Here's my latest column in the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

It is a candy fit for the gods.

Made with egg whites, corn syrup, sugar and usually pecans, Divinity is an old-fashioned, Southern candy that is similar to nougat, fudge or meringue. Sometimes divinity can contain dried fruit or other chopped nuts. And, if the white sugar is replaced with brown sugar, the resulting sister confection is called “sea foam.”

“Although recipes for various nougat and sweet meringue-type confections (with and without nuts and fruit) can be traced to ancient Turkish and 17th century European roots, food historians generally agree that Divinity … is an early 20th century American invention,” according to FoodTimeline.org.

“Why? One of the primary ingredients in early Divinity recipes is corn syrup, a product actively marketed to (and embraced by) American consumers as a sugar substitute at that time. Corn syrup was affordable (economical), practical (shelf-stable), and adapted well to most traditional recipes.”

The candy is specifically tied to the South most likely due to the inclusion of pecans, and it is often given as a gift during the holidays or other gatherings. Divinity made its way north into Appalachia and beyond. Like many other Appalachian foods, divinity was born from the need to work with what is available, cost-effective and just downright tasty. And like Appalachia as a whole, divinity can be fickle.

“Much like it is when making meringues, the key to making a successful divinity has everything to do with the weather! If possible, always make divinity on a cool, dry day. As sugar attracts water, any humidity or moisture in the air can affect how your divinity turns out. Divinity should be dry and set within two hours, but have patience. It may take a little longer,” according to culinary assistant Mark Neufang at Taste of Home.

Humidity is a huge factor in making divinity, because it needs to be low enough for the candy to be able to dry properly. Here is how it works: Divinity has a lot of sugar, which absorbs moisture from the air. So, when the humidity is high, the sugar will absorb more moisture, which will make the divinity less dry and more sticky. This can cause the divinity to not set properly and become a gooey mess. When made under the right conditions, it is a soft, white candy that should be dry to the touch. For best results, make divinity on a dry day with humidity levels below 50%.

If that is not possible, here are some tips for making divinity on a humid day:
Use a dehumidifier in the kitchen
Cook the divinity in the oven with the door open
Keep the divinity in an airtight container

While divinity is not something that holds dear memories for me, nor have I made it many times over, I appreciate how it came to be and how it serves as a role in community building. Whether it is a gift for Christmas or homemade version at a family reunion, divinity is one of those treats that is best to share. It’s one that families can make together and pass down tips and tricks through generations. And it is one that can help form bonds and memories. Have you made divinity before? Do you have any traditions surrounding this treat or others?

Here's my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

You’ve probably heard of “chestnuts roasting over an open fire,” and of a chestnut-colored furniture piece. But, have you ever actually tasted an American chestnut? If you’re younger than age 50, the answer is likely no.

That is because despite the chestnut’s lingering presence in our cultural history, it has been “functionally extinct” for decades — which means that while the species still survives, it cannot reproduce.

More than a century ago, nearly 4 billion American chestnut (castanea dentata) trees were growing in the eastern U.S., according to The American Chestnut Foundation. They were not only a crucial part of the ecosystem, but the chestnuts were also a food source for indigenous people and European-Americans, as well as livestock.

Chestnuts are edible both raw or cooked and have a mild flavor that lends itself to both sweet and savory dishes. When they are cooked, they take on a soft texture and a slightly sweet and buttery flavor that is fairly mild. They are sometimes compared to sweet potatoes and can be used in soups or stews. Or, they can be used in stuffings or simmered in sugar. They can even be made into flour that can be used for baked goods, pastas and more.

That is, if you can find them.

Within the past 50 years, the American Chestnut has mostly disappeared due to the effects of blight. In 1904, an invasive, airborne fungus was accidentally introduced in New York City and spread to the Appalachian Mountains. Chestnut blight devastated the species.

“Today, there are fewer than 1,000 American chestnut trees, largely in isolated areas outside of the tree’s historical range in the eastern half of the United States, along the Appalachian mountain ridge and throughout New England,” according to researchers at Penn State University.

The Appalachian Trail runs right through the heart of the chestnut’s historic range, so some chestnut trees can still be found in the area. And there are organizations working to develop a blight-resistant chestnut tree to help restore the population. But, otherwise, most of the chestnuts we may find in supermarkets here are imported from China, Italy or Korea.

So, if you’re able to get your hands on this piece of Appalachian edible history, be sure to try them with one of the recipes here. Enjoy a bite of the past, which can hopefully return in the future.

My latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

Pickling is a favorite mountain culinary tradition because it seals up those bright flavors of summer to be enjoyed as sour snacks months later in the dead of winter.

Pickling is a method of preservation that works by anaerobic fermentation or immersion in vinegar. And everything from vegetables and fruits to meats and fish can be pickled.

Like many Appalachian foodways, pickling may have started as a means to survival, but it expanded beyond a necessity to a preference and has helped define the cuisine in many ways, along with drying, canning, curing and fermenting.

You may have enjoyed pickled cucumbers, pickled eggs, pickled beets, pickled okra, pickled cabbage, pickled green tomatoes or even pickled pigs feet.

There’s chow chow, which is a pickled relish. And then there are dilly beans. Dilly beans are pickled green beans. Why they’re not just called pickled green beans, I have no idea. But green beans in general have always been part of a mountain meal — whether they’re fresh from growing as part of the three sisters method or dried and strung on a thread as “leather britches” or “shuck beans.”

Dilly beans — and pickles in general — add a punch of sweet, hot, spicy or dill flavor to meals that may otherwise be one note. According to Mark Sohn in “Appalachian Home Cooking: History, Culture and Recipes,” pickling continues to be popular today because it adds intriguing flavors and textures to meals.

Pickling spice tends to be a favorite ingredient in the vinegar mixture, but so are allspice, bay leaves, cardamom, ginger, mustard seeds and peppercorns. But you can choose a number of different seasonings to flavor pickles to your personal preference. While pickling may have initially started as a means of survival to preserve food during harsh Appalachian winters, it has continued on due to its ease and ability to spice up dishes.

It has even become a hallmark of Appalachian cuisine, with pickled vegetables adorning appetizer trays and heavy meals for flavor. What is your favorite pickled food?

Here's my latest column in the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

Locally grown and produced food is sometimes referred to as “slow food” — the very antithesis of fast food.

And, it doesn’t get much slower than molasses. Get it?

Molasses is a thick, dark, sweet syrup that is made from the leftovers of the sugar-making process. Juice is extracted from sugar cane and then boiled down until sugar crystals form, which are then removed to be used as sugar. The leftover syrup is liquid gold.

Until the late 19th century, molasses had been the most popular sweetener in cooking and baking in the United States due to its being far cheaper than sugar. But after World War l, refined sugar prices dropped drastically and resulted in a swift migration in consumer spending toward white sugar. Appalachia, though, oft remote and dedicated to traditions, likely held onto molasses making for far longer because it was more accessible and inexpensive.

“For hundreds of years, molasses was considered a poor substitute for sugar, and its pungent flavor was not thought to be suitable for the finer tables and more developed palates in the land,” writes Sidney Saylor Farr in “More Than Moonshine: Appalachian Recipes & Recollections.”

“The expense of sugar was not a deterrent to wealthy people, but people less affluent had to rely on other means of sweetening their food, such as using honey and molasses.” Sorghum has also historically been a popular sweetener in the region, and has a similar manufacturing process to molasses. It’s made from the sorghum plant, and while it is sometimes referred to as “sorghum molasses,” the origin plant (sugar cane vs. sorghum) is what differentiates the two syrups.

Molasses typically has a deeper, richer flavor with notes of sweet, burnt caramel. It gives gingerbread its characteristic flavor and color. It is also what takes white granulated sugar to brown sugar. That flavor lends itself to old-fashioned recipes, especially in baked goods that are popular around the holidays — spice cake, ginger cookies, fruit cake and more.

In cooking, molasses often plays a role in baked beans, pork dishes and more. So if you have any molasses left over after making those gingerbread houses and baked hams over the holidays, consider making use of it like our ancestors did when you find the need for a sweetener.

My latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail is all about cathead biscuits and sawmill gravy.

Biscuits are the flaky foundation of a southern meal, upon which flavor is built.

Or, are they meant to be fluffy? Buttery? Savory? Sweet? Buttermilk? Dropped? Rolled?

Biscuits are a diverse foodstuff. And everyone has a preference. I’ve previously written about how they can be topped with tomato gravy or chocolate gravy, as well as my own personal favorite topping from childhood: creamed turkey.

Despite the variations and proclivities, there is one biscuit dish that all Appalachians can agree is integral to the region’s food culture: biscuits & gravy.

The breakfast staple consists of golden brown biscuits topped with a white gravy made of milk, flour, crumbled sausage and pan drippings.

Biscuits and gravy in some form could date back to the Revolutionary War, but the beginnings of the dish as we know it likely started in southern Appalachia in the late 1800s.

Then, the biscuits were made to be simple and sturdy; big dollops of biscuit dough were pulled and dropped onto a baking sheet. Those clumps of buttery dough are as big as a cat’s head - hence the name “cathead” biscuit.

These were born out of necessity. They are quick to make but built to last all day in a lunch pail or pocket. These durable biscuits were a precursor to the layered and fluffy ones common today.

To soften up the biscuits to be more palatable and create a more filling breakfast, which was important for laborers, people began topping the biscuits with sausage gravy. The gravy is also called “sawmill” gravy, as lumber was one of the main industries in the region and the meal was a cheap, calorie-dense way for sawmill workers to fuel their hard labor throughout the day.

Biscuits and gravy began as a humble, regional meal - like many meals in Appalachia - made to fill hungry tummies with cheap ingredients and power an industry.

The dish has evolved and spread to diners and restaurants across the country. Its roots, though, pay homage to the hardworking folks who used their resourcefulness and creativity to create flavors that we still enjoy today.

My latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail is out: 

What do root beer, gumbo, the FDA and medicinal tea have in common?

Sassafras.

As the best-named plant (I think), sassafras has lived many lives over the last several centuries even though its modern-day use is limited. Let’s start with the basics, though.

What even is sassafras? Sassafras is a perennial tree found in much of eastern North America, with Appalachia located right in the center of the plant’s natural range The leaves can be found in various shapes: football, mittens (left- or right-handed), and three lobes.

During the fall, the plant's unique leaves turn all shades of orange, yellow and red. From its roots and bark to its leaves and fruit, all parts of the sassafras plant have been used - either culinarily, medicinally, aromatically or otherwise.

Tea

Many Native Americans used sassafras to treat a number of ailments, including fevers, scurvy, hypertension, dysentery and more. Sometimes the leaves would be used directly on a wound, while other times the root bark would be made into a tea. When the Spanish arrived in the 1500s and learned of sassafras, they began shipping it to Europe where its popularity as a wonder drug exploded and rivaled the exports of tobacco. They are also most commonly credited with naming the plant.

Root Beer

In 1875, pharmacist Charles Elmer Hires commercialized his version of “root tea” made from sassafras in Philadelphia. But in an effort to appeal to Pennsylvania coal miners, he used the name “root beer” instead. One early competitor to Hires, Barq’s, began selling a root beer made with sarsaparilla instead of sassafras. Sarsaparilla is a perennial trailing vine with prickly stems that produces similar flavors to sassafras when combined with birch, mint, nutmeg, honey, licorice and clove.

FDA

In the 1960s, the American Food and Drug Administration banned sassafras and sarsaparilla for commercial food production because research showed that the active ingredient safrole could cause cancer in rats during laboratory studies. Neither ingredient is now found in modern root beers; instead, they have been replaced with artificial sassafras, anise, wintergreen and others. Most root beers found in North America are also non-alcoholic, caffeine-free and carbonated.

Gumbo

One of the few uses of sassafras today is in the Louisiana Creole cuisine dish, gumbo. The thick soup or stew that is often served over rice uses filé powder (or filé gumbo), which is made of dried young leaves and stems of the sassafras tree. The filé powder helps thicken the gumbo and lends a spicy deep, earthy flavor. While sassafras is not always used in the same ways it was in the past, its essence is still alive in dishes and drinks we consume today. West Virginia sits directly inside the plant’s natural growth area, but it spreads far and wide, making sassafras known to many across Appalachia and beyond.

Have you ever tried sassafras?

Here's my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

The word buttermilk makes anything seem more indulgent. Buttermilk pancakes. Buttermilk fried chicken. Buttermilk biscuits.

But what is buttermilk?

Traditionally, buttermilk is the liquid that is left over from churning butter out of cultured cream. It is what is left in the churn after the butter has floated all the way to the top.

It is not to be confused with “sweet milk,” a term common in Appalachia that refers to whole milk.

Buttermilk has been a staple in the Appalachian diet for years due to its versatility, and because it has a higher level of acidity, it spoils at a slower rate than sweet milk. That made it especially popular in warmer climates before refrigeration was commonplace.

Its flavor is a bit tart, which works well in baked goods or even as a beverage. It is often found in biscuits, pastries, or in a glass with crumbled cornbread. Sometimes it was served on its own as a drink alongside meals.

The fermented dairy drink’s flavor adds contrast to sweets and is nostalgic for many in the region.

Today, buttercream, for the most part, is not made with cultured cream - but uncultured sweet cream. Instead, buttercream is now cultured separately.

Though the process may be different for creating buttermilk, Appalachians’ taste for the stuff has not changed. It is still popular as both a drink and part of meals - even though the advent of refrigeration has lessened the need for its hearty qualities.

Buttermilk’s integration into recipes draws on nostalgia for many. While it is valuable in its own right for its flavor, buttermilk also is reminiscent of earlier times in Appalachia. Times when things moved at a slower pace and that buttermilk was likely made less than a few miles away - if not a few feet.

It is often playing a supporting role in dishes; it is not the star. Buttermilk, though, pulls it all together. It is a background layer woven throughout the dish that adds richness and flavor.

It is not necessarily flashy or showy, which in many ways is not unlike Appalachia itself. Instead, both buttermilk and Appalachia are utilitarian, humble and hardworking.

Appalachia values these characteristics in food, but they extend to the collective community as well. Working together to create something bigger and better is at the heart of the region and reflected in the foodways of Appalachians.

How do you best enjoy buttermilk?

My latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail has been published!

Nothing says southern summer like a big, red, juicy tomato sliced, salted generously, and stacked between two slices of bread slathered with mayo.

The accouterments may vary: Duke’s Mayo or Miracle Whip. White, squidgy bread or toasted sourdough. Bacon or lettuce if you want to wade into BLT territory. The tomato itself, though, must be an heirloom.

Heirloom means the seeds have been passed down from season to season - many through generations. Farmers save the seeds from the best plants, which allows them to select for favorable traits like flavor.

Grocery store tomatoes have been grown to look pretty, transport well and have a long shelf life. And that means that characteristics like flavor are an afterthought, and we’re left with mealy, mushy, bland tomatoes that bear no resemblance to a homegrown one.

Heirloom tomatoes, on the other hand, may be large and lopsided, misshapen and discolored. But the flavor is unmatched.

If you’ve never visited a local farmers market and enjoyed the imperfect perfection of a Purple Cherokee, Mr. Stripey, Yellow Beefsteak or Pink Brandywine, stop what you’re doing right now, go straight to the market, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

West Virginia is home to a few of its own varieties, including the West Virginia 63 Centennial Tomato, Mountaineer Pride Tomato, Mountaineer Delight Tomato, Mason Marvel Ph.D Tomato and Mortgage Lifter Tomato.

West Virginia ‘63 Tomato

West Virginia University Professor of Plant Pathology Mannon Gallegly created the West Virginia 63 tomato, which was one of the first tomatoes bred for late blight resistance, after 13 years of research. It was released for the state’s 100th birthday in 1963.

The mildly sweet, bright red tomato was used 50 years later in two new varieties in honor of the WVU Davis College of Agriculture, Natural Resources and Design’s 150th birthday. Gallegly and Mahfuz Rahman, an assistant professor and WVU Extension specialist in plant pathology, developed the West Virginia '17A (Mountaineer Pride) and West Virginia '17B (Mountaineer Delight).

The Pride is a firm tomato that is well suited for shipping. The Delight is sweeter than both the Pride and original ‘63 tomato and is similar to a beefsteak tomato.

A fourth tomato, the Mason Marvel Ph.D Tomato, also came out of the ‘63 Tomato breeding project. This tomato was created from crossing heirlooms but was too large and tender for what researchers had in mind. So, Dr. Mason Marvel, who was working on the project, selected it on his own and bred the large, pink beefsteak to perfection.

Mortgage Lifter

There are two “Mortgage Lifter” tomatoes that trace their roots back to West Virginia.

“Radiator Charlie” mortgage lifter tomatoes were created by M.C. Byles in Logan in the 1930s and can be found in many seed catalogs. Byles earned the “Radiator Charlie” nickname from his radiator-repair business, and he cross-bred four large tomatoes to develop his variety: German Johnson, Beefsteak, an Italian variety, and an English variety, according to Southern Exposure Seed Exchange.

“After Charlie developed and named this large tasty tomato he sold plants for $1 each (in the 1940s) and paid off the $6000 mortgage on his house in 6 years … These large, slightly flattened, pink-red tomatoes are meaty and flavorful with few seeds,” the website reads.

“Estler Mortgage Lifters” were developed in the 1920s in Barboursville and are far less common in catalogs. These were created by William Estler and developed nearly a decade earlier.

The name, the family contends, comes from an off-hand remark from an employee. Estler liked it so much, though, he had it copyrighted in 1932.

They are two are different plants, bred from different parent tomatoes, and the name became popular for a number of Depression-era cultivars in the mid-Atlantic.

No matter which heirloom tomato variety you choose, it is sure to help make the best sandwich of the summer.

My latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

Spicebush begins to flower in late winter or early spring. The leaves sprout in mid-spring. Green fruit begins growing by late spring.

And right now, the oblong fruit starts ripening - turning bright, shiny red and continuing throughout late summer.

Spicebush, also known as “Lindera benzoin,” is a shrub common throughout Appalachia that has edible twigs, buds, flowers, leaves, and unripe and ripe fruit.

The most concentrated flavor, though, is in those red berries that are ripening as we speak. Or read.

It is an intensely aromatic berry that is sweet and reminiscent of allspice. In fact, spicebush is often called “poor man’s allspice.” Think of cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper and clove notes.

For those reasons, spicebush - which can be used fresh or dried - goes well with fruits and baked goods: peach cobbler, apple pie, etc.

Native Americans used the twigs, shoots and bark to make tea, as well as to season and flavor their food. It has also long been used as a folk remedy for blood problems, sweating, colds, fevers, rheumatism and anemia.

European settlers incorporated the spice into their kitchens, and during the American Revolution, it was used as a substitute for allspice.

During the Civil War, soldiers drank spicebush tea as a substitute for coffee when rations were low, which gave off the flavor of a spicy, aromatic black tea.

While spicebush has played an important role in the country’s past, many people nowadays have never heard of it, despite its prevalence of growing wild throughout Appalachia.

Spicebush is not a commonly found spice in grocery stores or even specialty food stores, but it is coveted in farmers markets and the foraging community.

Occasionally, it can be found on the menu of a farm-to-table restaurant with a creative chef. Take, for example, Elwood Restaurant just outside of Philadelphia that serves their “Elwood Blend” tea: spicebush, goldenrod, bee balm, and stinging nettle.

In Franklin, Tennessee, restaurant Chrysalis Modern Italian serves a “Spicebush Manhattan,” which incorporates cardamom and cherry bitters into the classic drink.

If you are a keen observer, you may be able to score yourself some spicebush while out and about in nature. Or, you can go the easier route (ahem, like this writer) and find some dried berries online to purchase.

It may quickly become one of your favorite spices on the shelf due to its versatility - for meat and poultry, pastry and baked goods, fruits and even drinks. And, while using it, you will be carrying on a forgotten Appalachian food tradition.

Passing on these spices and foods to future generations is important to help tell the story of West Virginia’s food culture. Without that shared knowledge, traditions such as these can be lost to time and fade into history.

Try out this new spice to experience a unique flavor and keep the legacy of this historic spice alive for years to come. You may even end up replacing allspice altogether in your spice cabinet.

Here's my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

Salt. Fat. Acid. Heat.

These are the four basic components of good cooking.

And in Appalachian cooking, fat is a staple - whether it’s sausage gravy made with pork fat, pie crusts made with lard or green beans cooked with fatback.

You may not have seen fatback in your local grocery store, but if you’ve had good home cooking, you’ve likely tasted it.

Fatback is “the strip of fat from the back of a hog carcass usually cured by drying and salting,” according to Merriam Webster. Think of slabs of just the white fatty bits of bacon. While that hard fat from both sides of the backbone may not sound appetizing, it can be used in many different ways to make food delicious.

While fat is an oft maligned ingredient, it is necessary for browning foods, creating interesting mouth feel, and adding in layers of flavor.

Fat means flavor. It can be cut up or ground for sausages, charcuterie or pate. It can be added to lean meats to increase moisture. It can be rendered and used in cooking.

There are a number of variations, including:

Lardo: a type of salumi that is made by curing strips of fatback with rosemary, garlic, herbs (like oregano and wild fennel), and spices commonly found in Italy. Once a poor man’s food, lardo is now considered a delicacy, with the most famous hailing from Colonnata in Tuscany, where it’s been made since Roman times.

Streaky Pork: a section of fat between the solid sides of hard fatback near the backbone used in Asian dishes. While it primarily is composed of the white fat, streaky pork has some pink streaks of meat.

Salt Pork: fatback that has been salt cured, which helps prolong its shelf life. It may also be called white bacon, fat pork, side meat, middling meat or sowbelly. It is often streaked with lean, but it is not smoked like bacon.

Salt pork became popular in mountain cuisine because not only does it add flavor and texture to dishes, but it also is relatively cheap, keeps well, and helps food go further during the year.

Appalachia cuisine is known for making use of what’s available and creatively preserving foods to last longer, but flavor is key.

From a breakfast of eggs, potatoes and biscuits to a dinner side of fresh vegetables, salt pork creates a balance that tastes like home.

What’s your favorite way to use fatback?

Here's my latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

My grandma tells this cute story of when she and my mother hopped in the car to get pizza, strapping my four-year-old self in the car seat in the back.

Once the pizza was secured, my grandma gave me a piece to munch on while on the way back home. Just seconds after the pizza left her hand, it passed between my teeth, over my tongue and through my gullet in the blink of an eye - only the remnants of sauce and cheese on my cheeks were any evidence the pizza existed.

My grandma was aghast at the enthusiasm in which I devoured that piece of pizza - and immediately asked for more - that she continues that story today. It’s way less cute at age 33.

This could have been a sign of my voracious appetite, or, more likely, my love for my hometown pizza.

That pizza? DiCarlo’s.

The cold-cheese pizza found in the Ohio Valley is polarizing because once the dough and sauce are baked, it’s taken out of the oven and then freshly shredded provolone cheese is sprinkled on top so that it gently melts over the bubbly base.

This creates a fresh flavor, rather than a congealed, greasy blob that’s often found on pizza. But, the application of cheese at the end of the cooking process has also earned DiCarlo’s the “cold cheese pizza” moniker.

Though, if you are a seasoned pro, you know to leave the square lid on top of the box for just a few moments to let the heat lightly melt the cheese to perfection, creating an ideal square of crunchy crust, robust sauce and ooey-gooey cheese.

Since 1945, the DiCarlo family has been dishing out the famed pizza in small steel towns throughout the Ohio Valley - the Northern Panhandle of West Virginia, the eastern border of Ohio and spilling over into the Pittsburgh region.

After emigrating from Sora, Italy, to Steubenville, Ohio, in the late 19th century, Michael and Caroline DiCarlo family opened a bakery with Italian bread, cakes, cookies and donuts.

“But when their son, Primo, returned home from serving in WWII, he raved to his family about the popular food he’d spotted everywhere in Italian cafes: pizza,” according to their website.

“Primo saw pizza as a way to stay connected to the family tradition and pursue a business unlike anything else in the valley at the time. His brother Galdo followed him in this venture. The recipe was perfected on borrowed cookie trays from the bakery … Those trays are responsible for both the rectangular shape of the pie we enjoy and, more importantly, led to serving the pizza with cold cheese and pepperoni.”

Primo launched the Steubenville, Ohio, location in 1945 and was the first licensed pizza shop operator in the state. Pizza squares were offered for .10 cents a piece, and just a few years later, Galdo grew the operation by expanding into Weirton, Wheeling, Glen Dale, Elm Grove, and my favorite, Wellsburg.

I love the pizza because, well, it’s delicious. And the memories associated with it.

But I also love DiCarlo’s roots in the area and how intrinsic they are to the communities to which they belong - sponsoring t-ball teams and feeding first-responders.

They’ve defined an entire style of pizza - and made cold cheese cool.


RECIPE: Homemade Ohio Valley Pizza

Being a few hours away from my favorite pizza, DiCarlo’s, has spurred some innovative takes on recreating the classic square pizza. While this isn’t a perfect copycat recipe, it can help cure the craving when I haven’t had my fix in quite some time.

Ingredients:

Dough:

1 cup warm water


2 teaspoons active dry yeast


1 teaspoon granulated sugar


1 tablespoon honey


2 ¾ cups all-purpose flour


2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil


1 teaspoon salt


½ teaspoon garlic salt

Sauce:

6 oz. tomato paste


15 oz. tomato sauce


1 teaspoon oregano


2 tablespoon Italian seasoning


½ teaspoon onion powder


½ teaspoon garlic powder


½ teaspoon garlic salt


⅛ teaspoon red pepper flakes


½ tablespoon brown sugar

Toppings:

Provolone cheese, finely shredded


Your choice of mushrooms, pepperoni, onions, etc.

Instructions

In a stand mixer, mix gently the warm water, yeast, honey, and sugar until about doubled in size.


With the stand mixer set to low, add in flour, olive oil, salt and garlic salt, scraping the sides of the bowl and letting the dough hook knead the dough for about five minutes.


Remove dough from the mixing bowl, place on a floured countertop and fold the dough over itself a few times until formed into a round ball.


Return the dough ball to a bowl and drizzle olive oil over top, cover it and let it rise in a warm area.


While the dough is rising, make the pizza sauce by combining all ingredients into a pot and simmering on medium for 15-20 minutes.


Preheat oven to 500 degrees.


Rub olive oil on the bottom and sides of a rectangular baking pan. Add dough to the center of he pan and spread it to the edges and corners.


Bake on bottom rack for about 10 minutes or until the dough just begins to lightly brown. Remove from heat.


Reduce temperature to 425 degrees. Spread a thin layer of sauce on top of the sauce. Bake for additional 5-10 minutes.


Remove the pizza and top with provolone cheese. Let it gently melt before adding your preferred toppings.


Enjoy.

My latest column for the Charleston Gazette-Mail:

“Poke is undoubtedly Appalachia’s most popular, most available, and most eaten wild potherb,” writes Mark F. Sohn in his book “Appalachian Home Cooking: History, Culture, and Recipes.”

There’s just one problem: It’s poisonous.

The perennial weed has tall, towering stalks with tints of magenta, bright green leaves and dark purple berries. And, every single part - especially the root - is toxic.

But that didn’t stop Appalachians from being resourceful with this plentiful green, and through what was likely a lot of trial and error, creating an edible dish without falling ill.

How did they do that? By cooking the Phytolacca americana leaves into a dish we know as “poke sallet” – or sometimes “polk salad,” “poke sally” or “poke salet.”

*PLEASE NOTE: I do not encourage anyone from preparing pokeweed unless you know how and are confident in your ability. This column is not intended to serve as a guide in preparing pokeweed but rather is shared to document the cultural significance of the food.

Poke sallet is made only using the leaves of young, spring plants. Pokeweed becomes more toxic as it gets older, and its leaves are the least toxic part of the plant. Those leaves are then boiled with fresh water for 20 minutes at least three different times to remove the toxins.

It may seem like quite the chore to prepare, but in a time where foraging was crucial to survival and the repercussions of not cooking poke sallet correctly include severe stomach cramps, rapid heartbeat, vomiting, diarrhea, difficulty breathing and death, the work to prepare poke sallet was necessary.

Once the pokeweed has been properly prepared, poke sallet is often pan-fried with bacon grease, onion and salt and pepper. It can be treated like many other greens - by adding garlic, chili flakes, eggs, cream or served in pasta, quiche or dip. It can be canned and pickled. And, it even contains protein, and is a rich source of vitamin A, vitamin B2, vitamin C, vitamin K, and manganese.

In addition to its culinary uses, pokeweed has been used in alternative medicine and the berries of the plant for cosmetics. Queen of Appalachia Dolly Parton wrote in her memoir, “Dream More,” that as a kid, she “used red pokeberries for lipstick and a burnt matchstick for eyeliner.” Again, poke berries are toxic.

Poke isn’t the only plant that has poisonous parts, though. It joins the likes of rhubarb leaves, apple seeds, cherry pits, nutmeg, and raw cashews. And while reports are mixed on if and when poke has caused fatalities in modern times, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.

While poke sallet isn’t as common as it once was - likely due to the labor involved and availability of other alternatives - it can still serve as this special connection to the land and a testament to the inventiveness of those who occupied these grounds before us.

As for me, I need to make that connection so I can try my first bite of poke - poison-free.

Have you prepared pokeweed sallet? What’s your favorite way of using the green weed?

RECIPE: Poke Sallet Squares
As someone who second-guesses myself when foraging for morels or ramps, I am not willing to take my life into my own hands by finding and cooking pokeweed. I’ll leave it to the experts who know what to look for and know how to not poison themselves. I recommend you do the same.
So, while searching for recipes, I came across the University of Kentucky Harlan County Extension Office’s “Poke Sallet Recipes from Past Poke Cook-Offs,” which can be found here: https://bit.ly/3xwTUP5. They have a number of different recipes from over the years that utilize pokeweed in myriad ways. The “Poke Sallet Squares” caught my attention for something I’d like to try one day.

Ingredients:

½ cup cooked poke Sallet

1 cup cooked rice

¼ cup sliced green onions

1 cup (4oz) shredded Swiss cheese

1 (10 ¾ oz) can cream of mushroom soup, undiluted

3 eggs, lightly beaten

1/8 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon dried basil

1/8 teaspoon dried oregano

¼ cup breadcrumbs

2 tablespoons grated parmesan cheese

1 tablespoon margarine melted


Instructions:

Drain poke well, pressing between layer of paper towels, chop. Combine poke and next 3 ingredients in a large bowl; set aside. Combine mushroom soup and next 5 ingredients; add to poke mixture, stirring well. Spoon into a lightly greased baking dish. Combine breadcrumbs, parmesan cheese, and melted butter, sprinkle over poke mixture. Bake at 325° for 30 minutes or until thoroughly heated. Let stand 10 minutes before cutting into squares; serve immediately.