One of my most recent columns for the Charleston Gazette-Mail was about deviled eggs:

It’s not a celebration in my house without the tangy, sweet addition of deviled eggs to the dinner table.

Deviled eggs — the tastier version of hard-boiled eggs that involves scooping out the yolk and mixing it with mayonnaise and mustard — serve as appetizers for every holiday meal, family event and significant milestone in the Nelson household. And, it appears I’m not alone.

In Mark Sohn’s book “Appalachian Home Cooking: History, Culture, and Recipes,” he noted a list of the most common Appalachian foods: soup beans, apple stack cake, biscuits and gravy, and other iconic staples.

A little further down the list: deviled eggs.

“No mountain dinner is complete without deviled eggs. At dinner on the grounds, they may be plucked away before the blessing is given, and at Thanksgiving dinners, even small families often serve two platters. Local markets sell deviled egg trays, and unlike yeast dinner rolls, which few cooks prepare at home, many cooks make deviled eggs,” he wrote.

These little bites, dressed in bright yellow and bold red, awaken the taste buds: salty, a little sweet, but mostly tangy, and certainly satisfying. That’s in part how they got their name.

As a culinary term, “devil” is most often used to describe dishes with spicy, tangy, hot or fried foods, first appearing in Great Britain in 1786, according to A&E’s History Channel. By 1800, “deviling” became a common verb that was used describe making food spicy or hot.

But the concept of boiling eggs, topping them with spicy sauces and serving them while entertaining goes back even further — to ancient Rome. They were seasoned with oil, wine, honey, vinegar or broth. In the 13th century, stuffing the eggs with cilantro, onion and coriander became popular in what is now Spain. By the 15th century, stuffed eggs had taken over Europe, where they were filled with raisins, cheese and herbs.

Our beloved “deviled egg” — sometimes called a “dressed egg,” made with mayonnaise (or in my household, Miracle Whip), mustard and paprika — became popular in Appalachia in the 1940s. Back then, measuring spoons weren’t big in my family — or many others in West Virginia — so our recipe for deviled eggs calls for a “smidgen” of this and a “bit” of that.

That leads to the following exercise: Mom boils the eggs and makes a yolk mixture and hands spoons to my father and me to try it.

“Too sweet,” he says. “Yeah, add more vinegar!” I say. We repeat this process approximately four or five times. It might be because we like eating the yolk mixture, or maybe it’s because we like tangier foods as we get older, but we never grant approval after just one round. And I have a sneaking suspicion this is intentional on my mother’s part, because she enjoys the tradition, too.

This simple amuse-bouche has been a staple at every major meal, even when the main course changes. Turkey for Thanksgiving? Still snacking on deviled eggs for lunch. Ham at Easter? Only if we have deviled eggs for breakfast. Potluck for family reunions? If there aren’t deviled eggs, the reunion is canceled.

And deviled eggs aren’t unique to my household or Appalachia — you can find them at high-end restaurants in big cities topped with unique ingredients — but they sure do play a role in our food culture. While other places may include them as an option, here, they’re a requirement.

So, tell me, how do you make your deviled eggs? My recipe is simple but tasty. What makes yours unique?

My latest column in the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

Some things are just an acquired taste — often due to nostalgia or developed via repeated exposure. Beans and cornbread. Dark chocolate. Beer.

That can probably be applied to many Appalachian foods. But, because I grew up eating them, I knew no different. Especially in sixth grade.

For a class project, I had been working on a genealogy report, where I traced my family back 13 generations until I ran out of documents in 1863 — when West Virginia wasn’t yet a state.

After months of poring over census records, birth records, death records and marriage licenses at the local courthouse, the day finally came to celebrate the diversity of the class, and everyone brought a traditional dish from his or her culture. I was tickled to bring the Nelson family’s famous bread pudding.

Bread pudding was a treat for my family. We baked a batch for special occasions, and every Nelson woman competed each year at my family reunion to see who could win the coveted title of best bread pudding.

It was never a contest, though, because Aunt Pat always took home top honors with her family recipe that likely dated back to when our ancestors emigrated from England.

But you know who wasn’t tickled? A bunch of picky 12-year-olds who turn their noses up at raisins and a congealed mass of stale bread.

Among a buffet of pizzas, pastas and mini-calzones from the kids with Italian heritage, my boring bread pudding remained untouched. Not. One. Bite.

It was a tragic moment for me — a young girl excited to share a piece of her culture through food. It wasn’t just any dessert. It was one that had been lovingly perfected over generations, integrated into important family events and adapted to fit ingredients we had readily available.

Appalachian cuisine is special in that the dishes are rooted in place and draw on our heritage.

Bread pudding exists in many different forms and cultures around the world. In the Philippines, they add bananas. In Canada, maple syrup. In West Virginia, it’s often made with dried apples from a summer harvest or hearty raisins. And memories.

That experience helped plant the seed for learning how food plays an important role in our culture. Appalachian cuisine may be difficult to define, but for me, it’s those meals that have stories associated with them and draw on the place we’re from.

For me, there’s nothing more Appalachian than bread pudding that has incorporated local ingredients that were available and developed by Nelson hands over many generations.

These experiences, memories, cultures — and food — are like blood running through my veins. They make up who I am. And part of who I am? Bread pudding connoisseur.

What is your Appalachian blood type?

Aunt Pat’s Nelson Family Bread Pudding

My latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

When I mention soup beans to folks, I get one of two responses: Either they look confused and ask if I’m referring to a soup with beans, or they nod happily and recall fond memories. The latter response is often an indicator that the person is an Appalachian.

Soup beans are not so much a soup, but rather pinto beans that have been slowly simmered in water, creating a rich pot likker with the help of ham, salt and pepper. The silky, creamy, pork-flavored dish is a hearty, filling meal when paired with cornbread, fried potatoes, chow chow and diced onions, and has fed mountaineers for many years.

It’s a simple dish — one crafted from dried beans, which were often a necessity during tough mountain winters. Paired with cornbread made from dried corn and a homemade chow chow from garden vegetables, soup beans have been a cold-weather necessity in Appalachia.

In “Appalachian Home Cooking: History, Culture, and Recipes” by Mark F. Sohn, he writes, “Like stores across America, mountain markets today sell pinto beans, white beans, black beans, red kidneys, and great Northerns in one-pound bags. In the fall, however, mountain markets also sell pinto beans in 10-, 25-, and even 40-pound bags. Forty pounds. This size bag suggests a diet staple.”

But I never liked soup beans.

In my house, soup beans meant money was tight. Soup beans and cornbread is an inexpensive meal that can stretch for a week for a small family. And there were times when we did just that.

Others enjoy the dish because it’s a taste of home — it hearkens back to a time when a pot of beans would simmer on the stove all winter.

It speaks to a deeper sense of place — gathering dried goods that could survive the harsh winter and lovingly creating a fulfilling meal for the whole family.

When my grandma made hers, she would never salt the soup beans. Rather, she would let everybody salt their own so they can adjust their desired amount. It’s the little things.

My grandmother made a soup beans recipe that stayed true to its simple roots. Sometimes, she would use great northern beans, which are white, rather than the brown pinto bean, and they cook a bit more quickly.

None of her recipes include precise measurements; it’s always a “handful” of this or a “pinch” of that. But I included a close version of her home-style recipe for soup beans.

So, I may not like soup beans, but I do love them.

I love them for nourishing my hungry tummy — and soul. I love them for creating memories with my grandmother. And, I love them for helping develop an appreciation for Appalachian food and how it connects me to the place I’m from.

My latest column in the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

Fall is just around the corner: boots, flannel, football and leaves.

Or, in my world: cinnamon, nutmeg, clove and ginger.

While everyone else is resurrecting their scarves from storage in anticipation of cooler temperatures, I’m salivating over the Curried Carrot Bisque, the Venison Tenderloin with chanterelle mushrooms and the caramel lattes about to come my way.

I’m not saying fall flavors are the best ... but actually, yes, I’m saying fall flavors are the best. And no one does fall better than West Virginia.

Cinnamon

Take Beckley Chef Jon Lester, for example. The head chef at Dobra Zupas is already serving his Curried Carrot Bisque — full of beautiful cinnamon — as we speak.

“I love to cook in accordance with the seasons,” Lester said. “So, if it’s cooler, we go with heartier dishes. In the fall, we work to balance that sweet and savory and really use things like carrot, acorn and butternut squash, pumpkin, sweet potato, rutabaga, and apples. The Curried Carrot Bisque is something that I just tried recently, and it’s been a big hit — especially during the cooler, rainy days.”

The vibrant orange soup both looks and tastes like fall with carrot, cinnamon and ...
Nutmeg

The nutty, slightly sweet nutmeg flavor pairs well with root vegetables, as well as seasonal drinks. Think eggnog — or better: lattes.

Elizabeth Morton, co-owner of Vandal’s Kitchen in Fayetteville, lets the seasons dictate the restaurant’s daily coffee special. Fall brings with it nutmeg, maple and caramel-flavored lattes for the restaurant.

Morton said the coffee, which the shop is known for, is especially inspired by what is seasonally available — whether that’s at the local market or right outside.

“We draw on ingredients from the garden and see what we can find to infuse into our specials,” she said. “In the fall, we will have more nutmeg, cinnamon and clove.”
Clove

Hill & Hollow in Morgantown is creating its autumn menu with wild game, foraged mushrooms and other earthy dishes — many of which will see the addition of clove.

“Fall ingredients do seem to be easier to work with,” said Marion Ohlinger, owner and chef. “The cooler weather brings back the appetite that gets lost in the summer heat, and hearty comfort dishes are the simplest to cook. For us folks raised on farms, late fall is butcher time, so there’s also that aspect.”

Ohlinger will serve his traditional favorite of Venison Tenderloin with Foraged Chanterelles. And while clove is good friends with cinnamon or nutmeg, it has a strong savory bond with red meat.

“I’ve been working on some nontraditional ideas that are evocative of autumn,” he said. “In a few weeks we’ll be debuting a dish made of toasted alfalfa broth — yep, made from hay — with rabbit and hen-of-the-woods ravioli; the flavor of the broth is similar to an earthy chamomile, but the aroma is pure autumn in Appalachia.”


Ginger

Pumpkin, honey and apples all have (at least) one thing in common: They’re better with ginger. The slightly spicy and warm flavor is often sprinkled atop drinks or desserts for a little extra somethin’ somethin’.

Lester crafts a poached Fiji Apple Pie Shot with brown sugar, apple cider, rum, amaretto, ginger, whipped cream and crumbled pie pieces that you eat as you drink it.

“It’s warming, it’s fun to eat and, most importantly, it’s delicious,” Lester said.

He added that while there are few flavors specific to Appalachia — like paw paws — how chefs in the area work with fall flavors is unique. Cinnamon, nutmeg, clove and ginger play prominent flavor roles, which create these warm and comforting dishes.

“What’s really important is not that West Virginia chefs have different ingredients to work with, but how they incorporate them into a set style. Appalachian fall cooking is a real taste of home, and it doesn’t get much better than that.”

No, it doesn’t get much better than that.

Candace Nelson is a marketing and public relations professional living in Morgantown. In her free time, Nelson blogs about West Virginia food culture at CandaceLately.com. Find her @Candace07 on Twitter or email Candace127@gmail.com.

Dobra Zupas’ Curried Carrot Bisque

1 yellow onion (diced)

6 stalks celery (diced)

3 pounds carrots (shredded)

3 pears (skinned and diced)

4 cups orange juice

1 cup brown sugar

vegetable stock

large handful fresh chopped basil

1/2 tablespoon cinnamon

1/4 tablespoon nutmeg

2 tablespoons yellow curry

1 tablespoon Sriracha sauce

1/2 cup heavy whipping cream

Saute all vegetables and pears in butter until lightly browned.

Add basil and lightly wilt.

Add orange juice, brown sugar and enough vegetable stock to cover vegetable mixture.

Add all dry ingredients and Sriracha.

Simmer until carrots are nice and soft, occasionally adding more stock if it starts to dry out.

Puree with immersion/stick blender until smooth and add heavy cream.

Salt and pepper to taste. More curry is optional depending upon preference.

- See more at: http://www.wvgazettemail.com/life-food-and-dining/20160911/wv-culinary-team-west-virginia-does-fall-flavors-best#sthash.KRwWRegA.dpuf

Here's a column I wrote for the Charleston Gazette-Mail about how to ~West Virginia-fy~ your New Year's Eve celebration, but, realistically, this could be used for any celebration. And, consider it's the Fourth of July, what better time, right?