Fire and Ice
It is a sunny Sunday morning as I write this, and I am sitting with a cup of coffee on a bench in the business district. Shopkeepers are unrolling gates and raising awnings. A light breeze tickles my skin, but I can tell it will be the last such until sunset as heat is already rising from the sidewalk. On this deep summer day of golden sunshine, hints of cooler climes have already started appearing. Just yesterday, the display of sand pails and shovels in the hardware store window was replaced by towers of canning jars. Both the drugstore and the stationary store have put out school supplies, and the owner of the card store is hanging the banner that announces the discordance of its annual Christmas card-and-ornament preview.
Sunday morning is one of the best times for people watching. A cluster of renters new to the neighborhood clutches iced coffees and waits for the home store to open. They are buzzing with plans for the first Saturday Night House Party they plan to host in their new place. More established citizens are taking the dignified walk to church. Husbands – and, it must be said, widowers – wear their Sunday pants hitched high, while the proud shine on their shoes echoes the pomade in their plastered down hair. Wives model their prettiest dresses and flash their finest jewelry, but in this Greek neighborhood, widows wear layers of black – no matter that the bank thermometer already shows 95 degrees.
Having just made one year out, my thoughts have been waxing nostalgic. I write often about the effect my grandmother had on me as I grew up out west. When the time came to move north for school, another profound influence entered my life: Nana. Nana was a Pennsylvania woman who had weathered wars and want, worries and relief, disappointment and demands. She was one of the most loving spirits I have ever met, and if while writing Urban Home Blog I don’t mention her as often as I do my Indian and French grandmothers, I think it is because the wound of her absence is, in its way, deeper.
When she came into my life, Nana lived in a sweet house overlooking the grey ribbon of the Susquehanna River. The Susquehanna is a moody, industrial river, one whose spirit is beautifully captured by Kerouac in the acclaimed “Ghost of the Susquehanna” passage of On the Road (to this day my favorite book). Nana’s home was as neat as a pin and fairly glowed with a quiet welcome that perfectly matched its setting on a high bank of this somber river. At Nana's, the fireplace glowed warmer, the air smelled sweeter, the towels felt fluffier, the cookies tasted better. That’s not to say that Nana and Poppop were saints (though, actually, they were). For example, they had that wonderful ribald sense of humor that one often encounters in individuals where experience meets big heartedness. Poppop smoked cigars and drank beer and Nana loved a good dirty joke and a glass of whiskey. One of my fondest memories of that time and place is playing cards with them in the basement with its picture glass view of the river. I won’t reveal the details, but during that game I learned not only how to read cards, but that that was not the only of life’s tricks that I had yet to learn and that they had long since conquered.
Though she was of English ancestry, Nana’s table reflected its placement squarely in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country. In this cooking, a meal, especially a celebratory one, is laid out to the philosophy of “seven sweets and seven sours.” To a boy who was used to a Christmas ham fresh from the oven and sticky with glaze, Nana’s mustardy version, served cold, was a revelation. At her table I had my first rolls made from rye flour and caraway seeds, still warm from baking and just waiting to drip with whipped butter. She fed me my first plate of chicken and waffles (and, at the same sitting, my second and third). She introduced me to red-hots, one of the crowning achievements of Pennsylvania Dutch cooking, in which apples are macerated in a syrup flavored with spices and cinnamon candy. And she introduced me to Pennsylvania Dutch cole slaw, which she called, simply, fire and ice, as in, “Grab the firen’ice for the table, willya?” This agreed with half of the church ladies who each had their own blue-ribbon version of the dish, but disagreed with the remaining half who called it “pepper slaw.”
I was used to the mayonnaisey cole slaw of countless picnics, in which a mixture of shredded roughage including cabbage, onions and carrots are mixed into a thick dressing made from mayo, sugar and vinegar. I do like mayonnaisey slaw, but fire and ice is my favorite. In fire and ice, the shredded vegetables are augmented with garden peppers and quick-pickled in a sweet and sour brine. The vegetables take on a bright flavor and a chipper crunch. Nana’s version, interpreted below, was clean and pure. This is an important distinction because it is easy to find recipes for this slaw that incorporate everything from cream (!) to the dreaded beet (!!) that insinuates itself into so many Pennsylvania Dutch dishes. Beets may have their place on some plates, but I can state with absolute rightness that they should be nowhere near this dish. As the card-carrying food- and lifestyle-writer whose training continued at Nana’s table, I did due diligence regarding the correct recipe for fire and ice. This included consultation with the supreme authority of the Trinity Episcopal Church Heritage Cookbook, a tome in which Nana's own recipes make several appearances. The version below, developed in my kitchen, is true to the spirit of this classic Pennsylvania Dutch dish.
FIRE AND ICE
Do not skip the step of salting the cabbage; it is necessary to the success of the dish. Many cooks use a large chef’s knife to quarter cabbages; I use a strong bread knife. You can obtain a good one here. This is a fresh slaw, not appropriate for home canning.
For the salad
1 head green cabbage, approximately 1-1/2 pounds
1 green bell pepper
1 red bell pepper
2 ribs celery
2 medium carrots
1 small bunch scallions
Salt (Greek sea salt or kosher salt work well)
For the dressing
1/4 cup ice water
4 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 cup white vinegar
¼ cup granulated sugar
½ teaspoon celery seeds
½ teaspoon table salt
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
½ teaspoon hot paprika
1. Position an in-sink colander in place and place the jar or box of salt within reach of the colander.
2. Rinse the cabbage under cool water and remove and discard any loose leaves or leaves with yellow or black spotting.
3. Place the cabbage core side down on a clean cutting board devoted to fruits and vegetables. Position a strong bread or chef’s knife blade down over the head of the cabbage and press firmly down through the core to split the cabbage in half. Position each cabbage half cut side down on the cutting board, and use the knife to cut downwards through the core to form quarters.
4. Position each quarter cut side down on the board. You should see the triangular piece of core at the bottom of each wedge. Use the knife to cut away each core. Use the knife to cut across each quarter from cut side to cut side to form thin ribbons. Use the knife to cut across the ribbons to form tiny chunks.
5. Transfer the chunked cabbage into the colander by the handful. Sprinkle each handful of cabbage with salt before adding the next handful. Once all of the cabbage has been added to the colander and salted, use your hands to gently squeeze the cabbage so that the salt can work into the pieces.
6. Fill a bowl large enough to hold the peppers with water. Add a few drops of vegetable cleaner to the water. Remove produce labels if any from the peppers. Submerge the peppers in the water and gently swirl. Remove each pepper from the cleansing bath and rinse each pepper under cool water.
7. For each pepper, place the pepper on a cutting board. Cut the pepper in half from cap to bottom. Cut away and discard the stem; cut away and discard any white pith from inside each half. Rinse each half under warm water to remove the seeds; if saving seeds for planting, do this step over a fine mesh sieve to catch the seeds. Cut off the rounded top and bottom of each half; set aside for snacking. Working one halved pepper at a time, flatten each remaining pepper, skin side down, against the cutting board. Cut each flattened half into 1/4-inch strips and cut across the strips to form 1/4-inch squares. Scrape the cubed pepper into the colander containing the draining cabbage.
8. Use a peeler to peel each carrot. Rinse each peeled carrot under cool water. Working one at a time, cut off and discard the top and bottom tip of each carrot; do not use the large, tough top of the carrot. Lay each carrot on the cutting board. Cut each carrot in half lengthwise; halve each half. Align the four quarters on the board and cut across them, forming tiny wedges. Scrape the wedges into the colander containing the draining cabbage and the peppers.
9. Rinse the celery ribs under cool water. Place the ribs lengthwise on the cutting board. Cut across the top and the bottom of each stalk; discard the calloused top and bottom of the stalks. Cut each stalk lengthwise in half; halve each half. Align the quartered celery stalks and cut across the quarters to form dice. Scraped the diced celery into the colander containing the cabbage, peppers and carrots.
10. Lay the scallions on the cutting board. Align the scallions side by side and across the bottom. Cut across the bottom of the row of scallions to remove and discard the stringy root ends of the scallions. Use the knife to cut across each scallion where the white part meets the green part. Remove the green part of each scallion and set aside for another use.
11. Use your hands to pull away and discard the papery outer skin of each scallion where present; not all scallions will have this. Use the knife to cut each scallion in half lengthways from top to bottom. Align each scallion quarter lengthways and use the knife to cut the gathered scallions crossways into tiny pieces. Scrape the diced scallion into the colander containing the cabbage, peppers, carrots and celery.
12. Use your hands to mix the vegetables together in the colander until they are well-distributed. Leave the vegetables to drain until fairly dry, approximately ½ hour.
13. While the vegetables are draining, place the water, vegetable oil and vinegar into a large mixing bowl. Add the salt, celery seeds, black pepper and paprika. Measure out the sugar. Pour the sugar into the mixture with one hand while using a wire whisk to stir the mixture with the other hand. Whisk until the salt and sugar dissolve and a smooth emulsion forms. Set aside to season while the vegetables drain.
14. After ½ hour, pick up the colander and shake it vigorously to express all of the excess water from the mixed vegetables.
15. Add the drained vegetables to the bowl containing the dressing one handful at a time, shaking the vegetables dry as warranted and mixing into the dressing before adding the next handful. Continue until all of the vegetables have been added to the dressing.
16. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for a minimum of two hours before serving.
Sunday morning is one of the best times for people watching. A cluster of renters new to the neighborhood clutches iced coffees and waits for the home store to open. They are buzzing with plans for the first Saturday Night House Party they plan to host in their new place. More established citizens are taking the dignified walk to church. Husbands – and, it must be said, widowers – wear their Sunday pants hitched high, while the proud shine on their shoes echoes the pomade in their plastered down hair. Wives model their prettiest dresses and flash their finest jewelry, but in this Greek neighborhood, widows wear layers of black – no matter that the bank thermometer already shows 95 degrees.
Having just made one year out, my thoughts have been waxing nostalgic. I write often about the effect my grandmother had on me as I grew up out west. When the time came to move north for school, another profound influence entered my life: Nana. Nana was a Pennsylvania woman who had weathered wars and want, worries and relief, disappointment and demands. She was one of the most loving spirits I have ever met, and if while writing Urban Home Blog I don’t mention her as often as I do my Indian and French grandmothers, I think it is because the wound of her absence is, in its way, deeper.
When she came into my life, Nana lived in a sweet house overlooking the grey ribbon of the Susquehanna River. The Susquehanna is a moody, industrial river, one whose spirit is beautifully captured by Kerouac in the acclaimed “Ghost of the Susquehanna” passage of On the Road (to this day my favorite book). Nana’s home was as neat as a pin and fairly glowed with a quiet welcome that perfectly matched its setting on a high bank of this somber river. At Nana's, the fireplace glowed warmer, the air smelled sweeter, the towels felt fluffier, the cookies tasted better. That’s not to say that Nana and Poppop were saints (though, actually, they were). For example, they had that wonderful ribald sense of humor that one often encounters in individuals where experience meets big heartedness. Poppop smoked cigars and drank beer and Nana loved a good dirty joke and a glass of whiskey. One of my fondest memories of that time and place is playing cards with them in the basement with its picture glass view of the river. I won’t reveal the details, but during that game I learned not only how to read cards, but that that was not the only of life’s tricks that I had yet to learn and that they had long since conquered.
Though she was of English ancestry, Nana’s table reflected its placement squarely in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country. In this cooking, a meal, especially a celebratory one, is laid out to the philosophy of “seven sweets and seven sours.” To a boy who was used to a Christmas ham fresh from the oven and sticky with glaze, Nana’s mustardy version, served cold, was a revelation. At her table I had my first rolls made from rye flour and caraway seeds, still warm from baking and just waiting to drip with whipped butter. She fed me my first plate of chicken and waffles (and, at the same sitting, my second and third). She introduced me to red-hots, one of the crowning achievements of Pennsylvania Dutch cooking, in which apples are macerated in a syrup flavored with spices and cinnamon candy. And she introduced me to Pennsylvania Dutch cole slaw, which she called, simply, fire and ice, as in, “Grab the firen’ice for the table, willya?” This agreed with half of the church ladies who each had their own blue-ribbon version of the dish, but disagreed with the remaining half who called it “pepper slaw.”
I was used to the mayonnaisey cole slaw of countless picnics, in which a mixture of shredded roughage including cabbage, onions and carrots are mixed into a thick dressing made from mayo, sugar and vinegar. I do like mayonnaisey slaw, but fire and ice is my favorite. In fire and ice, the shredded vegetables are augmented with garden peppers and quick-pickled in a sweet and sour brine. The vegetables take on a bright flavor and a chipper crunch. Nana’s version, interpreted below, was clean and pure. This is an important distinction because it is easy to find recipes for this slaw that incorporate everything from cream (!) to the dreaded beet (!!) that insinuates itself into so many Pennsylvania Dutch dishes. Beets may have their place on some plates, but I can state with absolute rightness that they should be nowhere near this dish. As the card-carrying food- and lifestyle-writer whose training continued at Nana’s table, I did due diligence regarding the correct recipe for fire and ice. This included consultation with the supreme authority of the Trinity Episcopal Church Heritage Cookbook, a tome in which Nana's own recipes make several appearances. The version below, developed in my kitchen, is true to the spirit of this classic Pennsylvania Dutch dish.
FIRE AND ICE
Do not skip the step of salting the cabbage; it is necessary to the success of the dish. Many cooks use a large chef’s knife to quarter cabbages; I use a strong bread knife. You can obtain a good one here. This is a fresh slaw, not appropriate for home canning.
For the salad
1 head green cabbage, approximately 1-1/2 pounds
1 green bell pepper
1 red bell pepper
2 ribs celery
2 medium carrots
1 small bunch scallions
Salt (Greek sea salt or kosher salt work well)
For the dressing
1/4 cup ice water
4 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 cup white vinegar
¼ cup granulated sugar
½ teaspoon celery seeds
½ teaspoon table salt
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
½ teaspoon hot paprika
1. Position an in-sink colander in place and place the jar or box of salt within reach of the colander.
2. Rinse the cabbage under cool water and remove and discard any loose leaves or leaves with yellow or black spotting.
3. Place the cabbage core side down on a clean cutting board devoted to fruits and vegetables. Position a strong bread or chef’s knife blade down over the head of the cabbage and press firmly down through the core to split the cabbage in half. Position each cabbage half cut side down on the cutting board, and use the knife to cut downwards through the core to form quarters.
4. Position each quarter cut side down on the board. You should see the triangular piece of core at the bottom of each wedge. Use the knife to cut away each core. Use the knife to cut across each quarter from cut side to cut side to form thin ribbons. Use the knife to cut across the ribbons to form tiny chunks.
5. Transfer the chunked cabbage into the colander by the handful. Sprinkle each handful of cabbage with salt before adding the next handful. Once all of the cabbage has been added to the colander and salted, use your hands to gently squeeze the cabbage so that the salt can work into the pieces.
6. Fill a bowl large enough to hold the peppers with water. Add a few drops of vegetable cleaner to the water. Remove produce labels if any from the peppers. Submerge the peppers in the water and gently swirl. Remove each pepper from the cleansing bath and rinse each pepper under cool water.
7. For each pepper, place the pepper on a cutting board. Cut the pepper in half from cap to bottom. Cut away and discard the stem; cut away and discard any white pith from inside each half. Rinse each half under warm water to remove the seeds; if saving seeds for planting, do this step over a fine mesh sieve to catch the seeds. Cut off the rounded top and bottom of each half; set aside for snacking. Working one halved pepper at a time, flatten each remaining pepper, skin side down, against the cutting board. Cut each flattened half into 1/4-inch strips and cut across the strips to form 1/4-inch squares. Scrape the cubed pepper into the colander containing the draining cabbage.
8. Use a peeler to peel each carrot. Rinse each peeled carrot under cool water. Working one at a time, cut off and discard the top and bottom tip of each carrot; do not use the large, tough top of the carrot. Lay each carrot on the cutting board. Cut each carrot in half lengthwise; halve each half. Align the four quarters on the board and cut across them, forming tiny wedges. Scrape the wedges into the colander containing the draining cabbage and the peppers.
9. Rinse the celery ribs under cool water. Place the ribs lengthwise on the cutting board. Cut across the top and the bottom of each stalk; discard the calloused top and bottom of the stalks. Cut each stalk lengthwise in half; halve each half. Align the quartered celery stalks and cut across the quarters to form dice. Scraped the diced celery into the colander containing the cabbage, peppers and carrots.
10. Lay the scallions on the cutting board. Align the scallions side by side and across the bottom. Cut across the bottom of the row of scallions to remove and discard the stringy root ends of the scallions. Use the knife to cut across each scallion where the white part meets the green part. Remove the green part of each scallion and set aside for another use.
11. Use your hands to pull away and discard the papery outer skin of each scallion where present; not all scallions will have this. Use the knife to cut each scallion in half lengthways from top to bottom. Align each scallion quarter lengthways and use the knife to cut the gathered scallions crossways into tiny pieces. Scrape the diced scallion into the colander containing the cabbage, peppers, carrots and celery.
12. Use your hands to mix the vegetables together in the colander until they are well-distributed. Leave the vegetables to drain until fairly dry, approximately ½ hour.
13. While the vegetables are draining, place the water, vegetable oil and vinegar into a large mixing bowl. Add the salt, celery seeds, black pepper and paprika. Measure out the sugar. Pour the sugar into the mixture with one hand while using a wire whisk to stir the mixture with the other hand. Whisk until the salt and sugar dissolve and a smooth emulsion forms. Set aside to season while the vegetables drain.
14. After ½ hour, pick up the colander and shake it vigorously to express all of the excess water from the mixed vegetables.
15. Add the drained vegetables to the bowl containing the dressing one handful at a time, shaking the vegetables dry as warranted and mixing into the dressing before adding the next handful. Continue until all of the vegetables have been added to the dressing.
16. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for a minimum of two hours before serving.
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