Broccoli and Cauliflower Salad with Bacon

Broccoli and cauliflower salad with bacon. Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

This broccoli salad is a tried and true favorite, easy to pull together as a weeknight side dish. Recently, I had cauliflower in the vegetable crisper as well as broccoli, so I added it to the salad for color and contrast. The dressing is less sweet than many versions - I think it's just right for the amount of vegetables.

Broccoli & Cauliflower Salad with Bacon

2 cups broccoli florets
2 cups cauliflower florets
6 slices bacon, chopped and cooked 'til crisp
a handful sunflower seeds
a handful dried raisins or cranberries
1 cup good-quality mayo, full fat or go home
6 green onions, chopped in 1-inch long pieces
2 tbsp. sugar
2 tbsp. white wine vinegar

In a lovely serving bowl, put trimmed broccoli and cauliflower pieces, sunflower seeds, bacon and raisins. In a food processor, blitz the onions, mayo, sugar and vinegar together. Season to taste, remembering that the salad has salty bacon and sunflower seeds. Pour dressing over salad. Serve immediately. Store leftovers in a covered container in the refrigerator.

Broccoli and cauliflower salad with bacon. Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Text and images copyright 2013, Lucy Mercer.

My Granddaddy's skillet fried corn with bacon

Skillet fried corn with bacon. Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

 I've dusted off this post as part of #Letslunch, a monthly Twitter party. The June subject is Dads ~ I took some liberty with the subject, given that it's my Dad's Dad I'm writing about. My own father is famous for cooking bacon and egg sandwiches, fudge using the recipe on the side of the marshmallow creme jar, and fried Vienna sausages. Happy Father's Day!

One of the distinctive characteristics of living in the New South, cookie-cutter suburban Atlanta, is that the Old South, the rural, hardscrabble life that James Agee and others wrote about is never far from view. Reminders can be as vivid as the tar paper shack I drive by on the carpool run - rusted refrigerators and livestock in the yard, enclosed with a barbed wire fence. Or it can be the cast iron skillet that I keep on my cooktop, ready to fry up a pan of corn the way my granddaddy did. Used to be every family had a cast iron skillet, just as dear and useful as a family bible.

Cast iron skillet with corn. Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

I wish I could say that my seasoned cast iron skillet is an heirloom handed down through the generations. The truth is, as a newlywed 20 years ago, I paid $20 bucks at Wal-Mart for a Lodge chicken fryer skillet - it's a little bit deeper than a standard skillet, seasoned to a midnight black patina. I keep it on the stovetop so it's handy for vegetable sautes, tomato gravy, pineapple upside-down cakes and biscuits. (I save chicken frying for my enamel cast iron Dutch oven - less splatter.) And fried corn. This is not deep-fried corn, just the Southern term for fresh corn cooked in bacon fat, thickened with flour and seasoned with cracked black pepper.

Now, my family loves roasted ears of corn on the cob and I've been known to turn out a corn salad or two, but if I'm going to write about what's true in my heart, I have to tell you that the best corn I ever ate and later learned to cook was the skillet fried corn turned out by my paternal grandfather in Alabama. I guess I can say that Granddaddy was an ornery old cuss - a grumpy old man who handed out Kennedy half dollars to his grandkids before settling in his recliner with a Bud in his hand, ready for an afternoon of Auburn football.

Well, that’s one memory, I do have another, better remembrance - Granddaddy cooking fried corn in his cast iron skillet. Each summer the extended family would gather for a meal in the dining room of the house in Birmingham, grateful to escape the Alabama heat and ready for a feast. The oval, cherrywood dining table would be covered in a white linen cloth and loaded with the platters and bowls of Grandmother's bone china. The menu was the same for each gathering - sliced ham, sliced tomatoes with mayonnaise, potato salad, devilled eggs (Hellmann's mayonnaise being something of a religion in my family), green beans cooked with ham, and Granddaddy's skillet fried corn. The corn, creamy white and rich with bacon fat, was pretty much my favorite thing on the plate. I remember once my mom asking Granddaddy how he made his fried corn and he smiled, actually smiled, and said you gotta use white corn, what folks called field corn, and a cast iron skillet.

 When I eat my granddaddy's skillet fried corn, I can’t help but think of the Gudger family in James Agee’s “Let Us Now Praise Famous Men” - the sharecropper family in rural southern Alabama in 1936. Their house smelled of “corn and lard” and when I fix my own version of this dish, I remember the families whose lives depended on corn, for their livestock and themselves. My grandfather wasn’t a sharecropper, but he came from humble beginnings, and I guess he knew a thing or two about putting together a belly-filling meal on the fly.

Skillet Fried Corn with Bacon

I make this in summer, and I try to use a variety of corn - yellow and white. Gardeners will tell you that Silver Queen is the best, so if you see it, be sure to bring it home.

4 slices bacon

6 ears corn, shucked

½ medium onion, chopped

2 tablespoons flour

Water, about a cup, maybe more

Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. In a cast iron skillet, fry bacon until crispy. There are two ways to accomplish this: 1. Messy: on stovetop, fry for about 20 minutes. 2. Not so messy: in 350° oven for about 25 minutes. When bacon is crispy, set bacon strips on paper towels to drain and pour bacon grease into metal container.

2. While bacon is cooking, prepare corn. Remove the corn from the cob thusly - hold cob upright and with a sharp knife held parallel to the cutting board, cut the kernels off one “side.” Place cob horizontally with the flat, cut side on the cutting board and slice off kernels, rotating cob. Do not discard cobs - you will use them in a minute. 

 

3. Place skillet over medium heat and add two tablespoons bacon grease to pan. Add onion and saute until softened. Add flour and cook for a couple of minutes. Toss corn kernels in pan and saute. Take each cob and hold upright in the center of skillet. With the back of your knife, scrape the corn “cream” into the pan. Now you can discard the cobs. Stir.

4. Add water slowly to pan while you stir, until you get the desired consistency. I prefer thicker but some may like it thinner, like a chunky gravy.

5. Crumble bacon and stir into pot or top individual servings.

Text and images © 2010, Lucy Mercer.

"Let Us Now Praise Famous Men" is by James Agee with photographs by Walker Evans and published by Houghton Mifflin. It's a challenging read (at least for me), but if you love the South and the English language and compelling photography, it will reward.

Check out these additional posts from the #letslunch crew:

Here’s a great way to see the round up on Pinterest by Emma, thanks for doing that!

Aleana‘s Homemade Scottish Oatcakes at Eat My Blog

Charissa‘s Grilled Rib-Eye Steaks & Uncle Andy’s Chimichurri Sauce at Zest Bakery

Eleanor‘s Salmon Bok Choy Soup at Wok Star

Emma‘s Ham and Rice at Dreaming of Pots & Pans

Jill‘s Root Beer-Glazed Onion Dip at Eating My Words

Grace‘s Taste of Diversity at HapaMama

Linda‘s Sesame-Ginger Chicken Wings at Spice Box Travels

Lisa‘s Hot Sugary Lip-Smacking Jam Donuts at Monday Morning Cooking Club

Patricia‘s Egg Candy at The Asian Grandmother’s Cookbook

Rashda‘s Beth Howard’s Apple Pie at Hot Curries & Cold Beer

Sonja‘s Spicy Smoked Paprika Lamb Shank Goulash at Foodnutzz

 Text and images copyright 2012, Lucy Mercer.

Baked Potato Soup with Cheese and Bacon

Baked Potato Soup by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books



There are a few recipes that every cook should have in her hip pocket, so to speak, recipes like lemon pepper roast chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, perfect brownies. The kinds of belly-filling foods that are greeted with relief from the kids and spousal unit (no weird vegetables tonight!). Baked potato soup is just such a recipe - creamy and cheesy, loaded with potato chunks and bacon pieces.

Here in Georgia, we've had days that feel like summer, but the nights are still cool - tonight we may get a touch of frost. There are doubtless a few rough and raw days ahead where a warming bowl of potato soup will be welcome.

I've made this recipe for years - it came from a trusty Junior League cookbook. The original was quite dairy-rich. I took away some of the milk, replacing it with a pantry staple, low-sodium chicken broth in the 32-ounce aseptic package. That stuff is cooking gold - I use it in gravy and soups and to season vegetables. I also save fat grams by lightening the soup with plain non-fat yogurt instead of sour cream, The resulting soup is still not diet food, but you can have a slightly larger portion than usual.

Just a little forethought is required when making this soup - the day before, place the potatoes in the oven while you're cooking something else - a roast or a casserole.

Baked Potato Soup with Cheddar and Bacon



4 Russet potatoes, baked, peeled and cubed

2/3 cup unsalted butter

2/3 cup all-purpose flour

1 (32-oz) package low salt chicken broth

2 cups milk

2 cups Cheddar cheese, shredded

4 strips bacon, cooked, drained and crumbled

4 ounces sour cream or non-fat yogurt

Salt and pepper to taste

1. In a Dutch oven or soup pot, melt butter. Stir in flour and cook over medium heat for a couple of minutes. Add chicken broth slowly, whisking until smooth. Add milk and continue stirring. Add half of cheese, pour remaining amount in a bowl for garnish. Add cubed baked potatoes.

2. Just before serving, stir in sour cream or yogurt. Add pepper to taste. Garnish each serving with bacon and remaining cheese. Finely chopped green onions or chives would make lovely garnishes. I use skim milk and light sour cream and reduced fat cheese in this and it still as rich as you'd ever want it.

Text and images copyright 2011.

In praise of braising: Early spring menu + giveaway!

Asparagus Spears by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books




  With a glimpse of pale purple gray on the empty corner lot by my daughter's school, I know that spring is here - wisteria's annual show, gnarly and regal, is the harbinger. The glories of vernal produce will soon be known at the farmer's market - the local strawberries and tender greens, tiny new potatoes and baby Vidalia onions. To my mind, the official sign of spring is cheap and plentiful asparagus, grown, if not in Georgia, at least the Western hemisphere.

It's difficult for me to just jump right into the warm season - I carry a sweater with me when I leave the house, because you just never know when the weather will turn. And I still employ my Dutch oven for hearty oven-braised dishes like chicken legs cooked for hours with bacon, mushrooms and carrots. Do you braise? It's not a word to fear - it just means meat and/or vegetables nestled in a dish, covered with liquid such as broth or wine, and cooked until the meat falls apart and the vegetables are tender. I make this chicken dish frequently through the fall, winter and spring because it's simple and filling and just lingers in the oven, ready for the family to gather around the table. I filled out the plate with my go-to brown rice pilaf, mashed potatoes would be a good substitute, ready to soak up the plentiful juices from the braising dish. And asparagus, who can forget asparagus, skillet-roasted with butter and toasty shallots.

This is one of those dishes that works well for a carpool mom with a slow cooker. I use a Dutch oven and the convection feature on my oven to simulate the slow cooker, but if you have a crockpot, just assemble the ingredients ahead of time, place in the stoneware and cook for about 4 hours. If you haven't invested in a Dutch oven like Le Creuset, check them out. An enameled cast iron pot like Le Creuset will give you a lifetime of lovely braises and stews.This is my cooking timetable: after lunch, I brown the chicken, chop the vegetables and get the sauce prepared and place all in a Dutch oven. The dish will braise in the oven for a few hours, yielding fall-off-the-bone chicken and rich broth.

Braised chicken legs with carrots, bacon and mushrooms by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Braised Chicken Legs with Carrots,
Mushrooms and Bacon

4 slices bacon, sliced into narrow strips

6 skin-on chicken legs (thighs may be substituted)

1 onion, peeled, halved and sliced into wedges

1 (4-ounce) package sliced cremini mushrooms

4 carrots, peeled, sliced lengthwise and into 1-inch pieces

1/2 cup white wine or vermouth

Salt and pepper to taste

Sprig of fresh thyme, 1/2 teaspoon of dried if you're not a gardener

2 cups chicken broth, or more if needed

1. In a skillet set over medium heat, brown bacon until crispy and cooked through. Remove bacon and drain on paper towels. Pour off the bacon fat into a metal bowl and return two tablespoons fat to the pan. Brown the chicken pieces, making sure to season as you go, turning once each side is sufficiently brown (remember that more brown = more flavor). This takes about a half hour to do properly.

2. Heat the oven to 300. Have a Dutch oven (or slow cooker) on standby. As the chicken pieces are thoroughly browned, place them in the main cooking vessel with the chopped carrots and cover with lid. When all chicken is removed, saute the onion and season with salt and pepper. Add the mushrooms and continue the saute until the shrooms are brown and toasty. Deglaze the pan with the white wine, stirring and scraping thoroughly. Add chicken broth and bring to a simmer. Pour the broth over the chicken and carrots, add the thyme and cooked bacon pieces. The goal is for the chicken pieces to sit in a bathtub of broth, so if the sauce doesn't come up to nearly the top of the chicken and vegetables, add more broth, if you have it, or water.

Braised chicken sealed with parchment by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

3. Tear a piece of parchment paper just large than the circumference of pan. Crumple it and place on the top of the liquid. Put the lid on the Dutch oven and place in real oven, or slow cooker in its cooking unit and let simmer for at least two hours, preferably up to four. I cook on convection at 300 for about three hours, any longer and I reduce the temp to 250. Check every 45 minutes to an hour to make sure the liquid level is sufficient; make adjustments if necessary.

Brown rice and shallots by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

The chicken and vegetables are a fine supper all alone, but I like to add a starch, like brown rice pilaf, and a green vegetable, because I'm the mom.

Brown Rice Pilaf

In a nonstick skillet with a lid, melt one tablespoon butter and add one tablespoon olive oil, cook over medium heat. Saute one chopped onion and one chopped celery stalk until translucent (for the onion, until soft for the celery). Add two cups brown rice and stir. Add four cups chicken broth, or a combination of chicken broth and water, and stir. Season with salt and pepper, place lid on pan and let cook for about a half hour. Check on the liquid level every five minutes or so.

Asparagus spears by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Sauteed Asparagus with Shallot

In a skillet over medium heat, add a couple tablespoons of olive oil. Add one shallot, chopped, and cook until soft. Take a bunch of asparagus, or if feeding just a few, a handful of asparagi, and cut off the woody ends. Slice remainders into 3-inch pieces. Add to skillet and toss in oil and shallot until bright green and crisp. Serve immediately. Save the asparagus scraps to make creamy asparagus soup.

Braised chicken leg with carrots, mushrooms and bacon; brown rice pilaf and sauteed asparagus.
Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Text and images copyright 2011, Lucy Mercer.

And now for a giveaway!

CSN, which sells Le Creuset Dutch ovens at Cookware.com, will give a $50 gift code to a member of the A Cook and Her Books family. Before I tell you how to win, I need to remind you that only entries with valid email addresses will be eligible to win. There are four ways to get an entry in the giveaway. Each person may accumulate four chances to win by doing the following:

1. Leave a comment on this entry.

2. Subscribe by email or RSS to A Cook and Her Books (see the boxes on the right). Leave another comment on this post telling me that you subscribed.

3. Become a fan of A Cook and Her Books on Facebook. If you're already a fan, thank you! Just leave another comment telling me that you're a fan.

4. Follow me on Twitter, @acookandherbook (no "s"). If you already follow, thank you! Just leave another comment telling me that you're following.

In summary, you have four chances to win a  $50 gift code from CSN stores. The deadline for entries is midnight on March 31. I will draw a winner using random.org on Friday, April 1. This contest is for U.S. and Canada residents only. Disclaimer: CSN is offering the gift code and I'm not compensated in any way. My opinions are my own. Thanks for being a part of this exciting giveaway!

This giveaway is now closed. Thanks to everyone for participating and I look forward to more great giveaways in the future!



Redemption in a meatloaf

Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

I used to be a fan of meatloaf, digging in to my Mom's ketchup-covered meatloaf regularly, but somewhere in the years between wearing tri-color Keds to my current, comfy Clark's, I got lost. My husband can tell you flat-out that the worst meal I ever served was a meatloaf. I remember it well, remember clipping the recipe out of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution (what a quaint notion - clipping recipes from newspapers!). The recipe was for a Turkey Meatloaf with Spinach. I liked turkey, ditto for the spinach, and as a new bride, wanted to go all June Cleaver and make a meatloaf.  The recipe called for egg whites, and that the resulting loaf was spongy and flavorless. To add insult to injury, I thought I'd recycle it the next night, chopped up in tomato sauce. I will only say that I learned my lesson: you can't fix bad meatloaf.

I may have tried other meatloaves through the years, but honestly, they weren't very memorable and I'd just about given up until I received a copy of Susan Russo's cute little cookbook "Recipes Every Guy Should Know" (Quirk Books, 2010). Russo has a beautiful blog, Food Blogga, and has packed her book (co-authored with Brett Cohen) full of family-friendly recipes designed to get guys in the kitchen.

In the midst of guy-friendly recipes like Foolproof French Toast and Baja-Style Fish Tacos, I spied the recipe for Bacon-Wrapped Meatloaf and decided that it was time to live that turkey meatloaf down and prove to my husband and kids that I could turn out a tasty dish. This meatloaf is yummy and has a great texture - not dry in the least, and very flavorful, especially with the added bacon and ketchup.

When I mentioned this meatloaf on Facebook, many friends chimed in with their favorite meatloaf recipes (if only I'd asked them for recipes before trying the turkey and spinach sponge.) Let me know in the comments if you have a favorite meatloaf recipe and what your secret ingredients are!

Bacon-Wrapped Meatloaf


1 tablespoon canola oil

1 small yellow onion, diced

2 pounds ground beef (85% lean is best)

¾ cup plain bread crumbs

2 eggs, lightly beaten

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

2 tablespoons spicy mustard

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon black pepper

Several dashes hot sauce

6 tablespoons ketchup, divided

8 to 10 slices bacon

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onions and sauté 3 to 5 minutes, or until lightly browned; let cool slightly.

2. In a large bowl, combine sautéed onions with all ingredients from ground beef through hot sauce, plus 2 tablespoons ketchup. Using your hands, mix until thoroughly combined. Transfer beef mixture onto a large baking sheet lightly greased with canola oil or cooking spray. Shape into an oval mound and lay bacon slices over the top so that they crisscross. Wash your hands, then brush remaining 4 tablespoons ketchup over bacon and meatloaf.

3. Bake 50 to 60 minutes, or until browned on top and cooked through. (A thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the meatloaf should read 160 to 165. degrees Fahrenheit If you don’t have a thermometer, insert a knife into the thickest part to ensure meat is no longer pink.)

(Recipe excerpted from "Recipes Every Man Should Know" by Susan Russo and Brett Cohen, Quirk Books, 2010.)

The generous folks at Quirk Books have offered a second copy of "Recipes Every Man Should Know" for a lucky reader. It's a great little cookbook, filled with family-pleasing recipes. Just leave a comment below before midnight on March 8 and I will select a winner at random and get you your book! You may enter both on this post and also the chili and guacamole post to win a copy of the book.

A little black book of recipes: Chili with beer, guacamole with bacon

The Mad Men-esque idea of a little black book in these days of smart phones and IPads is quaint and charming, but seemingly out of touch. Not so with “Recipes Every Man Should Know,” by Susan Russo and Brett Cohen, (Quirk Books, 2010) part of Cohen’s “Things Every Man Should Know” series. Men no longer need little books full of phone numbers, but they can certainly use a little book to guide them through the kitchen and basics of cooking meals for themselves and others.


This book is slightly larger than a Blackberry, smaller than an IPad and it fits in a coat pocket or backpack. Its compact design is ideal for flipping through for quick mealtime ideas, discreetly pulling out while grocery shopping, and propping on the counter while preparing the dishes.

Author Susan Russo says the idea of a cookbook for men came to her when she lived in a condo in downtown San Diego, where there are lots of single, professional men. “I got tired of seeing them carrying take-out on the elevator, so I started asking them why they didn't cook. Almost invariably, they responded, "I don't know how to cook." I thought, "Well, I can help teach them. It's easy." Teaching comes naturally to Russo; she is a recipe developer and writer who blogs at FoodBlogga (Rhode Island-ese for "blogger.")

For research, Russo “Talked with a lot of guys everywhere -- at the supermarket, the airport, bookstores, restaurants and bars, Twitter and Facebook, you name it. Guys of all ages were more than happy to share their thoughts with me and offer their favorite dishes. Plus, having grown up in a male-dominant household, I was pretty confident that I knew what guys would like.”

Guy-friendly recipes include Foolproof French Toast, Baja-Style Fish Tacos, and entire chapters devoted to Meat & Potato Dinners, and Beer, Bacon & Bar Food. And for that extra something that shows a guy really knows how to cook, the book concludes with cookies, cheesecake, strawberry zabaglione, milkshakes and cocktails.

Here are two excellent recipes that go well together or separately. The recipes are guy-friendly, to cook and to eat. The chili will become your go-to recipe - it's beefed up with beer and beans. The guacamole gets a shot of bacon to lift it into the "ultimate guacamole" territory.

Beef and Beer Chili

1 tablespoon canola or olive oil

1 large yellow onion, diced

1 large green or red bell pepper, chopped

1 to 1 ¼ pound ground beef

1 ½ to 2 tablespoons chili powder

1 teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 teaspoon ground cumin

Several shakes of salt

2 tablespoons light brown sugar

2 (14.5 ounce) cans pinto or red kidney beans, drained

1 (14.5 ounce) can diced tomatoes, with juices

1 (12 ounce) bottle dark beer, such as stout

1 tablespoon cornmeal, optional

1. Warm oil in a large pot over medium-high heat. Add onions and peppers and sauté 5 minutes. Add meat. Cook until browned, about 10 minutes. Stir in spices, salt and brown sugar. Add beans, tomatoes, and beer. Stir and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer 20 to 25 minutes, or until thick and soupy. Stir in cornmeal in you want a thicker chili.

2. Serve chili hot, topped with any of the following: shredded Cheddar cheese, sour cream, diced avocado, sliced scallions, or fresh cilantro.

(Takes 30 to 45 minutes start to finish, 6 to 8 servings)

Bacon Guacamole

6 slices bacon

Flesh of two ripe avocados

1 medium tomato, chopped

4 scallions (white parts only) finely chopped

Juice of one lime

A couple pinches salt

A couple dashes hot sauce

Small handful fresh cilantro leaves, finely chopped

1. Place bacon in a skillet over medium-high heat and cook until crisp. Drain on a paper-towel-lined plate. Let cool and chop into small pieces.

2. Combine remaining ingredients in a blender or food processor and pulse until chunky. I used a fork with excellent results and one less dish to clean. (Takes 15 minutes to prep, yields 6-8 servings).

The wonderful folks at Quirk Books have offered a copy of "Recipes Every Man Should Know" to a reader of A Cook and Her Books. This book is $9.95 in stores and is absolutely charming and useful. It makes a great gift for a young man just starting out on his own - college students, new graduates, bachelors, really anyone who needs a road map to the kitchen. Please leave a comment below before midnight on February 28 and I will draw one name at random to receive the book. Please be sure to leave an email address or a way for me to find you (i.e., are you the Melissa I know from church or the Kim I know from high school?). Thanks for reading!

UPDATE

Michelle, the 4th commenter, is the winner of this cookbook. Michelle, please contact me by Thursday, March 3, at acookandherbooks@gmail.com so that I can get the cookbook to you. There's still a copy of the cookbook to be given away - leave a comment on the Bacon Wrapped Meatloaf story by March 8 for a chance to win.

Text & images copyright 2011, Lucy Mercer,

with the exception of the book cover image and the recipe.

Recipes excerpted from "Recipes Every Man Should Know" by Susan Russo and Brett Cohen

 (Quirk Books, 2010)

I want candy (bacon)

Candied bacon by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Breakfast during the week is usually a filling bowl of oatmeal, or maybe vanilla yogurt with my homemade granola, some mornings a whole wheat bagel with a shmear. On the weekends, though, I'll put together a bigger breakfast, and have it ready for my sleepyheads when they wander downstairs. Crispy, yeast-raised waffles, or buttermilk pancakes, sometimes with ham, sometimes with this decadent bacon, baked in the oven with brown sugar. This is the sinful salt, sugar and bacon fat matrix - you can't stop at just one piece, so save it for a sometimes treat for your family.

I gave up frying bacon on the stovetop a long time ago. I bake it in the oven now and I have a system that guarantees easy clean-up and crispy bacon.

Candied Bacon
1 pound thick-cut bacon (I use Oscar Mayer hearty thick cut, but other brands will work)

2 tablespoons brown sugar (light or dark will work, I favor dark)

Cayenne pepper, optional

1. Preheat the oven to 350. Take a half-sheet pan or rimmed baking sheet and cover it with foil, making sure to push the edges of the foil against the sides of the pan. Place a nonstick baking grid on top of the foil (if you don't have one, it's ok, but the baking grid will keep the bacon out of the grease).

2. Place the strips of bacon on the baking grid. Sprinkle the strips with brown sugar and a bit of cayenne, if using. Bake at 350 for 25 to 30 minutes, or until desired level of crispiness is reached. Remove from oven and drain on paper towels.

Text and images copyright 2011, Lucy Mercer.

Weekend breakfast with my kitchen helper

Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

 I wrote this story almost exactly a year ago. It was my first winning entry in the Salon Kitchen Challenge, and it's still a favorite story and recipe. I just completed a year's worth of challenges - turning around stories on a given food subject in less than a week. An exhausting, but exhilarating year. I'm looking forward to the challenges of 2011!


Our New Year’s breakfast is a week late, because the girls were visiting friends last weekend. I was at home, working and worrying in a too-quiet house. The memory is a bit hazy now, but I think I welcomed the end of the aughts with a whole wheat bagel with a schmear, and my usual two cups of coffee. So, today, we mark a new year with a breakfast menu of yeast-raised waffles, warm fruit salad and brown sugar bacon. I'm a conscientious cook and want to be sure that all food groups are covered: sweet, salty, fruity and porky. Yes, it’s going to be a good year.

The yeast-raised waffles are intensely buttery, but not greasy. The recipe is from the "America’s Test Kitchen Family Cookbook," an orange ring-bound bible that’s never far from my kitchen counter. The advantage of this recipe is mixing the batter in the evening and letting it ferment in the fridge overnight, bubbling into a smooth vanilla-scented batter. And speaking of vanilla, I triple the amount called for in the recipe - everything is better with vanilla.

Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Brown sugar bacon, aka candied bacon, has been embraced by the masses. At least the masses at my house. As if bacon needs anything to make it taste better or be worse for your health, let’s just coat it in brown sugar and bake it. The result is crispy and sweet, but offset by the bacon's saltiness. If you're feeling bold, and not serving children, shake a little cayenne on strips before they go in the oven.

The warm fruit compote, oh, I mean salad, is my attempt to add some nutrition to this meal. A warning to all food snobs: I am a heathen, I know, because the recipe calls for canned fruit. I suppose I could summon the energy to peel pears and oranges and pineapple this morning, but in the spirit of these lean economic times, I whip out the can opener and go to town.
Despite my hopes that my youngest will sleep in this morning, (my first Saturday off since before Thanksgiving), Lindsey is awake and full of energy. She’s a helper, constantly reminding me that she wants to do and try everything. Especially if it’s electric and has a button. ("Ooooh, the waffle maker! Does it have a button?“) We’ve taken to hiding flashlights from her, because she plays with them, leaving them upside down, turned on. During a recent power failure, we managed to find a dozen flashlights, but not a one worked.

This morning, she stirs the waffle batter, beating out the bubbles to a smooth consistency. Then it’s time for the bacon, a task that I’m not too sad about handing over.

“Let me do it!”

“But do you really want to touch cold, slimy bacon?”

“Yes, I want to do it!” Well, if you insist…

And so she does, stretching each piece in the pound to fit on the rack suspended over a foil-covered baking sheet. I pull out the brown sugar. “Let me do it! Give me a spoon!“ And so the brown sugar is liberally poured over the bacon before I slide it into the oven for a half hour’s crisping and baking. Thirty minutes filled with pleas to be the one to pull the hot pan out of the oven. “But Lindsey, the pan is hot. And heavy. Let Mommy.”

“Let me do it!” No, I don’t think so.

I distract her with the next step, opening the cans of fruit for the warm fruit salad. (I know: can opener in the hands of a four year old! Get DFACS on the line.) We’ve been at this game for awhile, and she gives up the job early in the attempt, settling for emptying the fruit into the strainer suspended over a bowl. And she wants to be the first to sample the fruit juice. I catch her later, dipping her cup directly into the bowl of leftover juice. Blind eye, I think, blind eye. Then I hear, “Mommy, mommy, mommy.”

And probably again, “mommy, mommy, mommy.”

“What do you need, sweetpea?”

“Mommy, I love you.”

And I could end this story here, with a halcyon glow of promise and hope. But later, when I pull out the breakfast plates, she says, “I don’t want a plate.”

“But you need to eat on a plate. Waffles with syrup are messy. “

“I don’t want waffles. I want to dip my bacon in the syrup.”

“What about fruit?”

“No fruit. Just juice.”

So, here’s to 2010, a year of promise and hope, and in September, a five year old.

And later,

“Mommy, mommy, mommy.”

“What?”

"Is Christmas over?"

"Yes, it is, sweetpea."

"Because I love it."

Warm Fruit Salad

This is a dump and do recipe.

29 oz. can peaches20 oz. can pineapple tidbits15.25 oz. can sliced pears8.75 oz. apricot halves
11 oz. can mandarin oranges
one small jar of maraschino cherries

Set up a large bowl and a strainer and grab your can opener. Put a casserole dish alongside. Open each can, drain into the strainer, the place fruit in casserole dish.

In a small saucepan, combine:

½ stick butter½ cup orange juice¾ cup light brown sugar½ teaspoon cinnamon¼ teaspoon cloves

Melt butter in saucepan, heat o.j. in microwave for 30 seconds. Add sugar to butter, followed by warm orange juice. Heat until bubbly then add spices. Pour over fruit in casserole. Place in moderate (350 oven) until ready to serve.

Tomato Gravy & Biscuits



Tomato gravy & biscuits by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books



 Before the tomatoes fade for another summer, do yourself a favor and make tomato gravy and biscuits for yourself and your family. This isn't the kind of "gravy" or "sauce" that you serve with pasta, just a creamy white gravy with chopped tomatoes, cooked up in a cast iron skillet and served over split buttermilk biscuits. 

My mother was a fine cook, but I did not grow up with this dish. I discovered it through other cooks and writers. Scott Peacock and Edna Lewis write about it in "Gift of Southern Cooking," and if I remember correctly, serve the gravy with fried chicken.

Cooks can spend a lifetime perfecting their biscuit recipes, and I've tried quite a few, but I always go back to the recipe on the back of the bag of White Lily self-rising flour, using whole fat buttermilk, when I can find it, and brushing the tops of the biscuits with melted butter.

This recipe can be made with bacon fat instead of butter. I usually serve bacon alongside and keep the butter in the gravy. 

Farmers' market heirloom tomatoes by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Tomato Gravy

2 tbsp. butter

1/2 cup onion, diced

1 clove garlic, minced

salt and freshly ground pepper

1 tablespoon all-purpose flour

3 ripe tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped

1 cup milk

1. In a heavy skillet, melt butter and saute onion until softened. Add garlic, salt and pepper and cook for another minute.

2. Sprinkle the flour over and cook, stirring well for another couple minutes.

3. Stir in the chopped tomato and cook for five more minutes. Slowly add the milk and bring to a simmer. Taste for seasoning, adjust. Serve warm with split buttermilk biscuits and a side of bacon.

Text & images copyright 2010, Lucy Mercer.

Granddaddy's Cast-Iron Skillet Fried Corn



Corn by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books



One of the distinctive characteristics of living in the New South, cookie-cutter suburban Atlanta, is that the Old South, the rural, hardscrabble life that James Agee and others wrote about is never far from view. Reminders can be as vivid as the tar paper shack I drive by on the carpool run - rusted refrigerators and livestock in the yard, enclosed with a barbed wire fence. Or it can be the cast iron skillet that I keep on my cooktop, ready to fry up a pan of corn the way my granddaddy did. Used to be every family had a cast iron skillet, just as dear and useful as a family bible.

I wish I could say that my seasoned cast iron skillet is an heirloom handed down through the generations.  The truth is, as a newlywed 20 years ago, I paid $20 bucks at Wal-Mart for a Lodge chicken fryer skillet - it's a little bit deeper than a standard skillet, seasoned to a midnight black patina. I keep it on the stovetop so it's handy for vegetable sautes, tomato gravy, pineapple upside-down cakes and biscuits. (I save chicken frying for my enamel cast iron Dutch oven - less splatter.) And fried corn. This is not deep-fried corn, just the Southern term for fresh corn cooked in bacon fat, thickened with flour and seasoned with cracked black pepper.

Now, my family loves roasted ears of corn on the cob and I've been known to turn out a corn salad or two, but if I'm going to write about what's true in my heart, I have to tell you that the best corn I ever ate and later learned to cook was the skillet fried corn turned out by my paternal grandfather in Alabama. I guess I can say that Granddaddy was an ornery old cuss - a grumpy old man who handed out Kennedy half dollars to his grandkids before settling in his recliner with a Bud in his hand, ready for an afternoon of Auburn football.

Well, that’s one memory, I do have another, better remembrance -  Granddaddy cooking fried corn in his cast iron skillet. Each summer the extended family would gather for a meal in the dining room of the house in Birmingham, grateful to escape the Alabama heat and ready for a feast. The oval, cherrywood dining table would be covered in a white linen cloth and loaded with the platters and bowls of Grandmother's bone china. The menu was  the same for each gathering - sliced ham, sliced tomatoes with mayonnaise, potato salad, devilled eggs (Hellmann's mayonnaise being something of a religion in my family), green beans cooked with ham, and Granddaddy's skillet fried corn. The corn, creamy white and rich with bacon fat, was pretty much my favorite thing on the plate. I remember once my mom asking Granddaddy how he made his fried corn and he smiled, actually smiled, and said you gotta use white corn, what folks called field corn, and a cast iron skillet.

Corn and cast iron skillet by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

When I eat my granddaddy's skillet fried corn, I can’t help but think of the Gudger family in James Agee’s “Let Us Now Praise Famous Men” - the sharecropper family in rural southern Alabama in 1936. Their house smelled of “corn and lard” and when I fix my own version of this dish, I remember the families whose lives depended on corn, for their livestock and themselves. My grandfather wasn’t a sharecropper, but he came from humble beginnings, and I guess he knew a thing or two about putting together a belly-filling meal on the fly.

Skillet-fried corn with bacon by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Skillet Fried Corn with Bacon

I make this in summer, and I try to use a variety of corn - yellow and white. Gardeners will tell you that Silver Queen is the best, so if you see it, be sure to bring it home.

4 slices bacon

6 ears corn, shucked

½ medium onion, chopped

2 tablespoons flour

Water, about a cup, maybe more

Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. In a cast iron skillet, fry bacon until crispy. There are two ways to accomplish this: 1. Messy: on stovetop, fry for about 20 minutes. 2. Not so messy: in 350° oven for about 25 minutes. When bacon is crispy, set bacon strips on paper towels to drain and pour bacon grease into metal container.

2. While bacon is cooking, prepare corn. Remove the corn from the cob thusly - hold cob upright and with a sharp knife held parallel to the cutting board, cut the kernels off one “side.” Place cob horizontally with the flat, cut side on the cutting board and slice off kernels, rotating cob. Do not discard cobs - you will use them in a minute.

Cutting corn by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

3. Place skillet over medium heat and add two tablespoons bacon grease to pan. Add onion and saute until softened. Add flour and cook for a couple of minutes. Toss corn kernels in pan and saute. Take each cob and hold upright in the center of skillet. With the back of your knife, scrape the corn “cream” into the pan. Now you can discard the cobs. Stir.

4. Add water slowly to pan while you stir, until you get the desired consistency. I prefer thicker but some may like it thinner, like a chunky gravy.

5. Crumble bacon and stir into pot or top individual servings.

Text and images © 2010, Lucy Mercer.

"Let Us Now Praise Famous Men" is by James Agee with photographs by Walker Evans and published by Houghton Mifflin. It's a challenging read (at least for me), but if you love the South and the English language and compelling photography, it will reward.

Creamy Grits are a Satisfying Go-With



Creamy Grits by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

 Let's be clear: I was born in the South, I live in the South, and I will love grits 'til my dying day. Growing up, quick white grits with a puddle of butter were a Sunday morning treat alongside scrambled eggs and bacon. My husband introduced me to his ritual of crumbling bacon into the grits for a salty, smoky crunch.

Before the girls came along, I would come home some nights, dead tired from work, put on jammies and fix a bowl of grits, sprinkle them with shredded Cheddar cheese and eat them in front of Thursday night's Must-See-TV. These days, I still turn out grits for breakfast, but I've expanded my options and use grits the way Italian cooks use polenta - as a foil for rich stews such as ratatouille.

Here's my recipe for creamy grits. You can use regular quick grits (never instant!), or the sunny yellow grits made by Dixie Lily.

Creamy grits

2 cups water

1 cup chicken broth

1 cup milk

1 cup grits

Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Cheddar cheese, cream cheese, butter and other goodies, p.r.n.


1. In a medium saucepan, preferably nonstick, combine all liquids and place over medium heat. Slowly whisk in grits. Bring to a simmer, whisking occasionally, and cook until the grits are smooth and free of lumps.

2. Stir in cheese, if using, and butter and seasonings. Serve with breakfast or as a base for ratatouille.

P is for Potluck (and Peas!)

7 Layer Salad by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Contrary to what many believe, May, not December, is the busiest month for my colleagues in the mommy business. You may think that December, with class parties and church happenings, would be the craziest time of the year, but the end of the school year seems to slip on us and before we know it, we’re slammed with breathlessly important occasions such as Teacher Appreciation Days and Fifth Grade Graduation and the End of Year Soccer/Beta Club/Band Party. All of these occasions demand food and eventually folks tire of pizza and that’s where the mommies step up and bring a covered dish.

The queen of the covered dish is my friend Julie. We’ve been friends since college, and twenty years after rooming together at UGA, we still seemed stunned that we spend our lives in carpool lines and not behind desks. Julie is a first-class cook and is always the first to volunteer to bring a dish to an event. In our weekly call from the carpool line, she told me that her latest success was a layered salad. If you're not familiar with the layered salad, it's the kind of recipe that Paula Deen has built an empire around. It's a potluck staple, a green salad layered in a pretty glass bowl with green peas, onions, bacon and cheese, then topped with a creamy mayonnaise dressing.

“It was a big hit,” she said. It kind of surprised her, but “you know, nobody cooks anymore. They eat in restaurants or if they cook, they open a box first.” We’ve decided that we’re the last of the casserole queens, the ones who cook from scratch and carry a dish to every family, church and school gathering. I suppose layered salad is kind of a cold casserole, with the base of lettuce substituting for pasta or rice, and the requisite green vegetable, peas in the middle. Topped with cheese, and mayonnaise subbing for the cream of whatever soup, and you see what I mean.

Julie’s recipe is from her church cookbook, and it’s from Miss Ethel Arrington, a woman who never married and played the organ at the church. Miss Ethel Arrington specified a can of LeSueur Peas in her layered salad, and Julie doesn’t substitute. The silver can is a guilty pleasure for me - I can’t think of LeSueur ("Very Young Small Early") peas without memories of my Grandmother Kitty, with her Montgomery, Alabama, accent, saying “LeSu-wuuuuu-er peas.” She served them at all family gatherings, convinced that the only green vegetable that her many grandchildren would eat is LeSueur brand peas. The menu would include a cooked ham, potato salad with and without celery (another story for another time), heated canned peas, blueberry Jell-O salad (the kind with the cream cheese topping) and, if we were lucky, her homemade itty-bitty biscuits.

While I keep a can of LeSueur peas in the pantry, I'm more likely to use frozen English peas when I cook. Peas are the only vegetable that comes to mind that is nearly as good frozen as fresh. It's a frozen pantry staple for me - a handful of peas thrown into a stir fry or added at the last minute to beef stew. Frozen peas are a kitchen workhorse, completing the sacred triumverate in a meat and potato meal, or adding their sweet mellow selves to a potluck dish. In a pinch, the bag of frozen peas makes a handy ice pack for boo-boos. (At the very least, it will get a giggle from your child.)

My layered salad is adapted from Allrecipes.com, perhaps the church cookbook of the internet age. If you want to be true to Miss Ethel Arrington and my grandmother, use two cans of LeSueur peas, drained, instead of the frozen, thawed, English peas. Peas are a good choice for the layered salad, between the sharp onion and crunchy lettuce, creamy mayonnaise dressing and salty bacon, the emerald spheres make pleasant, sweet pops in your mouth.

7 layer salad. Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Sweet Pea Seven-Layered Salad

1 lb. bacon, cooked, crumbled, drained

1 head of iceberg lettuce, chopped

1 bunch green onions, all of white and some green, chopped fine

1 (12 oz.) package frozen green peas, thawed

1 ½ cups shredded Cheddar cheese

1 cup chopped cauliflower

1 ¼ cups mayonnaise

2 tablespoons sugar

4 perfectly cooked hard-boiled eggs, peeled and diced

A handful of wasabi peas, optional

1. In a small bowl, stir together mayonnaise and sugar and let rest while you assemble the salad.

2. Use a large, clear glass bowl, if you have one, but any large, deep bowl will do. Place the lettuce in the bottom of the bowl and top with a layer of onion, then follow with peas, shredded cheese and cauliflower. Spread mayonnaise mixture on top of salad. Sprinkle bacon and egg on top. Cover and refrigerate until ready to serve.

3. If you want a little kick to your layered salad, add my favorite crunchy/spicy snack - wasabi peas across the top of individual servings.

© 2010, Lucy Mercer.

Bacon, Whoopee!

We go through a lot of bacon in our kitchen, especially in these chilly winter months when we crave hearty breakfasts and substantial oven-braised meals. Eggs and bacon is a quickly-put-together life-saving meal on evenings where we just want to get the family fed and watered before bed. When I make a pot roast or beef stew or a chicken braise, I will start with bacon before I sear the meat and prepare the sauce. The bacon adds a greasy cooking element, to be sure, just pour off all but tablespoons of the fat before searing the meat, but it adds smoky and salty flavor, as well. The smell of bacon cooking also signals to all within the house, including pets, that something good is definitely happening in the kitchen.

I store raw bacon in the freezer. It thaws in the fridge in just a couple of hours, so it's usually not a problem, and if I really need bacon now, it defrosts in the microwave easily. After the package is opened, I curl the bacon pieces around my fingers and put them in a freezer container; much easier than separating strips of frozen bacon.

Welcoming 2010 with Breakfast

Our New Year’s breakfast is a week late, because the girls were visiting friends last weekend. I was at home, working and worrying in a too-quiet house. The memory is a bit hazy now, but I think I welcomed the end of the aughts with a whole wheat bagel with a schmear, and my usual two cups of coffee. So, today, we mark a new year with a breakfast menu of yeast-raised waffles, warm fruit salad and brown sugar bacon. I'm a conscientious cook and want to be sure that all food groups are covered: sweet, salty, fruity and porky. Yes, it’s going to be a good year.

The yeast-raised waffles are intensely buttery, but not greasy. The recipe is from the America’s Test Kitchen Family Cookbook, an orange ring-bound bible that’s never far from my kitchen counter. The advantage of this recipe is mixing the batter in the evening and letting it ferment in the fridge overnight, bubbling into a smooth vanilla-scented batter. And speaking of vanilla, I triple the amount called for in the recipe - everything is better with vanilla.

Brown sugar bacon, aka candied bacon, has been embraced by the masses. At least the masses at my house. As if bacon needs anything to make it taste better or be worse for your health, let’s just coat it in brown sugar.

The warm fruit compote, oh, I mean salad, is my attempt to add some nutrition to this meal. A warning to all food snobs: I am a heathen, I know, because the recipe calls for canned fruit. I suppose I could summon the energy to peel pears and oranges and pineapple this morning, but in the spirit of these lean economic times, I whip out the can opener and go to town. Besides, the canned fruit reminds me of the “84 Charing Cross Road” movie scene where Helene Hanff and her friends gather round and choose items to send to Frank Doel and Cecily Farr and Messrs. Marks and Cohen in post-war London. (The letters included with the package are in the book. One of the best lines is the follow-up to the initial package in December 1949, when Helene reconsiders the propriety of sending a ham to Marks & Cohen, the bookshop proprietors. She asks if they are kosher and offers to rush a tongue over. ) Really, if it’s good enough for h.h., it ought to be good enough for my family.

Despite my hopes that my youngest will sleep in this morning, (my first Saturday off since before Thanksgiving), Lindsey is awake and full of energy. She’s a helper, constantly reminding me that she wants to do and try everything. Especially if it’s electric and has a button. ("Ooooh, the waffle maker! Does it have a button?“) We’ve taken to hiding flashlights from her, because she plays with them, leaving them upside down, turned on. During a recent power failure, we managed to find a dozen flashlights, but not a one worked.

This morning, she stirs the waffle batter, beating out the bubbles to a smooth consistency. Then it’s time for the bacon, a task that I’m not too sad about handing over.

“Let me do it!”

“But do you really want to touch cold, slimy bacon?”

“Yes, I want to do it!” Well, if you insist…

And so she does, stretching each piece in the pound to fit on the rack suspended over a foil-covered baking sheet. I pull out the brown sugar. “Let me do it! Give me a spoon!“ And so the brown sugar is liberally poured over the bacon before I slide it into the oven for a half hour’s crisping and baking. Thirty minutes filled with pleas to be the one to pull the hot pan out of the oven. “But Lindsey, the pan is hot. And heavy. Let Mommy.”

“Let me do it!” No, I don’t think so.

I distract her with the next step, opening the cans of fruit for the warm fruit salad. (I know: can opener in the hands of a four year old! Get DFACS on the line.) We’ve been at this game for awhile, and she gives up the job early in the attempt, settling for emptying the fruit into the strainer suspended over a bowl. And she wants to be the first to sample the fruit juice. I catch her later, dipping her cup directly into the bowl of leftover juice. Blind eye, I think, blind eye. Then I hear, “Mommy, mommy, mommy.”

And probably again, “mommy, mommy, mommy.”

“What do you need, sweetpea?”

“Mommy, I love you.”

And I could end this story here, with a halcyon glow of promise and hope. But later, when I pull out the breakfast plates, she says, “I don’t want a plate.”

“But you need to eat on a plate. Waffles with syrup are messy. “

“I don’t want waffles. I want to dip my bacon in the syrup.”

“What about fruit?”

“No fruit. Just juice.”

So, here’s to 2010, a year of promise and hope, and in September, a five year old.

And later,

“Mommy, mommy, mommy.”

“What?”

"Is Christmas over?"

"Yes, it is, sweetpea."

"Because I love it."

Warm Fruit Salad

This is a dump and do recipe.

29 oz. can peaches
20 oz. can pineapple tidbits
15.25 oz. can sliced pears
8.75 oz. apricot halves
11 oz. can mandarin oranges
one small jar of maraschino cherries

Set up a large bowl and a strainer and grab your can opener. Put a casserole dish alongside. Open each can, drain into the strainer, the place fruit in casserole dish.

In a small saucepan, combine:

½ stick butter
½ cup orange juice
¾ cup light brown sugar
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon cloves

Melt butter in saucepan, heat o.j. in microwave for 30 seconds. Add sugar to butter, followed by warm orange juice. Heat until bubbly then add spices. Pour over fruit in casserole. Place in moderate (350 oven) until ready to serve.

Makin' Bacon

Remember the old dog food commercial where the dog ran through the house chanting in a gruff voice "bacon! bacon! bacon!" I can't remember the product, but I think of the ad every time I make brown sugar bacon for my kids. They are bacon fiends and this is their favorite preparation. I know it's not health food, but for every few weeks, it's nice to see them truly excited about food.

This recipe is all over the internet, sometimes called Candied Bacon, or Sugared Bacon, and it's really very simple: just thick cut bacon, sprinkled with sugar and baked in the oven. I've tried many brands of bacon, but I've always had success with Oscar Mayer Hearty Thick Cut Bacon.

Brown Sugar Bacon

1. Prepare the pan: take a sheet pan and cover it with foil. Do not skip this step -- the grease and sugar from this dish are a bear to clean from a naked pan. If you have a cooling rack that can go in the oven, put this over the foil. It will help keep the bacon from frying in the grease, again helping with the cleanup.

2. Preheat oven to 350. Lay out 1/2 the package of bacon strips on the cooling rack grid. This is enough for my family, but if you have two pans and cooling racks, and a large enough oven you can cook the entire pound at once.

3. Sprinkle brown sugar (dark brown is better, but light brown will work) lightly over each slice, perhaps a 1/2 teaspoon on each slice. If you want to kick it up, you can put a sprinkle of cayenne pepper over the sugar.

4. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. I use convection, so your time may vary.

5. Drain bacon on paper towels, being careful not to let the sugar side touch the towels or you'll have paper-coated bacon slices.

6. Don't worry about calling the kids to the table. The smell of bacon will waft through the air and draw them to you.