"grains" news and stories

Do you have what it takes?

If you happen to be anywhere near Georgia this Saturday and have a hankering for grits -- consider a drive to Warwick. The town -- approximately 82 miles south of Macon -- holds its 12th annual National Grits Festival on April 11, complete with a cook-off, a Miss Grits pageant and the Grits Pit -- a creamy tub designed to get grits lovers, well, gritty (see photo above).

"That's a big attraction at 2 o'clock in the afternoon now," festival coordinator Bob Holland told Slashfood.

Warwick hosts this ode to the Southern larder despite the fact that it doesn't produce grits, though it does have a lot of corn growing amid the cotton and peanuts on nearby farmland, Holland said.

"You can do anything with grits," Holland said. "It depends on your taste and your imagination."

More gritty talk and the late great Bill Neal's recipe for shrimp and grits that turned me into a grits fan after the jump.

Inspired by fellow Slashfoodie Monika Bartyzel's recent post on using ingredients we already have, I decided to cook up a few of the many grains I've hoarded over the past few months...okay, more than just a few months. There's no other kind of food I buy more compulsively. Stone-ground grits, hard red wheat flour, orzo, coarse polenta, pasta in a variety of shapes, fregola sarda - shall I go on?

The starch closest to my heart, though, may be jasmine brown rice. I first learned of this lovely product during a charmed encounter at Bangkok Center Grocery, a jewel box of Thai ingredients in Manhattan's Chinatown. Another customer, a Thai lady, had taken an interest in me because she saw that I was buying ingredients to make my own curry paste and, after I had paid, she, along with her equally winsome Chinese friend, urged me to buy a shrinkwrapped bag of jasmine brown rice imported from Thailand. The price of the rice alone did not meet the credit card minimum, and I had no cash, but the store owner saw my distress at turning down the ladies' recommendation, and he let me take the rice on credit.

"Pay next time," he said. In Manhattan. And I a first-time customer. I thought that only happened to valued clients in tiny towns.

I gave away most of my foodstuffs when I moved from Atlanta to New York, but I did transport a half-empty bag of jasmine brown rice (pictured). Like regular jasmine rice, it cooks up to be fragrant and fluffy, nutty and chewy - perhaps even nuttier and chewier due to its being brown. The method for and a picture of my pilaf - not very Thai at all, mind you - follows the jump.

In my experience, Orwellian doublespeak is usually confined to government pronouncements, corporate advertising, and the occasional politically-correct op-ed piece. Recently, however, IHOP surprised me by employing it in the service of their "Hungry Consumer Relief Plan." Basically, this plan involves all-you-can-eat pancakes, and will be offered at many locations until January 22, 2009.

So far, so good. Like many closet carb junkies, I am foursquare in favor of all-you-can-eat pancakes, particularly when the economy is in recession and eating out is becoming a major luxury. However, I have to seriously question IHOP's claim that this is a "stimulus" plan. Fake maple syrup aside, referring to pancakes as a "stimulus" borders on the ridiculous. Personally, I can think of few things less stimulating than a big plate of starchy fried deliciousness; to be honest, pancakes generally make me want to lie around the house and focus on digesting.

In other news, the breakfast chain is also offering free pancakes from 7 to 10 AM on January 24, 2009. This program is intended to raise money for the Children's Miracle Network and other charities. I can only hope that their incredible generosity provides a major stimulus to charitable donations!

Previously: Recipe #1 - White Lily and Lard

The less said about this batch, the better. I rolled 'em too thin, left them in the oven a minute or two too long, used too little liquid, achieved little to no loft, and skimped on flavor by switching from lard to vegetable shortening. Perhaps in the hands of a master biscuit maker, these factors wouldn't matter, but perhaps at this point, I need some training wheels in the form of commercial baking powder or self-rising flour.

My other muck-up -- I fell prey to fear of touching the dough too much and barely allowed the ingredients to mingle either during the bowl mixing or the kneading. While I've heard from all and sundry that overworking the dough is the kiss of death, there's got to be a happy medium. And hopefully a few sky-high biscuits.

Tips and more after the jump, and as always, I'd love any advice you feel like sharing.

I do not come from a biscuit making people. That's not to say that I led an entirely biscuitless youth -- just that the addition of water to a measure of Bisquick, and the joyless lumping thereof on a cookie sheet does not, what I consider a biscuit, make. Though this is a matter of great conjecture for folks from all walks, my particular biscuit paradigm is a balance of moist, fluffily layered, lard-laced innards and a crisped-up, nearly brittle top and bottom. A crunch through should grudgingly yield to a just off-sweet, pillowy, melting mass of deliciousness. With shards of salty country ham, a rich swipe of sweet butter, or just steaming hot from the oven, it's handheld heaven.

I can't make biscuits like that to save my life. In '09, that all changes.

With the aid of every cookbook, internet tip, and friends' advice at my disposal, I'm on a mission to perfect my biscuit making. I shall seek the counsel of Southern grandmothers and hound professional chefs until they begin to assail me with dough blenders. I shall become tiresome on the subject. I'm sure my husband would assert that I already have. 'Sokay -- he'll get fresh biscuits out of the deal, as will my colleagues, dogs, dog walker, friends, neighbors, cashiers, subway train drivers. Heck, I probably don't even know you, and you'll likely end up with a leftover biscuit from me.

I dig 'em with the tang of buttermilk and lard's sweet, creamy kiss, but for the sake of scientific exploration, I'll entertain alternate liquids and fats. I've been a good li'l stockpiling squirrel and plundered the shelves of several Harris Teeters and Food Lions during a recent sojurn to North Carolina so that the ingredients may possess the ideal terroir as borne by Southern flours like White Lily, Red Band and Southern Biscuit. I have chilled my lard, readied my sifting hand, and offered a small homage to the spirit of the dearly departed Edna Lewis. I am ready to begin.

This may not be my heritage, but it is my destiny.

Read on for the results of the first effort.