By John Currence | October 27, 2009 | Food

Ham and Cheese

Though a stalwart on every po'boy menu in New Orleans, the ham and cheese is, more often than not, passed over for the flashier fried shrimp or more substantive roast beef. In my estimation the po'boy's roots were probably in ham and cheese, as these items sliced would have been plentiful and easy to assemble during the time of the streetcar operators' strike, when the po'boy first appeared on the sandwich scene.

The ham and cheese has always been my favorite, if only because I am a fan of the underdog. It illustrates a point I always try to make with my cooks: Chicken is how you measure a chef's true talent. Anyone can look like a rock star with a rack of lamb, but it takes a rock star to create something memorable out of chicken. Likewise, a decently fried oyster can pass, and a poorly cooked roast can be disguised with a nicely seasoned gravy, but there is nowhere to hide with the simple ham and cheese combo.

On this note, I am happy to inform you that New Orleans has a new sheriff, and his name is Ben Wicks. Owner and very much chef of Mahony's Po-Boy Shop on Magazine Street, Ben is exploring the roots of the po'boy and injecting life into a sandwich that many have gotten lazy with in the past couple of decades. Ingredients are local and many of the recipes are his family's own, as opposed to the giant food house, pre-fab offerings you find elsewhere. On my inaugural trip, I had the Barqs-glazed ham and swiss, fried shrimp, and a hot sausage, and all three are topping my current lists of bests. I'll be back to work my way through the other fifteen or so po'boys as soon as I can.

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Slide on over here, honey...

By John Currence | September 22, 2009 | Food

Honey doesn't usually elicit a second thought, for most, until you run up against the stray jar of amber at a farmer's market or flea market. It, like the jars of artisan molasses, jellies, and jams that dot the pantries of the South, are more frequently "guilt" purchases...and I was just as guilty as the next guy. I would spy a jar, dream of the cookies, muffins, etc. that I could make finer and more legitimate with a quality honey, only to let the jar sit and ultimately crystallize in the pantry, barely used.

But about ten years ago I was gifted a beautiful, tall, and willowy bottle of Tupelo honey, which, it turns out, folks, has nothing to do whatsoever with the hometown of Elvis, and everything to do with the Tupelo gum tree, indigenous to the mid panhandle of Florida. I took that bottle home, determined that because it was oddly enough shaped that I would make myself use it. There was no way it would settle unnoticed into a seat in the back of the class to be overlooked and forgotten.

My first taste—over homemade biscuits and spicy sausage—was rapture. The layers of floral and earthy flavors were unlike anything I had ever imagined and completely different from any artisan honey I had ever tried. I could taste the very essence of the gum tree in each bite. I blew through the bottle and began the search for another.

As it happens, there are a number of good folks in Florida who collect and jar Tupelo honey and it doesn't cost an arm and a leg to get it. The Laniers, for example, have been in the business for over a hundred years and are happy to ship you whatever you like. It can change the way you view things sweet and it'll not go uneaten. Take it from me...I just received a box with four gallons.

Also, check out Dan Huntley's piece on tupelo honey from Garden & Gun's April/May 2009 issue.

A Good Burn

By John Currence | August 31, 2009 | Food

We cooked burgers over charcoal the other night. This would be an otherwise mundane and pointless statement, but having been denied solid food for over a month this summer due to an unfortunate medical condition, I'm celebrating a new found appreciation for flavor. I say this also because I have this compact automobile-size, gas-fueled Weber contraption that I all too frequently resort to for its convenience, but invariably rue the decision once the protein has met the flame. This time I wanted taste.

Though typical modern "charcoal" actually resembles the real thing in little more than color, major producers are responding to public demand for a more authentic product, so you can find truer charcoal on the shelves these days.

We grilled the burgers over Royal Oak 100% Natural Wood Charcoal. It burns faster and a little cooler than the typical "briquette," but without that residual chemical bitterness.

I know I am not alone in my guilt for reaching for the gas knob when I could build a charcoal fire, so to those of you who share the feeling, grab a bag of real charcoal and let me know how much better that burger is.