Read White Jacket Required Online
Authors: Jenna Weber
White Jacket Required (20 page)
Serves 4
Although this dish was traditionally served for breakast to shrimpers coming into shore after long weeks out at sea, it's one of my favorite comfort foods for dinners. Look for applewood-smoked bacon, or ask your butcher to cut your bacon extra thick.
¾ cup stone-ground grits (dry)
12 slices bacon (preferably applewood smoked)
2 tablespoons diced leeks
½ onion, chopped
1 green pepper, diced
1½ pounds medium to large shrimp, peeled and deveined
¼ cup white wine
2 cups half-and-half
Salt and pepper to taste
Chopped green onion for garnish
Hot sauce
Cook the grits according to package directions. Remove from heat but keep covered on the stove while you prepare other ingredients.
In a cast-iron skillet over medium heat, fry the bacon. When bacon is crispy, remove from skillet and crumble onto a small plate. Add leeks, onion, and green pepper to the hot bacon grease and cook over medium high heat until soft and translucent. Add shrimp and sauté for about a minute or so, until they turn pink (be careful not to overcook!).
Remove shrimp from skillet. Add white wine to deglaze, then stir in half-and-half and bring mixture to a simmer. Continue to simmer sauce until it starts to thicken, about 2 minutes. Add shrimp to sauce and season with salt and pepper.
Divide cooked grits among four bowls. Ladle shrimp and sauce over grits. Sprinkle with chopped green onions to garnish and serve with plenty of hot sauce.
Makes about 2 dozen cookies
A Charleston classic, these sesame seed cookies are both simple and elegant. They are perfect for an afternoon snack with a cup of herbal tea.
½ cup sesame seeds
1 stick (8 tablespoons) butter, softened
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
2 eggs
1½ cups flour
¼ teaspoons baking powder
Preheat the oven to 350° F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
Toast sesame seeds on a baking sheet for about 5 minutes, shaking occasionally, until golden.
In a bowl, cream together butter and brown sugar. Add eggs, one at a time, and then add flour and baking powder. Fold in sesame seeds.
Using an ice cream scoop or spoon, scoop out large balls of dough onto lined baking sheets.
Bake for 15 minutes, or until bottoms of cookies are golden.
I
WAS NOT READY TO LEAVE CHARLESTON. GOING HOME AND
once again facing my brother's empty room was almost too great a burden to bear. On my short trip, I found that I really didn't miss anything at home. I was ready to get away for good, to spread my wings and start over. But of course I couldn't hide out in Charleston forever, and so I cried as I crossed the bridge leading back over to West Ashley and away from the marsh and salt air that my body craved. I made my way back down through the Lowcountry, through Georgia and the Florida panhandle, watching through oversized sunglasses as the black asphalt spun beneath the car, bringing me closer to home. I debated listening to the audio book that I had purchased for the returning leg of my journey but decided instead to drive mostly in silence with my own thoughts. I already missed Charleston and kept feeling the urge to pull a U-turn in the middle of the highway and head back north.
I finally made it to Tampa later that evening and headed to Rob's apartment, where I had been staying since the accident.
“How was it?” he asked over a glass of wine as I unpacked my suitcase, sand from the beach falling out of it and onto the wood floor.
“Great,” I responded. “So good to get away and be with Christie again . . . it felt like going home.” I winced after I said this, because with him, in Tampa, was supposed to be my home. The home I had been planning on coming back to for years, while I was away in college, in France, and at culinary school. How is it that nothing ever feels the way you expect it to feel? Sometimes, the anticipation of a place is better than the reality. When I looked up, I realized Rob was staring at me and once again, I had been lost in my own deep thoughts.
“Sorry I'm not more talkative, I'm just exhausted right now. Christie and I stayed up late last night, and then driving all day today . . . ”
“You and Christie are quite the pair! I hope y'all didn't get in too much trouble together,” Rob said with a smile.
I leaned over and kissed his cheek and told him I was going to go take a bath and write for a little while in bed. I closed the bathroom door gently and immediately started to cry on the other side, pressing a cool washcloth to my face in an effort to hide the splotches that soon appeared on my cheeks. Soon, however, the tears became more of a silent heaving sob and I ran water in the tub, sat down in it, and drew my knees up close to my chest as I cried. Thoughts of my brother's death led to more dark thoughts; I just missed him so much.
“Jenna? Are you okay?” Rob's voice appeared on the other side of the door, and I realized I had been sitting in the bathtub for an hour. The water was now cool, my fingers wrinkled and pruned. I stood up and let the water fall off me, making little puddles on the floor.
“Yep, I'm fine! I must have fallen asleep in the bath. Hang on a sec.” I wrapped a towel tightly around me, wiped my face, and opened the door.
“I thought I heard you crying. Were you crying in there?” he asked, his face showing concern.
“Oh, no. I'm fine. I'm really just exhausted right now, so I think I'm going to head to bed. Good night.” I got in bed, fell asleep quickly, and, for the first time in a long time, did not dream.
The next day Rob emailed me from work, telling me about an amazing job listing he'd seen. At the moment I got the email, I was sitting in the condo and wondering how in the world I was going to make a living. The days were getting longer and I spent them cooking at home, answering blog emails, and sitting in front of my laptop, on
Monster.com
, just waiting for something to happen.
The dream job was for a position blogging about wine out in Sonoma Countyâit might as well have been a different country. I'd never been to California before, and the distance and foreignness of the state allured me more than anything else. I knew I needed a change, something totally different. I was flailing in Tampa; everything about home reminded me of my brother. I would have dreams that he was drowning in the pool and I couldn't save him. I tortured myself with memories and ate way too much banana bread in the process. The sound of sirens set off panic attacks in the middle of the night.
So, when Rob's email came in that Tuesday morning in May, I stared at the computer screen for a few minutes and then headed over to my parents' house to have my mom record my video application. Later I would look back and cringe that I hadn't spent more time thinking about my application before making it, but when I set my mind to something there's no stopping me.
We recorded the video, with me reading cue cards and dressed up in a chef's uniform (don't ask me what I was thinking), and then ate enormous Greek salads as I called my dad and told him about the position. I stabbed iceberg lettuce and wedges of salty feta on my fork as I explained the details to my dad. And then I basically forgot about the whole thing, writing it off as a one-in-a-million chance that anything would ever actually happen.
You can imagine my surprise when, only a few weeks later, I got an email from the winery, telling me I had a preliminary phone interview. I was so nervous on the phone that I said some things I shouldn't haveâI think I even blurted out that in general I really don't like California Chardonnayâbut for some reason it didn't throw me out of the running. In fact, to my even further surprise, I went on to make the cut for the top fifty and, later, the final top ten.
When I found out, I was standing in my kitchen and screamed out loud. The first call I made was to my dad; neither of us could believe it. In only a week and a half I would be jetting off to wine country for a weekend-long final interview (which would basically double as a paid vacation). Regardless of whether or not I got the dream job, I knew I was meant to go to California for this interview. Something in me was just one hundred percent certain that the trip was going to change my life. True, I was scared out of my mind, but I was also filled with the excitement of the unknown.
In the days preceding my trip, I practiced a lot of yoga and ate comforting foods to calm my nerves. Whenever I'm stressed, I automatically turn to yoga and bakingâespecially bread making. Kneading the dough, digging my hands into a raw life force, always gives me comfort and ease. I think that's why I took to baking in the first place.
And so, still brokenhearted and filled with loss and ache, I kissed Rob good-bye and boarded a plane for San Francisco.
Makes about 30 rolls
There's nothing quite as rewarding as making homemade bread, potato rolls especially! These are the fluffiest rolls I've ever tried. Serve them warm with honey and butter. They are best eaten the same day they are baked.
1 large russet potato
1 package (¼ ounce) dry yeast
¼ cup warm water (about 100
°
F)
2 eggs
â
cup sugar, divided
4½ cups flour, divided
1 teaspoon salt
1 stick (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 egg plus 1 tablespoon warm water for egg wash
Bring a large pot of water to a boil on the stove. Peel potato, cut into uniform chunks, and cook for about 20 minutes until tender. Drain potato and transfer to a large bowl. Mash with a fork or potato masher.
Dissolve yeast in the warm water. Add eggs and
â
cup sugar to the mashed potatoes, then add the yeast/water mixture. Mix well to combine.
Add 2 cups of the flour and the salt to the potato mixture and mix with a wooden spoon until a wet, shaggy dough forms. Place a dishcloth over the bowl and set bowl in a warm spot (I use the top of the dryer) to rise for 1½ hours.
Beat the softened butter and the remaining
â
cup sugar in a stand mixer until smooth and creamy. Add risen dough and continue to beat with paddle attachment (or dough hook if you have one), adding the remaining 2½ cups flour slowly, until all flour has been incorporated and dough is pulling away from sides of mixer bowl. Keep mixing on high for 6 more minutes, until dough is no longer sticky to the touch (it will still stick to the sides of the bowl). Spray a large, clean bowl with cooking spray and place dough in it. Cover and let dough rise for another hour, until doubled in size.
Butter a 13- by 9-inch pan. Divide dough into about 30 small balls and place in dish. Cover and let rise (one last time!) for 45 minutes.
Preheat oven to 375°F.
Whisk egg and warm water. Brush rolls with egg wash and bake until golden, 35 minutes.
Serves 6
Maybe it's the salty olives or feta cheese, but every so often I just have to make this salad. It's also delicious with grilled chicken pieces, chopped rotisserie chicken, or grilled shrimp on top!
½ red onion, sliced
½ cup pitted kalamata olives
1 can artichoke hearts
1 large cucumber, peeled and chopped
6 ounces cubed feta cheese
4 large basil leaves, torn
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 teaspoon dried oregano
½ teaspoon sea salt
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
In a large bowl, toss together all ingredients. Transfer to the refrigerator and let marinate for at least an hour before serving.
S
TANDING ALONE IN THE AIRPORT, AFTER THE FIRST CROSS
-country flight of my life, I heard my name echo over the baggage-claim intercom. “Jenna Weber,” a nasal voice said, pronouncing my name
Wee-ber
instead of
Weh-ber,
“please meet your party at carousel number seven.” I whirled around and came face to face with a college-age, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy wearing jeans and a red polo shirt. He was completely loaded down with fancy camera equipment and looked like he had just stepped out of either a fraternity house or an Abercrombie & Fitch photo shoot.
“Hey, I'm Rocky Slaughter,” he said with a grin and extended his hand.
“I'm Jenna,” I responded. “Is Rocky a nickname?”
Rocky laughed. “Nope! It's one hundred percent legit. I'm going to be the president someday.”
“Oh really? Well, I'll watch out for you then. Wow, that's a ton of gear you have there!” I said, pointing at his stuffed camera bag and suitcase.
“Yeah, well, I wasn't sure what exactly to bring so I just brought it all! I'm most excited about this, though,” Rocky said, holding up a briefcase with the words “Murphy-Goode Box of Tricks” written on the front. “I had all these ideas back in Boston, and I thought even if I'm not the person chosen for the job, these things would benefit someone!”
His enthusiasm was contagious, and I felt suddenly overcome with giddiness. I was out of my shell, out of that condo, and out of Tampa. California was someplace entirely new and seemed to be a place where anything could be made possible.
Murphy-Goode had a car and driver waiting for us, and Rocky and I chatted the whole way up to wine country. I stared out the window in awe as we crossed over the Golden Gate Bridge and over the rolling hills that separated the bay from the ocean. When we finally arrived at our destination, in the town of Healdsburg, we checked into the posh Hotel Healdsburg on the square and took in our surroundings. Healdsburg was cute and quaint, with ivy-covered buildings, cafés that opened up into the street, and a big park with shady trees and benches. In the hotel lobby, I ran into a few of the other finalists, who were checking in as well.