Cynthia Briggs
You’re invited to open your larder of remembrances
as you read Pork Chops & Applesauce—A Collection of Recipes
and Reflections a cookbook that was planted, cultivated and harvested
from the heart.
Cynthia Briggs has written a nostalgic slice-of-life cookbook,
one the reader is drawn to as Cynthia’s story journeys back through her
childhood adventures of growing up on an Oregon homestead. Her humorous recounting
of raising her children on a Pacific Northwest farm, coupled with the comfortable
easiness of those simpler times, touches the heart of the reader.
Pork Chops & Applesauce is a uniquely
heart warming cookbook offering a variety of sumptuous home-cooking style recipes
that provide wholesome nourishment to the reader’s soul. Cynthia gives
her audience a glimpse of her past as she dishes-up fond memories of those with
whom she has shared plentiful dinners and prized recipes.
Cynthia’s interviews with Southwest cooks highlight her
ardent belief that through the joy of cooking, all culinary hearts beat as one.
She believes through the sharing of our recipes we engage in an ongoing connection
with family, friends and acquaintances—bonds we carry with us through
our lives.
Cynthia Briggs has written a slice-of-life
cookbook, which touches the heart of the reader as she journeys back to the
easiness of simpler times growing up on an Oregon homestead, coupled with recounting
the humorous misadventures of raising her children on a Pacific Northwest farm.
Cynthia’s interviews with Southwest cooks highlight her
ardent belief that through the joy of cooking ~ culinary hearts beat as one.
She believes through the sharing of our recipes and food we engage in an ongoing
connection with others, weaving unique bonds we carry with us through our lives.
Briggs makes her home in New Mexico where she writes a weekly
cooking column, and teaches writing and cooking classes at New Mexico State
University-Carlsbad.
The King of Melons
“You’re such a wiggle-worm!” Gramma said.
Then she’d hug me and rest her hands lovingly on my tiny shoulders as
a gentle reminder for me to stay near the house. My desire was to bolt past
the red raspberry canes with their plump juicy berries, and zigzag between the
towering pea patch poles to meet Grandpa at the watermelon field gate.
“Here comes Grandpa! Look Gramma! The melon he picked
today is a whopper!” I touched my fingertips to my mouth and sucked in
quickly attempting to keep from drooling. The foretaste of the succulent melon-of-the-day
was too great and I wiped the dribble from my chin with my dusty palm.
“Just be patient young’n. He’s on his way!”
Gramma said. My back pressed against her well-worn cotton apron while both of
us waited in the blistering August sun.
I squirmed with anticipation as Grandpa lumbered toward the
house with the green-striped 25 pounder tucked proudly under his weathered arm.
He ended his morning in the field by handpicking a choice watermelon, and then
we’d meet under the restful shade of the broad-leafed catalpa tree to
spend several hours reaping the refreshing fruits of his labor.
Every year, my grandfather, Claude Belles, grew 10-acres of
Hermiston watermelons on incessantly thirsty ground in Eastern Oregon. He was
a stocky built man, with thin, receding salt and pepper hair. His neck was nonexistent,
making apparent his inherent bullheadedness. He was a man of few words who never
raised his voice, but our communication was loud and clear in regard to our
mutual love of “The King of Melons.”
Grandpa would collapse into a creaky wooden lawn chair with
the melon, and I would anxiously seat myself on the ground near his water-stained
boots. The melon would make a familiar hollow thud when he placed it on the
thick grass between us. Expertly, Grandpa slid the tip of his large razor-edged
garden knife into the lush watermelon. Slowly, the melon would start splitting
open length-wise, revealing its red, plumpness. So ripe, ready and filled with
pure melon juice it would pop - giving way to melon chunks rocking like a laden
cradle on the uncut lawn. Without fail my dust covered arms, legs and face would
become dotted with splashes of pink sugary juice.
“It’s perfect!” he’d say in his usual
deep serious voice. We’d burst into laughter, validating Grandpa’s
success as a melon farmer. Then, he’d carve the fleshy, loaf-shaped heart
from each watermelon half.
“One heart for you and one heart for me...no seeds!”
Just before we took our first glorious bites, Grandpa would flash me a quick
wink and he’d smile, revealing his babyish tooth free gums. Then we’d
devour the sweet gourd of heaven using our hands for eating utensils, sticky
pink juice streaming down to our elbows.
My grandfather had numerous trades throughout his life; in
his early days he was a gambler, poker being his specialty, then he took up
barbering and later he became a carpenter and a farmer. He was indeed a jack-of-all-trades,
but to me he was the master of growing the sweetest, and juiciest watermelon
that has ever passed my lips, even to this day.
So, Grandpa, here’s to you! Every time I make this scrumptious
Father’s Day Fruit Salad, I am reminded of the sweltering summer afternoons
we spent together swatting ants and slurping down your homegrown watermelons
while sitting under the protective shade of the catalpa tree. And, Grandpa,
as a special reminder of you, I always add extra big chunks of watermelon to
the salad, “one heart for you and one heart for me…no seeds!”
Father’s Day Fruit Salad
4 Kiwi fruit
1 mango
3 to 4 cups watermelon
3 to 4 cups honeydew
3 to 4 cups cantaloupe
2 nectarines
1 cup cherries, pitted
1 cup strawberries, halved
1 Bermuda onion, chopped fine
½ bunch fresh cilantro, chopped or shredded
3 tablespoons lemon OR lime juice, fresh squeezed
2 cups mild OR medium green salsa (also called salsa verde)
The fruits listed above are a general idea of fruits that can
be used for this salad, feel free to adjust fruits to your choosing (do not
use bananas, they’re too soft).
Wash and de-seed all fruit. Slice fruit (fairly large pieces)
into a large mixing bowl allowing the fruit to remain in layers, add onion and
cilantro layers. Sprinkle with lemon OR lime juice and finish
with green salsa. Leave the salad in layers, cover and refrigerate until it’s
served. Toss just before serving. Makes 8 - 2 cup servings.
To make fruit salsa: Use same fruit choices as for salad. Chop
fruits and onion fine; add cilantro, lemon and green salsa. Mix all ingredients
together (do not leave in layers as for salad) cover and refrigerate overnight
allowing salsa to “mush-up” and flavors to meld. Serve with tortilla
chips.
Recipe originates from Trish Sells, Renton, Washington and
Allegra Berrian, Seattle, Washington.
