cornbread

In San Diego, there’s a great restaurant where “the kids” go to have what they affectionately term, “Pizookie Parties”. The kids are some of the students from the high school where I was formerly employed, and the “restaurant” is actually a brewery, so I’m hopeful that they’re really having parties filled with Pizookies and not something else.

You are, aren’t you, boys?

“What’s a Pizookie?” you ask. So glad you want to know. A Pizookie is a cross between a pizza and a cookie. It’s a pizza-cookie. It’s a Pizookie!

See how they did that? Clever, huh?

A Pizookie Party would include a trip to this particular location for the purpose of partaking of, um, the Pizookies. There’s no code.

Since I’m not in Kansas (San Diego) anymore, and since my punk nephew with the one-dimpled face had a birthday recently, I thought I’d make my own Pizookie Party for him.

And so we did. Only ours was Southern-style. Instead of fancy, metal, San Diego pans, we used small cast-iron skillets, just like the ones in which we make cornbread. Only smaller. The cookie skillets were about six inches across. The cornbread skillet’s about ten inches across. Oh, and my pineapple-upside-down-cake skillet (the same one I make chicken fried steak in) is about twelve inches across.

I just got hungry all of a sudden. Maybe my sugar’s low. That’s a problem best fixed with a cake ball, for which I’ve yet to acquire the appropriate cast-iron skillet. But I’m on the lookout.

Anywho, we had four of these little skillets, so we made four types of Pizookies.

Snickerdoodle. This is the one in which The Bubbe wanted his candles (above).

Peanut Butter. This is the one into which the Diva dug with all her might. Homegirl’s got mad Pizookie-eating skills.

Oatmeal Raisin. This one may or may not be my favorite, which may or may not explain why I zoomed in so closely with the camera. I may or may not have been taking this picture with one hand while simultaneously holding my spoon in the other, waiting to pounce.

Chocolate Chip. My father may or may not have eaten his weight in this one.

A more noble and loving auntie would have made each of the four cookies from scratch. However, this auntie’s nights had recently been taken up with this.

And the baby wasn’t the only one who was worn out from the stress of it all.

Therefore, we just ran right down to our neighborhood Kroger and bought cookie dough, pressed it in the skillets, stuck them in the oven at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes, and disposed of the evidence before anybody knew what was happening.

The Diva ain’t the only one with mad skills. She may or may not get them from her mother who may or may not get them from her mother.

I can neither confirm nor deny.

Besides, they got et (that’s eaten to you non-Southerners).

Dump a scoop of ice cream on the top of each of them, throw some spoons out, put the Pizookies in the middle of the table, and watch your fingers. It’s a feeding frenzy.

Great Whites on the idiot in the cage ain’t got nothin’ on people around Pizookies.

And, while it’s true that I was not able to find the time to make, from scratch, birthday Pizookies, rest assured, friends and gracious readers, that I did ~~find~~ make the time to locate, purchase, transport, assemble, and test out the perfect birthday gift for a six-year-old boy.

My sister’s thanking me every chance she gets. She couldn’t possibly be more welcome. Payback for the make-up and nail polish she bought the Diva the year she turned three, before my sister had any children, is a killer.

Auntie-of-the-year,

AinW

I once was approached by a Mexican woman with whom Big Daddy (aka My Wonderful Husband) works. She wanted a pan of my homemade, Southern cornbread and was willing to trade homemade tamales for them.

No brainer.

She got the raw end of the deal, as this is about the easiest thing in the world to make. Besides Southern Pecan Pie.

I got the tamales.

Take my advice and ditch the boxed stuff. Who knows? You might get free tamales out of the deal.

Here’s what you need to get started:

1 1/2 cups of self-rising corn meal (This is not as easy to find in SoCal as it is in my homeland of TN; however, it is in the Foods of the World section of my local Albertson’s grocery store. There’s a section labeled “Southern” on the same aisle as foods from India, Asia, Italy, and Jewish foods. No joke. I can’t make this stuff up.)

2 Tbls. self-rising flour

2 eggs

oil (enough to coat the bottom of your cast-iron skillet)

Oh, and 1 cup of buttermilk

The date on mine was suspect, but I gave it the official, very scientific smell test. We’re good.

I’ve heard that, if you’re out of buttermilk, you can substitute 1 cup of regular milk mixed with 1 Tbsp. vinegar. Let it sit for 5 minutes before you move on. My Mammaw does it, and her stuff always tastes amazing!

When I’m out, I just ask Big Daddy to run down to the store. He’s sweet that way.

No, cornbread does not have sugar in it. Unless you are from the Carolinas. Or are a Communist.

In Tennessee, cornbread with sugar in it is called…cake.

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

Coat the bottom of the skillet with some oil.

Put it in the hot oven and let the skillet and oil heat up while you mix up the rest. The hot oil will cause the cornbread to crisp on the outside, while staying nice and moist and yummy inside.

Next, mix the cornmeal, flour, eggs, and buttermilk together in a mixing bowl. Pick a bowl that can, later, take the heat of the hot oil. The mix should look about like this:

This next part requires some care. Hot oil and skin do NOT mix.

After the oil has been in the oven about 5 minutes or so, take the skillet out of the oven and pour the hot oil into the cornmeal mix.

Hear the sizzle? That’s greasy goodness coming to your senses!

Stir the mixture CAREFULLY (please don’t slosh any hot grease out onto yourself like I did while I was taking these pics!), and return to the hot skillet.

Spread evenly across the bottom of the skillet.

Place the skillet back in the oven and bake for about 8 minutes.

Maybe eat some Girl Scout Thin Mints while you wait.

I’m not saying I did. I’m just saying it’s an option.

When it’s done, it should look like this:

Yes, it still looks white on the top. Look closely. It’s brown around the outer edges and cracking on the top.

If it doesn’t yet look like this, put it back in the oven for 2 more minutes. Perhaps another Thin Mint? I won’t tell. By then, you should be good.

Now, move the rack to the top and turn on the broiler. Broil the bread to brown it on top. When it’s done, it should look like this:

Have you ever seen anything more beautiful in all your born days? Feels like home at the end of a long day.

Now comes the tricky part.

Put a plate on top of the bread and flip it.

Cut it into 8, equal parts. Like a pie. Or, better yet, don’t tell anyone you made it and eat it all yourself.

This tastes great with most anything, but goes especially well with beans, like pintos. And butter. Natch. Big Daddy says it tastes better in the beans.