Cornflake Porkchops / Sitting on the Patio with Grandmom

Cornflake Pork Chops

4-6 thin pork chops (sometimes packaged as "breakfast chops"-- or you can slice or pound pork tenderloin into 1/2-inch thickness)
1 C. lightly crushed cornflake cereal (don't pulverize it to powder-- there should still be recognizable pieces of flake)
2-3 eggs, lightly beaten
1/2 C. flour
Oil for cooking
salt and pepper to taste

Put the crushed cornflakes, flour, and eggs individually (i.e. not mixed with each other) into three pie pans or deep plates.  Heat the oil in a skillet over medium heat.  Salt and pepper the chops on each side.  Dredge them in: the flour, the egg, and the cornflakes.  Fry them in the skillet on both sides until they are a light golden brown.  It's important not to overheat your oil initially, because ideally your coating should be crisp and brown and your chop fully cooked at the same time.  Too hot: burnt on the outside, raw on the inside.  Too cool: soggy on the outside, done on the inside.  For most stoves, the "medium" setting, whatever that is, is just right.  Basically, your chops should sizzle and fry without an excessive amount of popping, snapping, or volume.  Drain your chops on whatever it is that you like to drain things.  Serve hot!  They are pretty good leftover, too.

I don't know if you've noticed by now, but a lot of times an Italian's idea of the ideal thing to do with meat is to fry it.  This comes in a close second to stewing it in a sauce and serving it over pasta.  This is a modern, but very Italian-themed, take on the first option.  It comes straight out of Grandmom's kitchen, and has even been adopted by my uncle Ron, whose family deeply appreciates his firm grasp of hearty homestyle cooking.
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This is one of my favorite Grandmom memories.  Grandmom loves to sit out on her patio and watch the world go by.  She likes it even more if someone sits out there with her.  Since Grandpop does not like to sit out on the patio, she especially enjoys when I visit and sit out on the patio with her.  (Grandpop is inside, enjoying time on the couch with his first love, Bob Barker.)

So, one afternoon between lunch and supper, we sat out.  Cars passed, the wind blew, the flowers on the patio sat there-- it was a rare kind of pleasure that doesn't take place as often anymore.  I gazed off into the middle distance, which is occupied in Grandmom's neighborhood by a couple of local businesses and large Victorian houses.  On the roof of one of these houses alit two large birds.  They may have been vultures-- it was too far away for me to be sure.  I hadn't yet got over my surprise at seeing two big vultures on the peaked roof of a gingerbread house when they began "doing it."  Knocking boots.  Or, more appropriately since they were birds, knocking buttholes.  I'm serious.  Look it up.   So vigorously, in fact, that I wasn't sure which would happen first: them getting done and flying their separate ways, or them falling off the roof mid-act. 

Grandmom broke me out of my stupefied reverie to say, "Look at that!"  I looked over at her.  "Over there!" she pointed in the vague general direction of where I had been looking.  I immediately began searching around for something else she could have been pointing at.  Maybe the small business next door that has been there since the 50's?  "No!" Grandmom insisted.  "There!  Those two birds!" she continued.  I looked around at her.  "You think they make babies?" 

No let me just interject at this point to state that, as far as I know about their relationship, my grandparents adopted my dad and uncle.  I think I've only seen them kiss two or three times in my life.  We've definitely never had "the talk".  So imagine my astound when my Grandmom turns to me and, in her own words, asks me if she thinks those two large birds are having relations.  Especially when they are.  Over and over again.  Loudly.

"Yes," I answered, "I think they are."

Red Sauce with Crabs

12 small crabs*
olive oil for sauteing
6-8 cloves of garlic
a splash of red wine
Tomato sauce made with: 3 big and 2 little tomatoes, a little sugar, fresh basil to taste, and 2 bay leaves

Clean the crabs and saute them with the garlic in a little olive oil.  Add in the rest of the ingredients and cook until done.**
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*This reminds me of the time Grandmom and I decided to eat crabs since I was up there and Grandmom therefore had justification for buying them.  We both love seafood.  Grandpop does not.  Or rather, he didn't before their marriage, went through a 20-year period where he did like it after being tricked into eating it, much the same way he learned to appreciate rabbit, and then in recent years has returned to his original seafood-hating state.  So we went to the grocery store to purchase some crabs, which in New Jersey is not a difficult thing to do.  But lo and behold!  That day, there were no large, luscious Alaskan crab legs or Snow crab legs for us to take home and boil up with a hint of Old Bay and dunk in hot melted butter.  No.  The only crabs to be gotten in the midst of the summer were little blue crabs.  So we bought them, and took them home, and made this sauce with them, which we ate on top of linguine.  The funny part is that you have to understand that when this recipe says "clean the crabs" it doesn't mean "take all the meat out of the shells"-- it just means "run them bad boys under some water so you don't eat sand and crab poop."  So the crabs should be, and were, in shell.  Hard shells.  And they were little crabs.  So, we started out with a serving platter piled high, I mean high, with tiny cooked crabs, and we, seafood lovers that we are, and stubborn people that we are, commenced to eating them.  When we conceded that we were done, two and a half hours later, we had made it about 3/4ths of the way down, sucking every tiny claw to its very core along the way.  Grandpop had left the table after finishing his non-seafood alternative about a half-hour into the crab festival muttering something about how we were eating too much.  But, as anybody who has ever tried to eat a tiny crab can tell you, there ain't a lot of meat in them tiny crabs.  I think we got more calories from the linguine.  But it was a delicious and messy experience and, honestly, that's what eating crabs should be.

**"Until done."  Possibly the two most obscure words in the English language.  It assumes so much of the recipe reader, like that they know what done is, what it looks like, and about how long it takes to get there.  In this case, you should have a nice saucy tomato sauce (not cooked salsa), and your crabs should be safe to consume without fear of horrible digestive consequences.  So at least 30 minutes on medium-low (think "simmer").  Maybe an hour.  An added benefit to making this sauce is that you have deliciously crabby red sauce left long after you finish off your tiny crabs, which you can soak into good Italian bread (the sauce, not the tiny crabs) or coat more luxurious pasta with.  A good pasta sauce should go a long way.

Javelinas / True Love, Fifties-Style

2-2/3 C. all-purpose flour
1/3 C. whole wheat flour
1 TB. baking powder
1/2 C. milk
1/4 C. shortening
1/2 C. molasses
2/3 C. brown sugar
1 tsp. anise seeds
1 C. golden raisins
1 egg, separated
1 tsp. vanilla
granulated sugar, for dusting

Preheat the oven to 350F.  Combine the flours and baking powder.  In a separate bowl, blend together the shortening and brown sugar.  Add in the molasses and vanilla.  Beat in the egg yolk.  Combine the flour and egg mixtures.  Blend in the raisins and anise seed.  Add milk to moisten until the consistency is somewhat akin to scone dough.  Turn out onto a floured work surface and knead briefly, just until the dough hangs together well.  Pat into a round, then pat the round out to 1/2-inch (1 cm-ish) thickness.  Cut into rounds with a biscuit cutter --or-- use a pig-shaped cookie cutter.  Place them on a greased baking sheet about a half-inch apart and brush the tops with the reserved egg white.  Sprinkle them with generously with granulated sugar.  Bake for 18-20 minutes or until done.  (They will rise somewhat and the sugar on top will brown.)
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The difference between Grandmom and me (so I thought) was that I had a more adventurous and reckless nature.  Grandmom doesn't go out of the house with the dryer still running.  I still occasionally put things in the oven that are going to take a long time before I leave the house on purpose.  I don't do so very often, because eventually I am overcome by the possibility of returning to my house to find it a smoking ruin.  It's never happened, but you try driving home hoping your house hasn't recently been put out by the fire department and see how inclined you are to do it again.  There you go.  Some people, like Grandmom, could not even bear the possibility.  I, on the other hand, eventually forget the possibility and live to tempt disaster once again.  And so I thought that was the way things stood amongst us, until Grandmom told me about her other fiance. Yes, all this time I thought Grandpop was her first love.  In my imagination it could have been taken right from a script for "The Donna Reed Show".  But oh, no, I was wrong.  She was about 20 years old, and she had been seeing this other boy from her high school since she was fourteen, so about six years.  Eventually, they got engaged.  And then, she and my Grandpop (who also went to the same school) both went to a party hosted by mutual friends.  At some point during the party, Grandpop called out "WHO WANTS TO SIT ON MY LAP?!"  And Grandmom decided that she wanted to.  She told me that at that moment she knew that she loved that other guy "like a brother", and she broke it off to go out with Grandpop!  So I guess I come by it naturally.

Sea Legs Salad / The Art of War at Lunchtime

1 pkg sea legs, cut into 2-inch (5cm)-long chunks*
1/4 onion, minced fine
1/4 C. mayonnaise
salt and pepper to taste

Combine all in a bowl, tossing until the sea legs are well-coated with spices and mayonnaise.  Serve on a hard roll.
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*I think the official name for this product is surimi, but Grandmom has always called it "sea legs".  Another word for it is "imitation crab meat".  It is pretty crabby, I have to admit.  It's the stuff you find in your no-raw-fish-allowed sushi roll.  It's made of white fish, so it's definitely not vegetarian!

This recipe is akin to the hotdog sanwiches, in that it is simple, unpretentious, and very tasty.  If I had to pick between canned tuna salad and sea legs salad, I would pick the sea legs any day of the week.  Typically this is served at lunch, the most perilous time of the day if you're trying not to eat your weight.  (Incidentally, I found a picture of me from when I was fat, and I was pretty cute!  I'm glad for my health that I'm slimmer, but I think I let myself get too stressed out about it at the time.)  Anyway, if you're still having fat flashbacks like Steve Carrell's character in the movie remake of "Get Smart", lunchtime can be intimidating.  Not only is "finish, finish" fully in play, but there's also the added peer- (Grandmom-) pressure to "eat up the leftovers".  Because, you know, "must not throw away".  Except Grandmom made enough food the last three nights for a group of "4-6" and there's only 3 of you: you (see above need to not get fat again), Grandmom (practices what she preaches), and Grandpop, who has learned the fine art of "no" over 58 years of marriage.  Eventually you learn some survival strategies-- eat really, reaaaally slowly, take first helpings that are a third of what you would actually want, and learn to give the Italian Guilt Trip as good as you get it.  Yes, it's true: sometimes the only way to get Grandmom to cease and desist is to launch something like "You're trying to make me fat!  You want me to be fat?!?! (make "I caught a fish thiiiis biiig" hands)"

Peanut Butter Cookies

1-1/3 C. crunchy peanut butter
3/4 C. granulated sugar (or you could use brown sugar too)
2 C. flour
1/4 C. molasses
1 tsp. baking soda
1 large egg

Preheat the oven to 350F.  Butter a baking sheet or line it with parchment paper.  Mix together the flour and baking soda.  In a separate bowl, combine the crunchy peanut butter and sugar.  Add in the egg and molasses one at a time.  Combine with the flour, mixing until well-blended.  Shape into walnut-sized balls (small cookies) or egg-sized (but not -shaped) balls (large cookies) and place about 2 inches apart.  Put some more sugar in a small bowl.  Dip a fork in the sugar and press it into the top of a cookie until it is partially flattened.  Redip it in sugar, then press it into the cookie again to make a criss-cross pattern and complete the flattening.  Do this for all the cookies.  Bake them for 10-12 minutes or until lightly golden on top.
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My grandparents are very traditional.  They also have a healthy marriage, which makes for some interesting divergences from "traditional".  For example, Grandmom is responsible for all the housekeeping (much to her chagrin), except for the yard, garage, and indoor vacuuming.  Yes, I said vacuuming.  Grandpop at some point must have been relegated to the vacuuming (possibly under duress) but has learned to love it with a deep abiding passion that requires him to own and maintain a vacuum for each vacuuming situation.  So, Grandpop has a vacuum for each floor (3), a shop vacuum (the garage), as well as a dustbuster (the stairs) and bissel sweeper (light mess).  This information may transform the conditions of women everywhere.  Dear Laundry Detergent Companies: please market your products as containing many moving parts or complicated steps that require systematic attendance that only a man could achieve.

Another way that Grandpop has broken out of his traditional man role is that he has always been the Chief Executive of Making Peanut Butter Cookies for Me.  It is his specialty, and only Grandpop can make them exactly right.