There's not a day, nor a time within them, that I don't miss my maternal grandparents, but mid-summer is when I always miss them most. Not because that's the time of year that, twenty-one years apart, they left us, but because the summer school holidays were when my brothers and I each got to visit them all on our own for two whole weeks.
The lion's share of those visits was spent in the kitchen with MaMa (that's how she signed her letters and cards, but we're from the Deep South: what came out of our mouths was "Maw-Maw"). Like so many couples of their time, Granddaddy worked, managing a little country store right next door to their house, while she stayed at home and kept it. And no matter how hot it was, every day she cooked a big, old-fashioned midday dinner and we helped.
That's probably why summer is when I most miss her cooking and feel her next to me in the kitchen, especially when I'm bent on trying to recreate flavors and textures that were unique to her cooking.
Well, I might've felt her there seven years ago when I first attempted to recreate her salmon balls and wrote out the recipe for them, but if so, I was paying her absolutely no attention.
Last week, when missing her sparked a craving for those and I turned to that recipe, I read through its long list of ingredients (some of which she but rarely used) and the overly complicated process (even more complicated than this run-on sentence) with amazed mortification. As she would've said, what in the world had I been thinking? Or was I thinking?
My grandmother's cooking was delicious and satisfying but simple and never, ever complicated. If there was an easy shortcut, she took it. My brothers when asked were no help: they surprisingly had no memory of this dish (another story for another time). So I was on my own. Trying to empty my head of the ensuing half-century of culinary clutter, I started over.
And this time, as I began picking over the salmon for skin and bones and inevitably felt her next to me, I actually tried to listen.
MaMa's Salmon Balls (Patties/Cakes)
Dress them up or down to suit your own tastes, but as Ma-Ma, and one of the South's earliest cookbook authors Mary Randolph would both tell you, "profusion is not elegance." Mrs. Randolph was talking about the number of dishes on the table, but both of them would've said the same thing about the number of things that went into our mixing bowls and pans.
Depending on what accompanies it, this will serve 2 with large appetites or 4 with lighter appetites or when the meal includes multiple courses and side dishes.
Serves 2-4
1 14.75-ounce can pink salmon
8-12 saltine crackers
2 teaspoons unsalted butter
¼ cup finely minced onion
¼ cup finely minced celery
Salt
Whole black pepper in a mill
1 large egg, lightly beaten
Peanut oil
1 large lemon, cut into 8 wedges, optional for serving (MaMa would've approved but she never did it)
1. Pick through the salmon to remove the bones and skin and flake it into a mixing bowl. Crumble in enough crackers to suit you (MaMa's proportion was about 1/3 crackers to 2/3 fish). Put the butter, onion, and celery in a small skillet over medium heat and cook, stirring often, until softened but not colored, about 3-4 minutes. Add them to the fish, toss to mix, and season to taste with salt and pepper. Mix in the egg and form it into 4 equal balls, then flatten them into ½-to-¾-inch-thick cakes. Put them on a clean plate and refrigerate for at least an hour.
2. Cover the bottom of a well-seasoned iron skillet or nonstick pan with oil (about ¼-inch) and warm it over medium heat. When the pan is hot but the oil is not quite smoking, raise the heat to medium high and slip the salmon cakes into the pan. Fry until the bottoms are golden brown, about 2½-3 minutes. Carefully turn and continue cooking until the second side is evenly browned, about 2½-3 minutes longer. Blot briefly on absorbent paper, then transfer to warm serving plates and serve hot, if liked, with lemon.