A lazy day and a touch of Scotland.

A lazy, sleepy day. And a food day, the highlight of which was a Zoom cooking class featuring the Scottish National Chef Gary McLean cooking from his own kitchen. The program was sponsored by Central Market, which, not coincidentally, has all the Scottish products available—including salmon from the Hebrides and Scottish ice cream. On the menu today: a salad of smoked salmon (either hot smoked or cold—I much prefer the cold smoked), green peas, green beans, snap peas, and snipped dill, all on a base of pea puree; a fennel salad accompanied by broiled langoustine with Scottish Tain cheddar; Hebridean (I cannot figure out how to pronounce that) salmon filets with a warm potato and asparagus salad; and for dessert, cranachan—a concoction of browned oatmeal with honey, whiskey, heavy cream barely whipped, and  raspberries served over ice cream (Scottish, of course) and topped with shaved chocolate. I have always threatened to move to Scotland. Now I am sure.

The segment was filmed in McLean’s own Scottish kitchen, which was, he told us, designed for demonstrations. It was not a large space, though I’ve always known that the best chefs do not need a large kitchen. Still, he had an impressive four ovens—some with different functions—with refrigeration below them, drawers designed to respond to the touch of a knee, so that he could open without touching while cooking. As he cooked, he kept loading empty dishes and used ingredients off to his right, and I fervently hoped there was an assistant over there making order out of chaos. At the end the camera panned the kitchen, and there was no assistant but a heck of a mess to be cleaned up.

McLean himself, a man in his mid-forties, was charming and unassuming, gesturing a lot with his hands, smiling, and, best of all, explaining techniques as he went. Who knew you could poach eggs twenty-four hours in advance and heat them up? To my surprise, he did not cook on a gas cooktop—I thought all chefs prepared gas. No, he had an electric cooktop which he explained, partway through, was induction technology. That reassured me immensely since I cook on an induction hot plate. He had two burners and another which had a special name—“expander?” (If he can do all that with two burners, surely I can do pretty well with one.) I love a good Scottish brogue, but I admit I had a bit of trouble following him occasionally. I have since heard that Central Market is investigating closed captioning for future lessons.

I learned lots from watching him. The lesson was supposed to be a cook-along, but I had early decided I just wanted to watch and absorb and not distract myself by trying to cook along—although he did occasionally pause and chatter a bit to give home cooks a chance to catch up. My neighbor, Prudence, started to cook along and gave it up but said they would be eating well at her house. McLean has a cookbook which is more, he says, a lesson in techniques rather than a cookbook. I looked it up on Amazon but could not find it. I’ll keep trying. Since Central Market never misses a marketing opportunity, I expect them to carry it soon.

My takeaway: a thoroughly enjoyable Saturday experience and recipes I’ll cook. Jordan was enthusiastic tonight about the entrée salmon (minus the soft-poached egg) and the dessert. I would add the smoked salmon salad, but I could pass on the fennel salad—there was some on-screen discussion of substituting something and I wonder about a Napa cabbage or something. I am not a fan of fennel. Also, as I’m allergic to shrimp but can eat lobster, I’ve always wondered which camp langoustine falls into.The internet says lobster, so I’m gathering my courage to try because they looked delicious. 

Must add that the day was rounded out with a delightful visit with Carol Roark and Lon Burnam—conversation with them is always fun. We ordered supper from Macaluso’s which deserves a shout-out for hot and delicious food delivered in a timely manner. I had eggplant Parmagiana because I don’t often get a chance to eat eggplant, and I loved it. Carol is one of the people who keeps my writing world in order—feeding me information, correcting me when I’m wrong, and cheering me on. And I always appreciate Lon’s sense of humor and his take on politics. Jordan and I both agreed it was a jolly evening.

And Sophie enjoyed it. For some reason, she took to Lon and lay at his feet much of the evening. There was some debate about whether she was protecting Lon or protecting me from him.

Happy Labor Day weekend, everyone. Please stay safe and wear your masks. I am appalled at pictures of crowds of unmasked people—as at the Trump rally on Lake Travis where at least four boats sank. No further comment needed, except none of the massed spectators had masks.

Spending the day with a cook

Helen Corbitt

Another dull day but with no rain. Getting tired of this. But today I spent much of the day with Helen Corbitt, which was a delight. You probably have to be a Texan and of a certain age to remember Helen. From 1955 until the late sixties, she was in charge of food service at Neiman Marcus. Mr. Stanley once called her the Balenciaga of food. Coming from the east, with some Texas detours, she taught us Texans many things, like how to cook vegetables al dente and how to avoid canned fruit cocktail.

Corbitt, a graduate of Skidmore College, had an established career in food service before she affiliated with Neiman Marcus.  She came to Texas, reluctantly (“Who the hell wants to go to Texas?”) in the early 1940s to accept a position with the University of Texas. She had been a hospital dietitian in Newark and New York, but she was bored. As the U.S. came out of the Depression, the Texas offer was the only one she got. She came to Austin to teach quantity cooking and restaurant management. In connection wit the latter, she ran the University Tea Room, a laboratory for her students.

Restless, she moved on to the Houston Country Club for a stay of several years that ended only when the club hit hard times. Then she moved, briefly, to Joske’s department store, the only job from which she was fired because her food service didn’t show a profit. Helen Corbitt was concerned with quality not cost, and no kitchen she ran ever showed a profit. After a short spell as an independent caterer and food consultant, she was called to manage food service at the Driskell Hotel in Austin.

Stanley Marcus, knowing her reputation, courted her for eight years before she agreed to move to Dallas and take over the Neiman Marcus food service. But it was there that she established her reputation. She served high quality food to stars and celebrities, such as Zsa Zsa Gabor, Princess Margaret, and the Duke of Windsor but also to the middle-class housewife who was Stanley Marcus’ most important customer.

Known for her temper, Corbitt did not allow Marcus into her kitchen without an invitation. She once made opera diva Maria Callas and a party of thirty go to the end of the line because they were late for their reservation. And another time, she fired the entire kitchen crew, only to realize she needed them to serve a meal. She called security and had them blocked from leaving the store.

We have Corbitt to thank for several dishes—Texas caviar, which she invented when challenged to come up with a gourmet menu using native Texas foods; chicken bouillon which is still served daily in Nieman’s restaurants; the Duke of Windsor sandwich, a concoction of pineapple, cheddar, turkey or chicken, and chutney.

Corbitt retired from Neiman’s to write cookbooks and travel the world, collecting recipes and teaching and lecturing. She was the author of several cookbooks—from Helen Corbitt’s Cookbook to Helen Corbitt Cooks for Looks, written after her doctor advised her to lose weight. She was a much sought-after speaker, sprinkling her talks about food with humor and practical advice. And she continued to teach. One of her most unusual classes was one she taught in her own apartment for a select group of Dallas businessmen. Corbitt proved that Texas men wanted more than steak and a baked potato.

Helen Corbitt died in 1978 of cancer. She had never married.

Maybe because I’m fascinated by “foodie” stuff these days, but I am really interested in this woman’s career and contributions to our Texas cuisine. I was working today on a entry for her in the online Handbook of Texas.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

A brunch adventure

            While half the world was clogging the streets to get to the Schwab golf tournament (hard for me to call it anything but Colonial) and the Fort Worth Zoo, Subie, Phil, and I headed in another direction for an adventure. We went to Magdalena’s for brunch.

I haven’t had time to get used to the concept of food trucks yet and along come pop-up restaurants. Just like the pop-up stores we’ve seen in the last few years, these restaurants are temporary, sometimes renting buildings, sometimes using quarters owned by other chefs, often providing a new and ambitious chef a start-the-career location. Having said that, Magdalen’s is none of those things, although its full meal offerings are much like the pop-up concept.

Magdalena’s on Fort Worth’s North Side (across from Oakwood Cemetery) is the creation of Chef Juan Rodriguez, formerly executive chef at Reata. He left Reata in 2015 to open his own catering service and supper club. Brunch is served occasionally (it’s a good idea to be on the mailing list so you can make those necessary reservations) and the supper club dinners are on weekends only.

We went to brunch filled with curiosity, no idea what we’d find. What we found was a delightful experience. Brunch was served in an industrial-modern building. About thirty of us sat at several long tables, so you got to know your neighbors while you dined. We sat at the end of a table—easiest for my walker and Phil’s guide dog. The couple next to us, from Arlington, proved delightful, and we talked about everything from restaurants (this was their second pop-up experience) to their two young children, the business climate (he works for a corporation hit by the tariffs), and nursing professionals—her field. (It was noisy but not so loud that I, with hearing problems, couldn’t understand most if not all.) The meals at Magdalena’s are BYOB, and they had brought a bottle of pre-mixed Manhattans, which they generously shared with Phil. Subie and I had declined to bring wine—10:30 seemed a little early in the day—but as I looked down the table I saw lots of champagne bottles. Next time I’ll bring wine, because the food deserves it.

This was one of the most creative meals I’ve ever been served. The menus at Magdalena’s reflect Chef Juan’s preference for Mexican and Spanish cuisine—as a child he often visited his grandmother in Mexico and absorbed her love for and skill with food.

We began with an appetizer—a mini Monte Cristo sandwich topped with a spoonful of picked strawberry jam. Delicious but a bit filling, and I thought I wouldn’t be hungry after that. Not to worry. A kale salad with lemon vinaigrette, cotija cheese, midnight mushrooms (new to me) followed. The main course was a cornbread waffle topped with barbacoa, pickled onions, a poached egg, avocado crema, and micro greens. (I didn’t get the menu memorized and may have missed a couple of ingredients, but you get the idea). All this was served on attractive crockery, with cups and serving bowls featuring Mexican motifs. The color, design, texture combination, and taste of the food we simply wonderful.

I think as we headed out this morning, we were a bit tentative about our adventure. Now we’re filled with enthusiasm and want to go back for dinner.

A tale of two women

Two women have riveted my attention this week. One of course is Wendy Davis, State Senator from my home town. I think she was once my city council representative and know she was once our state rep. She won her Senate seat against great odds and a smug self-confidence on the part of her opponent.

In the Texas Legislature, she has successfully fought on behalf of the everyday people of Texas—particularly for education and for women. Ambitious? What politician isn’t? But I think she’s more dedicated to the people of Texas than most politicians we watch.

Her heroic filibuster the other night demonstrated how hard she will fight for what she believes, once again in the face of great odds. Her Republican opponents, bent on controlling women’s anatomy, were sure she’d fail. And they certainly tried to make it happen. To my mind, the help with the back brace may have been a violation of Texas’ ridiculously strict laws governing filibusters, but to call mention of a sonogram law as off-subject in a debate on abortion is patently political, and, I bet, wouldn’t hold up in a court of law.

Rick Perry took an undigified personal swipe at Wendy Davis in a speech to the National Right for Life Association, saying it’s too bad that she, a single mother at a young age, didn’t learn from her own lesson that every life is precious. (Note, please, that Davis, who fights for choice and health care, not abortion, chose to carry her child—as the mother of four adopted children, I am grateful to four young women who made that same choice.) What Wendy Davis learned was to make lemonade out of lemons—she put herself through school and then Harvard Law School. No small feat. Until this week, general wisdom was that she was known in Texas, particularly North Texas, but not outside the state. Suddenly she has catapulted onto the national and even international political stage. Tomorrow morning, she will appear on all three major networks talk show.

Go Wendy! And don’t the rest of you ever count her down and out.

The other woman on my mind is Paula Deen, who is down but not yet out. I’m not sure what started this flurry—did she publicly confess her racial slur? Did someone dig up some quotes? Whatever it was apparently happened about as long ago as Wendy Davis’ child out of wedlock. Thirty years ago, I don’t think any of us were as aware and politically correct as we are today.

I’m not a particular Deen fan, though I sometimes watched her show. Her recipes are enticing, but too rich in butter and cream for my diet, and the way she says “pee-can” riles me: everyone knows it’s puh-cahn with the emphasis on the second syllable (sorry I can’t give you the phonetic description). And she is way too cutsey, but give the woman credit. She too came from an unfortunate start—among other things, as she revealed in one of her books, she was at one time severely agoraphobic (I can identify) and overcame it. She’s built an amazing empire, but now that empire is crumbling beneath her feet—book and TV show contracts cancelled, endorsements dropped.

When Matt Lauer interviewed her last week, I thought I had never seen a woman who had aged so fast. She’s a broken woman. And Americans broke her with their sometimes pompous sense of right and wrong. If she used the “N” word and made some outrageous suggestions about black waiters, it was way in the past. Do we have to crush her completely now? Let him who is without sin cast the first stone. How many of us could honestly say or do that?

Two women with much in common—shaky starts in life, overcoming their backgrounds to reach great success. One’s star is rising; the other’s star has fallen to the ground. Both intrigue me. And I hold our hope for both of them.