Sweet Tea Chicken and Alabama White Sauce

When my friend Aisha Holmes texted me a few Fridays back to say she had just eaten chicken marinated in sweet tea and pickle juice, I thought I was going to flat-out lose my mind. That sandwich couldn’t be more Southern if it married its cousin, used “fixin’ to” as a verb, and called every soft drink, regardless of brand, a coke. As soon as I read that text, I was completely obsessed and knew I had to replicate this wondrous dish, which from the description I was given, lacked only one thing to make it perfect. And that thing, my friends, is Alabama White Sauce.

OMG. If you’ve never had Alabama White Sauce, first of all, I feel sorry for you. And second, you don’t know what you’re missing. The first time I remember ever had white sauce was from Big Bob Gibson Barbecue in Decatur, Alabama. Friday nights were frequently barbecue nights in the Norwood household, which I now realize also happened to coincide with payday. My mother would pick up a whole roasted chicken, sometimes some pulled pork for sandwiches, and always a bag of crispy fried pork skins. Even as a child, and long before the book or movie had become a phenomenon, the pork skins seemed a little Silence of the Lamby to me, so I never touched them. But the chicken I liked—because it was a vehicle for the white sauce.

The sauce is a many splendored thing, and couldn’t be simpler to make. Mayonnaise, vinegar, sugar, lemon juice, salt and pepper. Some people fancy it up with wine vinegars, horseradish, mustards, what have you. Me, I don’t bother. No sense trying to make a silk purse out of sow’s ear—although I will say I think it’s far superior if you use my homemade mayonnaise as a base. As for the chicken. Shoot. I felt like that chicken needed a little something extra, though it was near perfect as described. So along with the sweet tea and dill pickle juice, I added bread and butter pickle juice from the pickles my brother and sister-in-law had canned (amazing, by the way), and a soupcon of soy sauce for a salty edge and depth of flavor.

It was crazy good and you better holla, because this chicken will slay you. I mean, Game of Thrones-style. It’s amazing! And I’m fairly certain a dill pickle juice marinade really is the secret to Chick Fil A’s famously moist and flavorful chicken, because that is exactly what it reminded me of at first bite. Drizzle on the white sauce, add bread and butter pickles and either a wrap or bun and you have the perfect dish to kick off grilling season in true Southern style. Plus it’s a great way to upcycle your pickle juice after you’ve eaten all the pickles.

Sweet Tea Chicken

4-5 boneless chicken breasts

1 quart sweet tea

Juice from 1 quart jar of dill pickles

Juice from 1 quart jar of bread and butter pickles

1/3 cup soy sauce.

Marinate chicken 8 hours or overnight. Discard marinade and blot chicken with paper towels. Season lightly with salt and pepper. Grill until cooked through, depending on thickness of chicken (6-8 minutes per side) and chicken has pretty brown grill marks and internal temp of 165°—but don’t overcook. It will be tough. And nobody wants to eat tough chicken, except (God rest her soul) my mother, who was convinced you would die of some disease if you didn’t cook meat until it was practically leather.

Alabama White Sauce

1 1/4 cups mayonnaise

1/4 cup white vinegar

1 tablespoon sugar

Juice of half a lemon

Salt, pepper to taste

Whisk everything together and adjust with additional mayo, vinegar or sugar until it tastes just like you want it and is still thin enough to drizzle. Seriously, white sauce is an art, not a science.

Asparagus, I Done You Wrong

First off, I would like to profess my ignorance and obstinance in matters of asparagus. I have never given the tender green shoots their due—before now. For reasons I cannot even begin to ascertain, I just can’t seem to consume enough asparagus this spring. Which is odd, because I’ve never especially cared for it.

Mind you, I’ve never actively despised asparagus (as I do okra); I’ve just always been sort of meh about it. It is known that ancient Greeks and Romans prized asparagus, and its cultivation eventually spread to Europe and ultimately America. It eventually first made its way onto my plate covered in a puddle of cream of mushroom soup, Durkee fried onions, a bit of cooking sherry and Cheddar cheese via a tall, cylindrical can with the words “Green Giant” emblazoned across the label. My mother—who claimed to “love” asparagus—apparently saw fit to molest its otherwise venerable flavor with this unbecoming culinary congress. It’s little wonder I developed a barely concealed contempt for what I knew only as the basis of a mushy, craven casserole whose redeeming characteristics were few, if any.

On a recent bid to simply eat more vegetables, however, I discovered that asparagus is nothing short of amazing if you observe two simple rules: Don’t oversauce it and don’t overcook it. Asparagus needs little more than a bit of salt, a fat (my favorite is olive oil) and an acid (I prefer vinegars to lemon juice, balsamic in particular) to lets is distinctive flavor shine. As for cooking: if you think you’ve blanched, grilled or roasted the asparagus too long, it’s probably already too late. One heartbeat too long in the heat and you’ve got mush on your hands.

Roasting Asparagus:

Preheat oven to 400°. Rinse asparagus and cut off the woody ends. Place on a parchment-lined sheet and drizzle in olive oil and a sweeter vinegar (almost any balsamic will do); sprinkle with kosher salt. Roast for 7-15 minutes—this depends on the thickness of the asparagus. As soon as tips start to turn color, it’s done. Eat as a side, toss with pasta salad, or on a savory tart or this pizzetta:

Rustic Asparagus Pizzetta

1 12 or 14-inch Whole wheat crust, baked or grilled

Roasted Asparagus

6 ounces creamy goat cheese, at room temp

2-3 ounces Blue cheese, crumbled (smoked blue if available)

Caramelized red onion

Balsamic crema

Blanched almonds or lightly toasted almonds, if desired

Fresh thyme, if desired

Once pizza crust cools slightly, spread evenly with goat cheese and sprinkle with blue cheese. Top with asparagus, caramelized onions, and fresh thyme. Drizzle with balsamic crema and sprinkle with nuts, if using. Serve immediately—also good cold, the next day.

Oh Bring Me Some Figgy Newtons

The fig is a many splendored thing, especially this time of year. Fall is the season of figs. Yes, there are pumpkins aplenty, and butternut squash to boot. Cauliflower is coming in nicely, and crisp, tart apples by the barrel. But none can compare to the fig. They are not hardy—figs spoil quicker than a minute, and once you pluck the fleshy little fruits from the tree you have to handle them just so. Figs are as fragile as a whisper, and if they are bruised or split, it’s all over but the crying. You must eat figs within a day or two of picking—this is not negotiable—and though refrigeration helps prolong their little lives, it robs the fruit of its figginess. That’s why I love them. You have to accept a fig on a fig’s terms.

There are many ways to enjoy their lushness—you can fancy-schmancy figs up like a pig in a poke, but really, simple is best. The honeyed flesh is sweet and delectable and needs little adornment in the way of additional flavors. Fresh figs are divine with salty aged cheeses and meats, pork in particular. Stuff a fig with goat cheese and a little thyme, wrap that sucker in prosciutto and bake until crispy and you’ve got yourself a mouthful of humdinger-yumfabulousness. It’s so good I just made that word up to describe it. If you’re not a fan of goat cheese, use mascarpone with honey instead, and it will still be absolutely amazing. It’s been done, I’ll grant you. But who cares? Your mouth won’t know it’s not as fashionable an amuse-bouche as it once was. If you’re worried what your foodie friends will think, roast those little figgy-boos with maple syrup and pair with brie or a nice, rich buttermilk blue cheese. Serve with crackers and candied walnuts and you’ll be ready to skip dinner.

I almost grabbed a basket of figs this weekend from a local market, but I was worried I wouldn’t be able to eat them before they decided to wilt into mush on me. Still, it is officially fall, and it’s difficult to see the season pass before my eyes when I haven’t bitten into the first fig. So when I passed by a barrel of dried figs in the same market, I had to stop. Dried figs keep forever, and I’ve been wanting to try my hand at homemade fig newtons. I figured if the cookies turned out nicely, I could add them to my list of Christmas cookies this year. I made my first batch today and the verdict is an emphatic thumbs up. Jumping Jedediah, those cookies are good! I’ve eaten five since I started writing this blog post. I almost typed three just to make myself sound like less of a glutton, but I’m just gonna turn on my heartlight and let my fig love shine. Join me friends. You won’t regret it.

Homemade Fig Newtons

1 pound dried figs, chopped, stems removed*

1/2 teaspoon orange zest

Juice of 1 orange

1/4 cup honey

1 cup water

1 cinnamon stick

1 cup butter, softened

3/4 cup brown sugar

3 egg yolks*

2 teaspoons vanilla

1 cup whole wheat flour*

1 cup all purpose flour*

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1. Combine figs, zest, juice, honey, water and cinnamon stick in a heavy bottomed saucepan. Cook on low until figs are soft and mixture is thick, 30-45 minutes. Remove cinnamon stick and mash with a potato masher until no longer pulpy. You may need to add a little more water and continue cooking to soften. Remove from heat and cool completely before using, ideally overnight.

2. Cream butter and brown sugar in the work bowl of a mixer. Add in egg yolks and vanilla.

3. In a separate bowl, whisk together flours, baking soda and salt.

4. Add flour mixture a cup at a time to butter mixture, beating to combine. Shape dough into a disk, wrap tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 2 hours to overnight.

5. Cut disk in half; place half the dough back in the refrigerator to keep it well chilled. On a well-floured surface, roll one half of the dough out to about a 1/4-inch thickness. Using a pizza cutter, trim dough into a rectangle, then divide down the middle into two rectangles. Each should be about 3 inches wide and 8-12 inches in length.

6. Handling the dough gently, place rectangles on a parchment line cookie sheet. Spoon cooled fig mixture down the middle of each rectangle; fold sides over to form a log, slightly pinching seam to close. Repeat with the remaining dough. Place cookie sheet in the refrigerator for 20 minutes.

7. Preheat oven to 325°. Remove cookies and turn seam-side down. Bake cookies 15-18 minutes, or until golden brown; cool completely, and slice with a pizza cutter. Enjoy!

* I used organic figs and organic flours, as well as natural brown sugar. Whether you do so is a personal choice, but I would highly recommend it!

Here Comes Pumpkin Boo-Boo

If there’s one thing I love more than pumpkins, it’s glitter. Seriously, you don’t want to know how many times I’ve sat around listening to David Bowie in his Ziggy Stardust prime wondering why my generation never had any really great glitter moments. When I was in high school wearing my fingerless neon gloves, vintage 1940s veiled hats, glitter powder, and glue-on glitterlings under my eye (like a little diamond tear, don’t you know), I didn’t start any trends. The only thing that happened was my mother cried and begged me “not to go out in public like that” and my classmates looked at me like I was from Mars. All I’ve got to say to those folks is exactly what Joaquin Phoenix said as Johnny Cash in Walk The Line when somebody told him he was dressed like he was going to a funeral: “Maybe I am.”

Oh, I was so tragic. So terribly tragic and hip. These days, I’ve got my sense of irony firmly in place and I take life in stride. I’m also not so starved for attention that I feel the need to glue faux jewels on my face—but I’ll tell you this World. I will not relinquish my glitter, not now, not ever. Glitter makes life a little prettier, a little shinier, gives it a patina of magic and makes you believe that anything is possible. Like a good little glammed-up Girl Scout, I like to be prepared. So I always have two items in my purse at all times, a tube of Martha Stewart Glitter and a Sharpie. I can’t tell you how many times both have come in handy. So today, after I finally had time to make my annual front porch Halloween pumpkin run, I decided to whip out the glitter instead of a knife. I hate carving up the poor little pumpkins because I love them so much I want them to last and last. Now they will. I used a water-based tacky glue too, so as soon as Halloween is over, I can wash the Boo-Boos right off and keep my pumpkins sitting pretty through Thanksgiving. I think Pink Floyd would applaud me for saying, shine on you  crazy pumpkins. Shine on.

The Crock Pot Chronicles: Indian Fusion Shepherd’s Pie

A layer of thinly sliced rather than mashed potatoes on top of the savory filling allows for a long, slow turn in the Crock Pot.

As a Southern girl, my go-to fall comfort foods have always been chicken and dumplings and Brunswick stew—a savory meld of meat, chicken, corn, potatoes, lima beans, tomatoes, and Tabasco. Though made different ways by varying factions, the stew has a characteristic note of sweetness thrown into the ya-ya, which some kettlemasters achieve with the addition of creamed corn or sugar, while others, like myself, prefer a little barbecue sauce instead. The bottom line with Brunswick Stew, though, is not to go poking around the pot too much no matter where you are. If you’re at my house, you can rest assured the meat that makes the stew is of the porcine variety—usually leftover pulled pork. Should you drop in on some of my kinfolk serving Brunswick Stew, however, you might discover that what you’re chewing isn’t something you’d normally consider cooking so much as a creature you might feed crumbs to in the park. So I always make my own.

A few autumns ago, though, I found a new fall favorite, one that my mother never fixed on lazy Sundays—Shepherd’s Pie. I can live without the classic clovey, allspicey, suety-style filling to be honest, but chunks of beef, gravy and vegetables topped by creamy mashed potatoes is my idea of heaven. Lately, though, I’ve cut back on red meat, in an effort to “reduce” as my grandfather liked to say (the same grandfather who used to swill Seagrams by the pintful then swear to me that Queen Elizabeth was my cousin I might add). I’m actually learning to like ground turkey in lieu thereof, especially when you can overwhelm the minced bird with flavors it can’t ignore. For Shepherd’s Pie filling, beefy style gravy didn’t sound too tasty with ground turkey, but spicy curry did. And since I had these fabulous jars of gourmet Fern’s Curry Pastes just waiting to be used, I wondered what would happen it East met West in my Crock Pot. I’m not saying I achieved world peace in Spring Hill, Tennessee, mind you. But I will assert that nothing brings people together like a good meal—that’s really the power of food isn’t it? And this dish is hands-across-America good, not to mention good for you. Instead of mashed potatoes with butter and cream, I sliced the potatoes in thin rounds and drizzled the whole shedaisy with olive oil. Amazing, and any dish that promises no-guilt seconds is a dish I’ll make twice. Here’s the recipe:

Indian Fusion Shepherd’s Pie

(Serves 4)

1 pound ground turkey

Sea salt, black pepper

1 shallot, minced

1 small onion, chopped

2-3 carrots, peeled and cut into large cubes

1/2 cup frozen green peas

1 tablespoon Fern’s Mild Curry Paste

1 (8-ounce) can tomato sauce

3 Yukon Gold potatoes, sliced into thin rounds

Olive Oil

Parmigiano-Reggiano

1. Scramble ground turkey until browned; season with salt and pepper.

2. Spray the inside of the slow cooker with nonstick spray. Add browned turkey, stir in shallot, onion, carrots and green peas. Stir in curry paste and tomato sauce.

3. Top with sliced potatoes in concentric circles. Drizzle with olive oil. Cook on low for 5-6 hours. Remove lid, grate a little Parmigiano-Reggiano over the potatoes. Replace lid, wait 5 minutes and serve.

Honeycrisp Apples…Hello Lover, It’s Been a While

When the slightly bitchy old lady at my favorite produce stand rang up my bag of Honeycrisp Apples three days ago, two thoughts raced through my mind: “Please God, don’t be too expensive” and “wonder what kind of savory dish I could make with those?” I say the old gal was slightly bitchy because she gets a little brusque when paying customers distract her from what seems to be her true calling on this earth. Which, if you’re curious, seems to be shelling peas or snapping green beans plunkity, plunkity into an oversized aluminum bowl while perched on her throne. The throne is rather grimly wedged into a too-small space behind the cash register, a sort of Archie Bunker-like chair with taped-up arms and covered in threadbare fabric that has—like the lady herself—seen better days.

When I asked about the apples she paused pea-shelling long enough to tell me “Alabama or North Carolina, one of the two” and sent me and my bag of fruit packing as quickly as she could. The apples were smallish, early-in-season and not as hollow-sounding as I would like when I thump a Honeycrisp. But that’s okay. Like the sight of plumpish little pumpkins, when I see a Honeycrisp, I know it’s really, truly autumn at last. So I got to thinking what might be delicious, good for me, and easy…and then I remembered the sweet potatoes tucked into the crisper…and the orange lurking there too, and boom. There it was. And here you have it—the perfect autumn side dish. If you could smell my kitchen right now, you would understand why I call it that.

Norwizzle’s Roasted Apples and Sweet Potatoes

1/4 cup honey

1/4 cup olive oil

Juice of 1 orange

1 tablespoon orange marmalade

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

1/2 teaspoon crushed rosemary

1/2 teaspoon sea salt

2 sweet potatoes, cut into bite-sized pieces

3 Honeycrisp Apples, quartered

1/3 red onion, cut into thick slices

1. Preheat oven to 400°.

2. In a small bowl or measuring cup, whisk together honey, olive oil, orange juice, orange marmalade, Dijon, rosemary, and sea salt.

3. Combine sweet potatoes, apples and onion in a large bowl; toss with honey mixture.

4. Transfer mixture to a parchment-lined baking sheet. Roast for 25-30 minutes. Serve immediately.

By The Pricking of My Thumbs, Something Yummy This Way Comes

Warning: this bewitchingly buttery caramel sauce will cast a sweet spell on you!

There are many things I love about fall, the least among them is it’s the season of ghoulies and goblins and witches. Oh my. Halloween is one of my all-time favorite holidays, and has been since I was a kid. Any celebration that centers on candy and sweet things is a party I want to get in on. Now, this will come as no surprise to a certain attorney in Alabama who shall remain nameless (to protect the innocent), but my go-to Halloween costume is always a witch. Has been since I was knee-high to a newt. I love the pointy hat, the black dress and the shiny black shoes. I even love the broomstick! And yes, it must be said, I have been known to skulk around like a black cat do. I once had a news director who told me I should be forced to wear a bell around my neck, because every time I would come up behind him and say his name, he involuntarily jumped a good six inches off the seat of his chair. Which I enjoyed.

So when Halloween-time rolls around every year, I find myself longing for three things: the actual power to turn mean people into toadstools, a pumpkin to carve, and something caramel. Anything caramel. The sweet unearthly alchemy that occurs when you combine sugar, butter and cream is nothing short of culinary sorcery in my opinion, and I’ll take it anyway I can get it: as a chewy candy, on whole apples, in cake frosting, in a tart shell, or as a sauce to be eaten by the ever-lovin’ spoonful. This Halloween season, I am opting for the latter, and tossing in a  bewitching little sprinkle of sea salt. So far, I’ve drizzled the salty sweet creamy goodness over an apple galette, dipped cookies and fruit in it, poured it over frozen yogurt, and swirled it into hot chocolate and frosting for a whoopie pie filling (stay tuned). Unlike the fabulous Ina Garten, I make mine with brown sugar instead of white sugar. I like the taste and because the only way it would be easier to whip some up is if I could wiggle my nose and make a jar full of it appear before me. See for yourself…and if Cotton Mather and a passel of torch-bearing villagers comes banging on your door while you’re brewing up a batch, hide! They can make their own.

Bewitchingly Good Salted Caramel Sauce

1 cup dark brown sugar

2 tablespoons water

1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter

Scant 1/2 teaspoon sea salt

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 1/4 cups heavy whipping cream

1. Whisk together brown sugar and water in a medium cauldron (a saucepan will do in a pinch). Heat over medium heat.

2. Bubble. Bubble. Toil and trouble.

3. When mixture is thick and syrupy, carefully add butter (don’t splash!). Whisk in sea salt and vanilla.

4. Slowly whisk in cream. Allow sauce to come to a simmer for a minute or two; as soon as bubbles appear, remove from heat. Pour sauce into lidded jar and store in the fridge. Heat before using or eating.

The Crock Pot Chronicles: Eggplant “Ganoosh”

All good things go into the pot: end of summer veggies, garlic, shallot, olive oil, herbs and seasoning…six hours later, dinner is ready to go.

And so it begins. The season of the Crock Pot is finally here, and as I am not yet homeless (this is pretty exciting for me these days), I still have an outlet to plug my slow cooker into. It’s the litte things, really. I lovelovelove Crock Pot weather—it’s like a giant snugglefest for my heart! Blankies and sweaters and slow-cooked meals that melt in your mouth and cocoa in the tin, just waiting to be frothed into a hot chocolate frenzy…oh, happiness.

So, check back with me every week as long as I remain among the living-in-a-house-and-not-a-cardboard-box set for the next edition of The Crock Pot Chronicles (life as a looking-for-work freelancer can be sketchy, but I’m coping and hoping). I love cooking with the slow cooker because it coaxes every last ounce of flavor out of the ingredients and helps you stretch your pennies by doing a lot with a little. This week’s haul at the farmer’s market yielded end-of-summer tomatoes, baby eggplant, basil, shallots and garlic. I put ’em all together and call it Eggplant Ganoosh, because I like the sound of the word and I’m in a Lewis Carroll sort of a mood today. I will make at least three meals with it this week, tossed with rigatoni, with cheese ravioli and ladled over polenta. Here’s how you make it:

Eggplant Ganoosh

1 1/2 lbs tomatoes, quartered

1 lb eggplant, salted, drained, and rinsed*

2 shallots, diced

5 cloves garlic, quartered

1/2 cup basil, cut into a chiffonade

Dried oregano

Olive oil

Balsamic vinegar

Sea salt

Freshly cracked black pepper

1. Place half of the tomatoes in the crock pot. Top with half of the eggplant.

2. Top with half the shallot, garlic and basil each, distributing evenly. Sprinkle with dried oregano. Drizzle the layer with olive oil and a little Balsamic vinegar (not too much, or the flavor will overpower everything else), and season with sea salt and black pepper. Repeat with a second layer in the same order, using the remaining ingredients.

3. Cook on low for 6-7 hours. Serve immediately or the next day—the dish gets better as it sits.

* Do NOT skip this step or the eggplant will be bitter. Drain with kosher salt for at least 30 minutes, and don’t forget to rinse off the salt before using the eggplant.

Chili: You Had Me At Hello

My Crock Pot keeps giving me longing looks from across the kitchen. It knows what time it is—time to break out that can of chili beans that’s been hiding in the back of the pantry since last winter behind the green beans, chicken broth, and the extra can of tomato paste I like to always keep on hand.

I love chili, and all that it connotes: sweaters, football Saturdays, simmering spicy goodness that warms you up from the inside out. And I’m not one of those people who swears by “my” chili recipe either—I like to experiment. One of the most amazing chili secrets I discovered a few years ago is adding a little butter to the mix…it’s one of the secret ingredients in the famous Chasen’s Chili recipe. I couldn’t believe what a difference it made in the flavor, fat grams be hanged. It was amazing! Here are a few more tricks of my chili trade—10 tips that keep my Crock Pot guessing about what’s coming next. When it comes to the relationship between a girl and her Crock Pot, you’ve gotta keep things spicy.

1. Veggies: Try a meatless chili, adding veggies for texture and flavor instead of beef: eggplant, zucchini, mushrooms, carrots, etc.
2. Corn: Fresh or frozen corn kernels add a touch of sweetness and texture to chili.
3. Cinnamon: Toss a single cinnamon stick into a simmering pot of chili.
4. Chocolate: What chocolate does for mole sauce it will also do for your chili.
5. Ale or Beer: Add a bottle of dark, bitter beer or ale for richer flavor.
6. Masa Flour: Corn-based masa flour added the last 20 minutes or so will thicken and sweeten chili.
7. Oregano: Nothing beats bland chili like a spicy oregano—fresh or dried.
8. Black Beans: Black beans add fiber and flavor.
9. Sriracha: When your chili needs a little heat, reach for the Sriracha.
10. Molasses: Just a tablespoon or two is all you need to add rich malty sweetness to savory chili.

Football Saturday: Finding My Inner Sandra Dee

I don’t drink…I don’t swear…I don’t rat my hair. I get ill from one cigarette.

I have a confession to make, America. Beneath all my blustering about Football Saturday and for all my rah-rah sis-boom-bah’s, deep down inside I’m really more of a Rizzo than a Sandy. There are, admittedly, a few fading polaroids still out there somewhere of me at age 7 with pompoms in my tiny hands, a giant smile on my face, and a scripty black F on my chest for “Falcons.” That was the last set of cheerleading pantelettes I ever clambered into, however.

There are worse things I could do than go with a boy or two.

Because just two years later, I saw Grease, and then I saw the light. Sandy the cheerleader was vanilla puddingsville, a total square. No wonder Danny Zuko didn’t want to talk to her in public. Rizzo was the cool one—a born sass-mouther, sure, but tortured inside, fast and loose as a cannon. The neighborhood may have thought she was trashy and no good, but I thought Rizzo was cool. And so the die was cast, a lifeplan was formed. I was going to be a bad girl—a cigarette-smoking, gum-snapping Pink Lady. I was gonna be a cool tough talker, and drink stuff out of bottles in the backs of cars with boys. I intended to get a bun in my oven as soon as I could and wear red lipstick and Candies platform heels every single day.

Luckily, I discovered what a “bun in the oven” really meant before my child-bearing years set in, and by my early 30s, I had long since quit caring what my so-called “cool” friends thought and rediscovered my rammer jammer roots. Finding my inner Sandra Dee may have taken me a little while, but now that she has been unleashed, me and football go together like shoobop sha wadda wadda yippity boom de boom.

So obviously, today I have tailgating on my mind. Though I can’t watch from the stadium as the mighty Tide rolls over Michigan, I can camp out in my living room and cheer on the boys and pretend I’m married to Nick Saban (it’s a sickness I know, but Lord, he’s cute.) No matter what team you’re cheering for today, here’s a sweet little side dish perfect for your tailgating party—it keeps beautifully and is divinely paired with almost anything you serve it with, from grilled burgers to pizza. It’s a heavenly melange of sweet corn and juicy tomatoes, and luckily, you still have time before the big game to dash right down to your local farmer’s market and snag almost all the fixin’s you’ll need to make it.

A perfect mix-and-match salad. Try adding drained black beans, blanched carrots or jicama.

Rammer Jammer Yellowhammer Salad

6-7 cobs fresh sweet corn

4-5 large tomatoes, roughly chopped

1 medium red onion, diced

1/2 cup chopped cilantro

Juice of 3 limes

2-3 tablespoons olive oil

2 teaspoons cumin

Sea Salt

1. Using a sharp knife, cut corn from cob. Bring 4 quarts of salted water to a rapid boil; add corn and boil for 5 minutes. Drain and rinse with cool water. Allow to cool completely.

2. Toss completely cooled corn with tomatoes, red onion, cilantro, lime juice, olive and sea salt. Refrigerate for 2-3 hours before eating to allow flavors to marry. Will keep well for up to 2 days in a tightly lidded container.