Pulled pork tacos

Yes, delicious pork tacos. But first, indulge me for a minute while I embark on some quick link-dropping and tangent-going, and don't you dare pull a tl;dr on me. I never write any more. You'll get to the photos soon enough.

So I was reading Peter's blog (which I actually still do, Peter, even though I'm too busy saving myself from tendonitis to comment from my iPhone) and found out about Ruhlman's stance that "suck it, you all have plenty of time to cook. And what."

To borrow a phrase, I call bullshit. Now, granted, I am currently fortunate enough to be a stay at home mom (err, a work from home mom), so in theory I have plenty of time to loll around the kitchen for long, slow braises and staggeringly articulate yeast-risings - more time, in fact, than when Scott and I were a couple of blithe DINKs with weekends to burn.

To that I say, "you've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Anyways, Peter linked to a response from Married...with dinner, and at the end of Anita's pleasant diatribe, she vows to share time-saving tricks for home cooks on a weekly basis, and implores her readers to offer their own. So we can all eat like we have time to burn, when in reality, few of us have this luxury. And here we are.

Life as the recently-mated consists of a series of two-hour blocks. Two hours of napping (yay! do stuff!) are followed by two hours of attentive snuggling and neuron-firing playtime. Rinse and repeat. Two hours is still a lot of time, true, but did I mention I work from home? Plus, what if I just put something delicate in the oven, then have to abandon it for maternal duties? This has happened, by the way - I had to run upstairs to nurse Zeph back into submission and had to just lay there with my tit out, listening to the oven timer beeping away for 15 minutes until Scott got home from work. The food was saved this time, barely, but I know I won't always be that lucky.

My culinarian identity has been seriously compromised for the past year or so, so as a saving throw, I have become a recent convert to pressure cooking. Yes, old timey, frighteningly sputtery and clattery pressure-cooking. I can spare enough time a couple times a month to pressure-cook poundage of beast or beans (the pressure allows the boiling temperature to exceed 212 degrees, which drastically cuts cooking time), then freeze for easy reheating at a later date. This means I can eat feijoadas from homegrown heirloom beans (dried and stored) with brisket and ham shank an hour after starting it, and again a month later in only 10 minutes. (In fact, when I cook beans these days, I only cook the whole bag and freeze the cooked legumes in 1-cup portions. This takes about 15 or 20 minutes, and saves lots of rupees, too. Canned beans are for suckers.)

So my protip of the week: get over your fear of the pressure cooker. It was good enough for grandma, it's good enough for you.


Okay, so to the tacos already.

Another lazy-evening, time-strapped, just-put-the-baby-to-bed dinner, tacos are such an easy way to deliver protein, starch and a little veg to the sleepwalking. Particularly if one is fortuitous enough to have pressure-cooked a 5lb. pork shoulder the prior evening (which, itself, took only about 45 minutes).

All I needed was to add some cumin, Mexican oregano (actually a verbena, and not even in the same botanical family as oregano) and achiote to the leftover pork shreds. Reheated pulled pork always tastes fine as long as there is plenty of delicious grease to cushion against drying.

For authenticity (and because it is Correct), tacos should contain only meat, onion and cilantro, and be served in two corn tortillas. The second tortilla is for cobbling together a spare taco from any fallen taco flotsam. Hot sauce is encouraged, and a spritz of lime livens everything up.

Serve with an ice-cold Negro Modelo and radishes for coolness.

Back in a minute, hon

Quick chit - I had the baby, and you can read about it at my new blog, The Legend of Zephyr. I am back in the kitchen periodically, but this time of year is still hard on photographers who rely on natural light, so I haven't started shooting my food yet. However! I plan on coming back again at around the start of the new year.

Happy holidays! See you next year!

A Letter to Anonymous

"ew..i hope this happens to your unborn child as well" - Anonymous

This was a comment left by one "Anonymous" regarding my recent Pig Roast 2009 post. I let that one marinate for awhile, wondering whether or not I should ignore it, delete it or if/how I should respond to it. I was actually surprised that it was the first time a militant (if a bit chromosomally-affluent) vegetarian has left a comment for me. A few of you have either emailed me about it or replied to it in the comments section. Thanks for the support and kind words, but I've decided to go ahead and respond.

Dear Anonymous (if that's even your real name),

Nice chickenshit comment. Did it take you all day to think of that? You are a true wordsmith. I also love your cummingsian refusal to capitalize any letters in your sentence. Nice touch. Artsy.

Okay, first of all (this really gets my goat), it's not an unborn child, it's called a fetus. Say it: fee-tuss. A child cannot, by definition, be unborn. That's your biology and semantics lesson of the day. Besides, my fetus doesn't even have enough meat on him to fill a baguette, and would be a complete waste of fuel to try to barbecue. That fuel comes from trees and produces smoke which is bad for air quality. Try to think about the environment, m'kay?

Something like 95% of the world's population eats meat (probably more). In much of the developing world, meat consumption is only limited by economics (i.e., more people in the world would eat meat if they could afford to). Vegetarianism is a fine dietary choice for many reasons, but it's extremely ignorant and narrow-minded of you to suggest that every culture in the world that ingests animal protein is ethically wrong. Seriously, who the fuck are you? It reminds me a lot of how Christian missionaries coerced indigenous people into abandoning their culture and history by using fear and violence. You're no better than those people. Here's a tip, though: learning to accept that the world is a big, crazy place full of different types of people that you can't and shouldn't even want to change is the first step to growing as a human.

Actually, it's interesting to me that you've targeted my blog, of all blogs. Ever hear of Tony Bourdain, dumbshit? Is it easier for you to see meat when it's in a square or patty form? Is that a little easier for your delicate constitution to take? My blog is not the only omnivorous food blog out there, but it's pretty clear to me that you've never read it before. If you had, you'd know a few things about me, such as:

• This is not the first pig roast I've had. Last year, we roasted a 100lb sow that we named Laura Palmer. She fed 50+ people, plus leftovers. She was, like this year's pigs, raised sustainably, slaughtered as humanely as possible and treated with the utmost respect in death by being prepared with love and great care. True, buying and preparing meat en carcasse is not for the faint of heart - it forces you to come to terms with the fact that you're eating an animal, not a tidily-packaged piece of protein. I'm fairly certain that if everyone had to buy meat this way, there'd be a lot more vegetarians in the world, at least in developed nations. Of course, there are plenty of vegetarians who, in something of a contradiction with their ethical choices, eat bizarre animal-like meat-substitute vegetable proteins (Tofurkey, Boca Burgers and "Chik Nuggets" come to mind) that are more processed than Velveeta and contain as many ingredients. At least I'm not in denial about what I eat.


• Your whole life is a phase I went through in high school. I became an animal rights activist when I was 15 (card carrying ALF and PETA member), and I was a vegetarian for ten years (though I craved meat the entire time). But instead of tossing lame comments from behind a shroud of internet anonymity, I actually did real animal rights shit like superglue and mace the doorknob of a local taxidermist and protest the circus by handing pamphlets that showed tortured elephants to children. Your technique is perhaps a bit more subtle, granted, but I'm still pretty sure I was a better animal rights activist than you'll ever be.
  


• I don't take bullshit from pussy internet fucktards like yourself, not even when I'm awash in the nurturing glow of maternity. This one is so obvious to everyone (I mean everyone) who knows me (on the internet and in real life) that it's almost cute that you didn't know.
  

To close, a quote from Patton Oswalt: "I enjoy steak too much because I hate hippies so much."

Enjoy life at the bottom of the food chain, you fucking shitweasel.

Love, Heather

Almost ready, I swear.

Sorry for the lag in blogging over the past few weeks. It's not even that I'm too busy this time, it's just that I've cooked exactly twice since the halibut post (grilled cheese with tomato soup and penne with jarred tomato sauce, though that hardly counts as cooking). I am nearly over my first trimester and should be getting back to normal very soon. God, I hope so.

People are always interested to know what a foodie craves when she is pregnant. "God, what does Heather crave," people ask Scott. Well not much, I'm sad to say, not yet anyway. Here is some of what I've eaten over the past few weeks:

• 1.5 pints of Haagen Daaz strawberry ice cream (last night with those chewy chocolate crinkle cookies - a winning combination)
• about a pound of Jelly Bellys, opting alternately for Juicy Pear and Black Licorice (but gah, not together - gross - I'm not an animal)
• a corn dog from a questionable gas station deli in BFE
• a piece of supreme pizza from a questionable gas station deli in BFE
• a cucumber and chili Mexican frozen popsicle ("paleta")
• ham and cheese hot pocket (whole wheat! it's good for the baby)
• Nong Shim Kim Chee bowl noodle spicy taste good job
• 2 cans of Spaghettios in cheese sauce
• approximately 4 chili dogs (with the cheese and onions) and tater tots
  
• tuna salad sandwich on a non-sick day
• 3 cantaloupes, salted, each eaten entirely in one sitting
• 5 pints of strawberries, eaten over the sink
• 4 mangoes, salt and peppered
  
• 10 or 20 apples, sometimes with salt, sometimes with cheese
• a half a giant tub of Carnation Instant Breakfast (chocolate) with 1% milk - usually the first thing in my stomach in the morning
• three bowls of pho
• a half a Hawaiian-style pizza with green peppers
• three servings of pasta with red sauce (nothing fancy)
• iceberg lettuce with ranch dressing (a healthy "salad"!)
• a giant bowl of radishes with salt
  
• Ethiopian food (the lentils were the craving, and sticking with vegetarian was a really good choice for me)
• 2 breakfast burritos
• 3 of those mini boxes of cereal from the variety pack: Corn Pops, Rice Krispies and Crispix (I foolishly let Scott have the Fruit Loops)
  
• a movie-size box of Hot Tamales
• a movie-size box of Junior Mints
• approximately 5000 Cliff Bars (while in the field)
• a 6" veggie sub with extra pepperoncini
• 10 bottles of Reed's ginger beer
  

I guess that's enough confession. Try not to judge me. Progesterone's a helluva drug.

Putting things into perspective

Last night Scott and I were wandering downtown after a couple drinks and some comic book shopping, and stopped into a new little French bistro for dinner. We took a seat in the half-full Chez Joly and ordered up a few items from the modestly-priced menu, had a glass of wine and a pleasant chat with the maître'd for a minute about business and whatnot. I gave him my card and assured him I don't review restaurants (I don't, really).

One thing that struck me as a little odd was that the place was only half-full, on first Thursday, in the Pearl. One of the owners (M. Joly himself) came to greet us and apologized for the loudness. It wasn't busy enough to be considered loud by anyone under 70, and it seemed to me that he was really coddling this image of a bustling bistro when in fact, it was kind of a sad little place that reeked of trying too hard. For the price point, I would've preferred a little more grit, more tattoos on the staff, and any music other than the soundtrack of La Vie En Rose.

Conversely, I'd happily have paid $10 more for any of the items if they had been prepared more thoughtfully. The duck was a skosh past medium-well and any flavor remaining after the skin was removed was obliterated by the surfeit of pink peppercorns dashed across the dish. The moules frites Scott ordered were fantastic, though, and worth it alone. They arrived propped on hunks of baguette, ready to sop up the sexy bivalve liquor and wine broth. The escargots were similarly pleasant, though the pâte (a rillette of chicken liver with pistachios) was unremarkable.

It occurred to me on the way home, my stomach stretched in painful distention, that I can afford to bitch that my fancy dinner in a French bistro wasn't good enough. Somewhere along my life's path, I became some entitled cunt who looks down her nose at frites that aren't shoestring-thin. I wasn't always this way. (There is a point that I'm going to make, here, I promise.)

When I was a kid, as I've mentioned myriad times, I lived in poverty. My family received every form of government assistance offered, and our meals frequently came from the Oregon Food Bank when the food stamps couldn't be stretched all month. The Oregon Food Bank, unlike many other family aid non-profits and food banks, is not affiliated with any church and does not proselytize the recipients of their services. They just feed hungry people. With the downturn in the economy, requests for emergency food are skyrocketing to record levels, and they need your help.

In the name of staying true to my roots, and maintaining whatever shred of street cred I have left, I've decided to participate in the Blog For Food campaign (in addition to making a donation myself). Please click the logo at the top of this page or any of the links I've inlined in this post and make a donation.

To be part of the official Blog For Food tally, please enter "Blog For Food" in the tribute section on the OFB donation page. Donations may also be mailed to the Oregon Food Bank at PO. Box 55370Portland, OR 97238-5370. Please mention "Blog For Food." The campaign will run from February 1 to February 28, 2009. They're trying to raise (a modest) $5000.

Thanks, you guys! Just think, your donation today may help another precocious little girl grow up to be a snarky food blogger like me.

Cooking Mama Kills Animals

I love Cooking Mama. It's better on the DS than on the Wii, but still hell of fun. Enjoy this fun Flash version, compliments of our good friends at PETA! (I removed the game from this page because the screaming and music are annoying after the twentieth time.)

The 2008 Tillamook Mac & Chee Cook-off

...or, wherein I find out that Ilan Hall is actually super nice, and pretty funny in real life. He totally forgave me for making fun of him and everything (for the record, he is NOT afraid of starfucking fangirls, and isn't into the dick. He was just trying to sleep when I tried to prank him). When he opens Gorbles (his coming-soon restaurant in LA - Scottish and Jewish!), go give him lots of your money and eat his bacon-wrapped matzo balls.

So, last Thursday was the 2008 Tillamook Macaroni & Cheese Cook-Off. It's the 100-year anniversary of Tillamook Dairy, so I think their PR firm really busted out all the stops. Next year I'll enter a recipe, but this year I attended to cheer on fellow blogger and hottie Catherine Wilkinson of The Dish. She hasn't been blogging much these days, but she doesn't have any kids left to get sick or married, so she thinks she might be getting her groove back soon.

Catherine didn't win the cash money prize, but she did win the Widmer Brothers (local beer-makers) Brewmasters Choice award. One of you is saying "boo-urns", but the rest of you are saying "boo." And rightly so. Fuck sake, even the god-fearing dairy farmers and cheese-makers themselves voted for hers!

The Josis of Wilsonview Dairy

I also got to meet the Dairy Princess. For some reason, I was completely smitten with her (seriously, I have like 6 pictures of her), and wanted to see her get a little drunk. Such boorish behavior never befits a princess, though, and she was, in fact, a perfect lady all evening.

Look at Catherine's mac & chee. It's truly boner-making, isn't it? The fuck is up with some weird mac & chee sweet potato casserole winning? It was good, sure, but I really wonder if it wasn't just the Oregonian penchant for bong hits doing the voting here.

There were about a dozen or so judges, and the event on the whole was really well-attended. This was a good thing, as I passed out about a million of my Foodbuzz blog cards. I'm still waiting for that sweet spike in blog traffic. Yep, any day now....

Anyway, she was a really good sport about it. I don't know what I would've done. Prolly gotten drunk and pulled someone's hair. Or tried to make out with the Dairy Princess.

Omnivore's 100

I bet Andrew at Very Good Taste wishes he had ads on his blog now, because his Omnivore's 100 has gone completely viral.

Here are the instructions:
1. Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2. Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3. Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4. Optional extra: Post a comment here linking to your results.

The Very Good Taste Omnivore’s Hundred:
1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile (I'm also counting alligator, since I think North American crocs are mostly endangered?)
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp (at a Thai restaurant in Brooklyn)
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes (uh, doy)
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese (I love head cheese on a banh mi!)
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper (best part of good jerk)
27. Dulce de leche (straight from the can cures PMS!)
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar (I've never had cognac straight)
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo (in New Orleans, no less!)
40. Oxtail (to be fair, this goes into phở broth, but I've also braised them a few times)
41. Curried goat (on my honeymoon in Fiji)
42. Whole insects (not intentionally, although I do count crawfish and lobster in the same vein)
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more (the wedding gift I gave Scott)
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear (in a margarita in Cave Junction, Oregon)
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle (ja, gut)
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV (12% ABV Belgians ftw! I passed out drunk in the daytime from it.)
59. Poutine (I reckon this alone is worth a trip to Quebec.)
60. Carob chips (from the hippie days)
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin (Kaopectate! My mom gave it to me when I was a kid.)
64. Currywurst
65. Durian (not really that great, to be honest)
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake (beignets also in New Orleans, at Cafe Du Monde, the other two at fairs in town. Never had a funnel cake, though.)
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe (we have some absinthe that was a gift a couple years ago, but haven't opened it yet)
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill (I hit a pheasant with my windshield once and tried to claim it, but it got sucked into a culvert. Sad.)
76. Baijiu (I'm counting this with Korean soju and Japanese shochu, of which I have consumed many a bottle)
77. Hostess Fruit Pie (I still crave the cherry ones sometimes)
78. Snail (Scott and I shared a plate of escargots the night he proposed)
79. Lapsang souchong (I used to have a major tea fetish)
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum (I make and love both tom yum gai and tom yum goong - favorite under-the-weather food!)
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky (one of my Asian favorite snacks, along with cracker peanuts and Hello Panda)
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant
85. Kobe beef (the real shit, in Tokyo!)
86. Hare (although I know there's a Scotch hare that's way different, I'm counting this with rabbit - since I also eat the liver and kidneys, I think I earned it)
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse (almost tried horse sashimi in Japan, but wanted octopus more)
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox (doy vey)
97. Lobster Thermidor (I wish! This, oysters Rockefeller and clams casino are the rich old fart shellfish trifecta)
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

78% - not bad! I'm still young, I can easily knock the rest off these of the list, and then some. I would also like to see tongue or tripe (or other not-sweetbreads offal) on this list.

You can kind of tell Andrew is from the UK, because so many of the "exotic" items on his list are Indian or are regional to the US (and would therefore seem exotic to non-Americans?). I never say "never" but I think if dog or cat were on the menu, I'd have to pause. I feel incredibly closed-minded admitting that.

I've eaten raw chicken, mentaiko (marinated cod roe), and food that I dumpster-dove. We all have moments where we were a little nervous, but went for it anyway. We were rewarded with the exhilaration of having built upon our own Curriculum Vitae, whether intentionally (acting on adventurous feelings at a taco cart) or circumstantially (not being able to read Katakana while on your Japanese vacation). At least once, I'd like you to order "whatever is your favorite thing to eat here" (ask your server for this) in a foreign restaurant. You can thank me later.

I'm having email problems.

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Heather: According to my blog, there have been several other comments posted. Each of these should have triggered a notification email.

Heather: That's how I know something is amiss.

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Heather: Roboert, what should I put into the field thtat says "Domain"

Heather: oops, bad typing, sorry

Robert: Domains are like @yahoo.com or gmail.com.

Heather: should I use an alternate email address to be contacted regarding my problem?

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Heather: I don't know my IP address. I'm currently at work, but I mostly use my personal email at home.

Robert: Here's your IP address: (deleted)

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Heather: The red asterisk implies it's mandatory.

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Robert: Just put there delays in receiving messages, Heather.

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Heather: Now what?

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Heather: Oh, I see how it is.

Happy as a Clam

I am, but not because we ate here.

Let me back up. We went to the beach today, as is our wont on 100+-degree days. Today, by some twist of full moon Twilight Zone disturbia, it took us about three hours to make the 80 mile drive to Seaside, or the "Coney Island of the Oregon Coast", as I like to call it. When we crested the bluffs that overlook the mouth of the mighty Columbia and crossed Youngs Bay to make our way south from Astoria, we were met with cold, gray fog. Uncharacteristically optimistic, I mused that it was suddenly perfect weather for clam chowder. And clam chowder we sought.

But not before I got my sweet tooth on.

Decisions, decisions. I settled for some flavor called Moose..something. Moosefoot?

Ooh, it was so good and drippy and fudgy! Not the least bit moosy.

This store also boasts the largest selection of specialty sodas in the Universe, for better or worse. I love root beer ever so much, but many of these ones were too sweet and lacked the crisp sassafras bite. Did you know that while the root of Sassafras spp. is used for flavoring the beverage (hence, "root" beer), the ground, dried leaves are used to make filé, which is used as an alternative to roux for thickening gumbo.

Candy apples and chocolate-covered twinkies. Is there any better anti-depressant? This kid was so cute, pink cheeked and eager to please. He gave me a free sample of rocky road fudge (my favorite) after I asked if I could photograph him for my blog. If I were 15 years younger I would have such a huge crush on him. Teenagers having summer jobs in candy stores is a good vibe.


The friendly beach town is also the source of many nightmares. Creepy/unintentionally hilarious window displays are pretty much par for the course. The richly-embroidered hats were for sale in the Freedom Sportswear store. This store also had giant, fluorescent yellow sweatshirts that said the oddly specific "Seaside, OR Summer 2008", or just had a silk-screened image of the holy crucifix. Flo yellow is not Jesus' color. He's more of an autumn, really.

Anyways, so we did end up getting some chowder and crab cakes at the Happy Clam.

After tasting samples of the clam and seafood chowders, I opted for the tangier seafood chowder, which included bay shrimp, chopped scallops and cod, in addition to clams (not sure if they were razor or littleneck). The waitress insisted there was no cheese in the soup, but there was definitely something about this chowder. Beer? Mustard powder? It tasted like a good cheddar and beer soup with seafood. The clam chowder was passable - nothing wrong with it, but not stellar.

This photo is a testament to the power of a well-composed shot. Not that I'm bragging. But this this is a handsome-looking plate of food, right? You're drooling a little, I can see it from here. Unfortunately, looks are all it has going for it. The "crab cakes" were a complete travesty, a bastardization of a perfect food, and a disrespect to my Cancer brethren. The insult was that crab had been overworked and diluted with far too much breading. The injury was that the cakes were left for dead in a deep fryer until they turned to leaden pucks of MDF.

The food was really the least of the Happy Clam's worries, though. When you come in, you first notice that the only people here are the two staff and one very young woman (probably the daughter of the waitress?) with her infant in a stroller. The walls are mostly bare, except for some sad-looking paint-by-numbers of broken boats and moorage, a neon Pabst sign and some fake houseplants. There are flies smacking into each other and the window. You just get the sense that this place is poor.

It did, however, provide us with a seat, a view, a beer and some chowder, without having to wait for a table. If you're interested, their menu's (sic) are available at their unsurprisingly design-challenged website, which actually does a much better job of summarizing the Happy Clam experience than any snarky blog post from an uppity city bitch .

The Happy Clam
21 N. Columbia
Seaside, OR
503.717.8900

I Got More Spice Than the Frugal Gourmet

This time, without pedophilia scandal! I know, I'm no fun.

I participate (with tepid enthusiasm these days, sorry) on a gaming forum called f13.net in which I started Voodoolily's Snacktastic Cooking Thread awhile back. Yesterday I saw the following post by a member:

I get food bank access once a month and I'm trying to make it last as long as possible. Any suggestions about what to do with the following items would be helpful:

3x cans of green beans
1 head of cabbage
1 can of corn
1 can of chili (no meat)
2 bags of lentils
1 can of tuna
1 can of salmon
1 can of albacore
1 small onion

I looked at it for a bit, thought about how my culinary point of view was formed by being poor when I was a kid, and again, later, when I was a struggling college student living on a 15-hours-a-week coffee shop job.

Me, 50 feet up a bigleaf maple in 1995

Back then I was a vegetarian, so I could get a bag of groceries for about $10. Beans, rice, a loaf of wheat bread and fresh peanut butter from the grinder were staples. A sack of curry powder, oregano (not that kind), garlic, salt and pepper were the only seasonings I had, unless I pillaged the neighbor's herb garden a few blocks away. Luckily, everyone in SE Portland seems to grow rosemary and sage in their front yard, and besides, I only took a sprig or two at a time, and only from the part of the bush nearest the sidewalk.

I felt that I could help this poster eat a few good meals on a dime, or that I should at least try. Assuming my food-banking friend has access to basic staples, I would start with making a salad of 1/2 cup of the lentils (cooked al dente should yield about 3/4-1 cup), 1/2 can of the tuna, and half can of the green beans. Dressing can be made simply from olive oil, white wine (or other mild) vinegar, a spoonful of brown mustard (or mustard powder), and some salt and pepper. If the tuna came packed in oil, you could use that for the dressing. A diced, hardboiled egg could be sprinkled on top for extra richness. Gilding the (Voodoo)lily would be to include grilled garlic scapes and a drizzle of truffle oil.

Cabbage goes nice and sweet when it's roasted, so I would slice half the cabbage and half the onion into thin slices, salt and pepper it, drizzle with oil and roast until slightly browned and sweet. This would be nice to eat Cantonese-style with a simple sauce of vinegar, soy sauce, corn starch, ginger, garlic, salt and sugar. A little sesame oil would be nice if it was just lying around the pantry. This could be eaten with some steamed or poached egg and a bowl of rice. Gilding the (Voodoo)lily would be to include stir-fried dou miao (pea shoots) and plump, wild-caught prawns or diver scallops.

I really don't know what to do with canned green beans. I grew up eating them, the fuck boiled clean out of them in salted water with a splash of white vinegar and some bacon. This, in my opinion, is really the only way canned green beans are edible. Or as a casserole. Gilding the (Voodoo)lily would be to make a savory green bean galette with some egg custard and chopped pine nuts.

Anyways, this is a start. Gah, I can hardly remember what it's like to not have a real pantry to cook from, since I've been stockpiling good ingredients for years. Now, I could probably eat for two months off my stores. I should make more effort to utilize what I have and show a little solidarity with those affected by rising food costs. So should we all, I guess.

Biscuits and Gravy

Mmm...doesn't that sound good in that 100-degree weather we're having? Piping hot, fresh-from-the-oven buttermilk biscuits slathered in creamy country gravy, flecked with cracked black pepper and spicy little bites of sausage. Mmm...refreshing.

Okay, so I'm working through a bit of my backlog. We really did have weather cool enough for baking merely two days ago, and I had those fluffy biscuits leftover from the chowder. They were great breakfast on Sunday morning, all stickin' to my lumber-jacking ribs. The tomato slices provided the hit of much-needed acid (and vitamins) to the plate, slicing right through that rich gravy with surgeon-like precision.

Now, however, I can scarcely be arsed to sit in front of this computer for the moment it takes me to type this, let alone stand in front of a hot gas stove. It is fucking hot. It's not a good look on me. Oh, sure, I can turn the aircon on. Except that my cat has been spraying the external unit all year long, and the delightful aroma of litterbox comes wafting in through the vents when I kick on that cool, cool air.

Also, I don't get how people are all into grilling in hot weather. "Hey everyone, let's all sit outside in Lucifer's dank loins, gathered around a giant metal box full of fire!" And by the time it even starts to cool off a bit, the mosquitoes come out. Fuck that noise. I'm having a cocktail and salad from a bag.

Note: Since Judy asked for it, here's the recipe for my biscuits.

The extension of a verdant heart

Good lord it is fucking hot out! Way too hot to cook. I ordered pizza, and am tapping my foot impatiently while I wait. I did have energy to make a cocktail, though.

Bärenjager iced tea

2 oz Bärenjager honey liqueur
1 oz whiskey
1 oz. lemon juice
8 oz. iced tea

Combine in a glass of ice.

Here are just a few images of the garden that takes up my time and money these days.

My sweet (and eternally hot, I might add) mother-in-law Linda sent me these pretty Japanese bird bells as a "just cuz" gift. I hung them in the Russian olive tree in my front yard.
Thanks again, Linda - I absolutely love them!

My azalea kicks so much ass this time of year, although it almost got too hot today. This color is so luscious I could just eat it with a scoop of ice cream.

I love this Lewisia cotyledon. It's a native of southern Oregon and flourishes in the oppressive heat of the rock garden.

That rhododendron is completely garish this time of year, but the Anna's hummingbirds love it. This afternoon, after that fat old sun crept across the roof to the other side of the house, I carved out a path of hazelnut shells to the herb garden . The birds are going to have a heyday picking out the little nubs of nutmeat.

The Bitch is Back

Okay, I guess I'm ready to come off of blogging vacay, since it's been two weeks, I'm not in the field and living out of a hotel (seriously, those 50-60 hour work weeks were destroying my appetite for a hobby that consumes an additional 4 hours of my day), and I've been passing out those cute little blog business cards that Foodbuzz sent me. God forbid anyone should actually look at my blog and see what a fucking hack I am.

I'll post some food later today. As always, I have a fridge full of brassicas: baby kohlrabi (and their greens), broccoli rabe and some beet greens mixed with baby kale and swiss chard. I also have some amazing smoked sturgeon (thanks, Dad!) that made lovely little fish cakes with lemon-thyme aioli last week*. Now I'm brainstorming a way to use the last 10 ounces without resorting to flaking it into a pasta salad.

Thanks to everyone who gave a shit that I was gone. The guilt was definitely a factor in getting off my lazy ass.

*Pulse minced onion, celery and shallot in the magimix, add the flaked fish and pulse until a nice, fine flake is accomplished. Add chopped parsley and a little lemon zest, an egg, a little olive oil and fresh cracked pepper (won't need any salt - there's plenty on the smoked fish already). Coat in panko and either fry until golden or spritz with cooking spray (I use a Trader Joe's canned oil that is 100% canola oil and no silicone) and bake at 400 for about 10-15 minutes on each side. I baked mine because I'm finally getting around to trying to drop those 10 pounds of quitting smoking weight that have crept on since January.

The aioli was a bullshit fake because I had used the last egg in the cakes, so I had to use store-bought mayo (gasp!) and it was even low fat mayo to boot. Oh, don't look at me like that. Adding Greek yogurt, a squirt of lemon juice, some dijon mustard, fresh herbs and black pepper transformed it into a surprisingly decent accompaniment to the fish cakes. Was it even aioli any more? Fuck if I know.

Serve with a mixed green salad dressed simply in olive oil and lemon juice or white wine vinegar, and a sprightly Gewürztraminer such as a 2006 Thomas Fogarty. (Peter B. and Norm: I actually looked at the label this time - aren't you proud?)

Ennui.

I haz it. It's not you, I swear. It's me.

As you have perhaps noticed, my blogging has been languishing for the past few weeks, and I think I'm just getting burned out on the Everything. Playing Folklore on the PS3 is giving me more excitement than telling you all about what I made for dinner (politely overlooking the music in that trailer, which sounds like an excrutiating Japanese Coheed and Cambria). So I'm taking a wee break until I get my groove back.

In other news, I'm in Sacramento until Friday. Not really any earth-shattering cuisine here, but the weather's nice and the hotel offers free cocktail hour in the lobby.

I planted my corn and artichokes last weekend. While getting ready for the airport yesterday, I looked out the window in time to see a couple of scrub jays going to town on the corn seed. They probably think they're entitled, since they put all those nice acorns in my garden. I'd send my cats out after the little motherfuckers, but my cats are afraid of corvids. Can't say I blame them - crows and jays are as clever as they are irreverent.

PWNED!

My cats would not shut the fuck up this morning, and they started earlier than usual. At 7:00 I finally got fed up and flew out of bed and threw open the door to put a foot in they ass, when I felt immediate, excruciating pain on my pinky. The door slammed on my finger (on the extra-pinchy hinge side). I, bleary-eyed and sans contact lenses, examined the damage and instead of seeing the expected bruise or blood blister, I saw that I had completely crushed off the tip of my finger, nail and all. I was bleeding, bleeding my own blood! I screamed a slew of expletives, grabbed a wash cloth to apply pressure, and took a seat on the bathroom floor before I could pass out and add a head injury to the mess.

Four hours in the ER later, I have 4 stitches and 15 (err.. 14) Vicodin. The pills are already starting to wear off and I'm bleeding through my bandages, so I'm gonna cut this short. Typing entirely with my left hand is hardly expedient, so I'm out for a few more days. Scott cracked me up in the ER waiting room by saying, "wow, honey you really pwned yourself!"

EDIT: I forgot to mention that, in a bizarre twist of irony, that the Nurse Practitioner who sewed me up has a passion for cooking! He participates in a food blog (a "vlog" actually, it's a video blog) called Fat Belly Traveller. Check him out in this video. Thanks again for the good work on the finger, Denny!

Nice Matters

Or, Why Gluten-Free Vegans Bug the Shit Out of Me.

Gluten? The fuck?

Okay, here's the thing: if you have celiac disease and actually can't digest gluten, then that's one thing. That really fucking sucks for you, but you're getting by just fine eating a lot of Asian food and probably even eat meat. I know a few of you.

But if you are just a control freak who "recently discovered" you're allergic to gluten, just go fuck yourself. I'm sorry. Did you spend your whole life having explosive diarrhea every time you ate a piece of bread, and waited until you were in your 20s to get that looked at? Or did you just wake up one day and go, "Gee, I really wish I could eliminate one more thing from a diet that is so restrictive that it completely defies evolutionary biology. Let's see what my naturopath thinks!"

You'll never be a real chef, but enjoy eating your spelt and tofu doused in Bragg's Liquid Aminos and brewer's yeast and pretend that the French aren't laughing their asses off at you.

Okay, people who don't know me: don't fly off the handle about this post. This is my Louis Black-style humor. Seriously, don't be a twat.

Tag, I'm It!

I haven't posted all week. I've been feeling like a bit of a fwumpus since I not only quit smoking a coupla weeks ago but my Aunt Flo came to visit this week, too. I've put on a few pounds, so I've been cooking healthy dinners that are not very cohesive or photogenic. Last night I made some salmon and leftover linguine with kai lan and pancetta. It was good, but at the end of the meal I felt as though I'd just eaten 1 protein, 1 fat and 2 carb. I wanted dessert desperately, but didn't feel like baking or going to the store. Insert angry face emoticon here.

And oh shit I have been tagged by Pixie and now I have some sparkles on me. Sigh. Don't get me wrong, I think she's a lovely girl and I enjoy her blog. She made her own pink marshmallows, for fuck's sake (which means we should be bff irl). Gah, everyone is gonna think my lack of enthusiasm means I'm an asshole.

Since I don't want people to think I'm an asshole, I will play along. (Thanks for picking me, Pix! I actually am flattered for real.) These are the rules: 1. Link to your tagger and post these rules. 2. Share 5 facts about yourself 3. Tag 5 people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them). 4. Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment at their Blogs.

1. Post a link to my tagger. Check, done. And post these rules. Done.

2. Say 5 things about myself that you all don't already know.

1. Did you ever know that I fucking hate these memes with the white-hot passion of a thousand suns? The only reason I'm playing along is because, unlike in a chain letter, everyone will know if I don't.
2. I live approximately one city block away from the elementary school that I went to. Just ended up that the only affordable neighborhood left in SE Portland was the one in which I grew up.
3. I have had two video game reviews published on a semi-reputable gaming message board called f13.net. They are now archived and you can't find them anymore. The point is that I'm a geek beyond food. I play video games.
4. I was voted Most Artistic by my senior class (and also my fifth grade class), but became a scientist anyway.
5. I married a man whose last name is my mother's maiden name. It's a very common name, but I still like to joke that the reason the sex is so hot is because we're cousins.

3. Fuck, now I hafta tag five hapless victims.

Nilmandra (aka Mario and the Peach) at Soy and Pepper

Peter the Greek at Kalofagas

Emiline the Fairy at Sugar Plum

Nuria (aka Caliente Mamacita) at Spanish Recipes

and Ben the Bespectacled at What's Cooking?

TAG. You're it.

I STRONGLY ENCOURAGE THESE PEOPLE TO STOP THIS NONSENSE AND NOT PARTICIPATE. Only if that's how they feel. I will not think less of them for letting it die here.

Epic Fail

Okay, so I never made an after-Thanksgiving post. Thanksgiving was a bit of a letdown, predictably, because the speech-impeded screams of toddlers had me so frazzled that I fucked up three of my side dishes and by the time I even got to sit down to eat they were already up from the dinner table, running around and demanding to be taken home. Sigh.

I forgot to parcook the sweet potatoes, so they never got soft and as a result, the custard couldn't set up in the center. My stuffing and haricots verts were prepared hours ahead of time (thought I was being clever), and the re-heat in the oven did them no favors. Sigh.

The turkey was really good, though, but I got only one photo, of the confit:


So now the exciting news: our basement flooded this morning from all the rain we've been getting (which hasn't actually been that much, all things considered). It didn't come in from the walls or anything, but from the fucking ground water. The water table rose so much that it percolated up through a crack in the concrete (near the furnace) and flowed in beneath the carpet across the floor. The carpet was all saturated this morning and after work we had to move all of our bajillion boxes of crap and tear up the carpet, then mop up the nasty sog and then turn the fans on. The only thing that smells worse than old, dried-up cat piss is moldy ground water-refreshed cat piss.

Then, THEN I found this horrifying creature which I have only been able to surmise resembles a huge termite:


WHAT THE FUCK. What in the holy fuck is this thing. Why does it think it belongs in my basement. Its abdomen rears up like a scorpion's tail when it's threatened.

And I have epic cramps. Fuck this noise. Fuck it, I say!