Anyone who knows me well knows I’m a huge fan of ’80s/early ’90s movie nights. A cheesy flick, a few friends, some takeout and a good beer — that’s all I need for a perfect Friday 
evening at home.
So when I dreamed up this month’s theme, I assumed my favorite childhood movies would be the perfect starting place for some film food fodder.
Alas, even after reviewing my old Netflix queue, I was stumped. The Lost Boys had maggots and blood. No thanks. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom — nope, nothing tasty there; I like most foods, but I don’t do monkey brains. Other bloggers have already tried their hand at the delectables from Babette’s Feast. My memory is too rusty to recall any particular dishes from Like Water For Chocolate or Eat Drink Man Woman. And while I desperately wanted to tackle lanky Basil Fawlty’s Waldorf salad, my Eater pals (rightfully) insisted that, no, TV shows are not movies.
So there I was, tied up in knots of VCR tape, when Amy saved the day. A few months back, for one of our WTE recipe showdowns (and, if you’ll recall, my contribution featured green tomatoes), she suggested linking to the food fight scene in Fried Green Tomatoes. You know the clip — Mary Stuart Masterson throws a glass of water at Mary-Louis Parker’s face … and then the berries, chocolate and flour fly at the Whistlestop Cafe. (By the way, did you know the director intended that scene to serve as a metaphor for sex? While that makes perfect sense now, it certainly didn’t occur to me when I was 15).
The most memorable dish in Fried Green Tomatoes centers around barbecue, but, well, that’s not the kind of barbecue I have any inclination to tackle. (And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m not going to give it away here, but … well, suffice it to say, it’s not pleasant — go ahead and Google it.) But, naturally, one of the cafe’s signature dishes is, yes, fried green tomatoes.
Now, I’m from the Pacific Northwest, where — at least 20 years ago — you rarely saw fried green tomatoes on a menu. So when I first saw this film, it struck me as a pretty exotic dish. But, truth be told, I found them a bit underwhelming when I finally tried them. They’re tasty, sure, but most iterations I’ve had have been, well, a little bland.
When Amy suggested Fried Green Tomatoes as the answer to my movie menu woes, I saw a fun challenge: take a dish I’ve always really wanted to love and make a version that I actually do.
If you’re a regular WTE reader, you know that when I’m stumped on a dish, I always fall back to South Asian flavors. So why not give fried green tomatoes an Indian kick? I’ve already brought you my green tomato chutney — may as well give green tomatoes another spin.
With a little Googling, I cobbled together just what I was after: green tomatoes, dredged in spicy almond meal and cornmeal, rather than bread crumbs (yup, this recipe is gluten-free). For even more flavor, you could try these with tomatillos instead of tomatoes (I would have, but couldn’t find any tomatillos in time to give it a whirl).
Sure, these aren’t particularly Southern. But give them a try next time you sit down for a Fried Green Tomatoes movie night. They’ll warm your belly while those feisty, food fighting ladies melt your heart.
Curry-Kicked Fried Green Tomatoes
I checked out numerous fried green tomato recipes online, and was particularly influenced by this one, from Paleo Leap.
Use the biggest skillet you have for frying, because you’ll want to fry as many slices at once as possible. That’s because it’s easy for the ground spices to burn, so you don’t want the spice sediment from your first batch frying up in the oil too long. I fried one batch, then poured off the oil, wiped out the pan and heated new oil before starting the second batch.
4 large green tomatoes
Salt
1/2 cup almond meal
1/2 cup cornmeal
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground fenugreek (optional)
2 teaspoons coriander powder
1 teaspoon amchur (dried mango powder, optional)
1 teaspoon red chili powder
Pinch sugar
1 egg
1/2 cup oil (I used coconut)Slice the tomatoes into 1/4 inch slices. Lie them in a single layer on paper towels and sprinkle both sides with salt. Let sit for 10 minutes or so.
While you’re waiting, mix together the almond meal, cornmeal, spices, and sugar in a shallow dish. Beat the egg in a separate bowl.
Heat oil in a large pan (even better if it has tall sides) over medium heat. While it’s heating up, dry the tomatoes as best you can by pressing on them with fresh paper towels, then dip each in the beaten egg, then dredge on all sides in the meal/spice mixture, then put each slice in the skillet to fry. Flip when they’re golden brown (or darker, if you prefer) and fry on the other side. Then remove them and drain them on paper towels.
There’s just something inherently lovable about Julia Child. Perhaps it was the voice, or her statuesque presence and personality. I like to think that it’s because she was never afraid to screw up in the kitchen.
funny thing: Our guests actually loved the meal. Several had seconds. It wasn’t until they had finished their first plate that I confessed my error. My husband insists to this day that nobody would have known if I had just lied. In Julia’s words, it was a, “Remember, you’re alone in the kitchen,” moment.
2 pounds mixed mushrooms (I used cremini, shitake and white. If you have to reconstitute any mushrooms, like porcinis, reserve the liquid for the Madeira sauce.)
While these items are cooling, take your truffle butter out of the fridge and allow it to come to room temperature as well. If you can’t find truffle butter, you can always make your own by combining shaved/minced fresh or preserved truffles with softened unsalted butter. Just salt to taste! You can also use truffle oil, but the flavor is not as strong. (That said, I used this in place of pate or foie gras, which you may prefer.) Coat the top of the meat evenly with truffle butter.
over the top and sprinkle with thyme (or you can incorporate into the duxelles before spreading if that’s easier.) Place the meat with the truffle butter side down in the middle. 
and extend mushroom mixture on sides until it does. My tenderloin was long and skinny, so this wasn’t an issue, but if yours is fatter, it might be. Wrap tightly in the plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 30 minutes.
Trim pastry to the size of the meat and return to the baking sheet. Remove tenderloin from refrigerator and discard plastic. Place on top of pastry. Roll out the remaining puff pastry (I had to press two sheets together) to 1/8 to 1/4 thick on a lightly floured surface. Brush the roast with egg and lay the pastry over the meat. Carefully tuck long ends under the sides of the cooked pastry, folding short ends in last. Brush with eggs at any points the pastry touches to bind. You can decorate the top with any leftover pastry if you choose, brushing with egg, then laying pastry over the top. Make some small slits with a pairing knife on the top of the Beef Wellington and brush entire pastry surface with egg before placing in the oven.
individual wellingtons by using sliced filets and repeating the same processes described here on a smaller scale. In my opinion, that would just take way too long, but the presentation would be really upscale. And very Julia.
beef broth and tomato paste until reduced to two cups – about an hour. Remove any grease and thicken with cornstarch mixed with Madiera. Viola.
Paprikash, correctly spelled paprikás, is probably the most well-known Hungarian food after gulyás. That’s the hearty herdsman’s soup that, after its arrival in America in the early 20th century, became known as goulash and evolved into something resembling Hamburger Helper (but that’s a whole ‘nother blog post!)
mothers and grandmothers, my mom doesn’t use recipes (except when baking.) I learned to make the paprikás featured here and other Hungarian dishes by watching her cook – all by eye and hand: a little of this, a bit of that and cook until done! Over the years I’ve also incorporated what I’ve learned from Hungarian cookbooks and food writers, like George Lang, Susan Derecskey, Carolyn Bánfalvi, Lajos Mari and others. 
onions are very soft and translucent, but don’t brown them! You want them to become so soft that their presence won’t be discernible in the finished dish (that’s one of the secrets to Hungarian cooking – sautéing the onions slowly so that they almost melt and give body to the sauce. Some cooks even cover the pot while the onions cook to ensure that they don’t brown.)
