A Hotdish For Humanity: Saucy Subversive Salvation

I know way too many people from Minnesota, and Wisconsin is a close second. But there’s nothing wrong with them that a couple beers won’t cure, and I’ve had great times in both the gopher and badger states enjoying cheese and brats and riding motorcycles way too fast over rolling waves of farmland, among other local leisure activities.

Which brings us to the problem. One of the activities these people love is baking, taking, and consuming hotdishes and casseroles — and don’t you dare confuse the two.

Casseroles can be main courses or side dishes, defined by the vessel in which they are prepared and transported, like the notorious Thanksgiving green bean casserole garnished with canned onion-like twigs we all pretend to hate but secretly love.

In contrast, the hotdish must be a main course, and a hearty one that economically combines protein, starch, and some kind of vegetable, and maybe a can of dreadful cream of mushroom soup as a binder. It can’t be a side, I’m told, and it can’t be a breakfast entrée, for some reason (though I’m developing a breakfast strata made with Pop-Tarts: Stay tuned).

All we know for sure, supposedly, is that the term “hotdish” first appeared in a 1930 Mankato, Minnesota, compilation cookbook published by some outfit called Grace Lutheran Ladies Aid, doubtless a scheme to launder all the money they made helping the poor and feeding the hungry. The woman who invented the concoction and coined the term remains a mystery, or perhaps a fugitive.

Because more than anything, a hotdish is an act of defiance.

Think about it. The classic hotdish is brimming with the old-fashioned Midwestern gumption that has always made America great, especially in times of adversity. Hotdish is instinctively delivered to households or persons of all kinds facing anything from a new baby to bereavement, or other less explicable attacks on personal equanimity.

Of course, hotdishes are too often associated with desecrated tuna and cheese abuse, but they don’t have to be. These modest mashups so easily thrown together can fuel our burning hearts, giving us the courage to march into the maws of family reunions or strident protests, or any other so-called day of love.

What follows is an adaptation inspired by a wild-eyed, balding patriot from the plains named Coach Tim. You can make this foundational recipe from scratch, but it invites substitution at every stage. Don’t like an ingredient? Use something else. Can’t make a roux? Grab that can of cream soup you’ve been saving for the apocalypse. Hate reheated mashed potatoes (and who doesn’t?), reach for the Tater Tots.

This simple formula of protein, starch, veg and binder baked at 350 for 45 will feed the multitudes in pursuit of justice, or at least get you into any town hall west of the Mississippi.

Gooey With Gumption Tater Tot Hotdish

• 1 pound ground meat of some kind; beef, turkey, sausage, or maybe bison to make it even more American
• Optional miscellaneous spices, e.g., sage, thyme, paprika, black pepper, white pepper, red pepper
• 1 pound fresh or frozen veggies of your choice: green beans, spinach, or some multi-cultural medley
• 4 tablespoons butter
• 4 or 5 tablespoons flour
• 2 ½ cups whole milk
• ½ cup half-and-half
• 2 teaspoons salt
• 3 cups grated cheddar cheese, whatever you want. Traditionalists and crazy people will go for Velveeta.
• 1 cup chopped onion, dealer’s choice
• 2 pounds Tater Tots, full-sized, not the minis they try to slip by us sometimes. Or, if you must, leftover mashed potatoes.

1. Brown whatever meat and spread over the bottom of whatever pan you will use to deliver this hotdish, even if it’s just to your own table. I prefer Italian sausage since it’s ready to go, but you can combine plain ole ground whatever with any spices you like. Or skip meat altogether and use a couple cans of beans.

2. Blanch or sauté whatever veg you’ve got unless using frozen, and dump all over the meat.

3. Make the roux, or don’t and go to Step 5. Otherwise, gently melt butter and gradually stir in flour for two or three minutes, enough until you’ve got a decent paste, and the raw smell is gone. Slowly whisk in milk and then half-and-half and simmer for a few more until you’ve got a nice Midwestern milk gravy, only thicker. Warm up the liquids first if you want for less whisking away lumps.

4. Add onions — sweet, yellow, green, or some combo — anything but red since they are best eaten raw, according to me. Add any spices and herbs you’ve got lying around. Add 2 cups of cheese and melt it all together. This is where Velveeta really shines, literally.

5. Pour it all over the meat and veg. If you skipped making roux, just spread the cheese and onions and cover with the traditional can or two of cream of mushroom soup until it looks right.

6. Cover with Tater Tots (or leftover mashed potatoes). I just dumped them in the first time I did this, and was mortified by the cheesy carnage that resulted. Take the time to line them up like little potato barrels marching as to war. Adorn with remaining cheese.

7. Bake at 350 for 45 or until suitably golden brown.

8. Proudly serve, eat, and brag.

Click here for a printable version of this hotdish recipe.