Mrs. Mosal’s White Fruitcake and Boiled Custard. (Rinne Allen)
In the foreword to “The Jackson Cookbook” (1971), Eudora Welty wrote that each Christmas she baked a white fruitcake from a recipe her mother had gotten from a friend.
“What took me so long to bake Mrs. Mosal’s fruitcake?” I wondered, as I chopped the candied cherries and pecans and reached to the back of the cabinet for the bottle of whiskey. I have adapted the recipe only slightly, keeping the red and green cherries but using fewer of them. What you get is a lovely and festive fruitcake drenched in bourbon, and after one bite, it will change your mind about fruitcake. Slice and serve with boiled custard.
Fruitcake has many faces. In “Mrs. Porter’s New Southern Cookery-Book” (1871), Mary Elizabeth Porter mentions several kinds of fruitcakes: light (white), like this one, or dark (black), as well as Yankee (with butter and white sugar) or Confederate (with lard and molasses). Sally White fruitcake has coconut and almonds, and Japanese fruit cake isn’t really a fruitcake at all but more of a unique layer cake with a citrus and coconut filling popular in the Deep South.
Fruitcake making was once an annual affair, just like winterizing your house or putting chains on the tires of the car to prepare for snow days ahead. If baked and soaked in bourbon at Thanksgiving, the fruitcake would be ready for slicing by Christmas.
Plan ahead: Bake this cake several days to weeks before serving so it can soak in the liquor.
Prep Time: 40 to 45 minutes Bake Time: About 2 hours
Serves 8 to 10
Soft butter and flour for prepping the pan (see Note)
1 pound mixed dried fruit of your choice (currants, raisins, dried apricots, dried cherries, or red and green candied cherries)
2 cups (228 grams) pecan halves or chopped pecans
2 cups (240 grams) all-purpose flour, divided
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks/170 grams) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (200 grams) granulated sugar
3 large eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 cup bourbon or brandy, plus more for soaking the cake
Heat the oven to 250°F, with a rack in the middle. Grease and flour a 9-by-5-inch loaf pan.
Chop the fruit into small, uniform pieces, 1/4 to 1/2 inch in size. Place in a small bowl. Chop the pecans into the same size pieces and place in a separate bowl. Toss the fruit with 1/2 cup of the flour. Set aside.
Place the butter and sugar in a large bowl and beat with an electric mixer on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl. With the machine running, add the eggs, one at a time, and beat on low until incorporated. Add the vanilla and beat until blended.
Whisk the baking powder and nutmeg into the remaining 1 1/2 cups flour. Add the flour mixture alternately with the bourbon or brandy to the butter mixture, mixing on low until just blended. Fold in the fruit and pecans. Turn into the prepared pan.
Bake until the cake is firm and very lightly brown, about 2 hours. The interior temperature should be 200°F on an instant-read thermometer. Remove from the oven and, while hot, drizzle over additional bourbon or brandy. Let the cake cool in the pan for 30 minutes. Run a knife around the edges of the pan, then invert the cake once and then again so it cools right side up on the rack. Let cool completely before serving, about 1 hour.
To store, wrap in clean cheesecloth. Place in a metal tin and store covered in a cool place for up to a month. Each week, pour another 1/4 cup bourbon or brandy over the cake, if desired.
Note: Back when my mother and grandmother baked fruitcakes, they would grease the loaf or tube pans with butter and then line them with brown paper. I remember seeing the paper peeled off the sides of the baked fruitcake and my mother telling me it was to protect the cake from overbaking and keep the edges soft.
Eudora Welty (1909–2001), American novelist, wrote about small town life in the Mississippi delta, 1962. (Everett Collection Inc/Alamy Stock Photo)
Boiled Custard
I grew up with boiled custard on Christmas Eve, served in punch cups with fruitcake and pound cake. It was a Middle Tennessee holiday tradition, a gentler version of eggnog, and you can make it without any alcohol, as I am sure my Presbyterian grandmother did.
You’re not going to find it in every Southern cookbook because it is so regional. But you will find it in Tennessee and Mississippi cookbooks, and the recipe I settled on is from “Being Dead Is No Excuse” (2005) by Gayden Metcalfe and Charlotte Hays. They call it Bourbon Boiled Custard, but as I said, not everyone puts bourbon in it. But if they do, it’s gonna be good, especially with Mrs. Mosal’s White Fruitcake, baba au rhum, Christmas black cake, and festive cookies.
Prep: 20 to 25 minutes Cook: 10 to 14 minutes Chill: At least 4 hours
Serves 8
1 cup (200 grams) granulated sugar
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
4 large eggs
Big pinch of salt
3 cups whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/4 cup bourbon (optional)
Place the sugar and flour in a large, heavy saucepan or in the top of a double boiler (see Note). Whisk in the eggs and the salt until smooth.
Place the milk in a separate saucepan and bring to a simmer over medium heat, letting bubbles form around the edges of the pan, 3 to 4 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the cream.
Ladle 1/2 cup at a time of the warm milk mixture into the egg mixture and whisk to combine. Place the pan with the eggs over low heat or over simmering water in the double boiler. Stir with a flat spatula until the mixture creates steam and thickens enough to coat a spoon, 10 to 14 minutes, or 170 to 175°F on an instant-read thermometer.
Remove the pan from the heat and pour the custard into a glass bowl. Stir in the vanilla and bourbon, if desired. Place in the refrigerator to chill for at least 4 hours. Serve as a beverage in small cups or as a sauce.
Note: If you have a heavy copper pan for making sauces, it’s perfect for this recipe because it’s thick and will protect the eggs from heating too quickly. But if you do not, use a double boiler—or what’s known as a bain-marie—where you place a bowl or insert on top of a saucepan filled with simmering water.
The trick is to keep the water at a simmer, not a boil, and to make sure the water is not touching the bottom of the bowl or the insert holding the custard. It takes a little longer to thicken with the double boiler, but every pan and stove is different. You are looking for a just-thickened custard that coats the spoon. It will thicken more as it cools.
Recipe reprinted from “Baking in the American South: 200 Recipes and Their Untold Stories” by Anne Byrn. Copyright 2024 by Anne Byrn. Photographs 2024 by Rinne Allen. Used by permission of Harper Celebrate.
Anne Byrn is a best-selling cookbook author and the former food editor of The Atlanta Journal- Constitution and The Tennessean. (Draper James)
Southern baking, writes veteran cookbook author Anne Byrn, is “quite possibly the first and finest style of baking America has ever known.” She makes the case for it in her latest tome of a cookbook, “Baking in the American South: 200 Recipes and Their Untold Stories.”
A fifth-generation Southerner, Byrn looked far beyond her home state of Tennessee. She researched each of the 14 Southern states, interviewed locals, and dug into library archives to find the best recipes and stories, both present and past. “I took a big-picture, step-back look at the South and considered how railroads, poverty, isolation, slavery, migration, and many other factors affected what people baked,” she said. “It was an ongoing project for more than three years. It consumed me!”
(Rinne Allen)
There was also plenty of another kind of consumption: the rigorous testing and tweaking of historical recipes for modern home cooks. “What was considered delicious in the 1930s might seem spartan today,” she noted. Part of the challenge was finding modern equivalents for old ingredients and translating measurements—or lack thereof. “Grandmother likely had her own flour scoop and knew how she measured a cup, level or rounded, or possibly she didn’t measure at all!”
Her perseverance was rewarded. The final collection, which includes entire chapters on cornbreads and biscuits, and sweets from obscure regional pies to famous Christmas cakes, tells a story of Southern baking, tradition, and culture. The recipes’ stories are woven into the lives of generations of Americans. Byrn shared three gems just in time for the holiday season.
(Harper Celebrate)
How to Bake Like a Southern Grandmother
Anne Byrn shares five timeless tips from bakers past:
Repeat favorites, especially for the holidays. People remember recipes that are repeated annually. And grandmothers were good about that.
Bake with your senses, using touch and your sense of smell to determine if a cake is done.
Let little people comeinto the kitchen and watch and help.
Don’t scrimp on ingredients. I was told stories of baking during the war years and using precious white sugar. I was told about how people of Appalachia would save money to bake a cake to bring to a holiday supper. People have scrimped and saved in order to bake something nice for the people they love. You should, too.
Tell the story about the recipe. Pass on family stories so they will be remembered.
My Christmas Family Tradition
Byrn and her grown children have a Christmas tradition of getting together to decorate sugar cookies and take family photos, “the tackier the sweater or apron the better,” she said. Some details have changed over the years: “Our mugs of cocoa have gravitated to flutes of bubbly.” Others are constant: her grandmother’s crescent cookies, punch cups of boiled custard (an old-time Tennessee specialty), and freshly baked yeast and sweet rolls, all putting a Southern stamp on their festivities.
An Indonesian feast at cooking instructor Shandra Woworuntu’s
home in Queens, New York, including tofu and egg omelets, corn and shrimp fritters, and an
assortment of Indonesian crackers and candy. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
We arrive at Shandra Woworuntu’s home in Queens, New York, on a Sunday afternoon, six strangers on another stranger’s doorstep, buzzing with nervous excitement. At 1 p.m. sharp, the door cracks open to reveal a shy teenage boy with scruffy black hair, wearing a T-shirt and shorts. He ushers us inside. We slip off our shoes and make small talk in the hall. Then a woman’s—undoubtedly a mother’s—shrill command from somewhere above us summons our greeter upstairs—something about guests and chairs. As he bounds away, we exchange glances and chuckles. We know we’re in for something special.
We’ve come for a cooking class—but no starchy chef’s whites nor gleaming industrial stovetops await us here. Woworuntu is a proud member of the League of Kitchens, a cooking school unlike any other: Its instructors are immigrant grandmothers and mothers from around the world; its classrooms are the instructors’ homes across New York. Students can venture to Staten Island to learn Lebanese cooking; Brooklyn to break into Bangladeshi; and here, Queens, to indulge in Indonesian. Live online classes let home cooks around the world visit from afar.
Lisa Kyung Gross, who founded the school in 2014, was intentional about both the teachers and the setting.
The daughter of a Hungarian Jewish New Yorker father and Korean immigrant mother, Gross grew up eating traditional Korean dishes her grandmother cooked from scratch. But whenever she tried to help in the kitchen, she was shooed away by many a well-meaning immigrant parent’s refrain: “Don’t worry about cooking. Studying is more important,” her grandmother said.
She died before Gross could ask for her recipes.
Gross dreamt of finding another Korean grandmother to cook with in her home, to learn her family recipes—but then she thought, why stop at Korean?
Lisa Kyung Gross founded the League of Kitchens in 2014. (Kristen Teig)
She found two immigrant women, from Lebanon and Bangladesh, to teach cooking classes on their traditional cuisines. She envisioned an experience “that was not only about amazing cooking and eating, but also about creating an opportunity for meaningful cross-cultural learning, connection, and exchange,” she said.
She knew that she wanted her teachers to be home cooks, not restaurant chefs, because “in most places around the world, the fullest expression of a cuisine isn’t in a restaurant—it’s in the home,” she said. “Most culinary traditions have been oral traditions passed down between women in the home.”
She also wanted the classes to be held in those most intimate spaces. “When you see their cooking tools and how they store their spices, and you’re eating the food on their traditional dishware, being taught how you eat it, it’s such a deeper cultural experience,” she said.
For Gross, who’d felt disconnected from her own heritage, “it felt healing,” she said.
(Kristen Teig)
Kitchen Ambassadors
A decade in, the League of Kitchens has 14 instructors, from Argentinian to Uzbek. Gross’s requirements are rigorous. She estimates she’s interviewed 300 to 400 people and done 75 in-home cooking auditions to find their winning team.
“We’re really looking for people who are not only good home cooks, but exceptional home cooks,” she said. These are women who are known in their communities for their food, who “can cook for 40 people with their eyes closed,” and who possess deep knowledge of their traditional cuisine.
They are also, importantly, warm and dynamic teachers and hosts, passionate about sharing their stories with others.
I discover as much as we walk up the stairs of Woworuntu’s home and finally meet our host—as vibrant as the dazzling, multi-colored spread of food she’s already prepared. A “snack,” she says of the veritable meal, giggling.
Woworuntu is bubbly and high-spirited, punctuating most sentences with a joyful cackle of a laugh. She’s excited to introduce us to the rich and varied cuisine of Indonesia and its 17,000 islands. “Indonesia is not just Bali and Jakarta,” she says. Today we’re eating dishes from East Java, where she grew up. The people there love to party, she says, and the food matches their spirit. “You will experience spicy, salty, sour, sweet. All the flavors come together.”
As we dig in, we learn about each other: a married couple who lives in the neighborhood and wanted to try something new; a young UI/UX designer who loves to cook and is attending her third League of Kitchens class; a pair of newlyweds about to go to Indonesia for their honeymoon.
Woworuntu with one of her two backyard lime trees, from which she harvests both fragrant leaves and fruit. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
We also learn about Woworuntu and the dark story hidden behind her warm smile. After losing her job as a financial bank analyst and trader in Indonesia, she came to the United States in 2001 at age 25, thinking she was getting a job in hospitality. It was a trap: She was taken at the airport and sold into sex trafficking. She escaped—twice—and was instrumental in convicting her captors, only to spend the next three years living on the streets of New York. She’s since dedicated her life to giving trafficking survivors the support she didn’t have by founding a nonprofit, Mentari, through which she teaches cooking classes to help survivors find work. She traveled the world speaking and consulting with governments and NGOs, including as a member of the first U.S. Advisory Council on Human Trafficking in 2015.
“Cooking is my healing,” Woworuntu says. Food also played a role in helping other survivors. “I used to sit with the victims, give them tea, and talk, giving them food and getting to know them.” That opens up the conversation to dig “beneath the surface of this person,” she says.
She brings that philosophy to her classes, too.
“‘How do I become a blessing for people?’” she asks herself. “It [takes] courage to come to my table without knowing who I am, who will be [there]. Food is a platform for people to speak, to get connected, to share. I think it’s just amazing how they open up.”
Cultural Immersion
It helps that she is a generous teacher and animated storyteller, welcoming us into the fold of her family and culture. We meet her husband, Randy, a retired police officer, and her 17-year-old son, Nick, our greeter—and her (paid!) dishwasher and trusty assistant.
Woworuntu introduces ingredients paired with folklore and childhood stories, or expert kitchen tips. She measures garlic and shallots by handfuls—“how my mom and grandma taught me,” she says—and passes them into our hands so we can feel the weight. She lets us taste some truly special items: fragrant lime leaves and juicy white ginger from her backyard; smoked coconut sugar and kopi luwak (civet coffee) from recent travels to Indonesia. To help slice through a block of tamarind pulp for us to try, she swiftly brings a hammer down onto her chef’s knife, grinning all the while, until the dense, sticky fruit yields.
She’s also a blazing-fast cook. As we don our aprons, she bounces between showing us our next tasks, tending multiple pans on the stove, and putting out our fires (once nearly an actual one) without breaking a sweat.
A resourceful cook, Woworuntu uses a hammer to help her slice through a block of tamarind pulp prepared for her by her mother. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
We are far less dexterous. But our teacher is cheerful and encouraging, even when we cut the garlic the wrong way and spill gobs of half-cooked omelet onto her stove: “Don’t worry, don’t worry!” she sings, unfazed as the flames leap up from the oil.
We bond as we cook, cheering each other’s triumphant omelet flips and reaching over to save wobbly bowls from disaster.
“How many chiles should we add?” Woworuntu asks us, mixing batter for fritters. “Maybe 15?” We glance at each other, mumble unconvincing “Sure”s. “Ten, then,” she relents. We collectively exhale.
When we fall unprompted into an assembly line to roll and fill klepon, balls of pandan mochi stuffed with coconut sugar and rolled in coconut shavings, Woworuntu can’t stop giggling and snapping photos.
Three hours later, we finally sit down for our feast: corn and shrimp fritters, perfumed with lime leaf and fried to a golden crisp; cucumbers dipped in bumbu kacang, a sweet-and-savory peanut sauce I want to eat by the spoonful; and plate-sized egg and tofu omelets, loaded with bean sprouts, a second kind of peanut sauce, and fried shallots, all served with rice and crackers. For dessert, we’ve made caramelized bananas topped with condensed milk, chocolate sprinkles, and shredded mozzarella (don’t knock it ’til you try it); and the klepon, crowded on giant platters like snowball cookies in pastel green. A student remarks that she now understands why our welcome spread was a “snack.”
“I like to feed people,” Woworuntu later tells me. “Because my grandma used to feed people.” Her family owned several food businesses in Indonesia, and from a young age she learned to help cook traditional dishes for their many employees.
“I think I got it from family culture,” she continues. “They believe if you feed people, one day, if [your family’s future generation] needs food, someone will feed them.”
It extends beyond the table, too. “I think if you share kindness with other people, it’s contagious.”
Students assemble klepon, sweet rice cakes flavored with pandan and stuffed with coconut sugar. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
Breaking Bread, Building Bridges
Woworuntu sends us off with bursting stomachs, Tupperware full of leftovers, and yet more gifts: precious lime leaves and cucumbers from her garden, apples from her second home in upstate New York, and even an invitation to join her there on her next family escape.
For the newlyweds, she ducks into a room and emerges with a vibrant Indonesian fabric sash for the bride to wear on their trip. “Are you sure?” she asks, eyes wide. Yes, Woworuntu insists, pushing it into her hands and telling them to let her know if they need anything else. “We’ll text you,” the husband says with a smile.
Gross says these scenes are common at the end of classes. “Everyone’s hugging, everyone’s exchanging numbers, people feel that the instructors are like their new favorite auntie,” she said. “There’s something really magical that happens on an emotional level of connection.”
The friendships formed can last long after. Damira Inatullaeva, the Uzbek instructor, recalled one student who took an online class and mailed her a painting of hands making Uzbek dumplings. Another student decided to travel to Uzbekistan, and they met up in Inatullaeva’s hometown of Samarkand.
“Before the class,” Inatullaeva marveled, “many of my students didn’t even know what Uzbekistan was.”
After spending time in an instructor’s home, she said, “you will think that our world is very different, very colorful, [with] a lot of different tastes.”
She’s experienced that firsthand: She loves taking other League of Kitchens classes herself, as many instructors do.
“I love Nepali momos, I love Argentinian alfajores, I love Greek salad and spanakopita,” Inatullaeva said. Her favorite is New York pizza.
So while she’s proud of her heritage, she stops short of calling Uzbek cuisine the best. “All the cuisines of the world, they are unique. I discovered that here in New York,” she said.
Uzbekistan kebab. (Kristen Teig)
She recalled that when she first came to the United States, she resolved not to cook Uzbek food—only “American food.”After 10 years in America—nine of which she’s spent teaching for the League of Kitchens—she’s revised her resolution.
“I want my Uzbek cuisine to also be part of American cuisine,” she said. “This is my dream.”
The rich tapestry that is America continues to be woven; Gross sees that as something to champion. “Our instructors, they are representatives of their cultures, but they’re also New Yorkers. They’re Americans,” she said. “They value very deeply preserving their traditions and recipes, but they also go out to eat Thai food, and love pizza, and cook varied cuisines in their homes. They interact with other people from other cultures, their lives are rich with many cultures, and the best things coexist.”
For Gross, fostering these cross-cultural connections is the most powerful part of the League of Kitchens.
“All the time we hear from students who say, ‘This part of the world that felt abstract and distant now feels personal and meaningful,’” she said.
“That is the great hope of what we do: create peace and love and connection between people who are different, through storytelling, through sharing, through food.”
Get Cooking
The League of Kitchens offers cooking workshops in-person in the New York area (2.5 hours for $175, 4.5 hours for $220) and online (2.5 hours, $60 per device). In-person classes include a welcome snack or lunch, hands-on cooking instruction, and a shared meal. Online classes include live, interactive cooking instruction and a virtual dinner party; a list of ingredients and equipment is provided in advance. All students receive a packet of the instructor’s family recipes and background information. LeagueOfKitchens.com
For a kitchen companion to keep closer at hand, Lisa Kyung Gross and the school’s instructors have published “The League of Kitchens Cookbook: Brilliant Tips, Secret Methods, and Favorite Family Recipes From Around the World” (November 2024). Gross’s warm encouragement guides readers through recipes detailed enough to be mini cooking lessons, while instructor profiles and anecdotes add deeper meaning to every dish.
Lisa Gross (center, in green) with the instructors of the League of Kitchens. (Kristen Teig)
Kitchen Secrets
For Lisa Kyung Gross, running the League of Kitchens has been “the best culinary school you could imagine,” she said. She shared some of her top takeaways from their instructors.
Use the best ingredients you can get. “Your food will only taste as good as the quality of your ingredients,” Gross said. Many instructors emphasize using in-season produce and shop at several different places to get exactly what they want.
Freshly toast and grind your own spices. Gross has noticed this makes an especially big difference in flavor for cumin and coriander. She recommends toasting the seeds in a completely dry pan over the lowest heat possible until they’re aromatic and crisp (cumin should be easily broken with a fingernail; coriander should almost shatter between your molars). Let them cool to room temperature before grinding in a spice mill or coffee grinder (one not used for coffee).
Pay attention to the little things. Here lies the difference between “good food and great food,” Gross said: the nuances and tricks that come naturally to a home cook with years of experience. Removing the seeds from grape tomatoes prevents watery guacamole; the contrast between paper-thin red onions and bigger-than-you’d-think tomato wedges makes an ultra-satisfying Greek salad; breaking down chicken into smaller-than-you’d-think pieces exposes more bone marrow and lends extra flavor to an Afghan curry. The delicious is in the details.
Cook with love. Every instructor prescribes this most important ingredient. This means “cooking with intention, with attention, with care,” Gross said. “If you’re grumpy, don’t cook,” added Shandra Woworuntu. “You have to be kind to the food.” For Damira Inatullaeva, it was her grandmother’s most important kitchen advice: “Don’t forget to think good thoughts about the people for whom you’re cooking.”
The children tell me that they could eat this every day, so it’s something we have at least weekly, even in the heat of the summer. This is a much lighter variation of beef pho, and my mother’s secret is to always have some black cardamom on hand. If you were out of all your spices, this is truly the only one you would need for a good bowl of pho ga. I also use dried jujubes and daikon for a natural and medicinal sweetener.
You can substitute zucchini noodles or homemade tagliatelle for the rice noodles. For increased nutrient density and an extra crunch without affecting the flavor profile of the soup, I quickly blanch some bok choy and cut it up for the family to enjoy.
Serves 4 to 6
For the Soup
10 cups spring water, or more as needed
1/2 daikon, peeled and quartered (optional)
10 dried jujube apples or 1 (4-ounce) Fuji apple
1 (4- to 5-pound) pasture-raised chicken
5 star anise pods
3 whole cloves
1 cinnamon stick
2 tablespoons (36 g) black cardamom seeds
1 tablespoon coriander seeds
1 tablespoon fennel seeds
1 large onion, halved
1 (4-inch) piece fresh ginger, halved
1 tablespoon sea salt
5 tablespoons fish sauce or fermented anchovy sauce
3 tablespoons maple sugar or coconut sugar (optional)
1/2 small yellow or red onion, very thinly sliced, or pickled red onions
4 to 6 Thai basil sprigs
4 to 6 mint sprigs
Bean sprouts
Lime wedges
Fresh Vietnamese culantro or sawtooth (optional)
Bird’s eye chiles, sliced (optional)
Hoisin sauce
Sriracha or sambal oelek
In a large pot, combine the water, daikon (if using), and jujube apples and bring to a boil. Add the chicken, plus more water if needed to cover the chicken, and return to a boil.
Meanwhile, in a small skillet, combine the star anise, cloves, cinnamon, black cardamom seeds, coriander seeds, and fennel seeds and toast over high heat for 3 to 4 minutes. Transfer the toasted spices to a spice bag or tea strainer. (Alternatively, you can put the spices directly in the pot of broth and strain them out before serving.)
To char the onion and ginger, turn a gas stove burner to high heat or a grill to medium-high. Using tongs, carefully place the onion and ginger directly on the burner or grill grates. Allow them to cook undisturbed for a few minutes, until the bottom is charred and blackened. Use the tongs to flip the onion and ginger to char the other side. Once charred, remove the onion and ginger from the heat and allow to cool slightly. Using your fingers or a knife, peel off the blackened outer layers of the onion and ginger and discard. (Alternatively, you can place the onion and ginger on a rimmed baking sheet and broil them in the oven. Keep an eye on them so they don’t burn!)
Add the spice bag, onion, and ginger to the broth. Simmer for 1 hour, occasionally skimming off the scum that rises to the top.
Remove the chicken from the pot and pierce through the thigh with a chopstick or fork to check if the juices run clear. If not, return it to the pot to simmer for a while more, until fully cooked. Set aside to cool.
Remove the daikon, apples, spice bag (or whole spices), onion, and ginger from the broth. Season the broth with the salt, fish sauce, and sugar, if using.
Remove the chicken meat from the bones and cut it into 1/2-inch pieces for easy handling with chopsticks. Alternatively, you can hand-tear the chicken pieces and add them directly to the bowls.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the bok choy and blanch for 1 to 2 minutes. Drain the bok choy and cut into bite-size pieces.
Cook the rice noodles according to the package instructions until chewy. Rinse under cold running water and drain.
To serve, divide the noodles into each serving bowl and top with chicken meat and bok choy. Ladle in the hot broth and top with your choice of garnishes. Offer hoisin sauce and sriracha or sambal oelek at the table.
Store leftovers in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 4 days or in the freezer for up to 6 months; if freezing, make sure to leave at least 1 inch headspace in your jars.
Time Hacks
You can start with chicken bone broth and simmer for 1 hour with the spices, onion, and ginger and serve with chicken meat.
Alternatively, use the carcass from a rotisserie chicken to make the broth, then serve the meat with the soup.
Vietnamese American homesteader Sophia Nguyen Eng with her husband, Tim, and her two daughters, Emily and Natalie, at their farm in eastern Tennessee. (Neeli Brisky)
Born and raised in Silicon Valley, Sophia Nguyen Eng was poised for success in the technology world.
She was good at what she did—growth marketing campaigns for startups and Fortune 500 companies—and was well on her way up the corporate ladder. She founded an organization, Women in Growth, to support other women working in the tech space. Hers was a resume that would make any aspiring professional envious.
Then the birth of her oldest daughter, Emily, in 2011 inspired her to reach new heights—not in tech, but in the kitchen. It’s the beginning of this unusual and fascinating tale of how an ambitious American family traded the boardroom for a farm.
Ms. Eng goes by the philosophy of returning back to the earth what comes from the ground. (Fiona Bryne)
Reaching for Ancient Wisdom
Ms. Eng’s journey began at the grocery store, where the selection of baby foods looked gray and unappetizing. A first-generation Vietnamese American who wasn’t accustomed to cooking fruit, she decided to research how to make her own applesauce for Emily.
A line in a cookbook gave her pause. Organic is best for babies, it said, because their bodies cannot tolerate or process pesticides and herbicides.
“At what point can her body process it?” Ms. Eng mused. “Or are we doing it wrong, and should we be changing the way we think about food?”
It was then that she remembered the yellow book on nutrition gifted to her by a fellow military family when her husband, Tim, was an officer in the U.S. Army. The family lived on a homestead, had a dairy cow, made their own medicinal tinctures, and homeschooled their eight children. They often shared wisdom with the couple.
“She was telling me, ‘You’ve got to try this grass-fed raw milk,’” Ms. Eng recalled, laughing at the memory. “I thought, ‘Oh no. This is how I’m going to die.’”
But the responsibility of raising a child, and her own intuition, were driving her to seek out the truth about food. Suddenly, she felt that knowing the habits of this odd but healthy and happy family was vital to her own. The new mother was older and wiser, and she knew that different didn’t equate with detriment. Not to mention her firsthand experience: Growing up, she was teased for the homemade—and sometimes pungent—ethnic food in her brown bag lunches, while peers devoured processed food from brightly colored packages. Back then, she was envious of the vending machine snacks in their lunch boxes.
Ms. Eng as a young toddler with her mom, in 1984. (Bang Pham)
Written in 1995 by Sally Fallon Morell, the cookbook is based on Weston A. Price’s 11 dietary principles that emphasize eating real, unprocessed traditional foods. Price, a Canadian dentist, traveled the world in the 1930s, studying isolated indigenous cultures that had not yet been industrialized. He found a strong correlation between their traditional diets and better dental and overall health. The common characteristics from his findings, known as the Wise Traditions principles, include no refined ingredients; choosing traditional animal fats over industrialized seed oils; enjoying lacto-fermented condiments and beverages; and balancing nutrient-dense foods from both land and sea animals, including organ meats, eggs, raw dairy, and fish.
Like others before her, Ms. Eng was captivated by his work. The book gelled with her experiences with healing that came on the heels of dietary changes. In one instance, her husband’s fiercely itchy eczema disappeared when they changed their meat source from supermarket beef to grass-fed and grass-finished beef from a local farm.
It also resonated with her heritage: the rich Vietnamese flavors and traditions that influenced her parents’ wholesome, nutrient-dense cooking and sparked her own lifelong interest in nutrition. She recalled something that her grandfather, who spoke rarely, told her as a child: “Eat to live. Do not live to eat.” So began a journey following a trail of breadcrumbs that would lead her back to her roots.
The Midwest, also known as America’s Heartland, is home to a myriad of cultures. Immigration, over hundreds of years, has played a key role in developing its diverse food traditions, evident in its variety of delicious dishes—like classic Swedish meatballs, Polish perogies, German bratwurst, and hearty macaroni and cheese casseroles.
Midwest food expert Capri Cafaro hosts the podcast “Eat Your Heartland Out” and regularly features guests from all over this area to discuss its many food traditions. Born and raised in Ohio, Cafaro is well-versed in Midwestern food and the different cultural influences on the region’s culinary scene.
In this interview, she discusses the importance of county and state fairs in building community and showcasing different local foods and agricultural practices. We also talk about unusual dishes in the Midwest, such as “dessert salads,” and the prevalence of farm-to-table schemes, such as Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) programs, which allow city dwellers to enjoy fresh produce from local farms.
This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
Q. How do you think immigration has influenced the Midwest culinary sphere?
Midwestern food and culture are incredibly diverse. I often think that Midwestern food is perceived as either bland, or industrial, or just typical fast food. Those things are somewhat true, and have some historical context based on companies like General Mills, Kellogg’s, and Kraft, which all originated in the Midwest. However, Midwestern food has a great deal more depth and variety, precisely because of both the immigration and migration patterns of individuals who have come to the Midwest over the last 200 years or more.
The purpose of my podcast, “Eat Your Heartland Out,” is to show how different immigrants have shaped the face of food in the Midwest—like Germans in Wisconsin, and Scandinavians in places like Minnesota.
Q. Can you give us an example of an interesting Midwestern food tradition that is still practiced today?
One of the things I personally associate with as a food tradition—and something I actually did a podcast episode about—are the Lenten traditions surrounding the Easter holiday, and the fish fries that churches and restaurants sponsor on Fridays throughout Lent.
They each take on the color of their particular communities and the churches they represent. For instance, some places serve macaroni and cheese as a side dish; some serve perogies because they have a larger Slavic community; some serve haluski, an Eastern European type of noodle dish.
They also serve as a way to bring the community together every Friday during the Lenten season.
(Photo credits: Emily Raw)
Q. Are there any distinctive dishes that you would only associate with the Midwest?
The Minnesota hot dish is a landmark recipe from the 1930s that calls for hamburger meat, onions, celery, canned peas, canned tomato soup, and Creamettes—a special Minnesotan macaroni—all to be stirred together and baked. It’s not a typical casserole because it is intended to be the main meal.
Then, there is the runza (a cross between a Hot Pocket and a burger), which is like a meat pie with Russian origins that became very popular in places like Nebraska. There is also Cincinnati chili, a stew-like meat sauce served with spaghetti, that I am not particularly a fan of, but which is very popular in that region of Ohio.
Q. Can you tell us more about the unique Midwest “salad dishes” and how they came about?
Jell-O salads, which can also be served as desserts, originated when it was discovered that bone marrow could be used to make gelatin. This discovery occurred just in time to be featured at the 1904 World’s Fair, held in St. Louis, Missouri, where gelatin was showcased as a brand-new food item.
As mechanization and industrialization came about, women were trying to spend less time in the kitchen and were looking for something that was easy and simple to make in a fast and affordable manner. Recipe books were published by companies in the Midwest, like General Mills, Kellogg’s, and Kraft, as a way to promote this new gelatin product. You can still find these well-used Jell-O cookbooks in many Midwest kitchens.
Jell-O salads remain very popular with hostesses, who find them convenient and easy to make and serve, either as a salad or for dessert. They are also easy to make and transport to church suppers or potlucks.
(Photo credits: Emily Raw)
Q. County and state fairs are a celebrated tradition in the Midwest. What are some typical foods served there?
That depends on where you go. In my neck of the woods—northeastern Ohio—you will always find pasta and meatballs due to the many Italians living here. Perogies are also a popular fair item where there are a lot of Eastern Europeans.
County and state fairs have their roots in agricultural production, in sharing agricultural techniques, and in bringing your bounty to market. You have dairy products that are often on display. For instance, in my area, people line up for the milkshake stands every year at the Ashtabula county fair because it’s the one place every year that you can get the freshest milkshakes in many different flavors.
The places where you really find the local foods at the fair are the ones that are affiliated with a local organization. So, sometimes the local 4-H club [a national youth organization] will run specialty food stands, but you also have fraternal organizations—like the Lions Club, Kiwanis, or Rotary—that will have their own stands to promote local food traditions, as well as to raise money for their various organizations.
Q. What do county/state fairs say about the American ideal of agricultural bounty and the desire to celebrate that?
Even though more and more people are moving out of rural communities and into suburban and urban areas, there is still a large part of our country that continues to rely on rural agriculture. The Midwest, in particular, has always been known as the breadbasket of the nation—even of the world. That’s because it is one of the major grain producers—including corn, soy, and wheat—as well as a major producer of livestock and dairy products.
Fairs have this sense of nostalgia and provide a magnet for urban dwellers to go back to their roots, at least annually—sometimes even if they have never lived in that particular state or county. There is also a sense that, while you may not necessarily be involved or affiliated directly with agriculture, you want to be engaged in supporting it, one way or another.
While farming may look very different today than it once did, the popularity of county and state fairs continues. Our nation’s politicians certainly appreciate that fact when they regularly visit these fairs to meet and greet voters, and to taste the most outrageous new food items, like fried ice cream or doughnut burgers.
Fried Goat Cheese Cherry Balls. The dish originated in Michigan. (Photo credits: Emily Raw)
Q. What do you think about the trend in farm-to-table schemes like the Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) programs that allow urban and suburban communities to enjoy fresh, local produce?
CSAs have been a part of daily life in a lot of Midwestern cities and towns for decades. Nearby farmers and small-batch artisans promote CSAs as a kind of direct-to-household or farmers market activity, and as a way for even urban dwellers to have regular farm-fresh produce. You get your box of whatever produce is in-season every week, or every two weeks. That way you are supporting local agriculture, even if you may not live directly near it.
CSAs are becoming very popular in urban centers across America, not only in the Midwest. I think there is a misconception that the Midwest doesn’t necessarily set trends, but I would beg to differ. These programs are one longstanding Midwestern trend that is now catching on in other places.
Q. Do you have a specific Midwestern dish that you particularly enjoy?
I’m from the part of the Midwest that is highly Southern and Eastern European. So for me, my favorite comfort foods involve pasta. Also, anything that includes cheese, because some of the largest cheese producers are located in the Midwest.
Nadine, Chris, and PK Isac at their family home in Goshen, Connecticut. ("Gobble: The Quintessential Thanksgiving Playbook")
The Isacs have always treasured the Thanksgiving holiday season as an important time to reflect on all things they are grateful for. Their appreciation has only increased after the untimely passing of Peter Isacs, a loving husband and father, in August 2020, due to an aneurysm.
After Peter passed away, the family were bracing themselves for a difficult Thanksgiving. But Nadine and her two sons, PK and Christopher, decided to channel their grief into something positive. “Historically, in our family, when one of us has a good idea, we all tend to remember it as our own. We have since joked about which one of us actually initiated the idea for this book, but we now know in our hearts it was Peter,” they wrote in their new book, “Gobble,” scheduled for release in October. “We’re very grateful for the inspiration that we had to write this book,” said Nadine in a recent interview.
“Gobble: The Quintessential Thanksgiving Playbook” serves as a guide on how to organize the perfect family Thanksgiving. It covers everything from festive games and activities to laying out a beautiful table for the occasion. The book also discusses the importance of setting family traditions for the holiday season, from taking a short stroll between dinner and dessert, to starting a “gratitude” tablecloth and getting everyone to write one thing they are thankful for every year.
Embracing Family Traditions
(Photo from “Gobble: The Quintessential Thanksgiving Playbook”)
For example, the Isacs put up their Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving in their Litchfield Hills, Connecticut, home. They say they do this for several reasons: the first is to be able to enjoy the tree for as long as possible; the second is to enlist the help of guests to put up Christmas ornaments. “It’s a great way to kick off the Christmas season,” they stated in their book.
For both PK and Christopher, Thanksgiving has always been a favorite holiday, as it is a time to focus on family. “Traditions are a really effective way to share that love,” said PK. Christopher believes that traditions serve as a way to bond and for family members to express gratitude for each other. “Living in gratitude helps one appreciate the good times and get through the bad. Gratitude can be very similar to empathy in a lot of ways, especially when you’re with family and you’re sharing in the gratitude for the opportunity to be there together, grateful for everything you’ve done for each other, and grateful for everything that you’ve gotten out of the past year,” said Christopher.
Treasuring the Final Moments
Nadine remembers the days leading up to her husband’s passing as a particularly special time for the whole family. “We were in the middle of a pandemic, and had we not been, the boys would probably not have been home.” She is grateful for this time, as it allowed the family to be in each other’s company. “We had some incredible family time leading up to this death,” she recounted. The evening that Peter passed away was the most poignant day to her. “It was a gorgeous August day. If you could design a day for your last day, it would have been designed the way he lived it,” she said. He started the day by reading the newspaper and then riding on his tractor—something he loved to do.
“In the evening, we went to our meadow and had a beautiful summer dinner all together. And then, ironically, he came up and watched his favorite movie with the boys, which was ‘Star Wars,’” Nadine chuckled. After that, he told his family he loved them and got into bed. An hour later, he was gone.
The family shared many warm memories about Peter and his love for food, family, and tradition. Chris said, “My first memory of helping out in the kitchen was doing the onions, carrots, and celery and chopping them up for my dad, who was making stuffing for Thanksgiving.”
Fostering a Love for Thanksgiving
(Photo from “Gobble: The Quintessential Thanksgiving Playbook”)
The boys’ father was influential in fostering a love for Thanksgiving. “He was the one who taught us about food, about wine. That all comes from him,” added PK. Every Thanksgiving, each member of the family would assume different roles to help prepare for the occasion. Chris would help with cooking, while his brother PK displayed a keen interest in wine and bartending. Nadine said, “As soon as he was of legal age, and maybe even a little bit before, PK started studying wines. My husband really knew wine, and he also instilled in them an interest in history and geography.” PK spent many hours in the family library, sifting through books about wine regions, varietals, and vinification techniques, while his younger brother Chris studied cookbooks.
Nadine was renowned for creating beautiful table arrangements for the festive season. During holidays, it was common for friends and family to use Nadine’s decorations as inspiration for their own table settings at home. Peter’s mother and grandmother served as influential figures for Nadine, who considered them incredible entertainers and hosts. “I always admired them for the tables they set,” she said.
The Isacs’ appreciation for food and wine has been passed down through the generations. PK and Chris’ grandfather (Peter’s father) kept many books about wine and was awarded the title of Chevalier du Tastevin, a French award given to top wine enthusiasts. While attending Tulane University, both boys hosted elaborate dinner parties for friends, using their cooking and bartending experience from helping out at Thanksgiving.
Gratitude remains a big part of the family, even outside of Thanksgiving. Living through the pandemic and losing a family member has provided the Isacs with a new perspective and a heightened appreciation for each other. “It’s been such an incredible experience,” said Nadine. It has allowed the family to spend more time together while prioritizing good health and maintaining personal connections. “We’ve always taken for granted being in the same room or, you know, giving a hug to someone or just getting together. And I think all of us right now are appreciating that like we’ve never done before,” said Nadine.
