Plain, unadorned, garden-variety cubed steak - breaded, and fried in bacon grease - sounds boring, doesn’t it? Well, it is pretty boring, at least to eat, but it surely was not boring for me the first time I cooked it. It was, you see, the very first recipe I ever cooked.
My grandmother, Nannie, taught me how. After I had begged and pleaded with her for days, Nannie realized that her first-born grandson would cook, one way or another, come hell or high water, and that she’d better supervise, lest I burn either myself up, or the house down, or both.
Well, I was barely tall enough to see over the rim of the skillet on the range-top, so Nannie brought a step-stool over so I'd be ‘big enough’ to cook. But before I was to ply the ol’ skillet and spatula, there was a little prep work that needed to be gotten out of the way. Nannie made it clear from the outset that if I wanted to learn to cook, I’d have to learn to do everything, including "pounding" the steak.
Pounding the steak? I apologize. In the first paragraph of this post, I used the term ‘cubed steak’, implying that we just bought it that way. Well, we didn't. I suppose ready-made cubed steak - round steak that has been tenderized by being run through the blades of a cubing machine - was available in those days, but Nannie would have none of it. A thrifty woman, she always bought round steak because it was cheaper than cubed steak, and tenderized it herself. This she did by pounding ¾-inch-thick pieces of steak to cut-with-a-fork tenderness using the edge of a saucer. For a long time, I thought this was the only way you got cubed steak.
Anyhow, since I had seen Nannie pound steak for this very recipe many times, I thought that I knew how it was done. It looked easy and I’d be able to do it. Of course I was dead wrong. It wasn't, you see, that I couldn’t get the hang of chopping down on the steak with the edge of the saucer. My problem was that I couldn’t chop hard enough. Round steak’s really tough, and you have to beat the living dickens out of it to tenderize it. I think it's a good bet that that's why most folks these days (unless they're masochists, self-abusers, or otherwise-sanity-challenged individuals) buy their cubed steak already cubed.
In the end, Nannie wound up doing pretty much all of the pounding. After being humbled by not being quite (hell! not anywhere near) big enough to pound the steak, I needed one in the ‘win’ column. I was so discouraged that if I hadn’t succeeded in seasoning the steak pieces and dredging them in flour, all by myself, my interest in cooking might have been nipped in the bud right then and there. But I did succeed, and now it was time to fry the steaks. Finally! This was the part I'd been waiting for.
Nannie moved my step-stool over to the stove, I climbed onto it, and Nannie lit the fire under her big, heavy, black cast-iron skillet. Next, Nannie reached for her bacon-drippings can on the back shelf of the range. In those days, everybody fried stuff - foods that lack sufficient fat of their own to do the job - in either bacon drippings or lard. Back then, you kept a can of bacon drippings within easy reach. Then, when you cooked bacon, after you done you just poured the drippings in the bacon-dripping can.
Nannie poured a little bacon grease into the skillet and my wait began. Nannie watched the pan. I watched Nannie. My anticipation waxed and my patience waned with each passing moment. It seemed that that pan would just never get hot! After what seemed an eternity, Nannie nodded. It was time. I picked up a piece of seasoned and floured steak and carefully laid it in the hot fat. It sizzled. The aroma was heavenly.
After I had cooked the steaks, Nannie finished the cooking by making a brown pan gravy. We cleaned up the kitchen, sat down to Country Fried Steak for dinner, and it was to die for; just absolutely delicious.
On that day, almost fifty years ago in Albany, Georgia, my love and enthusiasm for cooking were born. Today, every time I cook Country Fried Steak, I get all teary-eyed. That might be on account of the onions I use in my pan gravy, but somehow I don’t think so.
Here’s the recipe (modernized, of course) I cooked that day.
Basic Fried Steak
2 lbs. cubed beef steak, ½-inch to ¾-inch thick.
1 c. all-purpose flour.
Lawry’s® Seasoned Salt (or equivalent).
Black pepper
Onion powder
Vegetable oil.
Cut steaks up into serving-sized portions if desired.
Season the steak pieces, as liberally or sparingly as you want, on both sides with seasoned salt, black pepper, and/or onion powder. Or, you can use other seasonings entirely, or even no seasoning at all, if you’re of a mind to.
Dredge seasoned steak pieces in the flour; coat each piece evenly.
Now, into a heavy skillet, pour just enough oil to coat the bottom of the pan evenly.
On a LOW-to-MEDIUM fire, bring the pan and oil up to cooking temperature.
Fry the steaks, turning frequently, until the juices run clear. When done, the steak pieces should be mostly golden brown with some areas of darker brown.
Remove steak pieces and drain.
Note:
- There will probably be (if there aren’t, your extremely unlucky) some cooked fragments of breading in the pan when you’re done. When I was a child, we called these morsels ‘crunchies’. Don’t throw them out. They’re delicious, and they’ll enhance the flavor and texture of any sauce or gravy you make as an accompaniment.
Suggestion:
- For a tasty and authentic - and slightly unhealthy, some would no doubt argue - twist, substitute bacon grease for the oil. Try it if you like. But you’re no fool. I don’t imagine that you and your family eat like this every day (I and mine certainly don’t), so my guess is that you probably have some leeway here.
My best to you and yours. I wish you happy (and successful!) cooking!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
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