifies as a true, authentic curry paste, but it’s my version of a simple condiment that adds loads of Thai flavor to anything, from simple soups or stir-fries to rice or noodles and Thai Shrimp cakes.  And the ingredients are available at almost any grocery these days, so no need for any special expeditions. I like to make a batch of this to keep in the fridge to add a boost to anything I stir up.  It will keep for a couple of weeks in an airtight container or can be frozen.

Thai Curry Paste

I don’t like overwhelming heat, so I use one mild jalepeno with the seeds removed.  Feel free to make this as spicy as you want, or use red chili.

1 shallot, peeled

1 stalk lemongrass, outer leaves removed

1 green chili, or to taste

2 garlic cloves

Small chunk of fresh ginger, peeled (about ½ the size of your thumb)

Small handful of fresh cilantro leaves

2 dried kaffir lime leaves (optional) or a few strips of lime zest

1 Tablespoon fish sauce

½ teaspoon sugar

1 – 2 Tablespoons safflower or canola oil

Cut the shallot, lemongrass, chili and ginger into small chunks and drop in a small food processor.  Add the rest of the ingredients excluding the oil and grind to a paste, scraping the sides often.  Drizzle in the oil until the mixture is a smooth paste and your desired consistency.

Cover and refrigerate.

For awhile there, Meyer lemons ranked as one of those items that featured in all the food magazines and cookbooks, but not on the shelves of stores outside major cities. So when the slightly orange-tinted lemons started popping up here a few years ago, I bought them like crazy, often without really knowing what to do.  I’m still guilty of that impulse buying, out of some sense that I need gourmet-foodie cred – I should be someone who swoons over Meyer lemons, right?  A Meyer lemon can be used in any way a standard lemon can really, the taste is just a little sweeter and not quite as tart or acidic.  I love to use Meyer lemons for making preserved lemons, the staple of Moroccan cooking, because the thinner skins soak up the salt and brine beautifully.  But my go to recipe when I go Meyer lemon crazy at the store is simple curd.  Its not hard to make, and homemade curd is so much better, with no chemical aftertaste or weird consistency.  And Meyer lemons make a not-to-tart curd that is perfect spread directly on toast or English muffins.  Lemon curd of any variety makes an amazing filling for cakes, is tasty swirled into Greek yogurt and served with berries.  Try crushing up some meringue cookies and stir them together with lemon curd and whipped cream for lemon meringue pie in a bowl.  Sandwich lemon curd between homemade ginger cookies or butter cookies for a special treat, or stir a dollop into your favorite bought vanilla ice cream.  And of course, a pretty jar of lemon curd makes a lovely hostess gift.

Meyer Lemon Curd

You can use the same recipe with regular lemons.

6 large eggs

¾ cup sugar

1 Tablespoon finely grated lemon zest (from 1 lemon)

¾ cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (from about 4 lemons)

8 Tablespoons (1 stick) butter, cut into small pieces

Place a wire mesh strainer over a medium bowl and set aside close to the stovetop. In a medium, heavy saucepan, whisk together the eggs, sugar and lemon zest.  Whisk in the lemon juice and add the butter pieces.  Place over medium heat and stir constantly (it’s best to switch to a heatproof spatula here to be able to scrape the sides and reach the edges of the pan).  Continue cooking until the curd is thickened, about 6- 8 minutes.  Scrape the curd immediately into the strainer set over the bowl.  Push the curd through the strainer to remove any cooked egg or lumps.  Place a piece of plastic wrap directly on top of the surface of the curd and refrigerate until cold, at least two hours.  Transfer to an airtight container.  The curd will keep refrigerated up to a week.

Makes 2 ½ cups

I love figs.  Fresh and dried, black, brown or green.  But I admit I am not that creative with their use.  I snap them up when I see them, but often can’t seem to move past wrapping them in prosciutto or roasting them draped with bacon.  But eventually, one batch of figs ended up, after much thought, candied.  I was, if I may say, quite pleased with the result.  Sweet, treacly, syrupy figs that are great on their own, but also make an amazing accompaniment to good vanilla ice cream, or tangy Greek yogurt.  And candied figs are a stunning partner on a plate of salty, rich, creamy cheeses, maybe with a few walnuts on the platter as well.

about 10 – 12 fresh black figs

2 cups sugar

2 ½ cups water

Wipe the figs with a damp paper towel to clean. In a medium saucepan, the size to hold the figs in one layer covered by the liquid, stir together the sugar and 2 cups water.  Bring to a low boil, reduce heat to a simmer and stir until the sugar has dissolved.  Drop in the figs, bring back to a low boil, then reduce to the heat to medium-low, cover the pan, and simmer the figs for 1 ½ hours, stirring occasionally.  Remove the figs from the heat and leave overnight in the covered pan.  The sugar syrup may crystallize, which is fine.

The next day, add the remaining ½ cup water and bring the figs in syrup back up to a simmer, stirring occasionally, for 20 minutes. Add more water if needed to keep the syrup a loose, maple syrup consistency.  Remove from the heat to cool, before placing in a jar, covered with the syrup. Figs will keep tightly sealed up to a week.  If the syrup crystallizes, heat over low heat with a splash of water to thin.

My father calls my house a kitchen with a bedroom.  He’s basically right.  I spent over six months renovating to have the big kitchen of my dreams.  I even planted a small garden, though I have a black thumb and a streak of laziness. 

I recall that first summer in my new kitchen as my “prairie house wife days.” Oddly, I had this idea in my head that I was someone who “put things by”.  Making jams and pickles and preserves and having a whole shelf in my new pantry full of glowing little jars of homemade treats, whipping out fresh dill pickles (cucumbers, I had hoped, from my own garden) for hamburger diners, spreading biscuits with my own preserves.  I attempted to grow the ingredients myself (a failure except for herbs, at which I am kind of a whiz).  I made regular visits to the farmer’s market and some roadside stands.  I read every classic community cookbook from my grandmother’s collection, many from the 30s and 40s.  I studied the Ball Guide to Canning and Preserving.  I looked up guidelines from the agricultural extension service online.  I bought cases of jars, a jar lifter, funnel, a big canning pot and went to work.

Pickles.  I somehow arrived at the conclusion that pickles are the ultimate canning project.  So I purchased just the right cucumbers.  I faithfully followed the recipes and rules from the Ball Guide, step-by-step, ingredient-by ingredient.  I sliced, I boiled, I mixed, I canned, I sealed, I hot water-bathed.  Finally, a cool shelf in my pantry was stocked with Mason jars full of bright green, gleaming testaments to my hard work, just waiting for their unveiling at the appointed time.  Everyday, I admired my handiwork, so pleased with my industriousness.  And then the time came.  According to my guide book, the pickles were sufficiently pickled for eating.  I proudly presented a jar to my father, a noted pickle-lover, waiting for his verdict.

After an appropriate interval of several days, my father reluctantly issued his opinion.  Not very good.  He was polite and sweet and politic, but as honest as a parent should be.  My pickles were not very good.  Not the right texture, not very much flavor.  Obviously, I was disappointed.  “But Daddy, I did everything right, just like the recipe.  Can they really be that bad.”  Yes, they were.  And then he asked me: “PC, do you even like pickles?”

Hmmm.  I had to admit to myself, and of course to him, that no, I don’t particularly like pickles.  This is not something that occurred to me before I embarked on this mission.  Why, I will never know.  I had spent hours and dollars fulfilling this nonsensical image of myself as a prairie house wife (I live no where near a prairie by the way), “putting things by.” The failed pickles were disposed of, the jars washed and used to hold flowers, the pantry shelf eventually filled with canned goods.  My prairie housewife days were over.

Some years later, one friend complemented another on the great pickles she’d made.  I immediately jumped on her. “How do you make pickles? I’ve always wanted to do that but failed miserably!!”  My generous friend explained that she just used her grandmother’s old method that’s in tons of old-fashioned community cookbooks.  It uses already made commercial pickles and they are stored in the fridge.  I had to try, and with a little research, her vague guidelines and a lot of faith, I came up with my own super-simple version.  My Dad loves them; they are a hit with all my friends.  Hey, I even like them.  So as I enjoy a new summer in my house, having seven years later completed a patio renovation complete with super-grill and outdoor dining room.  I am ready to grill up some burgers, served with a bowl of homemade pickles on the side.

 Sweet Garlic Refrigerator Pickles

This recipe starts with a gallon jar of pickles, which divides up into many smaller jars (4 quarts, or a combination of smaller sizes.)  I start the summer with a gallon jar, because the cleaned and dishwashered pickle jar is absolutely the best vessel for mixing iced tea.  You can also use a quart jar of pickles, which will make three pint jars, and adjust the sugar accordingly.

 1 (1 gallon) jar of whole kosher dill pickles (not pre-sliced)

1 (4 pound) bag of granulated sugar

2 heads of garlic, cloves separated and peeled

Several shakes of good hot sauce

 Pour the pickles in a large colander and drain of all the liquid.  Rinse out the jar, but do not clean with soap and water.  Slice the pickles into ¼ inch pieces.  I find doing this by hand the best method, though it takes some time.  The pickles are a bit too soft for a mandoline or food processor.

Layer the sliced pickles with the garlic cloves and sugar and a few good shakes of hot sauce, covering each layer of pickles with sugar.  Top up the jar with sugar as close to the top as you can.  Screw on the lid and set aside in a cool place away from direct light.  The sugar will dissolve and make a syrup in the jar.  Over the next few days, carefully shake the jar to dissolve any sugar that accumulates at the bottom, and add more sugar.  Continue to do this for four or five days, until the syrup covers the pickles and you can’t add anymore.  You may not use the whole 4 pound bag of sugar.

When the pickles are covered in syrup, pour the whole contents of the jar into a large bowl.  Discard the garlic cloves. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the pickle slices to very clean Mason jars, pressing down lightly and shaking to distribute the slices evenly. Fill the jars with pickle slices just to the rim under the screw-on threads.  When all your jars are full, evenly divide the syrup over each jar of pickles.  It may not completely cover the pickles, but that’s okay.  Place the lids on the jars, screw on the bands and refrigerate.  Store in the fridge up to six months unopened, two weeks after they have been opened.