One word. Yum!

Get it at Hoovers in Austin.

Don’t walk. Run!

As you’ve probably noticed, things have been quiet here on Dixie Gypsy. I realized I said I was going to tell you how to make spinach enchiladas. Well, I am going to do that, but not today. Today I’m going to tell you how much I love the quiet. For the first time since November, we’ve had nearly two full weeks of quiet. No visitors. No travels. I’ve barely left home. Wait! I take that back. I’ve left home nearly every day…but only to mosey up the street to the neighborhood pool. Titus LOVES to swim. And I love to watch him toddle around the baby pool in the security of his innertube. He’s quite proud of his independence. Schools have started again here in Austin so we practically have the place to ourself. Aaaahhh…this is the life.

Okay, I’m just going to say it.  Birmingham, Alabama isn’t a place many people think of for a final vacation destination.  It’s more of a “passing through” kind of place – it’s one of those cities on the trip south on I65 to the beach or on the trip east on I20 to Atlanta.  It’s a foothill town.  Not a mountain town.

That said, from all accounts, Birmingham is a nice city.  I have yet to make it my destination, but from the first time a few years ago that I passed through and stopped, I fell in love.

Kenny and I met up with my friends Lydia and Andrew.  I was in the sixth grade when I met Lydia and Andrew. My family had just moved to Mobile, Alabama, and their family welcomed us to our new church. Almost immediately we were friends. For the next eight years we spent hot summer days at the pool, Halloween parties bobbing for apples, and Christmas breaks designing and eating gingerbread houses.

Upon graduation from Auburn University, Lydia moved to Birmingham, Alabama to pursue her career in interior design. A few years later, her brother Andrew completed his degree in industrial design at Auburn, and also moved to Birmingham.

Eighteen months ago during a road trip, Kenny and I caught up with them in Birmingham over dinner one night. They introduced us to my new restaurant crush – The Fish Market Restaurant.  Last month, I was lucky enough to catch up with Lydia and Andrew again while passing through Birmingham.  At my sheepish request, it was at the Fish Market. (Seriously, I dream of this place at night!)

Set in a quirky old red brick building on South 22nd St., the Fish Market is very simply decorated inside to resemble serene postcards of the Greek Islands. In addition to the incredible restuarant, the market is also a small grocery. It is owned by a George Sarris, a Greek man who sells an array of wines, olives from his hometown in Greece and fish flown in daily from around the world. Some fish at the restaurant are so fresh they are literally still swimming in the tanks on display.

What are you craving?  Amberjack, Orange Roughy, Flounder, Snapper? Maybe mahi-mahi? Or crab, shrimp or lobster?   This is only a list to whet your appetite.  The complete menu is incredible!  The prices are a wower too.  The entrees start at $8 a plate and are complete with a comprehensive picklist of Southern and Greek veggie dishes.

Kenny is pretty adventurous.  On our first visit, he picked a live fish and the cooks killed it and cooked it in front of him.  (Watching is not required!  My curious husband wanted to have the FULL experience.) 

This time he ordered the frog leg dinner. Do not be fooled!  Frog legs DO NOT taste like chicken.  From this initiation to frog leg consumption, my assessment is that they taste like salty marshwater. Interesting, but not impressive.  Maybe it is an aquired taste?

Me?  Both times I ordered the grilled red snapper.  Perfectly seasoned with a spicy salty rub, the fillets were crisp on the outide and tender and flaky on the inside.  Lovely!

So the next time you’re near Birmingham, even if it is not your final destination, do take time to stop.   

Collard greens are a staple of Southern cuisine, yet I’ve never been brave enough to try them until tonight.  The idea of wet, wilty, cooked leaves was not particularly appealing; but the end result…delightful! 

My brother-in-law grows a vegetable garden.  He doesn’t like any vegetables.

“So why grow a garden?” I asked, bemused by my meat-and-potato-eating in-law, who turns up his nose at the fruits of his labor.

“I just like to watch things grow,” he replied with a sheepish grin.

So this winter, my mother-in-law and I have been the happy recipients of broccoli and collard greens.

“The greens are in,” my mother-in-law announced one evening this week.  “Gary gave me a bag to share.”

“Nice!” I exclaimed as I curiously opened the bag and inspected the greens.

The leaves were quite large with a stiff spine and strange waxy texture.

“What do we do with them?” I asked.

“Well, we need to give them a thorough washing.  They’ll probably be pretty gritty,” my mother-in-law replied.

“And we’ll need to tear off the spine and keep the leaves,” she continued.

“Okay, you wash. I’ll tear?” I offered.

I was surprised to find as I tore the washed greens that a light mustard-like fragrance was released.

As we cleaned the greens, we added them to a large stock pot with a bit of water and salt pork.  Yep.  You read correctly.  Salt pork.

As I’ve only read about salt pork in the Little House on the Prairie series, I assumed salt pork was a meat for individuals using a covered wagon as a primary mode of transportation. Apparently it did not go extinct with the invention of cars and refrigeration.  It’s a fatty cut of pork similar to strips of bacon, and it infuses a nice salty, meaty flavor to the greens.  My mother-in-law claims it’s available at my local supermarket.

Over the heat, the greens began to wilt as the leaves released alot of their moisture. We kept them on the heat until they reached the consistency of cooked cabbage.  Then we drained the water and let the greens cool.  Apparently they are best reheated after a couple days, giving the salt flavor of the pork a chance to really infuse into the greens.

“You know, I think I’d like some shucky beans with the greens.” my mother-in-law exclaimed.

“Huh?” I looked at her dumbly, not sure what plan she was hatching.

“You know, leather britches?” she explained.

“Leather britches?” I asked, not following at all.

Shucky beans, sometimes known as leather britches, are a Kentucky dish my father-in-law grew up eating.  They are dried green beans, cooked with a handful of dried pinto beans, and…you guessed it…salt pork.  Apparently a bit of fat makes all once-healthy vegetables happy.

Gary’s garden produced a nice crop of green beans last summer, and since green beans are…well…green, my brother-in-law was all too happy to share them with my mother-in-law.  She dried them in her dehydrator…and voila…shucky beans.

So tonight was the night to try the results of this family food affair.  Quite nice.  The greens were a crisper texture than the wilted mess I was imagining, and their taste was delicious – salty from the pork and poignant like cabbage with a hint of mustard.  The shucky beans were out of this world. Quite simply, they had a country taste that evoked images of pioneers and courageous survival. 

I can see why these foods are a Southern staple.