The Heirloom Recipe Index exists to make your Grandma (or great uncle, or second cousin on your mother's side) a superstar and preserve their kitchen legacy.
Bruce Williams of Bethany, Missouri, could always count on his grandmother, Inez Andrick, for good eatin' - from cookies to pies to fried chicken. "It probably won't be fit to eat,” Grandma Andrick would always say before she served up a meal. She was a modest, Midwestern woman after all.
Inez Deshler Andrick was born March 1, 1897, near the small community of Brooklyn, Missouri. She went to school in a one-room school and only completed up to eighth grade. She was a housewife her entire life: raising two children, John R. and Kathleen, with her husband John. Kathleen was Bruce Williams's mother.
5@5 is a daily, food-related list from chefs, writers, political pundits, musicians, actors, and all manner of opinionated people from around the globe.
We asked our readers about their biggest restaurant pet peeves - now, we're turning to one of the hospitality pros for his say.
Danny and his team have earned an astounding 21 James Beard Foundation Awards, including: Outstanding Restaurateur; Outstanding Service; and Outstanding Wine Service among others.
Food in the Field gives a sneak peek into what CNN's team is eating as they travel the globe. Today's contributor, Mark Hill, is the Director of Photography for Turner Broadcasting System, Inc. He is based in Atlanta, Georgia.
In May of this year, CNN International asked me to go to the United Arab Emirates to shoot some photography for their news bureau. Since I haven’t been to that region in ages, I jumped at the chance. Two long international flights later - one detouring around Iceland’s volcanic ash cloud - I was in Abu Dhabi.
The next morning was a quiet one filled with meetings and location scouting. I hired a driver so I could get some generic shots of key sites in the city. But first, I wanted a good meal. The driver assured me he knew the perfect spot and after a hot drive through the congested city I found myself at the entrance of a Subway sandwich shop. Once I stopped laughing, I explained I wanted authentic food: local grub, real regional fare. “Oh, Arabic food is what you want,” he exclaimed, as if to say, “why didn't you just say so?”
Off we went.
Down South, it's not breakfast without flaky, fluffy lard biscuits born of a cast-iron skillet. They are more than just morning fare; they're time machines that transport some of us back to years far leaner.
My old man was a Baptist preacher's kid, during the Great Depression. He grew up poor.
He had an enormous appetite, and enjoyed all kind of new and exotic foods. I like to think of him as a sort of proto-foodie. He would always clean his plate and proudly slap me on the back when I was able to inhale everything served to me and still ask for seconds. It wasn't until I was older that I understood that when you go to bed hungry as a kid, you grow up making sure you eat every single morsel presented to you. Because you never know when it's not going to be there.
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