scott hutcheson

Chili Mango Salsa

Tonight for dinner I'm making grilled peel-and-eat shrimp tossed in Chili Mango Salsa. Here's the recipe for the salsa:

Chili Mango Salsa

• 1 cup diced mango
• 1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
• 1/4 cup diced red onion
• 1 tablespoon fresh-squeezed lime juice
• 2 teaspoons minced, seeded Serrano chili
• 1 teaspoon lime zest
• 1 garlic clove, finely chopped
• 1 tablespoons olive oil
• 1/2 teaspoon honey
• Kosher salt and fresh-cracked black pepper to taste

This is great on just about any seafood.

Fancy but Frugal Chicken Marsala

Originally published in bold and spicy newspapers on January 22, 2008

Earlier this week we all witnessed the elegant and peaceful transition of power that occurs every four (or eight) years in our great country. This 233-year-old experiment in democracy continues to move forward even when the economy is trying its best to grind to a halt. There was a great deal of celebration going on in our nation’s capital on Tuesday and the Obama family was making appearances at ten different balls during that evening.

The celebration started earlier in the week with dozens of other balls, galas, and receptions. Maybe this will jump start our economy. At least the hotels, caterers, and dry cleaners in the D.C. area probably had a good week.

Some of the names and sponsors of these events are interesting and attending them isn’t cheap. Did you know there was a National Association of Manufactures Gala? How about a Green Inaugural Ball at which only organic food and drink was served, all lighting was LED, and even the music and entertainment was engineered to have a minimal environmental impact. Tickets to this one were $500.

The Baltimore/Washington Black McDonalds Operators Association had their own inauguration gala. The cost for that one was $200. I’m guessing they didn’t serve McNuggets. The Soccer Moms for Obama Inaugural Ball only cost $60. There is even an Indiana Society Washington, D.C. Inaugural Ball where Capital-based Hoosiers can get in on the celebration. That one cost $350.

None of the Hutchesons got invitations to any of those balls and even if we had, we couldn’t have afforded to go, except maybe to the soccer mom ball. Instead we went to work and school like any normal Tuesday and caught the highlights that evening on TV. The occasion did, however, seem to warrant more than the typical weeknight meal so I busted out the Chicken Marsala, a fancy but frugal dinner. There was certainly cause for celebration Tuesday but we’re in a recession so filet and lobster was out of the question.

If you’ve got a special occasion coming up but you’re watching your wallet, this dish might be just the ticket. I served it with tiny orzo pasta to catch some of the sauce and a side of green peas. If we had cleared out the furniture, our living room could have doubled as a dance floor and maybe I could have sold tickets. Does $6.60 or $8.80 sound like a good price for the Hutcheson Family Inauguration Ball? 

Chicken Marsala

• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• Kosher Salt, Freshly-Cracked Black Pepper (Garlic Powder, Cayenne Pepper optional)
• 2 (6 to 8-ounce) boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut in halves and pounded to one-quarter inch.
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 4 tablespoons butter
• 3 cups sliced mushrooms, washed and dried
• 1 tablespoon minced shallot 
• 3/4 cup Marsala wine
• 1 cup chicken stock
• Salt and fresh-cracked black pepper
• 2 tablespoons chopped parsley

In a shallow bowl or plate add the flour and salt and pepper to taste. The other spices can be added to taste if desired. If you do, go easy on the cayenne. Stir to combine. Dredge the chicken breast in the seasoned flour, shaking to remove the excess flour.
 
Add olive oil to a large heavy-bottom sauté pan (stainless steel works well). Use medium-high heat to heat the oil to hot but not smoking. Add one tablespoon of the butter and cook the chicken breasts until golden brown on both sides, about three minutes per side.

Move the chicken to a plate and set it aside. Add another tablespoon of the remaining butter to the pan and add the mushrooms. Stir them frequently, until mushrooms are golden brown around the edges. Add the shallot and cook another half minute. Add the Marsala wine, increase heat to high, and bring it to a boil, scraping the bottom of the pan to remove any browned bits. When the wine has reduced by about half, add the chicken stock and cook for three minutes, or until the sauce has thickened slightly.

Lower the heat to medium and return the chicken breasts to the pan and continue to cook for about five minutes until the chicken reads 170 degrees on a probe thermometer. Add the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter, salt and pepper, to taste. Garnish with chopped parsley and serve immediately. I serve this over orzo pasta.

Hungry Hoosier on TV: Mint Condition

The most recent Across Indiana "Hungry Hoosier" segment is now available to view online here. In it we visit a mint farm, a mint festival, and learn to make the perfect Mint Julep. In case you have not heard, Across Indiana is going off the air after 19 seasons. This will be the last Hungry Hoosier story although other TV projects are in the works. 

National Maple Syrup Festival adds a Bake-off for 2009

2008 marked the first year of the nation's only National Maple Syrup Festival. This new event is held in tiny Medora, Indiana (Jackson County) on the first two weekends of March. This year's festival is adding a baking contest (with both youth and adult divisions) sponsored by Clabber Girl. For more information about the festival go here and details about the bake-off can be found here. 

Mint Condition on WFYI Tonight (Jan 19, 2008)

If you are interested, I'll have a Hungry Hoosier story on WFYI Public Television in Indianapolis tonight at 7:30 pm. The story is called "Mint Condition" and I visit a mint farm, the North Judson Mint Festival, and learn to make a Mint Julep at The Upper Room Martini Bar. My wife and two sons make an appearance in the story as well.

Love, Lyrics, and Cheesecake

Originally published in minty-fresh newspapers on December 11, 2008

Maria
Say it loud and there’s music playing
Say it soft and it’s almost like praying

It’s one of the most memorable scenes from West Side Story. At the school mixer, Tony and Maria lock eyes from across the room.  They share a dance, a kiss, and then Tony, bursting with new-found love, starts belting out Maria. We’ve all been there, that moment when we fall head-over-heels and the courses of our lives are changed forever. This is movie love, Broadway-musical love, shout-it-from-the-rooftops love, hopefully without gang wars, murder, and Shakespearian tragedy.

I’ve fallen in love four times in my life. Each love, I was certain, would last forever. I met Debbie in fourth grade and she made my head spin for the next five years. I wrote her a song that sounded suspiciously like You Light Up My Life. Things didn’t work with Debbie. We wanted different things…I wanted her and she wanted my best friend. I floundered around for a couple of years, without feeling the need to burst into song, until Beth entered the picture. When she didn’t get elected homecoming queen I wrote her a song of consolation assuring her, “You’ll be my queen forever, making everything new. That’s why I am (beat) forever in love with you.” I left for college while she finished high school and distance took its tool.

I fell in love for the last time in 1986. While in Gatlinburg that year I paid $9.95 to record a song for her. It was All I Need by soap star turned pop singer Jack Wagner. I gave her the cassette tape and we’ve been together ever since.

If you are counting, you will note that I’ve described three of the four great loves of my life. The fourth occurred on December 16, 1971. It was my seventh birthday and I was celebrating it at my grandmother’s house.  At first is seemed like a typical birthday – cousins, hats, noisemakers, presents. Then my grandmother entered the room with a cake I had never seen before. It had the requisite candles but no gooey frosting and no “Happy Birthday Scott” inscribed on top. My grandmother sliced it and set a piece before me. With the very first bite I knew that this was no ordinary cake. This was a bite of heaven.

Cheesecake
Say it loud and there’s music playing
Say it soft and it’s almost like praying

Thus began my life-long love affair with cheesecake. Nearly every birthday since, this has been my cake of choice. Cheesecake has never left me for my best friend. No matter how far from it I roam, my love never wanes. Even when I stray and take a nibble of carrot cake or a lustful second helping of German chocolate, cheesecake always welcomes me back. Cheesecake asks for nothing in return.

Normally I am a cheesecake purist. I don’t any strawberries or cherries on it and I waste no time at the Cheesecake Factory debating which one to try, plain is just fine with me. This holiday season, however, I decided that cheesecake and I needed to spice things up a bit. Thirty-seven years, after all, is a long time together. Peppermint Cheesecake seemed just right for this holiday season. You’ll be happy to know that cheesecake and I have an open relationship. So, I’m sharing the recipe. Let me know if you break into song.

Peppermint Cheesecake

Crust    
20 vanilla sandwich cookies
3 tablespoons melted butter   

Filling
½ cup sugar
1-1/2 cups sour cream
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 pound cream cheese (room temperature) broken into small pieces
2 tablespoons melted butter
1 package (10 ounces) Andes Peppermint Crunch Baking Chips

In a food processor pulse the cookies until they are small crumbs. Stir in 3 tablespoons melted butter. Press into the bottom of an eight-inch spring form pan.

In a mixer, add the sugar, sour cream, eggs, and vanilla and mix for about one minute. Add the cream cheese and mix until smooth. Mix in the 2 tablespoons melted butter and fold in one cup of the Andes Peppermint Crunch Baking Chips. Pour into pan and bake in the lower third of a 325 degree oven for 60 minutes or until the top begins to brown and an inserted knife comes out clean. Chill for four hours or overnight. Top with whipped cream and the remaining peppermint chips.

A Glass Half-Full on Thanksgiving

Originally published in warm and satisfying newspapers on November 20, 2008

The week of Thanksgiving is usually only vacation from writing this column. The other 51 weeks each year I’m testing recipes, visiting restaurants, and coming up with 650-750 words about food, family, and community here in the Hoosier State. The week of Thanksgiving I get to take a breather and enjoy a little food, family, and community without the pressure of having to write about it. So, on this week before the big day, I thought I would give you a list of some of the things that make me grateful this time of year.

I’m usually a glass-is-half-full sort of guy and spend quite a bit of time year round considering just how fortunate I am. The usual suspects make it on to my list, my family, our good health, food on our table. This year I’m thinking about a few other things that make me thankful.

My Hoopty
Many people in my socio-economic demographic drive some pretty nice cars. I’m not among them. A couple of years ago, as a result of an accident that totaled one of our two vehicles, I made the decision to pay cash for a car rather than take on another car payment. I was able to come up with $3,200 and called someone I knew here in town who considers it a mission to match up people in need with dependable, affordable vehicles. I told him what I could afford and he found me a 1996 Nissan. It has paint flaking off the front bumper, it loses hub cabs faster than I can buy them; but you know what, it gets me back and forth to West Lafayette everyday and anywhere else I need to go. So this year I’m thankful for my $3,200 car that has faithfully got me through another year.

My Too Old, Too Drafty, Too Tiny Home
I came to homeownership later in life, not purchasing a house until I was 36 years old. We didn’t have kids when we bought it so two bedrooms, one bath, and a postage stamp-sized yard seemed just right. Well, there are now four of us and that house can sometimes seem awfully small. It’s drafty, the plumping is troublesome, and storage space is practically non-existent. Despite all of this, I love our tiny little house, especially in the winter when it cocoons us on cold winter nights. My heart fills with joy when, late at night, I check on my boys in their bedrooms and see them sleeping peacefully in their bunk beds. All too soon, that little house will be half empty again and two bedrooms, one bath, and a postage stamp-sized yard will be plenty of room for two empty nesters.     

My Unexpected Community
Thirteen years ago when my wife and I rolled into town, two urbanites looking for a temporary home that would work logistically for a couple with professional lives split between West Lafayette and Indianapolis, we wondered how we could ever call this place home - no sushi, no Target, no local AOL dial-up number let alone high-speed access. For a long time we just slept here, shopping in Indy and spending weekends in Chicago. Slowly but steadily small-town living began to feel more comfortable to us and by the time we had our first child, we had found a church community that wrapped their collective arms around us and gave us a sense of extended family and community. Lots of churches are bigger and have more programs, but I can’t imagine one that’s members care for one another more or one that is more welcoming of diverse perspectives. As for the community, we’ve got our high-speed internet, and sushi and Target don’t seem as important as they once did. Traditions like the Lebanon Follies, Back to the Fifties, the 4th of July Parade, and the Kiwanis Pancake Breakfast are as cherished traditions for our family as Thanksgiving dinner itself. This Thanksgiving I’m thankful for my community.             

I urge you to spend some time looking in some unexpected places when you consider the things in your life for which you should be grateful. You might just find that what you thought was a class half empty is really a glass half full.

A Salad by Any Other Name

Originally published in warm and toothsome newspapers on November 13, 2008

John Evelyn wrote the book on salad, literally. This avid horticulturalist and prolific writer of the 17th century penned Acetaria: A Discourse of Sallets and it seems to be the very first time anyone wrote something down about what we now know as salad. Here’s a little of what he had to say.

Only the freshest leaves straight from the garden should be used. They should be 'sprinkled', not soaked, in fresh water, drained in a colander, and then they should be “swung all together gently in clean, coarse napkin." They should be dressed with oil of a pallid olive green and vinegar of the best quality infused with flowers and herbs, and with the finest crystals of sea salt. He also  gave detailed instructions for cultivating thirty-five different greens: among them, four varieties of romaine lettuce, spinach, nasturtiums for their leaves and for their flowers, a variety of herbs to be used with discretion, cresses, sorrel, spinach, endive, chicory, celery, fennel, radish, and today's favorites, mache and arugula. This guy was serious about his salad.

He actually had to get pretty persuasive to get people to try salad way back then. Most physicians of the day thought that leafy greens would just rot in the stomach, that salad offered no nutrition, and only animals should be eating these plants. This actually sounds like some of the arguments my kids make when I put green stuff in front of them.

The salad Evelyn described back 300 years ago is still the one that is the healthiest for us – some fresh vegetables dressed lightly with some oil and vinegar. There are a whole lot of other foods, however, that we call salads. Most bear little resemblance to the salads of yore.

If you know anyone from Minnesota, for instance, you’ll know that they have their own take on salads. If a Minnesotan someone offers to bring a “salad” along with their “hot dish,” chances are theirs will be made with Jello. The quintessential Minnesota Salad is lime Jello with chunks of canned pineapple topped with Cool Whip. This may seem dessert-like but in Minnesota it is a side dish to be eaten with the entrée.

Although my family is not from the upper Midwest, they have their own non-green versions of salad. For years, my family has made something called “Pretzel Salad.” This is always made in a 9x13 Pyrex dish and it has crushed pretzels in the bottom, a layer of sweeted cream cheese, and then a layer of strawberry Jello with strawberries in it. This dish shows up at all holiday meals and other family get togethers.

The last time I saw my family, I was introduced to another dish they called a salad. I can’t really think of anything further removed from a true salad than this dish. Even the name sounds ridiculous – Apple Snicker  Salad. There might be some sort of law against called something a salad when it is made with a candy bar. My sister is the one who told me about it. I was so intrigued I had to try it for myself. I made it for my wife and kids and it was pretty tasty. It is certainly not high-brow food but if you are pretty casual with your definition of salad and want to give this a try at one of your upcoming family holiday meals, it just might be the hit of the season.

Apple Snickers Salad

• 1 cup of milk

• 1 large tub of Cool Whip, thawed

• 1 large package of instant vanilla pudding

• 6 regular sized snickers bars, cut into bite-size pieces

• 3 medium Granny Smith apples or other tart apple, cut up into small chunks 

In a large bowl, combine milk and pudding, and mix in the cool whip. Add the Snickers and then the apples. Cut the apples after you have mixed the other ingredients so that they aren't brown when you add them. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

Food, Family, and Community in a Connected World

This evening I am a panelist at one of the Spirit & Place Festival events in Indianapolis. The event is called, Imagining Creation: Exploring the Spiritual Mandate for Creation Care. My fellow panelists and I were asked to address the question, "Is there a moral obligation to care for the environment?" Each of us was also asked to prepare a five minute Personal Statement. The following is mine. After the event, an online discussion will continue here.

Next month my wife Lisa and will celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. When I think back to the early weeks of our relationship, I remember the countless hours of conversation, sharing with one another the details of our lives up to that point. Like many new couples, no matter how much time we spent together, it was never enough. Even after dropping her off at her dorm and returning to my own, after a whole day together, we would get on the phone and talk until the wee hours of the morning. After our first few years together, I figured I had told her all my stories.

On a recent trip to see my parents, we found ourselves all alone in the living room at 8:30 at night – the bedtime for our two young sons as well as my aging parents. I decided an evening snack was in order so I headed to the pantry. My quest got sidetracked by another discovery – my mom’s recipe collection. 

I brought it back to the living room where my wife and I went through them. The memories came flooding back as vividly as if we were thumbing through old snapshots. I started telling stories. The beef stew that that would simmer on the stove until all of my siblings and I got home from our after-school activities, the Texas sheet cake that mom made for get-togethers because it would feed a crowd. Some of the recipes were from friends and relatives and their names were noted on the cards. Many are no longer living.

We stayed up until way past midnight and I was amazed that after nearly 20 years of marriage, after I thought I had told all my stories, there was more to say. A significant part of my life’s narrative was documented in a collection of recipes stashed away in my mother’s pantry.

Food has this amazing power to connect us to other places, other times, and other people. For most of us, most of the time, that connection is so impersonal and so far removed that we give it little thought - an apple from the grocery store or a burger handed to us through a drive-through window. 
But connectedness is something we long for and it is the main theme of my writing. When I tell people I write about food, they automatically think of stuffy restaurant reviews critiquing everything from the meal to the service. Those are usually not the kinds of gigs I take. I think of myself as a story teller. I tell stories about family and community and food just so happens to be a literary device that helps organize my narrative.

During much of 2007 I traveled all over Indiana talking with farmers, chefs, and consumers as my co-author, Christine Barbour and I did the research for our book Home Grown Indiana: a Food Lover’s Guide to Good Eating in the Hoosier State. In the book we profile 270 people about not just what they do with food, but why they do it. This idea of connectedness kept coming up over and over.  We heard from consumers who shop at farmers’ markets not just because of the great food they find there but because of the sense of community that results. Author Brian Halweil estimates that on a typical visit to the farmers’ market you’ll have ten times the number of conversations as you will have at the local supermarket. Talk about connectedness.

We met farmers who decided to farm a different way because of the sense of connection they have to the land and to the animals they raise. Rebekah Fiedler from down in Southern Indiana told us “my animals have a great life. They live in the open air, they eat what nature designed them to eat. They can run and play to their hearts’ content. At the end, they have just one really bad day!”  We met chefs and shopkeepers committed to minimizing their ecological footprint by purchasing locally whenever possible and even when procuring fish and seafood, researching the most environmentally sustainable choices.

The question of the day is whether or not we have a moral obligation to care for the environment. I’m sure that most of us here this evening would answer in the affirmative or we wouldn’t be here. What is interesting to me is how this notion plays out in the lives of the wide variety of people who share this commitment regardless of their political leanings, or anything else that governs their behaviors.
Virginia farmer Joel Salatin is one of the pioneers of modern-day methods of raising pastured-poultry. In a recent interview with the New York Times he said that 40 years ago his typical customer was a tree-hugging liberal. Today just as many of his customers are Christian fundamentalist home-schooling moms.

It seems that a wide range of people, in increasing numbers, are recognizing these aspects of connectedness when making their choices about food, consumer goods, housing, transportation, and the other things we’re talking about tonight. We’re living right in the middle of the development of new constructs and new codes of behavior. Conversations like this help shape them and I’m grateful to be a part of it.

Blessed Be the Pies that Bind

Originally published in sweet and sticky newspapers on November 6, 2008

Visits to my family during presidential election years require more tongue holding on my part than usual. Growing up, I shared their political leanings; but as an adult, life experiences have moved me in a different direction. I’m an absolute coward when it comes to any sort of disagreement with my folks so I’ve devised some strategies to keep the peace.

Oddly, my parents don’t engage others in actual dialogue. There is no, “Son, what do you think of…” Their style, rather, is to make random, awkwardly-timed pronouncements and then look for signs of agreement. When it comes to politics, most of these statements are made about the candidate they oppose rather than the one they support and they employ sarcasm to help make their point.

Right in the middle of watching the 3rd quarter of a televised college football game I might get a “This economy is in a real mess and {roll eyes and sarcastically state the name of the guy they don’t like} is gonna fix it!” I can get away with just a “Yeah!” or “I know!” as my response. They, of course, think that I’ve registered their eye rolling and sarcasm and have responded in kind when, in actuality, I’m ignoring their sarcasm and responding straight forwardly because I am confident that my guy IS the best one to get us out of this mess. I’m pretty sure this bit of rhetorical trickery falls within some loophole in both the “honor thy father and mother” and “thou shalt not lie” commandments, so I’m still in good standing.

This election year I had a new element to deal with. My seven year old son happens to have had a strong opinion about which candidate he wanted to see in the Oval Office, a decision to which he came completely on his own, by the way. On our visit to see my folks last week I urged him to not talk politics with his grandparents but bite his lip and keep his head buried in his book or Game Boy when Granddad or Grandma brought up the notion. There are other conversational topics my parents and I avoid even though they know exactly what the differences are. We agree to disagree and to steer clear of controversy. 

I hope I’ve not given you too bad an impression of my relationship with my family. We all love each another despite our differences and there is far more that binds us together than pulls us apart. Food is at the top of that list.

When we come to visit, my mom and dad will work tirelessly to make sure that everyone’s favorite meals and treats are on the menu – Grandad’s fudge (both chocolate and peanut butter) for the boys, a pot of decaf coffee each morning because that is what my wife drinks, and one or more of my childhood favorites like meatloaf, fried chicken, or a great steak on the grill. My parents are older and on a fixed income so this sort of extravagant cooking takes a toll on both their pocketbooks and energies. They do it because they love us.

My family is a big one. I’m the youngest of ten and when spouses, kids, and kid’s kids are added we’re quite a crew. My political differences with the family are small beans when it comes to some of the life choices and life circumstances of other others in the clan. On the rare occasions when a large group of the family gets together for a holiday meal, elephants and donkeys are left outside, skeletons are locked securely in closets, and we are truly one big happy family. In the kitchen, everyone pitches in with their own specialties – one sister’s pies, another sister’s pretzel salad, dad’s cornbread dressing, my green olive soup. We set aside our differences for at least a couple of hours. It’s hard to imagine anything more non-partisan than a good piece of pumpkin pie.