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The Legend of Springerle

The Benson family of Brookings likes their Christmas cookies picture perfect. Every year, Leah Benson rolls out an embossed cookie called springerle, which means”little knight” or”jumping horse,” using a special rolling pin carved with pictures.

Springerle originated in southwestern Germany.”The legend is that back then, the peasants were so poor that they could not afford to give gifts. To celebrate the winter solstice they would carve the gift they wanted to give into a piece of dough, let it dry, bake it and give it to their loved one. Most carvings were things of nature because they worshipped Mother Earth,” says Benson, who has researched the ancient cookie and teaches classes about it at medieval re-enactment fairs.”The dough was leavened with hartshorn, which is a powder that comes from inside a deer’s antler. Today we use baking powder.”

Benson learned about springerle from her grandmother.”She always made these cookies with a special rolling pin that was handed down through the generations. I started collecting these rolling pins when I was 40,” Benson says. Rolling the dough with a springerle pin or pressing it with a carved mold creates pictures on the cookies — some more intricate than others.”Most of the modern rolling pins have simple nature designs, although I do have one very expensive one with the life of Christ carved into its 24 panels,” Benson says.

Her grandmother’s recipe creates thick, mixer-challenging dough. Benson recommends draping a kitchen towel over the back of the mixer to avoid spraying flour and powdered sugar. After mixing and rolling, the unbaked cookies must dry for 24 hours to preserve the pictures through baking. The cookies bake at a low temperature, resulting in hard, pale-colored treats perfect for dunking in coffee.

Many families bake springerle at Thanksgiving and save them until Christmas to allow the flavor to develop, but Benson’s family eats them right away because they prefer a softer texture. Rolling thicker cookies or baking for less time results in a softer cookie as well, but beware of rolling them too thick. You’ll get cookies that are”humped up and cracked and kind of ugly,” Benson says.


Springerle is a German tradition that became a staple of Christmas for many South Dakota families.

Springerle

4 medium eggs, separated

1 pound powdered sugar

3 cups flour with 1/4 teaspoon baking powder added

1/8 teaspoon anise oil extract, or flavoring of your choice

Using an electric mixer, beat egg whites in a large bowl until stiff peaks form. In a separate bowl, beat egg yolks for five minutes until light and lemon-colored. Add beaten yolks to egg whites and whip for three minutes. Gradually sift powdered sugar into egg mixture and add anise oil. Slowly add flour and baking powder until dough is stiff, smooth and velvety. You may need to knead in the last of the flour by hand.

Divide the dough into 3 or 4 pieces. On a well-floured surface, roll out each piece 3/8-inch thick using a regular rolling pin. Using a springerle pin, roll across the dough to create imprints. Cut cookies apart and place onto ungreased cookie sheets close together but not touching. Cover with a light kitchen towel. Allow them to dry for 12 hours, then flip to let the undersides dry for another 12 hours.

Flip cookies right side up and bake at 250 degrees for 45 minutes. They may turn tan on the bottom, but should not brown.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the November/December 2013 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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The Vinegar Man

It surprised both Lawrence Diggs and the reference librarian at the San Francisco Public Library that they couldn’t find any information on vinegar. He had recently purchased balsamic vinegar and wanted to find out how to make his own.

“It intrigued me that vinegar was so common and yet we know so little about it,” Diggs says.

His simple inquiry has led to research around the world. Working from his home in Roslyn, he is now one of the world’s best sources for vinegar information.

“I started tracking down information and borrowing books from around the world,” recalls Diggs, who started his search in 1984. “The information came in trickles at first, which is good, because it gave me time to absorb it. The more I found out, the more I got interested.”

Diggs interviewed vinegar makers and talked to professors employed at university wine departments (in some cases, vinegar is wine gone sour). His research has taken him to France, Egypt, Mexico, South America and the Philippines.

Diggs found out not only how balsamic vinegar is made, he has also researched the sociological, historical and economic aspects of vinegar.

“It’s turned around my way of looking at history,” he says. For example, the Bible reports that Roman soldiers gave Jesus vinegar while he was on the cross. Christians have considered this a cruel act, but Diggs says that Roman soldiers often drank vinegar. The gesture would be an act of kindness when seen in this light.

The ingredients of vinegar vary with the country and cultures of the creator. Vinegar is made from carbohydrates, for example, grapes, grains, coconuts, carrots, rice, milk, dates and wine.

To make vinegar, a cook needs a sugar that can convert to alcohol, which in turn converts to acetic acid, or vinegar. Instead of sweating over chemical reactions, Diggs suggests that cooks buy vinegar off the shelf and then personalize it with herbs, such as tarragon.

“Other people have already done the hard work,” he says. Blending vinegars will give you a new one, or you can age store-bought vinegar.

“What’s mediocre at two or three years will be excellent in ten years,” Diggs says.

The vinegar that started Diggs on his passion, balsamic, is made from wine. The best balsamic vinegars come from Italy’s Modena and Reggio regions.

“Balsamic vinegars is where you’ll taste the vinegar,” he says. “Don’t use a lot, just a few drops.”

Malt vinegars, made from grains, are traditionally used with fried foods, such as hush puppies or fish and chips.

Bacteria cannot survive in acetic acid, which is why vinegar is a famous pickler. South Dakota farm wives pickle cucumbers and beets using jugs of the common white stuff, made from apples, grains, potatoes or sugar beets.

Apples were abundant early in America’s history, so cider vinegar was manufactured. Cores and peels, leftovers from processing apples, are now used to make vinegar for pickling.

Vinegar has other uses in the kitchen. Biscuits, cakes, pies and cookies are all lighter and flakier when baked with vinegar. Vinegar causes baking soda to give up carbon dioxide, translating into lighter biscuits, and it acts on the gluten in flour, making flakier piecrusts. It adds tang to soups and sauces.

Before he could afford more expensive cuts of meat, Diggs used vinegar as a meat tenderizer for dishes such as Swiss steak. The sourness disappears while the meat cooks.

“In some places, vinegar is savored like wine,” he says. Diluted to 1 or 2 percent acetic acid, Diggs reports that a vinegar’s sourness will be that of lemonade without sugar.

Just as wine lovers have wine-tasting parties, vinegar aficionados can hold organized vinegar tasting events. As a perk for their employees, companies will hire Diggs to host a vinegar tasting party.

He also explains how to taste and score vinegars. Tasters need to use a sugar cube. The cube soaks up the vinegar, then the taster sucks the vinegar off the cube. This gives the taster the flavor of the vinegar, without shutting down the taste buds. The aficionado can then move on to the next vinegar.

He’s made numerous connections and acquaintances in the industry, so Diggs fields diverse requests. Vinegar manufacturers contact him to taste-test their vinegars and get his opinion on its strengths and weaknesses and how to market vinegar products. A gentleman requested Diggs’ help in exporting vinegar to India.

Diggs’ book, Vinegar, is the definite guide to that common liquid found in every cupboard. The 300-page tome is used as a textbook at the University of California-Davis in their winemaking classes.

“I want to make South Dakota the Vinegar Capitol of the World,” Diggs says. He’s done just that since moving to Roslyn in 1989. Diggs formed the Vinegar Connoisseurs International club and created the International Vinegar Museum on Roslyn’s Main Street.


CHICKEN ADOBO

This is a traditional dish of the Philippines, usually served with rice and the chicken’s head. Diggs encourages cooks to add cinnamon or nutmeg to this stew, and to make your own call on the chicken head.

In large pot, place the following ingredients:

1 chicken, cut into small pieces

1 cup vinegar

1 cup water

2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 bay leaf

5 cloves garlic, crushed

2 tablespoons salt

5 peppercorns

2 mild red peppers

Chop the peppers if you want a hotter; spicier stew. Otherwise, add them whole near the end of the cooking time for a milder flavor. Cook slowly, until chicken starts to come off bones and gravy begins forming. If the stew is too sour, add a little more water. Remove some of the oil if desired.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the July/August 1996 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Canning Produce and Wit

Henrietta Truh’s cookbook has a lifetime of recipes and wisdom.

Editor’s Note: Henrietta Truh was 94 when we met her in her kitchen in Carthage in the summer of 2014. Truh passed away last winter. A version of this story appeared in our November/December 2014 issue. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

Henrietta Truh burst into her kitchen, apologizing for the mess.”The health inspector told me it’s cluttered but clean,” she said. Glass jars of pickles and salsa filled the countertops. Red Wing crocks sat on the floor. Fresh apples, peppers and tomatoes were waiting to be canned, and she had a stash of lollipops for kids who visit.

Truh was 10 years old when she learned to can on a wood-burning stove at her family’s farm in Wisconsin. She has used those skills ever since. Today, at 94, she estimates that she cans three to four thousand jars each year in her commercial kitchen in the little town of Carthage. She then takes her preserves — cucumbers, tomatoes, pickles, relish, pickled radish, salsa, jelly and applesauce — and sells them at farmers markets in De Smet and Salem. Her donuts, cookies, pies and kuchen are also best sellers.

Carthage doesn’t have a farmers market, but if it did Truh would be the queen. She’s known as the Pickle Lady in the tiny town of 150 that had 15 minutes of fame when the movie Into the Wild was filmed there in 2007. The movie is based on a true story by Jon Krakauer about Chris McCandless, a young man who gave away $24,000 intended for law school to travel the country and to live as simply as possible.

McCandless came to Carthage in the fall of 1990 after the owner of the local grain elevator, Wayne Westerberg, found him hitchhiking in Montana and offered him a job. McCandless worked at the elevator for a few months and also painted a house Westerberg owned just down the block from Truh’s home. McCandless stopped back in Carthage in 1992 on his way to Alaska, where his body was found in an abandoned bus near Denali.

The Cabaret, a popular steak house and lounge, was featured in the movie and today the restaurant’s walls are covered with Into the Wild memorabilia. Across the street, Truh’s daughter Melanie runs a cafe and bar called the Prairie Inn. There is no grocery store in town, so Melanie stocks some basics — ice cream, bubble gum and toilet paper. Further west on Main Street is the Coughlin Inn, an 1889 13-room Victorian mansion that was home to the Coughlins. The most famous of their 10 children was Charles, who graduated from South Dakota State in Brookings, became head of engine-maker Briggs & Stratton and later built the Campanile on the SDSU campus.

Truh, though a transplant, seems to fit the town of Carthage. She and her husband, Adolph, farmed in Minnesota and raised four children. After Adolph died of cancer, Henrietta continued to live and work on farms in Minnesota until she followed Melanie to Carthage in 1989. Her son, Charles, also moved to town, and her daughter Lois is a family practice physician in nearby Huron. Her daughter Janice lives in Fargo and supplies Truh with the apples she needs for canning.

When we visited, tomatoes from Charles’ garden were piled high and she was working on salsa.”My hours are according to the produce,” she said.”I will sit here and work 10 hours a day in order to get things done.” Sometimes she wakes in the middle of the night to start canning.”My son likes to tell people, ‘Mom’s 94 — she just doesn’t know it yet,'” she jokes. But visiting in her kitchen we understood her son’s meaning. Truh’s personality shines with wit and passion for her work.

She’s as sassy as her horseradish.”I’ve been told I can make anything taste good,” she says.”Even horse manure.” And when we commented on how youthful she appears for her age, she retorted,”Do I have to look 94?”

No, we agreed. She doesn’t have to look 94. And she doesn’t have to act 94.”Every age I’ve been through has been interesting. So why not continue? The reason I’m doing my business is because someday I might get old and not be able to do it anymore,” she laughs.


Truh’s mother, Rachel, was from Canning Town, England. Every Christmas her family enjoyed suet pudding, a traditional English dish, as a holiday treat. The pumpkin cake is from Truh’s cookbook, Tried ‘n Truh, which includes hundreds of recipes she collected through her life.

Suet Pudding

1 cup suet (chopped)

4 cups white flour

1 1/4 cups raisins

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon sugar

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon (optional)

Mix ingredients and shape into a loaf. Moisten with cold water and put on a floured cloth. Tie shut and submerge in boiling water for about 2.5 hours. Keep covered with water and add more boiling water as necessary to keep pudding covered. When time is up, lift the bag and remove pudding from the cloth. Slice it, serve hot, sprinkled with sugar or use syrup on each serving.


Holiday Pumpkin Cake

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup vegetable shortening

1 egg

1 1/2 cups cooked pumpkin (mashed)

1 3/4 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon cloves

1 cup raisins

1 cup nuts (broken)

Cream sugar and shortening, add the egg; beat until light and fluffy. Blend in pumpkin. Sift together dry ingredients and add to the pumpkin mixture. Mix until thoroughly blended. Lightly fold in raisins and nuts. Spoon evenly into a greased and floured (or sugared) 8-inch tube pan. Bake at 325 degrees for 65 minutes.

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Wessington’s Chili Wars

Pie bakers and chili makers are very different sorts. That’s plain to see in Wessington every July at the town’s annual Fun Day.

The festivities include a pie contest and a chili cook-off.”Some of the ladies won’t share their pie recipes easily,” says Lana Dannenbring-Eichstadt, a board member of the Wessington Development Corporation that sponsors the events.”But the pie contest is very polite, and there’s often some humor — like the time a mom entered a beautiful sour cream and raisin pie in her son’s name.” Confusion always makes for good-natured fun.

But the chili cook-off?

Dannenbring-Eichstadt winces.”The guys are pretty much out for blood in the chili competition,” she admits.”Poor Cowboy Jim has entered his pineapple chili as long as I can remember, and he keeps changing the recipe, or at least the name. He gets so mad each time he doesn’t win; last year he even went after some of the judges, who happened to be my two sisters and a niece.”

She’s referring, tongue-in-cheek, to Jim Major, a fellow board member and local promoter of Wessington. Majors have been raising beef at the northern edge of the Wessington Hills for 125 years. Jim has been perfecting his pineapple chili recipe for only a fraction of that time, but he admits he’s getting impatient with the outcome of the cook-off.

“I don’t know whether it’s because my chili sits at the end of the table and the judges have had their taste buds ruined by the beans, or just what it is,” he says. But he’ll be back this July.

The basic ingredients of Jim’s Hawaiian Chili include his wife Ruth’s canned tomatoes, homegrown beef and imported pineapple. No beans. That might be enough of an omission to warrant disqualification by some judges, but Major believes in pineapple.

One of Major’s top competitors is Lester Moeller, a St. Lawrence hog farmer who has been tinkering with a pork sausage recipe for some 40 years.”I started making chili for the kids. It’s a great protein source. I experimented with a lot of different things. That’s the thing about chili, it’s hard to hurt it.

“Now I mix a pound of pork sausage with a pound of deer burger, and mix it together with tomatoes, onions and I do use beans,” he says.”Add your spices and there aren’t many leftovers, let’s put it that way.”

Moeller, an erstwhile promoter of pork, is a past president of the state’s pork producers. When Hurricane Sandy hit the Atlantic coast, he and his wife Rosemary flew to New Jersey almost before the winds subsided and spent three days grilling pork loins and bratwurst for the victims and disaster workers.

Despite their persistence, neither Moeller or Major has yet won the Wessington cook-off. Nor has Duane Casavan, a Wessington beekeepper who brings a crockpot flavored with his own honey.

Dannenbring-Eichstadt says another regular competitor reportedly”sneaks some chocolate” into his recipe — a trick frowned upon, apparently, but not outlawed.”There’s also a Cowboy Chili, a Hula Chili and some other popular repeats. And then there’s always that friendly debate over whether real chili has beans or not.”

That won’t be settled at Wessington, where the judges are more locally focused on pineapple, venison, pork and honey.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the July/August 2014 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117. This year’s Wessington Fun Day is July 16. It includes a 2.5K color walk & run, a parade at 10 a.m., softball and bean bag tournaments, a car show and the chili and pie cookoffs. Everyone gets to sample the pies and chili. Proceeds support the Wessington Development Corporation.


JIM’S HAWAIIAN CHILI

4 lbs browned ground beef

1 green pepper, cubed small

1 yellow pepper, cubed small

1 small can jalapenos

2 20-oz cans of tomato sauce

2 20-oz cans of diced tomatoes (or four quarts of home-canned tomatoes to replace the diced tomatoes and sauce)

2 20-oz cans of pineapple tidbits (drained)

4 cloves chopped garlic

2 T chili powder

2 T cumin

Salt and pepper

Cook altogether for 3 to 5 hours. You might add one bottle of dark beer an hour or so before serving. This is a crockpot-size quantity fit for a cook-off and community feed.


LESTER’S PORK CHILI

1 lb of fried pork sausage

1 lb of fried deer burger

1 large sauteed onion

2 cans diced tomatoes

2 cans of chili beans (may substitute kidney or black)

1 tsp mustard

1 tsp garlic salt

1 tsp salt and pepper

Chili powder to taste

Mix all ingredients in crockpot and let simmer until hot or longer (for better flavor). Serve hot, makes enough for at least six hungry men. Leftovers can be frozen for later meals. Nice to microwave for quick meals.

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Walnut Pie Among the Pines

Desperados proprietor Dan Dickey (center) and Carrie Brown serve walnut pie to a hungry diner.

Hear an early-morning clamor in the kitchen of Desperados? Don’t be alarmed. It’s just Connie Heddles, the baker, crushing walnuts for a favorite Southern Hills pie.

“She beats the walnuts with a mallet,” laughs restaurant owner Dan Dickey.”She says she can take out her frustrations while she’s working.”

Not a bad recipe for venting, but Heddles is obviously joking because Desperados is one of those restaurants where everybody ≠– locals, tourists or the staff — seem happy. Dickey and his wife Pat sensed that good energy, at the restaurant and all along Main Street, six years ago when they were looking for a business to buy.

“The town is perfectly located between Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse,” says Dan, who worked as a pension consultant in Minneapolis before he and Pat became enamored with the Southern Black Hills.”But it’s more than that. There’s lots of good leadership in town and everybody is pulling together. It’s been great. This is our sixth season and every year has been a little better.”

Give the walnut pie a slice of the credit. It was devised by Laurel Schaub, the previous owner, and perfected by Heddles over the past several years. The taste is similar to pecan pie, but not as sweet and rich.

Desperados is also gaining a reputation for buffalo.”We only use grass fed buffalo meat from Wild Idea Buffalo Company,” says Dan. Wild Idea is run by well-known Black Hills author Dan O’Brien. Dickey started serving a buffalo roast dinner this summer that quickly became a staple on a big menu with steaks, salads, muleskinner chili dogs and cornbread muffins baked daily by Heddles. The walleye is also popular. Desperados has a special process of seasoning, breading and grilling the fillets.

A creative kitchen keeps customers coming back, but first-timers are often attracted to Desperados by history. The log structure was built of Black Hills pine in 1885 as a saloon and then converted into newspaper offices for the Harney Peak Mining News. It has also served as a book and gun store, fly-fishing headquarters and fix-it shop.

Dickey believes it is the oldest hand-hewn log commercial building in South Dakota. The exterior was charred by disastrous fires that crippled Hill City in 1891 and 1902, so the exterior walls are sided with clapboard. But the old logs create an authentic Old West atmosphere inside. Some of the pines are crooked, the gaps evened by kinking and correction logs. They were kilned from trees killed by mountain pine beetles, again a scourge of the Black Hills.

“They say the trees were still standing when the logs were cut,” Dickey says.”The logger probably liked the bug wood because the tree was already dead, so the logs were lighter and easier to square cut.”

The building was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1977, more than 25 years before anyone hammered out a walnut pie in the back room. That’s one of the charms of Hill City, population 962. The history just keeps getting better.

Desperados opens daily for lunch and dinner from May through September.


Desperados’ Walnut Pie

12 eggs

4 c sugar

1/2 c flour

4 c corn syrup

8 tbsp melted butter

4 tsp vanilla

1 tsp salt

6-7 cups walnuts

4 pie crusts

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Mix together eggs, sugar, flour, corn syrup, butter and vanilla. Gently place walnuts on crust. Pour sugar mix over walnuts arranging nuts as necessary. Bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes, then reduce heat to 350 degrees and bake 35 to 45 minutes. Makes 4 walnut pies.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the September/October 2013 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Buffalo Berries

At the edges of plateaus, wind and water erosion often cuts into the limestone to create small canyons, little habitats that are less arid than the surrounding plains, biological marvels: the Hanging Gardens of Dakota. Several kinds of bushes and trees, besides buffalo berry, favor this habitat: plum, currant, chokecherry, and sumac flourish under stunted cedars. Technically, the buffalo berry is Shepherdia Argentia, a perennial member of the Oleaster family. The shrub is seldom more than 6 feet tall, though one source says it can grow to 25 feet. The leaves are modestly silver on one side, gray and scaly on the other; brown flowers appear in May and June.

I have often thought the buffalo berry was designed with greedy humans in mind. You know the ones: they associate size and glitter with quality. It’s not love that counts with them, but the size of the diamond. They don’t care how a car runs; their eyes shine at spoke wheels, shiny red paint, a large price tag. These folks won’t notice the boring buffalo berry, even when it’s covered with berries that range from golden to a deep, brownish red.

The flavor of buffalo berries is incomparable. It most closely resembles alum, a cooking ingredient you probably will no longer find in your kitchen if you don’t make pickles. One-quarter teaspoon of alum, or a handful of buffalo berries, makes your mouth feel like you are eating Death Valley. The secret of buffalo berries is this: it’s impossible to eat them from the bush. They are the ideal harvest berries because you get what you pick.

Their other hidden weapon makes buffalo berries the elite among wild fruit. The thorns can be up to six inches long, all scientifically placed so you cannot pick a single berry without puncturing naked hands. Even leather gloves don’t save you from injury. Some experts say buffalo berry pickers should wait until the first frost loosens the berries, then spread a white sheet on the ground under the bushes, and shake the branches vigorously to dislodge the fruit. When I’ve waited for frost, I found the bushes bare, the ground decorated with a few shriveled berries and millions of grouse footprints. I heard miniature belches and the distant thunder of the flock waddling away. That’s the time to shoot a grouse, if you can see the little masters of camouflage. Then gently slit the crop, rinse the berries he’s eaten, and replace his intestines with them; roast him for an hour, and enjoy his succulent flesh with buffalo berry sauce.

The only really effective way to pick buffalo berries is to put on elbow-length leather gloves, a long-sleeved denim jacket over a long-sleeved shirt, and tuck the bottoms of your pants firmly into your boots to keep some of the ticks from crawling up your legs. The worst is yet to come. The berries are stuck to the branches, so you have to work to harvest them. On the other hand, they hang in clusters; each determined tug should give you about 10 berries. Then all you have to do is get them into the bucket without dropping the whole bunch.

One hot day, we picked two buckets in about a half hour. We left a large number of berries for the grouse: all those hidden in the tumbleweeds where we didn’t want to reach for fear of rattlesnakes, and the berries higher than we could reach.

Unlike plums, buffalo berries don’t have to be laboriously separated from their seeds, or peeled. Simply fill the bucket with water, and float the leaves and debris off the surface. Then drain off excess water, and dump the berries into a large cooking pot with a little water. Those who prefer the security of a recipe should use the sour cherry jelly recipe on a popular brand of fruit pectin, and substitute apple juice for one-third to one-half of the water. I use half or less of the amount of sugar prescribed, because I appreciate the berries’ tartness. When the juice has been boiled away from the seeds, I strain it before adding sugar for the second cooking.

The jelly is a tawny peach color, and the flavor is hard to describe. I might compare it to apple pie with lemon: sweet, extra tangy. But another element lurks in the flavor that I can’t compare to anything else. I think it’s the essence of wildness, clean prairie air made solid. It contains the deer that nibbled the leaves in winter, the beating of grouse wings as they pick berries from the highest branch, the blundering invulnerability of a porcupine living under the ledge. It’s the taste of blinding white drifts slowly being built and smoothed into glittering sculpture outside the house as you make morning toast, slathering it with butter and buffalo berry jelly. The jelly brings the flavor of summer heat to your tongue, a sheet of sweat to your shoulders; even as you watch the blizzard, it reminds you of spring fragrance and the cool nights of fall.

And there’s something more. Buffalo berries are symbolic, to me, of the answer to the question all plains people are eventually asked.

“Why,” the questioner will ask, looking around just before he gets back on the plane that will take him back to some metropolis, and smiling a little disdainfully, “Why do you stay here? You could be anywhere; you could make more money, have all the advantages. I know it’s beautiful, but … ” The questioner will shrug, wait a few seconds for an answer that doesn’t come, and tum to climb the steps to the seats between the mighty engines which may or may not fall off during his escape from the plains.

I want to say, “Because of the buffalo berries.” These tart little berries on hidden, thorny bushes are what the modern people of the plains have become. We’re not easy to find, and we tend to be a little prickly if we’ve been here long. Hardship and freedom breed stoicism, and don’t leave us with much patience for such questions. But when you get to know us, when you understand a little of our plains habitat, we’re rare and tasty.

Though it’s difficult to transfer hot jelly from a large pan into a tiny glass, I use my smallest containers for buffalo berry jelly. Almost none of it leaves the ranch. The people I give it to can be counted on the fingers of one hand bloodied with picking berries, and include the best people I know. A few years ago I published in one of my books a map of our ranch; I included specific directions that made my family a bit nervous, and a lot of detail: where the horse stepped on me, where my favorite horse is buried, the dam where the coyotes hunt. I’ve paid for my candor every time someone uses the map to drive into my yard and ask for a “tour of the ranch.” But even while being so naively forthright, I didn’t put in the ravines where buffalo berries grow, and it’s no use asking me. Find your own. Like Mother Nature, I can be harsh; like her, I’ve given you fair clues to their habitat.

And while you’re looking, you might come to understand what we are doing here, and that knowledge will be something else you can savor through a long, cold winter in some sooty, crowded city.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the July/August 1991 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Noodles & Strudels for the Soul

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the November/December 2012 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

A man sporting a thick salt and pepper beard eyed me suspiciously from his slowly passing pickup as I approached the back door of the Dakota Cafe. It was shortly after 10 a.m. on a Monday morning, and we both knew the cafe hadn’t yet opened, but owner Cris Mayer had assured me I would find the key in the door.

The Dakota Cafe in Hosmer was my first stop on a journey exploring South Dakota’s rich heritage of German cuisine. In two days of eating my way through McPherson and Edmunds counties — two of the most German-rich counties in South Dakota — I’d consumed German noodles, cheese buttons, strudels, dumplings, kuchen and sausage that is fried in kitchens from coast to coast. Had my trip simply been about discovering delicious ethnic food, it was a resounding success. But it also became a fascinating journey through hundreds of years of American and European history, tracing how Germans from Russia were forced to cut ties with their homeland twice, and how the food served in several South Dakota restaurants helps descendants retain their cultural identity.

Miranda Brower (left) and Sarah Aman prepare German noodles at the Dakota Cafe in Hosmer.

Hosmer and Eureka are decidedly German communities in a predominantly German state. The federal government stopped asking census respondents about their ethnic heritage in 2010, but in 2000 over 40 percent of South Dakotans claimed a German background, the largest ethnicity reported. Out of 208 people surveyed in Hosmer, 141 (78.8 percent) indicated German heritage and 51 (28.5 percent) marked Russian. In Eureka, 706 of its 868 residents claimed German lineage and 207 said Russian. Listen closely and you’ll still hear a slight German brogue among locals.

So it might have been easy for Dan and Cris Mayer to feel out of place when they moved to Hosmer in 2000. The Mayers had earned a living revamping restaurants in Scandinavian-rich Minnesota and sought a change of scenery. They attended an auction in North Dakota and learned the following day that their $1,000 bid had purchased a house in Hosmer.”We didn’t know what we bid on,” Cris Mayer says.”It was a huge leap of faith.”

A higher power may indeed have been involved. The city of Hosmer had built a restaurant in 1994, but it lacked consistent ownership. The Mayers, with their extensive restaurant background, bought the business and have been making meals ever since.

The Mayers are admittedly comfortable cooking standard restaurant fare, but the town’s German citizenry had grown accustomed to eating a traditional ethnic meal once a week. German cooking was a foreign concept, so they turned to Ruth Schumacher, a Hosmer native who grew up on a farm learning recipes for strudels, dumplings, cheese buttons and hot potato salad from her mother.

“I enjoyed helping my mother any chance I could,” Schumacher says. She discovered as a child how seriously her mother treated cooking.

“My mother was very particular about when her bread rose, and when it was time to go into the oven,” she recalls.”My brother was mischievous anyway. The bread was ready to put in oven and he pinched it and it flopped down. Mother happened to come in the kitchen. My brother was fast, but mother caught me and I got a spanking. I always said it wasn’t my fault, and I blamed my brother until his dying day.”

Schumacher taught at a rural school and in Hosmer for 43 years, all while retaining the German recipes she had learned. When her granddaughter began waitressing for the Mayers, she bragged about the German food Schumacher made. The cafe owners invited her to help on Tuesdays. Now she helps plan the weekly meal and keeps track of what is served.

Ruth Schumacher (left) and Cris Mayer prepare a traditional German meal weekly at the Dakota Cafe.

Schumacher was busily preparing batches of cheese buttons on the day I visited.”You can boil them or you can fry them, just a couple of minutes,” she says, carefully placing a spoonful of dry cottage cheese mixture onto the dough, and folding it into a tiny pocket.

On the east side of the restaurant, box fans on full blast were busily drying piles of German noodles produced by M.A.’s Noodla, Hosmer’s noodle company. Long, flat pieces of dough are run through a machine that produces strings of noodles that can be cooked in soups and dozens of other German dishes. M.A.’s makes 19 varieties that are sold in nearly 30 grocery stores.

Hosmer’s Noodle Company had been in business since 1987 when the Mayers and Hosmer resident Sarah Aman bought it in July and moved its operations to the cafe. A portion of the restaurant is blocked off once a week so the noodlers can work.”Noodling was big for the Germans of this area,” Mayer says.”They noodled when they first arrived here as pioneers. They’d cut them out and lay them over their cupboards to dry.”

Dough foods like noodles, strudels and dumplings are staples of the German diet. They require years to perfect, as I discovered when I met the strudel queen of McPherson County. Vicki Lapka makes a variety of German foods, but she’s the person everyone in Eureka seeks when looking for strudels. We visited her restaurant, the Lyric Lanes, on a Tuesday morning as she prepared her weekly German meal.

Lapka, a fifth-generation descendant of Germans from Russia, learned strudels and other German delicacies from her grandmother while growing up around Mound City. But after high school she and her husband moved to the Twin Cities, and those German recipes lay dormant for 15 years. In January 1992 they moved back to Eureka, bought the Lyric, and inherited its Saturday night German buffet. Lapka’s mother helped her relearn German cooking, and the weekly German meal, now on Tuesday afternoons, has remained a tradition.

Meals include sausage, dumplings, pigs in a blanket or knoepfle soup, but Lapka’s specialty is strudels. It was one of the first recipes she learned, and years of practice have made her an expert. Three electric skillets sat atop her counter when I arrived. She added water, lard, onions and potatoes, then set strudels on top and closed the lid.”If you open them while they’re cooking they just drop,” Lapka explained.”You’ll have flat dumplings and flat strudels. My kids learned the hard way. If I was making dumplings or strudels, they stayed out of the kitchen.”

Strudels are a temperamental food. If the water is just a few degrees too cool or too hot, the yeast won’t react correctly. And of course they must remain covered. Since Lapka can’t see them cook, she tips the pan after 30 minutes of cooking and listens to see if they are frying inside. If there’s no sizzle, she knows they need more time. Before I left, Lapka showed me freezers packed with 150 pounds of strudels to fill orders from townspeople.

Strudels are a local staple and can be served with sausage and carrots at Vicki Lapka’s weekly German meal.

The foods I sampled in Hosmer and Eureka have been staples of the German diet for centuries, and became part of the South Dakota culinary scene because of events that began unfolding in Europe nearly 250 years ago. Eighteenth century Germany was embroiled in near constant war and home to a state religion that all citizens were required to practice. In 1763, German-born Russian empress Catherine the Great extended an olive branch to her people: she offered freedom from military service and 162 acres of land near the Black and Caspian seas.

Nearly 40,000 Germans relocated over the next century, settling in the Volga River valley and the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains. They lived in tightly knit pockets, practicing their own religion, making their food and observing other social customs. Their successful farming practices transformed southern Russia into the region’s breadbasket. But in 1871, Czar Alexander II revoked Catherine’s edict. Once again, the Germans sought a new homeland.

At the same time, promoters in Dakota Territory were busily recruiting homesteaders to settle the land many Americans derisively called the Great American Desert. Land agents, aware of the Germans’ plight, sent literature to the Russian steppes, hoping to lure the farmers across the ocean. The Germans were intrigued by the Dakota proposition and sent five men to Yankton in 1873 to scout settlement locations.

Thus began the great German migration, which coincided with the Dakota Boom years of 1878 to 1887. In 1880, there were 81,781 people in Dakota Territory. By 1890 the population had swelled to 328,808. Many Schwartzmeerdeutsche, or Black Sea Germans, settled in what became known as the German Russian Triangle of southeastern North Dakota and northeastern South Dakota, especially McPherson County. Another pocket emerged around Freeman and Menno in Hutchinson County.”We were the original draft dodgers,” explained Sally Roesch Wagner’s uncle John in Wagner’s Daughters of Dakota series.

Wagner’s ancestors left their home in Glueckstahl for a new life in America. Like other German families who endured similar relocations, one comforting constant was food. Wagner wrote that her grandmother’s life remained centered around German cuisine.”Grandma cooked like she had in the old country,” Wagner wrote.”Halupsi, or pigs in a blanket as we called the rice, hamburger, cream and tomato wrapped in a cabbage leaf she made for us.” Other German dishes included hot potato salad, a deep red beet soup called borscht, wine soup, kuechla and kuchen,”the bread dough with a fruit and custard filling that some call a cake and others a pie.”

Gerard Heier and his brother David make pepper sticks, sausage and brats at their Hosmer meat market.

Food has remained a constant comfort for South Dakota’s Germans in a way that’s unmatched among descendants of other European homesteaders.”Nationalities still are associated with cuisines, but the interest in preserving these associations by eating specific foods everyday may vary widely,” wrote Gregory Mader in his master’s thesis on ethnic food in the Upper Midwest. Norwegians continue their traditional lutefisk feeds during winter months. Danes make pancake balls called aebleskiver every summer at Viborg’s Danish Days. And the Dalesburg Midsommar Festival features a Scandinavian smorgasbord annually on the summer solstice. But you can find a traditional German meal in cafes across South Dakota every week throughout the year.

The tiny town of Tolstoy in Potter County was without a cafe until Brad and Joletta Naef arrived in 2009. The Naefs had careers in California, but they retired to the town of 36 people and opened Dakota Jo’s Cafe in the old post office. On Thursdays the Naefs serve a German buffet with dishes Joletta learned to make while growing up on a farm five miles northeast of Tolstoy. Favorites include halupii (a cabbage roll with rice, hamburger and tomato), cheese buttons, spaetzle with German sausage, fleisch kuchle and a pumpkin-filled pastry called plachinda.”And there’s a group of ladies who leave sad if we’ve run out of knoepfle soup,” Naef says.

The Main Street Cafe in Bowdle serves German food on Thursdays and stages a grand German buffet the first Sunday of the month. Farther south, Rita Hoff responded to the demands of Menno’s citizenry and began serving German food on Tuesdays. Another delicacy with German origins is chislic, a local favorite served anytime at Papa’s in Freeman or Meridian Corner, at the junction of highways 18 and 81 halfway between Freeman and Yankton. The skewered mutton arrived in Hutchinson County with John Hoellwarth, a German immigrant from Russia. Papa’s serves 3, 6, 9 or 12 sticks either deep fat fried or grilled with lemon pepper, garlic pepper, barbeque or plain. Meridian Corner offers chislic with garlic salt or a special Greek seasoning.

All the German food served in cafes is homemade, including the sausage, which most likely comes from the local meat market. Gerard Heier and Larry Kauk may not realize it, but they are among the most respected members of the German food culture hierarchy.”Germans developed butchering and sausage making into a fine art,” wrote Rose Marie Gueldner in her book, German Food and Folkways.”Even after the wane of farm butchering in the last half of the 1900s, the reputation of the German Metzger and Wurstmeister was carried on by individuals doing custom butchering and small town grocers making and selling sausage. During settlement and succeeding decades most country people had no reason to patronize the town’s meat market except to occasionally buy several rings, sticks or links of sausage from a butcher so esteemed in the craft that his name and products were spoken with a certain reverence.”

Eureka butchers Larry Kauk (left) and his son Tim ship their authentic German fry sausage from coast to coast.

Meat is king in German cuisine, and pork is the star. German families chose to butcher hogs because cows produced milk and far more meat than a family could consume before spoilage. With hogs, families could”use everything but the squeal,” Gueldner wrote. Butchers carved hams, roasts, bacon and sausage. Hog fat became lard, and the intestines provided perfect casings for specialty sausages.

Heier and Kauk both come from butchering families. Heier’s ancestors followed the Germany-to-Russia-to-South Dakota route, disembarking the train in Hosmer and homesteading six miles northwest of town. His father, Joseph, opened Heier’s Meat Market one block off Hosmer’s main street in 1966 using his grandfather’s locally famous sausage recipe.

Heier began working in the locker at age 10, but he left Hosmer to work as a computer technician in Rapid City. He returned in 1981 to take over the meat market after his father died. He and his brother, David, have tinkered with the family recipe, and their sausage remains so popular that they make 100,000 pounds every year.”We’ll sell the spices, but we won’t give out the recipe,” Heier says.”We’ve had a lot of calls from people who want to know, but we won’t give it out.”

Other wurstmeisters follow the tenets of sausage secrecy, but not Larry Kauk. Both of Kauk’s grandfathers were butchers, and he learned the trade on the family farm near Artas. In 1982 he built a huge locker and processing facility on the north side of Eureka along Highway 47. Kauk’s meat market produces hams, steaks, brats, but their signature item is fry sausage. They ship hundreds of pounds of fry sausage to McPherson County expatriates from coast to coast.

“There’s no secret to it,” Kauk says, matter-of-factly.”We make it the way the old Germans did in the old days. You take good, fresh pork meat and add salt, pepper and garlic. I’m sorry if you were looking for some big surprise. The people who used to make it years ago are all in the grave, so that’s why I keep doing it. That’s what I hear all the time. ëDad used to make that and now we can’t find it anymore.’ So we’re not doing anything different.”

Still, people can’t seem to replicate Kauk’s fry sausage. That’s evident in the 2,000 pounds he and his cadre of butchers make every week.

Traditional German cuisine remains popular around the state.”You should have bought me some liver sausage,” one relative said after he’d learned I had visited Kauk’s. The butchers and chefs I met are artisans, guardians of a food culture that dates back hundreds of years and across three continents. But I noticed a lack of youth in the places I visited. Perhaps they are steering clear of the heavy German food, especially when so much attention is directed toward obesity. Foods cooked in lard don’t necessarily subscribe to any nutritionist’s plan for healthy eating. Many German recipes have stood the test of time, but some small town chefs worry that eventually no one will remember how to prepare them.

“That’s really sad,” Lapka says.”They’ll come in and ask for a pan full of strudels. Well they could cook them, but they don’t know how. It’s so easy to just come buy the strudels, go home and cook them, but they don’t want to do that. Once I get up there to where I can’t really do it anymore, my kids have never really learned it. My daughter can do knoepfle, but she hasn’t mastered strudels yet. I hope to teach them. If we don’t keep this going, we’re going to lose it all.”

If any 20- or 30-somethings want to learn to make strudels, dumplings or fleish kuechle, they will find many willing teachers. In the meantime, a hot bowl of knoepfle soup or a plate of cheese buttons is never more than a few days away.


Ruth Schumacher’s Cheese Buttons

Traditional German cheese buttons can be boiled or fried.

Ingredients

Dough:

3 cups flour

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 eggs

3/4 cup water

Filling:

22 ounces cottage cheese

2 eggs

salt and pepper to taste

Combine ingredients and roll out dough. Cut into 4-inch squares. Put 1 tablespoon of the cheese mixture onto square. Press edges to seal. Boil for 7 to 10 minutes until they float and then drain, or fry in butter at 350 degrees for 2 to 3 minutes on each side. Top with fried breadcrumbs or seasoned salt.

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Kolache Making

All my life I have enjoyed kolaches. My mother, an immigrant from Moravia (then Austria-Hungary) made them every Christmas and Easter. As she grew older, she would tell me what ingredients to use and how much and I became adept at making them.

Alas, when she died she took the recipe with her. So I went to my cousin, Mary Palank, who was then living in Aberdeen. Mary was famous for her kolaches. She had learned to make them from her mother, my aunt. “Come,” she said. “We’ll make some in the morning.”

When I came into the kitchen she had everything ready. “See this little blue bowl? I fill it up to here with flour for the sponge.”

I objected. “But Mary, when I get back home I won’t have your little blue bowl.”

So she measured out the ingredients in her time-tried way and I reduced the measurements to standard cups, teaspoons and tablespoons. In the course of the morning I covered two sheets of paper with notes and in the afternoon we visited over oven-warm kolaches and coffee.

When I got home I reduced the notes to one succinct page, which is my standard recipe. I’ve shared the recipe with many friends who have followed it successfully, too.


Kolaches

Recipe from Mary Palank and Genevieve Arntz

Dough

2 packages active dry yeast

1 cup warm water

2 cups warm milk, divided

7-8 cups flour, divided

3/4 cup sugar

3 eggs (room temperature)

2 tablespoons salt

1 cup vegetable oil or shortening

Using a large mixing bowl, dissolve 2 packages of yeast in 1 cup warm water. Add 1 cup warm milk, 2 cups flour, and stir until smooth. Let stand in a warm place until it triples in size.

To this mixture, add 3/4 cup sugar, 3 eggs, salt, 1 cup warm milk and vegetable oil or shortening. Mix well, then gradually add 6-7 cups of flour, until a very soft dough is formed. On a board, knead in flour until dough does not stick to hands. Grease top with vegetable oil and let rise. Punch down and let rise again.

Cottage Cheese Filling

2 pounds low fat, small curd cottage cheese, wrapped in a cloth and squeezed to remove whey, or baker’s cheese

2 egg yolks

1 1/2 cups sugar

2 cups raisins

1 tablespoon butter or margarine

Mix cottage cheese or baker’s cheese with egg yolks, sugar, butter and raisins.

Note: plum or other thick jams also make good fillings.

Streusel

1 cup flour

1 stick margarine

3/4 cup sugar

2 teaspoons cinnamon

Mix all ingredients together.

To form kolaches: Grease hands. Spoon out about 1/4 cup to 1/3 cup of dough, or divide dough into 30-32 portions. Using your hands, roll each piece of dough into a small ball, then flatten it. Place about 1 tablespoon of filling in the center of the dough; draw the sides of the dough up over the filling, overlapping. Place on greased baking tin and pat flat. Oil top with salad oil. Place about 1 teaspoon of streusel topping on each oiled bun.

Let kolaches rise until doubled in bulk. Preheat oven to 400 degrees and bake for about 20 minutes. Oil the sides of the bun and the topping with salad oil and cool. Store in cool place.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the March/April 1993 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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The Delicate Rosette

Rachel Roe is a Norwegian in training. Growing up in Cincinnati, Roe never had krumkake, rosettes, kringla and other holiday treats beloved by South Dakota’s Scandinavians. After she moved to Brookings in 2004, her husband Jay’s family brought her up to speed.”The rosettes and the krumkake, I loved right off the bat. Krumkake reminds me a lot of Italian pizzelles, which I’ve had before. I had not ever heard of the rosettes, but was impressed by how flaky and delicate they are,” Roe says.

She hopes to someday teach her young son, Lex, about the food traditions from both sides of his family. To achieve that goal, Roe, who also writes a blog called Trampling Rose, is learning to make rosettes from her mother-in-law, Mary.”They are as fussy as I imagined,” Roe says. It’s not easy to master heating the rosette iron, dipping it in the thin batter and prying off the fragile cooked rosette with a fork, but the fuss is worth it.”You can’t go wrong with fried batter covered in sugar,” she says.


Rosettes

2 eggs

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup flour

1 teaspoon sugar

1 cup milk

Combine all ingredients and blend until smooth. Pour batter into a bread pan or other high-sided dish.

Pour 3 inches of vegetable oil in a Dutch oven or electric wok and heat to 350-400 degrees. Place rosette iron in to heat.

Remove iron when thoroughly heated, letting extra oil drain before dipping it into the batter. (The batter should sizzle and bubble.) Do not let batter cover the top of the iron. Place batter-covered iron back into the oil and cook until the rosette is crisp and golden brown. Remove rosette from iron and drain on newsprint or paper towels. Roll cooled rosettes in vanilla sugar before serving.

Editor’s Note: This is revised from a larger feature on holiday food traditions that appeared in the November/December 2013 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Our Zucchini Cookoff

Zucchini was the star of a noon potluck at the South Dakota Magazine office.

Zucchini overwhelmed the little garden in the backyard of our South Dakota Magazine headquarters in downtown Yankton. We stopped watering it as soon as we realized what was happening, but still the zucchini proliferated. Despite the lack of respect or water — and being rudely tread upon as we tended to the tomatoes and onions — the zucchini continued to grow.

We gave it to the neighbors until they would no longer answer their doorbells. All of our staff and their extended families were compelled to take a cube or two every day. As one reader commented on our website (where we’d advertised free garden produce), two never-watered zucchini plants will suffice for a family of 15. And we had four plants. Four well-tended plants.

Zucchini soon piled up on office tables, inboxes and file cabinets. I had been eating zucchini at every meal for over a month when our editor suggested a zucchini cook-off to use up some of the reserves.

There was just one rule for the contest. Anyone could enter but you must get your zucchini from the magazine garden. First prize? You guessed it: a summer supply of zucchini.

The contest was first met with some grumbling. Several staffers claimed to dislike zucchini, most of all Roger, our humor columnist. He is not a fussy eater, but never takes a bite of food at the office in the summer months without asking if zucchini is involved. Roger had a bad experience with zucchini bread some time ago and still hasn’t forgotten.

Zucchini recipes can be hit-or-miss. The high water content (about 95 percent) can potentially result in a mushy mess. So expectations were low, to say the least, on the day of the zucchini cook-off.

All six entries smelled good and looked tasty. More importantly, they were declared delicious by one and all. Mock its reproduction capacity if you must, but zucchini’s flavor enhances everything from pasta dishes to chocolate cake, plus it adds Vitamin A, Vitamin C and potassium and is high in fiber.

Plucking the flowers from a zucchini plant will slow growth, but I’d consider curbing our zucchini production this year to be wasteful — especially with so many good recipes to make. The flowers themselves are an expensive delicacy in some cultures. But if you do harvest the flowers, you’ll still have plenty of zucchini for the little known”Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor’s Porch night” holiday. Yes, this is an actual observance, held on August 8. If only we’d known about that last summer.

Every one of the zucchini dishes submitted by staff and friends was a hit, so we declared them all winners. Trying to award a”first” seemed irrelevant when everybody was enjoying seconds. Here are some of the recipes.


Italian Zucchini Pie

2 tablespoons butter

4 cups thinly sliced zucchini

1 cup chopped onions

2 tablespoons dried parsley flakes

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon pepper

1/4 teaspoon garlic powder

1/4 teaspoon dried basil

1/4 teaspoon dried oregano

2 eggs, well beaten

2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese (8 oz)

1 can (8 oz) crescent dinner rolls

2 teaspoons mustard

Heat oven to 375 degrees F. In 12-inch skillet, melt butter over medium-high heat. Add zucchini and onions; cook 6 to 8 minutes, stirring occasionally, until tender. Stir in parsley flakes, salt, pepper, garlic powder, basil and oregano.

In large bowl, mix eggs and cheese. Add cooked vegetable mixture; stir gently to mix.

Separate dough into 8 triangles. Place in ungreased 10 inch glass pie plate, 12×8 inch (2-quart) glass baking dish or 11-inch quiche pan; press over bottom and up sides to form crust. Firmly press perforations to seal. Spread crust with mustard. Pour egg mixture evenly into crust-lined pie plate.

Bake 18 to 22 minutes or until knife inserted near center comes out clean. Let stand 10 minutes before serving.


Zucchini Bread

1 cup sugar

1 cup brown sugar

3 eggs, beaten

1 cup salad oil

2 cups zucchini, peeled and grated

3 teaspoons vanilla‚Ä®

3 cups flour‚Ä®

1 teaspoon salt‚Ä®

1 teaspoon baking soda‚Ä®

1 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 cup nuts

Combine sugars, eggs and oil. Beat well. Add zucchini and vanilla. Sift and measure flour. Sift with salt, baking soda, cinnamon and baking powder. Stir into creamed mixture. Blend well. Add nuts. Pour into two greased and lightly floured large tin loaf pans. Bake at 325 degrees for one hour and 15 minutes.


Zucchini Chili

27 ounce can chili beans in sauce

15 ounce can black beans drained

16 ounce can kidney beans drained

1 pound burger cooked and drained

2 cups grated zucchini

1 quart canned tomatoes with juice or 28 oz. can

1 cup canned tomato juice

2 bell peppers, chopped‚Ä®

1 large onion, chopped


2 cloves garlic, minced

3 tablespoons chili powder

2 1/2 tablespoons cumin

2 1/2 tablespoons dried cilantro

2 teaspoons paprika

Add all ingredients to a 6-quart Dutch oven and cook over medium heat for 40-45 minutes.


Zucchini Cake

2 eggs

1 cup sugar‚Ä®

1/2 cup oil‚Ä®

1 cup flour‚Ä®

1 teaspoon baking soda‚Ä®

1 teaspoon cinnamon‚Ä®

1/2 teaspoon salt‚Ä®

1 teaspoon vanilla‚Ä®

1 1/2 cups grated zucchini

Mix all ingredients together. Bake in greased 9×13 inch pan at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Allow to cool, then frost with your favorite cream cheese frosting.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the July/August 2011 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.