crack the plates

Vegetable plates are mainstays of deep south diners. Most keep about eight different kinds of cooked(to death, mind you) vegetables in chafing-dishes for customers to mix & match. Green beans, field peas, creamed corn, fried okra, collards, squash casserole, and, perplexingly, macaroni & cheese, are routine offerings. Choose any four, add a cat-head biscuit* or a piece of cornbread (no sugar, please–that’d be cake) on the side and it’s a meal. Small-town holes-in-the-wall sell ‘em for about $5 for a 4-veg plate; big-time city joints like Mary Mac’s Tea Room in Atlanta will ask double, but you get more options. No matter where you are, vegetable plates are the cheapest full meals on the menu. Unfortunately most of the vegetable sides are laden with eggs, cheese, and whole milk. (In Atlanta, choose Soul Vegetarian or Calabash Vegetarian Kitchen for sublime vegan vegetable plates.)

I grew up with vegetable plates because I was raised by poor gardeners. On at least a large portion of an acre, my parents grew everything, and we ate all of it–except for the eggplant, of course. (Woefully, it was mostly for looks.)Our parents worked hard so that my brother and I could pile our plates. We may have received a new pair of shoes only once a year at Christmas, but boy, did we eat.

Because I babysit for a precocious first grader every Tuesday night, I had to put together a quick dinner. Seeking onions, I stopped by Richmond’s Tuesday evening farmer’s market shortly after it opened. I picked up two lbs of skinny sweet potatoes ($1), four acorn squash (.50/ea), and an enormous cabbage ($1) from Preston for a measly $4. For all that food, I felt guilty about accepting my one buck change.

Once home, I rapidly split the cabbage & boiled it just like momma taught me: a little water in the bottom of your pan, precious, a tablespoon of Earth Balance vegan margarine (she’d use butter), salt & pepper and let it steam a while til near-mush. I made short work out of the sweet potatoes, too: washed, cut, boiled, and mashed with unsweetened soymilk, a little eBal, salt & ground white pepper, and they were ready to go. Our proteinacious side was Road’s End Organic penne & chreese, an absolutelydisgusting and dreadful approximation of cheesy macaroni that I make palatable with the addition of tons of nutritional yeast, tamari, spicy mustard, eBal, and a splash of soymilk. It was on close-out at the Co-op.

Even factoring in what I paid for the spices, tamari, soymilk, Earth Balance and other ingredients, the entire meal cost about $6 to make. Since each side made about four servings, I made out with two meals for two people at $1.50 a pop. Eating locally, eating cheap…everyone wins!

*”cat-head biscuit” : not quite what it sounds like, this simply refers to a soft, fluffy white-flour** biscuit about the size of a cat’s head.

**My mom, and many other Southern women, swear by White Lily–but I go for the unbleached stuff.

One of my favorite quick meals that tastes like it took ages to make is bhindi masala. “Bhindi” is the Hindi word for ladyfinger AKA okra, and masala, as you probably already know, simply means warm spices. I use a superior pre-ground organic blend that I ordered through our local co-op from Frontier.

As a quick aside, I’ve found that it is much easier to find reliable indian recipes on google if one searches using Hindi rather than the english equivalents. (Check out this glossary for some ideas.) That’s how I found my favorite bhindi masala recipe, located here at Tara Shetty’s long-abandoned blogspot. Here’s a picture of tonight’s dinner:

Since I’ve already linked to the recipe, let me use my space here to counsel you all on selecting okra. Yes, I know it is almost out-of-season, so just keep this in mind for next year…unless of course you live in the glorious southern USA states, where it is available fresh in supermarkets year-round.

I grew up in the south–northwest Georgia, for those who don’t know–and I watched my parents grow okra, helped ‘em harvest it, and now plant my own. And so I learned early on, from my maternal grandmother, I think, how to pick okra. In the US and abroad, okra is also called “lady’s finger” or ladyfinger for short.

F-ed up gender & body notions aside, consider that some of the folks who first started calling it “ladyfinger” were likely the people who harvested it in the field. Most of us are so divorced from the growing processes of our food these days that we forget that it comes from farmers who have their own notions about the world and their own intimate connection with their plants. These farmers may have tagged the okra “lady’s finger” because okra tastes best when it is picked at about two inches in length, i.e, about the length of an average woman’s pinky finger. Allowed to grow much longer, the seeds get tremendous and the texture woody–only good for a heavily stewed gumbo, if that.

For best flavor, okra should be picked when it is young and tender. Both genders can judge a good piece of okra at the market by holding it up against the little finger. If it’s much longer, throw it back–it’ll be dry, woody, and the seeds, pearls. If it’s smaller, bag it and find its friends!