The greats defined—and ham

The title likely doesn’t mean what you think it means—because I suspect most of you suppose that I’m aiming to cook in the tradition of great chefs. I’m sure they’re awesome at what they do, but I don’t want to cook like they do. Personally, I don’t give a rat’s behind whether my plate itself is warmed, or the presentation visually balanced and aesthetically pleasing to the diner. I care about the food on the plate. 

And I’m cheap. Really cheap. Did I mention that? And I detest waste of any kind, but especially food waste. It makes me ill. People are starving all over the world, and we’re throwing stuff away because it’s “past the date,” whatever that means. 

So, what does the title of this blog mean? It means cooking like your great-grandparents. If you never knew them, if your family tends to give birth at ridiculously young ages, or if you’re a child yet still enjoy food-related blogs, then the type of cooking here might not realistically represent what your great-grandparents did in the kitchen. But I’m hoping you’ll be able to overlook that potential shortcoming, and learn to find satisfaction with your resourcefulness and efficiency in food prep.

(NOTE: I tried to make this idea into a youtube channel first. My son was my producer. It failed miserably. I am many things, but I am not a strong, attractive presence onscreen. So. There it is. I promise, based on that sad experience, that I will never show my face here if I can help it.) 

The type of cooking I do was born out of necessity, out of stretching a dollar or two into several meals. Since many greats were Depression-era survivors, they were quite familiar with stretching everything in order to get the most use possible. These people collected items for the war effort, dealt with rationed meat and gasoline, and saved their used aluminum foil, for crying out loud—they were the original recyclers. And they also knew how to get along with less; they could find clever substitutes, not just in the kitchen but everywhere. They got very creative in order to solve problems—they knew how to make do. (Don’t steal that, by the way; that’s my epitaph. Mine.) It only makes sense to think the same way they did when you’re in the kitchen. 

Even if you’re wealthy beyond compare, it still makes sense to be efficient with food. My former boss had a great old WWII era poster in his office that said, “Food is a weapon; eat it all!” That sentiment has resonated with me ever since. Sadly, wartime shouldn’t be necessary in order for us to use our resources wisely. But, there it is. And if you’re not wealthy? Well then, my friend, cooking like your great-grandparents did will yield you more meals for your dollar, and you’ll never have to face the guilt of throwing away uneaten food. Which should, in my opinion, be a punishable crime. However, I may or may not have some issues… so, let’s move on.

I am fascinated by how the food climate in America has changed dramatically in the past 50–60 years. There are other, better authors who can teach you all about that, if you care. See my ethical foodie book list. What I want to focus on here, in this blog, is how to use as much of the food you bring into your home as possible. It might mean that you shop differently, and I think that’s a good thing. You likely will spend less money when you begin cooking like the greats. And who wouldn’t like spending less and using more?

So, to begin, we recently celebrated Easter in this house. For many families, Easter means ham… which leads to leftover ham. Never, ever throw away ham leftovers. Ham has many friends! Among the closest pals are bread, potatoes, and beans. So, remaining ham? Leftover bread, even Paska bread? No worries—here is how to repurpose those wonders. 

FRITTATA 

This is not a true frittata, which would start cooking on stovetop and finish in the oven. This variation is a mishmash of many recipes I’ve tried over the years. (I stopped relying on recipes years ago. As I repeatedly told another former boss, “The recipe is merely a suggestion.” I stand by that statement.)  

Take your leftover ham and cube it up. Set it aside. Then, rip the leftover bread into pieces (or cut it with a knife, if you’re anal like that). Find a casserole dish of some kind and either take a stick of butter and rub it around the interior, or spray Pam or something of that ilk into the dish. Then, lay the bread pieces in until you’ve pretty much obscured the bottom of the dish. Let ‘em sit there. 

Now, find some leftover vegetable: onion, celery, spinach, peas, whatev—be creative. Broccoli, even, if you like those little trees. Precook it in your preferred way; I’m a sauté girl, myself. You steamers, go to it—it’s up to you. When done cooking the veg, add in the pieces of ham, and set that aside. 

At this point, you’ll need to find some milk (or cream, or half-n-half, or buttermilk, or cottage cheese…) The only requirements are that it be dairy, and somewhat pour-able. Put that in a big measuring cup, and add an egg or two. Mix it all together nicely. If you salt and pepper everything, pinch in a bit of those as well.

OK—take your casserole dish of bread pieces, and sprinkle/lay/pour your veg-n-ham pieces over them. Then, pour the dairy mixture with egg over top, slowly. If halfway through the pour, you can see your dairy mixture isn’t going to come up over the bread, then add more milk or whatever you used to the measuring cup, mix again, and resume pouring. The bread, plus a bit of veg at least, need to be submerged. If you’re a cheese fanatic like I am, you’ll sprinkle some on top of the pour—because why not? If you like bread or cracker crumbs, Panko, etc. then top the beast with that. Stale butter crackers? Crumb ‘em and add ‘em!

Finally, cover the whole thing with a piece of aluminum foil (new or old, doesn’t matter) and put it in the fridge overnight. Wait—I forgot—that’s a huge aspect of cooking like your greats. You have to spend actual time in your home, let alone your kitchen—time to think about what you’re doing, and then time to check on the masterpiece as it cooks. In my opinion, we spend waaaaaaay too much time running around mindlessly, trying to keep ourselves and our kids busy so we don’t stand out in this frenetic society… but that’s a different blog altogether.

You can bake the leftover-not-a-frittata the next day, after you let it come to room temperature. 350 F should work, for about 30–40 minutes. If your dish is big and rectangular, go longer; if it’s round or square, go shorter. Keep the foil on if you don’t like crusty tops, and if you’re crusty then take it off. Save and reuse the foil if you want! Bake this thing the way you like, barely jiggly or (my recommendation) firm and slightly browned. Eat it, share it, freeze it.

My bolded point above is sort of the hinge upon which this whole mindset swings. Our greats likely spent more time at home. There just weren’t that many places to go, and getting there was a lot more complicated than it is nowadays. Cooking like the greats doesn’t mean you never go anywhere; it means, to me, that you are home more often to check in with slower cooking projects. This type of cooking is not labor-intensive, truly—in fact, I’m a lazy cook and I’d say it’s easier than following a strict recipe on any given day of the week. But it does involve you at key points in the process. Can you still pull out a slow cooker? Of course you can. The point is simply to use all the food, because it is a weapon of sorts, albeit perhaps part of your personal financial arsenal these days… 

This isn’t just a way of cooking, obviously. It’s a way of life, a way that’s dying and that I personally mourn. We’ve lost our way in a sea of luxury, convenience, and disposable everything… We need to recalibrate. Tech can’t save us if we’ve forgotten basic reasoning and problem-solving skills. 

Still reading? Congratulations!!! Welcome to my weird, frugal little kitchen! So glad you stayed with me! Now it’s your turn: leave me comments with leftover foods that stump you. I’ll tell you what I’d do with them! Heck, if I’m really good, I’ll figure out how to use all your weird leftovers TOGETHER. Can I do it? Let’s see!