Red or Green?

The Boeing 737 slipped out from towering columns of cumulus clouds revealing an almost verdant desert floor.  Mesas and arroyos both were dotted with a spotty green mat that resembled a 'ChiaPet-landscape.'  Unusually constant rainfall this summer affected a lushness not seen in decades.
'New Mexico?' I thought to myself, 'I got on the right plane, didn't I?'

The only thing I ever recall being really green on a regular, seasonal basis in the Land of Enchantment were the chile pods grown from Santa Fe to Las Cruces with names like Big Jim, Sandia and Anaheim.

It had been 25 years since my last visit and the occasion of a first ever high school reunion had me excited to see old friends.  Truth be told, there was some apprehension, anticipation, nervousness and a dose of good old self-doubt.  Travelling into a time-warp is a little scary and three questions haunted me for months ahead of time:

• How have I changed?
• How have they changed?
• Will we still like to be around each other?  

Granted, some of us are a few pounds heavier and greying certainly, but, what about those other friends: plates of enchiladas and huevos rancheros; have they stood the test of time or have they 'evolved' as well...?

The plane's wheels chirped as we touched down and the engines revved as the brakes were applied.
'Red or Green chile,' I pondered, 'What will be my first meal with New Mexico Chile?...will it taste as good as I remember...?'

Food and meals have this spiritual quality about them; our olfactory, the sense of smell and taste, have this unique ability to bring us to a particular spot, a specific instant in time with just a fleeting taste or wisp of aroma. With one bite, we are at a friends house, grandma's table or with a romantic interest.

New Mexico chile at my first Christmas party after moving from California in high school, is in a pot on a back burner at Jean Brackett's house.  She worked for my uncle in the turquoise jewelry business and had our family over one dark, December night.  Her posole was made with red chile, roast pork and hominy corn.  It was brothy and had a thin layer of fat that came together and receded with every slow bubble popping on a delicate simmer.  A ladle hung in the pot and a stack of bowls resided nearby.  This thin stew possessed a rich, mild heat.  The corn was tender and the chunks of pork fell apart with the slightest pressure.  It was perfect and I was hooked!

In college at NMSU in Las Cruces, weekend mornings started late, but, usually consisted of huevos rancheros or stacked enchiladas at some local diner.  Lightly fried corn tortillas were dipped in red chile sauce and layered flat with rice, beans, cheese and either beef or chicken.  Two over easy eggs crowned this feat.  If this didn't cure what ailed you, nothing could save you.  My buddy Ralph, a local Messkin, would pump his folded arm like a chicken and give out a crow when he finished, indicating he was cured and good to go.

The memories and people associated with chile are as vivid today as they were 25 or 35 years ago. My hope was that both people and New Mexico Chile would welcome me and satisfy me as in the past.


"Red or Green?" the lady asked me, as for the type of chile I wanted with my Huevos Rancheros.

"Green,"  I stated with confidence and finality, snapping my menu shut and handing it to her.
High school football buddies, Clark and Dave, took me to this nondescript breakfast hang-out in one of a ga-jillion strip malls to ward off the effects of another night of 2 a.m. bedtimes.

The waitress had high cheek bones and a round, smiling face; her long cheeks crowded her eyes and mouth; pueblo Indian for sure, I thought.  Her name was 'Jana' which was the clincher, since no local Latino would name their child after a white movie star or film character.  Jana must be either Zia, Cochiti or Santo Domingo pueblo Indian, the closest reservations to this part of town.  Regardless, she was as sweet as honey on a fresh sopaipilla, the airy, fried dough pillows served with every meal in New Mexico.   

"Red or Green?" she asked again

"Green," called my buddy Clark for his Huevos Rancheros, slipping his reading glasses off his nose to hang on the fine cord around his neck and onto his chest.  Clark pushed back from the table, crossed his arms and settled back into his seat, ready for another conversation thread.
Clark and I knocked heads at opposing positions in football for three years, yet, remained best of friends.  We drank beer, chased girls, double-dated, shaved our heads one football season in solidarity and even worked the oil rigs of Oklahoma together.  He filmed our wedding in 1990 and that was the last we saw of each other.  A damned shame that will not be repeated.

"Red or Green?" was asked one more time for Huevos Rancheros.

"Red and Green," said Dave

Whoa, whoa, WHOA, I thought to myself.  Has this boy learned something we don't know?  Has Dave entered the cauldron of a volcano and been divined some secret knowledge?  The word is "or" not "and."  Like all great discoverers, he had gone against convention and charted new culinary territory.  Good on ye!

"OK, Christmas for you and Green for you two then?" asked Jana, confirming our order.

"Yep!" in unison.

Our breakfast arrived in little time and I just sat there taking it all in.
"Yes, yes, yes," I thought, "...this is the other reason I came here.  To immerse myself in the healing properties of New Mexico Chile...washing away my sins of ever leaving and entering the domaine of the divine."
I took great care in cutting up my dish, piece by succulent piece, one at a time, arranging it on my cheap, diner fork and consuming every last morsel, every last grain of rice and every diced piece of roasted green chile.

I was cured, sated and at peace with the cosmos.

"Red or Green?"

It's a phrase that can immediately identify you as having spent at least one year living in New Mexico.  Those three words put you in a time and place; "you've been there and know what I'm talkin' about!"  Chile is not just a vegetable or condiment for a forgotten southwestern state, it is a way of life.  It defines who you are and where you come from.  "CHEE-lay" is what the locals have called it for 400 years.  It brings heat to winter pork or chicken stews.  Chile is what you smell on street corners rotating in cylindrical Bingo baskets in September and October with propane burners charring the outer skins.  Dumped into paper grocery bags, it surpasses the best of any car-freshener for the drive home.

"Red or Green?"

The words invite you to join together with friends over a great meal without care for TV shows, phones, social media or the latest anything.
New Mexico Chile puts us in a space: a time and place without a clock, only each other and the love between us.

New Mexico Green Chile Stew: serves 12

3 lbs.    Pork Shoulder, boneless (Butt), 1" cubes
1/2 C.   Cooking oil
2           Onions, cut to fork sized pieces
2 ribs    Celery ribs, diced
2 Tbls   Garlic, diced
1 Tbls   Oregano, Mexican (if available, regular if not)
4 Qts.    Chicken stock, water if stock isn't available
10          Red potatoes, the size of the palm of your hand, cut fork sized
6 pods   Green chiles, roasted, peeled and diced (to your heat liking)
to taste  Salt

Methode:
In a cast iron skillet (go to a thrift store or yard sale and buy a Wagner or Griswold, it has soul!), saute' the pork cubes in canola oil.  It will render more fat, so, that's a good thing.  Once crispy, place meat in a 8 qt. stock pot as you go.  Once all the meat is seared, saute' the onions and celery in the cast iron.  When the onions are transparent, add the garlic and cook for 3 minutes or so.  Get a little color on the garlic. Then, dump the veggies in the pot. Scrape the cast iron with a whisk and a cup of water to get all the yummy bits and add to the pot. If you don't, an old French chef will arise from his grave and haunt you for all eternity!  Add oregano and stock/water; bring to a boil.  Add potatoes and green chiles, bring back to a boil, cover, and reduce to a simmer.  Give it three hours for the pork to become super tender.  No need to agitate the stew as the potatoes will break down and turn to mush. Not good.  Add salt as you like; start with about 2 Tbls to get going then, tweek it to your taste.
When ready, serve with a chunk of stout bread and a weekend football game with people that you genuinely care for.  Don't waste it on wimps; this is too good for 'boneless, skinless, chicken breast only' people.  Is this better the next day...?  Hay-uhlll yeah!

Lastly, I want to thank the many people who were huge pieces of my life as a teenager in Albuquerque. Their affection, admiration, companionship, humor and friendship are as vivid today as it was 36 years ago.  We have lived entire lives separately, raising families in far off communities, but, there remains a core of friendship that has been re-discovered.  It is a font to which I hope we can return. The Gang is still as solid as ever.

I love you all: Karin, Annie, Kate, Shelly, Pat, Clark, Dave, Scott, Kim, Jeff,
And to all the spouses:  Thanks for the Hall Pass.
Seeing you made my summer, no my year, no, my whatever!

Take care, God bless and remember:
"Food, Faith, Family and Friends
the Best Things in Life Aren't Things!"

chefbq

Ground Pork and Making Adjustments

"Ground beef is FOUR DOLLARS a POUND!" exclaimed my Loverlu as she crossed the front door threshold, plastic bags of groceries tugging on both arms in vain attempts to dislocate her shoulders.

"D'ya believe it?!  Never thought I'd see the day when buck-eighty-nine beef broke the 3-dollar barrier, let alone four bucks!  This is messed-UP!  I mean seriously, it's 75%/25% ground what-EVER meat!"  She let out a huff at the kitchen table, dropped her bags and called for the boys to porter the goods from the minivan to the kitchen counter.

My girl loves few things more than provisioning the household, but, there are days when I pray for a good deal.  Beef prices have been a sore spot for the last 6 months-plus.  Good golly, cuts that were for slow-cooking and cheap, now command a premium price.  WTF (why the face)?!  The premium cuts like ribeye, NY, and filet are laughable.  And I'll be go-to-hell if I pay over ten bucks a pound for a steak.  That just ain't right, it ain't flippin' right.

So...

...what is more affordable?  What does provide good value for your protein dollar?  It must've been a 90's ad campaign that coined the phrase:

"Pork, the Other White Meat!"

Lisa had picked up a boneless pork shoulder (about 8 lbs) for less than $2.00 per pound and we cut it up into two-pound pieces for freezing.  One piece was left out for Dad to run through the grinder for a pasta dish ($4 in meat).  I saute'd the meat, onions, celery and fresh minced garlic (get the fresh heads or already peeled cloves) in, yes, left-over bacon fat.  If you wanna see young men act like flies in the kitchen, do this.  Seriously, they resurrect from their basement catacombs as aromas somehow waft downward.  The aromas carry outside as well from our hood fan.  Rhonda, the lady next-door in a motorized wheelchair was watering her yard when I ducked out for just a second to empty the kitchen garbage can.

"Dennis, I don't know what Lisa is cooking, but, it smells real good!"  She had a garden hose in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
"You know, she is very talented.  You're a lucky man..." she continued as she re-oriented her HoverRound to spray another patch of grass.

Rhonda has called me Dennis since she moved in about four years ago.  We never wanted to embarrass her, so, we let it go.  When Walt, the retired hippy across the street who won't mow his grass because it might kill honey bees, tried to correct her, we told her 'Dennis' was my middle name and that only "close family and folks from church" call me 'Dennis.'  That made her happy knowing that she was part of a pseudo-Catholic secret, like the Knights Templar or Opus Dei.

Anyhoo, so upon return,  I bumped the ground pork, onions, celery and garlic with a splash of balsamic vinegar, reduced it, and slugged it with canned tomatoes/puree'.  From there, I added a couple tablespoons of Italian seasonings and of course, 2 tablespoons of ground, toasted fennel seeds.

Lisa had Liam's 'Bullet Blender' out and was processing some fresh basil.
"What the Hell ya doin', babe?" I asked her.

"If we garnish with fresh basil, Siobhan won't eat it.  She's going through that phase of 'No Green Stuff."

"Mother o' Jesus," I said, "The same basil she planted with you, she won't eat.  Fer the luv o' Mike!"

No sooner than Lisa's basil puree was ready, so too were the pasta shells.  She combined the meat sauce with the basil, tossed it with the pasta and 'POOF!", dinner was ready.

We sat outside with a MicroPlane grater and a chunk of Romano Pecorino at the center of the table.

A blessing was said.

If you're ever feeling down about your cooking, invite a herd of young men to your home for dinner. You can keep the girls. Teen aged girls are a pain in the arse that will not talk about food until you leave.  Usually, it's not complimentary and they tend to critique, unable to enjoy the moment.  Go figure.

Boys love food and wax profane about really good food.  Lisa and I said, 'Thank You' as much as we said, 'Watch your language, watch your language.'

As market prices of beef and chicken soar, look around at what is available and how you can use it.

Flexibility is key in shopping, cooking and friendships.  Just don't call me 'Dennis.'



Pasta with Meat Sauce and Goodness:  Serves 8.

Ground Pork.......2 lbs
Onion, diced.......2 C.
Celery, diced.......1 C.
Garlic, minced.....1/4 C.
Oil, whatever........1/2 C.
Balsamic Vinegar..1/2 C.
Basil, fresh............1 bunch, blasted with oil in the processor for a paste
Italian Seasoning..2T
Toasted Fennel......2T
Tomato Puree'.......2 qts.
Salt........................to taste
Pasta.....................2 lbs.

Method: 
Break up ground pork and saute' in oil on MH (medium-high) heat.  When meat is cooked, add onions, celery and garlic.  Cook till onions are transparent.  Add balsamic, Italian seasoning and ground toasted fennel seeds.  When vinegar is reduced by half, add tomato product, fresh basil puree', bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer.
Cook 2 pounds of pasta and figure on left overs.  Combine pasta with sauce and serve with generous amounts of Pecorino cheese.  Keep the grater and cheese on the table; everyone LOVES to do their own!

Take care, God bless and remember:

"Food, Faith, Family and Friends, 
the Best Things in Life Aren't Things!"

chefbq

Young Men and Skirts

I've always been a fan of skirts.  Gosh, it must've been early childhood that I really took notice of the allure and versatility of a nice skirt.  It could go anywhere, wasn't expensive and impressed everyone that came in contact with it!

Wait a second, I'm not talking about a 'Bruce/Caitlin Jenner' experience, I'm referring to a delectable cut of meat known as the diaphragm muscle used in carne asada or to most of us, the skirt steak.
My dad introduced it to us as kids when he would throw it on the grill, char the outside and leave the interior a still cool, pulsating red.  Since it is a cut with a distinctive grain to it, improper orientation of the slicing resulted in a fatigue of jaw muscles and frustration for an 8 year old boy.

The flavor was great, but, hells bells, I couldn't chew the bloody thing!  Making matters worse, when Mom would ask for the meat to be cooked to a more done temperature, we were brow-beaten into a medium rare.
"Men eat their meat rare!" he would bellow.  Yeah, CAVE-men, I thought.  If you can't chew it, you can't swallow it.  If you can't swallow it, either you choke in a futile attempt to follow orders or you spit it into your napkin and nest it in your lap for a dump into the garbage.

I went for the napkin route and found great success until I was discovered and told to eat what I had dumped.
Not fun and a pointless exercise that diminished my enjoyment of grilled meat.

Flash forward 45 years...

"Hey, old man, wazz cookin', brazh?!"  It was Liam just in from a run and sniffing around my 16" saute' pan on the back deck.  Had the crab boiler burner hooked up and sliced onions were doing somersaults in a blend of canola oil and bacon fat; colors turning from opaque to transparent and finally a sweet, caramel brown.
"So, what's on the menu?" he asked, sweat dripping down his nose and into the onions as he hovered over the pan inhaling the savory vapors.

"Skirt steaks, saute'd onions, pico de gallo, avocados and choice of tortillas," I followed, taking a deserved draw from a pint of IPA, "I think you're gonna like it."

"Hell YEEAHH!" he puffed, "Ima take a shower, back in 10," he said and off he went.

Once Brendan and Liam were up, each was tasked with several duties and the outside table was set in no-time.  I like to put each prepared item on a nice dish for outside meals using painted Mexican earthenware, Italian DeLucca and a catering piece or two.  Brendan had pint glasses with water and ice poured, a glass of white wine for Mom and lemonade for Siobhan.

A blessing was said.

I cut the skirt steaks into 3-4 inch lengths for the saute' pan, knowing that they will be sliced against the grain for consumption.  To do so otherwise is to condemn your guests to a chewing workout and possible TMJ lawsuit.

"We need one of those things that spins," offered Liam, "you know, like in the Chinese restaurants."
"Yeah," Brendan chimed, "it makes it look fancy and we don't have to keep asking each other to pass stuff around..."  Brendan is at the 17 year old boy 'eat everything in sight' stage.

"Excellent...this is flippin' sweeet, Dad!"  Liam had juices running from his wrist to his elbow as each over-filled tortilla ran remnant juices towards the table.  Brendan took his time assembling three corn tortillas on his plate, spaced equi-distant from each other with condiments strategically aligned along the diameter for perfect flavor on every, last bite.

"Nice, Pop!" he finally commented, "The meat has almost a liver-y flavor, but, the lime juice cuts the fat well..."

We chatted about school, work and activities, then the girls went inside for reading and a bath.
Brendan, who usually eats and runs, stuck around as Liam was on a roll about everything from a drummer in Modest Mouse to how we should crush ISIS.  We laughed, discussed seriously, then laughed some more: Prom, bands, rock history, high school teachers that were cool, rear brakes on a '95 Acura, firearm ballistics, muzzle loaders and finally girls.

As we were clearing the table and blowing out candles, each of them remarked,
"The meat was great.  Nice job, I love that skirt steak."

Why is it, conversations with men, young and old, always seem to start and finish with "The Skirts?"

 Grilled Skirt Steak  serves 6 (with some left-overs for snacks...boys!)

3 lb.....skirt steaks.  Get the thick ones not the thin ones.  Same prep, more meat.
3 Tbs...Kosher salt
2...........Limes, halved

Method:

Each steak can be up to 24" long and 4" wide.  Peel any outer membrane from the steaks if the butcher has not done so already.  Cut into 4" sections for grilling or sauteing.
Sprinkle with salt on both sides and let stand on a cookie sheet for 15 minutes allowing the salt to penetrate and 'juice up.'
Place steaks on a medium grill or in a pan and cook to desired doneness.  They will plump as the protein sets and you can poke them with a knife to relieve the juices and color.  Each steak should take about 15 minutes for medium temperature.
Remove and let stand for 10 minutes before slicing against the grain of the meat.  Squeeze with fresh lime and serve.


Take care, God bless and remember:
"Food, Faith, Family and Friends,
the Best Things in Life Aren't Things."

chefbq

Thanksgiving: Tweeking the Bird.

"Dad, I think it's time..."  Brendan was standing over me looking down on yet another futile attempt at checking email on AOL.  My 5 year old H-P laptop was once again on the fritz and I sat there cursing the Internet connection, clogged program arteries and the weather for it's slow speed. 

"Maybe you should really look at a new machine, I mean, this is like driving a Model A at Indianapolis,"  he continued with the sensitivity of a friend who knew I was grieving. 
"I don't get it, why can't this work like it always has?  An old Chevy can still get down the road and perform it's designed function, why not computers?" I followed, "Some things don't need to change; I've always been happy this way."

Personal reluctance to change is a trait some of us have in abundance and for others, they can trim their sails to progress as the winds dictate.  In the kitchen, keeping an open mind and palate are as important as maintaining traditions.  Question is: When and where is this appropriate?  When do I ditch the roasted turkey for a try in the fryer?  Should we do a salmon this year for out of town guests?  Is Mom's Green Bean Casserole finally going to retire to the faded pages of a Betty Crocker Cookbook?

Hmmm...

Here's my suggestion: make one change per year and see how it goes.  Thanksgiving is such a holiday steeped in tradition, that to turn it on it's head is to invite family discord.  I'd like to offer some suggestions in sprucing up your Thanksgiving and making it a bit easier for the cook. 
If you'd like to find a dynamite recipe for gravy, look to previous November blogs.

Tweek #1:  Cut your bird in half
Seriously, carving a whole turkey can be daunting; like slicing meat off a 180 degree basketball.  If you want to carve at the table and are comfy with that, keep it whole; it's part of the show.  However, if you are serving meat on a platter or tray, it is much easier to roast your turkey after it is halved.  In the food service biz, we like to cut them down the back on one side of the spine and down one side of the breast bone.  You now have two flat sides to put on a roasting pan.  Easy fit in the oven, faster cooking time and half the weight to maneuver on a cutting board.  It's what I do. 

Tweek #2:  Fresh Cranberry Relish
"But Chef, I can just open a can and plop it in a dish, why go to the trouble?" 
This is a winner, can be done days ahead and really puts some 'zing' into your meal. 
Take a 1# bag of fresh cranberries and place in a food processor.  Add the juice and zest (the shaved outside peel without the pith) of two oranges with 1 cup of sugar.  Blast away till you have a fine puree'.  Place in a covered container overnight in the fridge.  The next day, the color will have bled into a vibrant red.
The flavor is refreshing and light, not cloying, with a welcome pop of color on the table, too.

Tweek #3:  Roasted Fresh Sweet Potatoes
Love, love, LOVE this!  Take your fresh sweet potatoes (not yams) and peel them like a regular russet potato.  Slice in cross-sections about the width of your index finger and place on a lightly oiled cookie sheet.  Bake at 350 till fork tender, about 45 minutes.  Remove and place in a serving dish or tray, then, drizzle with browned butter (melted butter on the stove top that you reduced till it 'foamed' and browned on the bottom of the sauce pot) for a caramel-like flavor.  It is brilliantly simple and allows us to taste the incredible deliciousness of a naturally sweet potato. 

Tweek #4:  Garnish with Fresh Herbs
It's a small thing, but, when we have a full house and a raft of aromas competing for our senses, a shock of fresh herbs add color, texture and delicate perfume to our table.  Grab some fresh rosemary, thyme and sage, keeping them on the stems.  Keep them separate or combine in small bouquets for a natural garnish
that accents the simple, yet, hearty holiday. 

I know eventually a new computer is needed and adapt I must.  We've moved beyond marshmallows melted on yams and the Earth hasn't stood still.  Gas stoves have replaced wood-fired ovens and meals are still being prepared.  Mincemeat comes in a jar and the traditionalists haven't lept from dining room tables. 

All's well as traditions do evolve and change can be for the better.

Just don't attempt to put me and a 'To-Furkey' at the same table!

Take Care, God Bless and Remember:

"Food, Faith, Family and Friends;
the Best Things in Life aren't Things!"

chefbq
  

Stinky Cheeses, Garlic Dills and Time

"Hot" didn't begin to describe the weather as we de-planed in San Antonio, Texas on September 10th.  It was near 90 degrees with humidity to match AND it was approaching midnight.  We flew down from Portland, Ore. to watch our son graduate from Air Force Basic Military Training at Lackland AFB.  The Pacific Northwest may get warm during the Summer months, but, our world up there cools down at night. 
  

"Jesus CHRIST!"  grumbled Lisa, "this is re-DIC-culous!" as we walked down the sidewalk to our rental car shuttle.  
"If I wanted THIS crap, I coulda gone to New Orleans...!"

Mamma needed her AC and needed it quick.  Thankfully, the shuttle, our car and the motel room all had turbo-powered cooling systems that brought her body core temp back down to 68 or so.   It was like a Snickers commercial when someone turns into a diva or some other cranky-puss when they get a little hungry.  That's my wife and anything above 78 degrees.   The next two days weather, unfortunately, would have our first night pale in comparison...My concern, however, was the jar of homemade pickles in my suitcase.  I hoped it had made the trip intact. 

The following morning, we drove onto base for the first of three days of ceremonies.  The families and friends of graduating airmen had a briefing in a 2000 seat auditorium which was to prepare us to see the effects of 8 weeks of basic training.  Several military personnel addressed us on the training, transformation and mission of our newest members of the Air Force.  T-shirts, photos, mugs and anything else you might want to commemorate the day were available in the massive retail lobby out front. 

We made our way out to the concrete bleachers and staked a spot where perhaps we might find a bit of shade.  No such luck.  After an hour or so, the squadrons marched onto the tarmac, orders were shouted, dignitaries spoke, proclamations made and finally, we were allowed to retrieve our Airmen for the day. 

I bounced down the steps and found his squadron.  They all looked the same with buzzed heads,  BDUs (camo/fatigues) and I began to panic that I may not find him.  Then, I saw his nose from the side, but, it was attached to this lean rail of a man standing at parade rest, back straight with shoulders squared and eyes fixed forward.  His chin was tucked in and his cover (cap) rested just over his eyes. 

Standing next to him for a second, I was taken with admiration. 

"Liam," I said.  He just stood there. Swarms of adoring families hurried about shouting and jostling for pictures. 

"Liam, it's me." 

"You gotta tap me out, dad."  he informed me, still looking forward.  So, I put my hand on his shoulder and said,

"Hey, it's good to see you." 

At that point, he relaxed, turned his head, smiled and stepped out of formation.  Mom arrived by that time and gave him a brief hug.  We were advised to not give overt public displays of affection, but, his handshake was one for the ages.  I won't soon forget the sure grip, respectful eye contact and his addressing each man congratulating him as "Sir."

We proceeded off the parade ground and towards the parking lot.  He walked deliberately and cursed when he saw the water bottles and debris left in the stands,
"All these people crappin' up my area.  Look at this trash we're gonna have to clean up..."
Mom and I laughed out loud at the irony of the source.

We had decided that once we got back to the room, he could probably use a meal not seen in two months. One of his favorites is a platter of stinky cheeses with assorted sliced deli meat and artisan bread, on a big table with everyone digging in.  If our inventory is available, a jar or two of homemade garlic dills add just the right 'Zing!'
As Liam and I got into shorts and T-shirts, Lisa set up the tray and opened the pickles.

"What?!  You guys brought home made dills?!  Suh-WEET!  Whoa, 'Humbolt Fog,' 'Aged Gouda' and Delice de Bourgogne?!  This is gonna be nice."  Mom set everything out and we gathered around the small, motel table examining the assortment of delectables, each armed with a knife for spreading.

A blessing was said.

I couldn't tell you what we talked about; wasn't really listening, I was taken with my son who had become something different, something better.
He wasn't a teenage boy anymore with all the answers who couldn't fold a shirt, comb his hair or make a bed.  His words and actions were measured now, deliberate.  He listened to others respectfully and spoke calmly; he observed.

He gets it.

It wasn't easy, as Mom and I can tell you.  We had a couple of challenging years there in high school that made us wonder what we were doing wrong.  How can years of repetitive, decent Life-lessons all of a sudden blow up?!  We prayed and prayed for deliverance and mercy; to allow our son to not just survive, but, to really make something of himself, to be happy doing what he was passionate about.

Sitting there in that motel room watching Liam fill himself, I got to thinking: This whole table of goodness has undergone some form of trial.
The cheeses started with milk which was inoculated, then, separated into curds and whey.  The curds pressed, formed and aged to become something special.
The salami, soppressata, and prosciutto each were cut, cured and hung to dry.
Our pickles: picked at a local farm, stuffed into quart jars with seasonings, topped with a boiling brine and aged for two months before sampling.
A son: the indiscretions of youth, nearly missing his enlistment opportunity, re-doubling his efforts and commitment, and now a military man.
 
Good things take time to cure, to mature.

We need chemical processes, stress, and hardship to break things down to their most base level to create a new and distinct experience.
A transformation.
Allowing the heat of garlic and chile in our family pickles to subside and meld into a palatable flavor; softening the rough edges.  Scraping the natural mold off a cheese to enjoy the fruits of time and talent from dairymen the world over.  Rolling a paper thin piece of Italian ham and marveling at the perfection of pork, salt and air.  A nineteen year old young man, fresh out of Boot Camp, carefully inspecting his shirt for any crumbs, then, clearing the table, wiping it down and asking if there was anything else he could do.

Maturation.

We didn't intend for our parenting journey to have taken the turns (and occasional crashes) it did, but, we stuck with him and He stuck with us.  It took time, hard work, sacrifice, tears, self-doubt, but, ultimately Faith to bring us to this joyful chapter.

On 9/11, 2014, "Patriot Day," Hall of Fame catcher, Johnny Bench got knocked off my Hero's Perch.
Liam Quinn sits there now...eating stinky cheese. 

Take care, God bless and remember: 
"Food, Faith, Family and Friends; 
the Best Things in Life aren't Things"

chefbq

Spheres of Influence; Lamb, Couscous and Golden Beets

sphere: first def: "...in ancient astronomy, concentric shells upon which the stars, moon and sun were fixed..."

"I'm not eating that..." our daughter said as she slumped in her chair at the dinner table, her finger pointing sheepishly to the golden beets on her plate that Mom had prepared.
"I don't like those," she confirmed with resolution, "Hmmph!"

Even in the home of two chefs, there can be challenges in getting little ones to 'eat their veggies.'
Like it or not, Siobhan is the center of our household universe around which the peaceful co-existance of our family exists.

"How can you not like those?!" our son Brendan asked, "they're great with that balsamic vinaigrette, Baby Girl.  Just try one..."  The Third Parent was trying his best to get Siobhan to try her beets, but, our Mary Englebrecht character would have none of it, as she sat there arms folded, brow furrowed. 

"Must. Change. Attitude."  The three words under the artist's picture in Siobhan's room struck me as much as the likeness to our daughter did a few years back.  Ms. Englebrecht must have known our girl somehow; Siobhan's 'spirited-ness' can keep things fluid at mealtime. 

"Hey, did anyone notice that the shapes of all the foods tonight are round?" I asked, hoping to stir some interest from the 7 year old and redirect her negative focus to a learning lesson. 
"The lamb meatballs, Israeli couscous and beets are ALL round!  Wow, that's really cool!" I followed with feigned enthusiasm. 
Brendan peered up at me through his eyebrows with the look of 'Really Dad, you're going down the Shapes and Figures road?'  Sure, why the hell not, I confirmed with a wink and a nod. 

"I want more couscous," Bonnie mumbled, "...please."  She had eaten all but hadn't touched the beets or meatballs.
"Let's get a few bites going here.  Just taste these meatballs!  The lamb is from the Owen's farm and the mint inside is from your and Mom's garden, how cool is THAT!?  Mom, how did you prepare the beets?"  I had my motivational speaker hat on and the ringers in the crowd chimed in. 

Lisa went on to tell us of boiling the beets then chilling them in ice water, so she could peel them.  She told us of her balsamic vinaigrette and how she mixed the lamb with ground beef, 50/50, seasoning with salt, pepper, adding eggs and breadcrumbs, mint and oregano from the garden. She slowly steamed them first on the stove top in a saute' pan with lid to plump them up, then, browned them in a touch of canola oil for a crisp exterior.   

Siobhan was taking bites.

"What about the couscous?," asked Siobhan, always in the market for an adventurous story.

Mom told us that couscous were like pasta balls from the Middle East, not Italy.  The Israeli version was much larger; you cook them as you would rice, she informed us, and that using a good chicken stock with the fat was essential.  The fat kept the little pasta rounds from sticking.  The stock could be the pan drippings from previously roasted chicken; great flavors should not be wasted.

Her Royal Highness was now brokering a deal for more couscous; she would eat this much meat and beets for another scoop of the delectible orbs.  Eat ALL of your meat and beets, I countered, and you may have half a portion of couscous as dessert.

Deal.

Bonnie Belle may be the center of our household universe, but, those savory spheres of Israeli Couscous can exert great gastronomical forces, tilting her axis back to where it needs to be.

Pleasant.

Take care, God bless and remember:

"Food, Faith, Family and Friends,
the Best Things in Life aren't Things."

chefbq

Lilacs, Saffron and Spring Cleaning

Steely grey skies.
Soft, intermittent rain.
Clogged and overflowing gutters.
Soggy remnants of the Autumn firewood stack. 
Such are the images of Winter in Portland, Oregon.
Then it happened...

...April.

Crocus, Daffodils, then Tulips and now, those lavender cones of fragrant bliss:  Lilacs!
Is it age, maturity, failing eyesight or a heightened sense of smell that makes each Spring a genuine wonder?
The perfume of Spring waits for that first sunny week, then, begins her slow, seductive promenade; tempting, beckoning her pale and moss covered Northwest admirers to join in the stroll.

A massive, twenty five foot laurel hedge in our back yard began by offering a wall of sweet, mouth filling aromas and a layer of fine, ochre dust on our cars and patio.  Ah yes, the first smell of Spring! 

About a week later, she came out of nowhere.  She always does.  As our heads were spinning from the shock-and-awe of tulip color and variety, this quiet, old-fashioned girl who blends into a crowd year-round with her spindly branches and generic foliage, shed her horned rimmed glasses and unbuttoned her winter coat to reveal a figure and color that stopped men mid-conversation.  

She stopped me!

A recent return home from work found my Lilac had gone from bud to bloom.  I lept across a crowded yard, took her in my hands, cupped her blossoms to my nose and gently inhaled; bringing her close, then pulling away, raising my head with each gulp and slowly closing my eyes. 

Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.

Delicate on the front palate and unctuous on the back, she was sweet and didn't run off; she lingered, just like I remembered her.
It will only be two weeks, but, we'll have the time of our lives and enjoy each other's company till her Mother calls for her to move on...

What if I could have an aromatic flower that didn't run off with the season, one that would be there for me 24/7, 365?   Is that so much to ask?  Hell, we can put food in a box and cook it in two minutes, video chat a Sherpa going up Everest and watch a YouTube video on how to rebuild a car engine using only your left hand and a pair of vice grips.  Why can't I have my aromatic flowers year round?!

Look no further than your pantry, dear Chef!...

...pulled into the driveway after work a couple of weeks ago and as I opened the door, I could smell it!  No, 'twasn't the Garden Girlfriends, it was something savory.  Before my second foot hit the pavement, it hit me: Saffron.  My Loverlu was in the kitchen simmering some kinda rice dish with the pungent stigma of the crocus sativus. 
"Sausage, I'm getting sausage..."I whispered, "and bacon.  She's probably using bacon fat..."
Sure enough, up through the kitchen vent and wafting through the neighborhood, Lisa was simmering a pan of 'Spring Cleaning.'

"Hey, whatcha got here?" I asked dropping my shoulder bag at the front door and leaning towards the kitchen. 
"Oh, nothing, just some saffron rice with stuff I found in the fridge...cleaned 'er out!" she proudly claimed.  My Loverlu is a master at combining bits and pieces of this's and that's for a hearty, country dish. 
"Found a couple of sausages, half an onion, some kale, left over chicken and that chicken soup you made for breakfast the other day.  It was really concentrated; had set up like gelatin!"  Oi!  If you want to bring out my inner-Jewish grandmother, tell me the clear chicken stock is jellied!

The 12 inch pan had a matching glass lid on it which I thoroughly love, 'cuz then I can watch as things are progressing.  Thin wisps of steam steadily pumped from a couple of vents between the lid and pan, filling the kitchen and our address with rich, singular saffron aromas.  'Fred' our Chinese exchange student came shuffling in, clad in a bathrobe and dragging fuzzy slipper-clad feet down the hallway.  Drives me nuts, BTW.

"Mees-ess Queen, ah we sitting at the tay-boh?"  he inquired.  Sometimes it's a self dish up and Chu Yong will take a plate back to his room.  Drives me nuts, BTW. 
"Yes honey, we're at the table tonight.  Can you call Brendan?"

The high school boys rendez-vous in no time as the scent of simmering garlic, sausage, bacon fat and saffron have stimulated their salivary glands like no varsity cheerleader could.   

The table is set, beverages are poured, (Fred drinks warm water with meals, which drives me nuts, BTW) and we sit down.

A blessing is said.

Quiet.  The table is quiet.  Just the sound of forks and spoons hitting bowls. 

"What's that flavor...it's like...different,?" asked Liam. 
"Oh, that's the saffron.  It's the stigma from a crocus flower.  These are from Iran; one of Dad's friends gave them to us." Lisa informed him, "There are only three on a flower and they have to be harvested by hand.  More valuable than gold per pound."

"Whoa, dude!  We're eating like golden flowers?!" he added between gulps, "I could sell this on eBay!"

No, just enjoy it at home.  These flowers reside on a pantry shelf and the dishes they provide along with the company they keep, are priceless.   

Pantry Paella: serves 8

Bacon fat, you should save all your drippings.......2 Tbls.
Sausage, any kind you like..........1 lb.
Chicken, pieces, ......about a pound or so
Onions, peppers, any remnant veggies...........about 2 cups, cut fork-sized
Garlic, fresh chopped (don't use that crap in the jar already minced!)....2 Tbls
Tomato, if you have any.....up to a cup
Leafy greens, spinach/kale/chard....up to 2 cups, chopped
Short grain rice, like Arborio or even Japanese sticky rice....2 cups
Rockin' chicken stock or left over soup........4 cups.
Saffron threads, darker red the better.......about 8

Method:
Place bacon fat in a pre-heated, 12" skillet.  Once melted, add the meat products and cook to desired crispiness.  Add the Onions and veggie remnants from the 'Crisper Section' of your fridge and saute' to done.  Add the garlic and stir for a couple minutes.  Add tomato, leafy greens, rice on top and spread around evenly with a spatula.  Next add the stock, soup or whatever and place saffron threads evenly distributed over dish.  Bring to a boil on high heat, then reduce to a simmer and cover till all liquid is absorbed.  That's when there's practically no steam left. 

It will be slightly sticky and shiny from all that wonderful fat and flay-vuh!  Dish up in bowls, pour yourself a glass of gutsy red wine, stand in the middle of your kitchen and in front of the children, kiss your lover on the mouth for 3 seconds. 

Delicious!


Take care, God bless and remember:
"Food, Faith, Family and Friends,
the Best Things in Life aren't Things!"

chefbq.