Rave! Hot Dish, Hot Dish, Rah Rah Rah

Last week, a gal pal emailed me and a few others about using the word 'hot dish' vs. 'casserole' in a piece she's writing. Her concern was about being authentic to Minnesota-speak. It set off a string of memories and emails that were hilarious. I'm sharing two here:

From me:

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Eeek .. a toughie, but to me honestly, 'casserole' = fancy (as in my parent's gourmet food club (aka martini madness night) was called The Casserole Club) and hot dish (2 words) = all things tator-totty and mock-y (as in my Great Lehrer Aunts Mock Chow Mein Hot Dish). To this day, I never, ever say I'm making a casserole. Ever. 

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From gal pal Molly (no edits to 'hotdish' vs. 'hot dish' vs. Hot Dish)

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The 1981 Bethlehem United Church of Christ Centennial Cookbook, Maple Lake MN has equal numbers of recipes for hotdish vs. casserole. No authentic distinction between cream of mushroom and cream of chicken. No cream of corn anywhere and I've never had one with it as the binder. Creamed corn was a specific dish.  Mostly they used them when there were two people with nearly identical recipes for the same thing. Violet Fiedler's recipe used cream of celery soup ( :-p) for rice casserole and Arlene Strauleu's had cream of chicken hot dish. Man did that cookbook cause fights. My grandmother was the secretary of the women's auxiliary, and the cookbook was her last public effort. I don't think she lived to see it published.  But for more than a year they all argued about who got credit which recipes. Feelings were hurt lifelong friendships went silent.

The 1950 Betty Crocker’s Picture Cook Book has neither hot dish nor casserole. Everything has more exotic names like Turkey Divan....

My mother always used a more exotic name for them. Spanish steak had tomato soup; Bridget's Best had cream of chicken and cream of mushroom soup with croutons. Whoever Bridget was, she was quite the rebel.  Evan's mom uses the term hot dish exclusively.

The 1958 Spring Garden Lutheran Church (Plymouth? MN) has more hotdish than casserole, but also has exotic sounding items that end in supreme...

[Which is funny because there is a Colombian hot dish called Imperial Rice that is much like the Rice Supreme. The binder of both is mayonnaise not soup.]

The 1964 Betty Crocker’s New Dinner for Two cookbook has nine casseroles, no hotdishes and several bakes along with several of the exotic favorites from the 1950 cookbook.  I think Betty might be pretentious.

I can't find my 1997 Oakridge National Bank Cookbook from Buffalo MN. It's around. The major addition to the hot dish and casserole scene is that they included spaghetti sauce as a hot dish and casserole binder.  I've made the Pizza Hotdish from it once for a party.

Maybe these tidbits will make their way into the sequel. Because this was way too much detail for the question asked.

I think in the last decade there has been a unifying force that calls these MN classics hot dishes. Maybe it was just Andrew Zimmern or maybe it is a show of solidarity that we have relinquished the casserole vs. hotdish nomenclature battle for the greater good, pride in our regional cuisine.

PS: I wish I had a blog, I'd post this as Evolutions of Hotdish in Exile and then include my recipe that includes red and sweet peppers. Or maybe that's the title of my autobiography.

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Feel free to share your hot dish v. hotdish v. casserole stories below. It's all good, and we're all hot.

Raunt! Although smoking pot won't kill you, it is killing others.

Last night, I learned that a relative's relative was killed by drug traffickers in Mexico. He was about 20. I'm a believer in the "Mi Casa Es Su Casa" mentality and in this case, that saying translates to "Your Nephew Is My Nephew". Hearing about his murder set off a physical reaction in my brain that reaches all the way down into my soul. I'd like to scream: "By using illegal drugs you are contributing to drug trafficking which has created slave labor, oppression, and all-to-often the murdering of Mexican youth. You are literally smoking out a generation." But since I can't scream it loudly enough, I'm going to Blog it.

That scream is really how I feel. It's how I've felt for a long time. I think since I first read about a massacre in a parking lot somewhere near the Mexican-US border. The kids who were killed were tossed in a shallow grave and the photograph mimicked those you see of the Holocaust graves, except in this picture, you saw Levi tags and Nike logos, Hello Kitty purses and sandals. I'm tired of feeling like I can't talk about this because people will think I'm being preachy.

I am being preachy. And I mean this message like a religious zealot means "Jesus Saves". When you smoke pot/other drugs coming out of Mexico you are contributing to the killing of someone's relatives because that's how that business is. So STOP IT. I think it's just that simple.

(For those snarky, sarcastic pals with a source out of Iowa: sure, quit reading.)

There are a lot of things that tick me off this much: War, Starvation, Poverty, Human Trafficking, Child Abuse ... ya'know, stuff of oppression and horror. These things seem insurmountable to me. Putting down a joint doesn't seem insurmountable—especially since I've been told by people who use it that pot isn't addictive. It seems like a smart, socially responsible thing to do. Use your newly found time to petition for making it legal if you want. It's a free country.

Smoking pot is a choice, right? This nephew didn't have a choice about being killed. He was kidnapped in the middle of the day while working on his family's farm. He was held hostage as a slave laborer, he escaped and came home but was found and murdered by his kidnappers. This scenario is happening a lot. Enough that for the first time in my life, my relatives express fear about going to certain States in Mexico. I'm really sad that anyone's relatives are being kidnapped and murdered just because anyone else wants to smoke pot. In an overly simplistic and perhaps inanely stated scenario: if children in Portland were being kidnapped and forced to harvest grapes on the Oregon coast at gunpoint, I'd stop drinking wine. Come on, people.

My take on illegal drugs is simple: they are illegal. I'm not preaching a moral statement here, it's a fact: when a drug is illegal, the business around distributing it is nasty. When you use illegal drugs, you're breaking the law and you could go to jail and/or get fined. Sure, you might be willing to take a chance on getting fined or getting tossed in jail for a bit, but are you seriously willing to have a nephew killed just to smoke a doobie? 

This choice isn't all that different than choosing to drive drunk (illegal) which I also hope you don't do. Nor is it all that dissimilar to choosing to buy Apple products (legal) now that we know about the hellish factory conditions: you're contributing to a rise in Chinese suicides. We've cried foul before and made a difference ... like when we had knowledge of sweatshops being used by Nike and The Gap. Right now, celebrity men are holding up signs on YouTube protesting Child Prostitution. How about holding off on pot and protesting Child Execution? 

Illegal or legal, some personal actions/choices of ours contribute to horrible personal situations for others. The good thing is knowledge, which is often referred to as power. Once you know what you're contributing to, you have a choice about whether to make that choice again. This Blog's plea is to make a choice to not contribute to the killings in Mexico. I believe you will make a difference.

Raunt!

I hate toilet paper squares that tear off so easily it takes you 50,000 pats-o-da-roll to get a good size 'mitt'! Honestly. It seems to be a commercial toilet paper issue. You go into a stall where already, the tp is installed at the height for a leprechaun to reach it, and you give a little tug and one sheet pulls off. Then, you can't without "buns up," reach far enough to get more. You finally get a little corner of another sheet, and poof! off comes one more square. Ya'bun-up again, and meet with the same fate. By this time, you're basically air dry, so you say a 'whatever' and call it a day. But really, how crazy is all that. Time for the mass-toilet-paper-makers to stop being chintzy on the cheeks!

Review of "after the quake" ... a great play only open for one more weekend in Minneapolis!

Republic Restaurant

Guess I'm going to use this Blog for all things Betsy. Woot! And thanks to my aunt, Mitzi, who I know loves me so much that she will actually read everything I post.
Aunties rock, aunties rule,
aunties think that kids are cool!

1.30.11

Rave


I love coffee mugs with destinations illustrated on them. This morning, I went to Moose and Sadie's, one of my favorite coffee shops, without leaving home first, then I actually went TO Moose and Sadie's for more. It's a good morning. My aunt got me started on these little joys. Some mornings, I go to Florida, the Sunshine State, other days I take my coffee from Dean and Deluca in NYC, or Coffee Talk in Taylors Falls. These are really NICE mugs, porcelain with nice sippy edges. You have to draw the line somewhere! Some perhaps may be a little on the tacky side in terms of 'decor' but they all bring me to a place, at least in my mind and my mouth, that provides a great little respite to get the day started with. And for the evenings? Well, I take my chammomile tea with my "big sister who loves me," "the Buddah," or Van Gogh's Starry Night. It's not Paris, but it's not bad! Who needs a vacation or a staycation when you can have a caffination evey day?!

1.23.11

Rave and Raunt. A new idea for 2011.

I love people who put a lil'extra time in parking meters! It's like the ultimate urban pay-it-forward tactic. I think you'll all be in heaven sooner than I. I try to bring quarters, really I do. But I'm so sad that meters don't accept other coins anymore. It's really just like social classes, isn't it? The big and shiny take all. What's wrong with little faux copper pennies? NOTHING. What's wrong with slim, sleek dimes? NOTHING. What's wrong with chubby, tarnished nickels? NOTHING. But *sigh* ... only big, "designed" quarters rule on the streets. That's sad. I hate that only quarters rule on the streets. So, this is a raunt and a rave: I love people who are organized enough to have quarters with them at all times and are generous enough to "spare a quarter" for those of us who just might come up short in the change (or well, accepted change) department. And I hate that, even in the world of coin, there's an established hierarchy based on size. Harumph!