Dinnertime - Ham-tici-pea-tion

I enjoy ham.  This should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me.  (Forgive the download, but it really is necessary. Enjoy.)  Sadly, as much as I enjoy a good ham dinner, it's not as though I can, in good conscience, make ham every week.

Okay, I could.  But as it stands, we don't.  However, we did have a glorious ham for Easter, bone-in and spiral cut, and I was in soup mode over the weekend.  Pea, bean, potato?  What could be the best combination of starch and pork?  I decided on pea, this time around.

Spiced Yellow Pea Soup

2 cups diced onion

1 cup diced carrot
1 Tbsp salt
1 tsp olive oil
1 Tbsp curry powder
1 tsp dried basil
1 tsp dried dill
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 bay leaf
1 - 14 oz bag dried split yellow peas
1 ham bone
2 cups diced or shredded ham
2 cups baby carrots, halved
3 quarts cold water
Salt and Pepper to taste

Optional Garnish
3 strips of bacon, cooked (Did I really say 'optional'?)
1 Tbsp cayenne pepper
1 tsp clove powder
1 tsp cinnamon

In a large kettle, heat oil and add onions, diced carrots and salt.  Sweat until tender, then add curry powder, dill, basil and cinnamon.  Stir until spices become aromatic.  Add one bay leaf, split peas and ham bone, then cover with three quarts of cold water.  (If you're using a small measuring cup, that's 12 cups of water.)  Stir together and bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer and cover for an hour or until peas are just tender.

Remove the ham bone and the bay leaf, then puree the soup in a blender or with a stick blender.  Remember that if you do this in a standard blender, take the plug out of the lid and cover with a towel, or you'll have an Exorcist experience all over your kitchen.  Return soup to pot with ham and remaining carrots, and simmer an additional two hours or until soup is reduced by 1/4. 

For the garnish, combine the bacon and spices in a food processor (thank you, Magic Bullet!) and process until fine.  I used pre-cooked bacon for this, and microwaved it for 20 seconds with the spices before processing. 

This makes eight hearty servings, and if you feel you need to wait for cooler weather to have soup, the bone will freeze well. 

And okay, so you could use the green split peas.  However, even though I like most every shade of green out there, I find something unappealing about pea soup green.  Either way, this was delicious.

You can't go to Eddy's again

I spend a lot of time thinking about food.  It's possible I spend more time thinking about it than I do eating it.  And, like other areas of life, it would seem the Chinese restaurant experience of my youth is quickly disappearing from the American landscape. 

I miss Eddy's Place, the weekly destination of my youth.  Eddy is a family friend, as is Rosie, his long-time waitress.  I very nearly proposed to Lori there, but got nervous when we walked in to find my parents sitting at a corner table.  (I did ask, and she accepted, later that evening.)  We have an afghan on our sofa that Rosie gave us as a wedding present.  Since Eddy had been pushed into closing by his landlord, he and Rosie came to my sister's wedding, and it was a joy to see them again.  This is not a typical restaurateur-client relationship, and I'm okay with that. 

Eddy's was not exactly unique in my childhood.  There were four or five other Chinese restaurants of the same sit-down variety that made their way though our dining spectrum, and only one little delivery place.  There was no such thing as the 'Super Happy Steam Buffet of Overcookedness' in my childhood.  I always got a placemat that told me what my zodiac sign meant, and strangely, it's pretty dead-on for me.

There were always egg rolls and egg foo young, and later, dozens of potstickers.  (Due to that family friendship, I have a dozen or so of Eddy's potstickers, frozen for later consumption and made by the man himself in his own home kitchen as a gift to my parents.)  There was custom ordering, combinations that didn't exist on the soy-stained paper menu.  When we were children, my sister would order milk, and since she was, apparently, the only customer who ever ordered it, Eddy would have to send someone across the street to the tiny grocery store to buy some.

As time has passed, I've watched those sit-down restaurants disappear.  In their place, buffets of questionable quality and tiny carry-out places have cropped up.  Lori and I tried yet another buffet last night, hoping for something of higher quality than we got.  So awful was this place, with multi-colored light bulbs, and a scratchy PA system that broke out into the traditional 'Happy Bursday To You' at one point (yes, bursday.  Really.) and the too-common steamed beyond recognition food, that we'll never go back. 

With few exceptions for the high-priced Chinese-Restaurant-As-Fine-Dining places, most of the sit-down places have fallen to disrepair, fish tanks empty or covered in algae, ceiling tiles falling down from unattended roof leaks.  Now, most of the places that will sell me carryout belong to families or corporations that have purchased the Chinese restaurant kit, advertised as 'New York Style'.  These places, in Wisconsin, Florida and Ohio (and I'm sure...your state has them, too...) have the same menus, the same pictures of pre-staged dishes, the same chairs with fan-patterned vinyl, usually green but occasionally pink. 

What they don't have is the same charm of the neighborhood restaurant, a casual family-owned place where the kitchen is hidden, where traditional music is streamed through bad speakers, and where I might even get an odd mix of Chinese-style and American dishes, like a plate of carrot sticks and olives, or the option to order a hamburger.  I've never ordered a hamburger at a Chinese restaurant, but it was comforting to know it was there.  (I spent years with our daughters ordering chicken strips at the Mexican restaurant, so a hamburger at the Chinese place would have opened up our family dining options a little more before their palates grew.)  

When I Google Eddy's Place for nostalgia's sake, the restaurant now comes up with his home address.  I can even see it on Google Stalker View.  Maybe this means I can go to Eddy's again.

He won't mind, I'm sure.

The Doob-la-vay Say

We have a Wisconsin Connection, and that's a good thing.  Despite Cleveland feeling much like home, the people and the climate and the environment so similar to Wisconsin it's comforting, we find that the few things we miss outside of family and friends are certain foodstuffs specific to America's Dairyland. 

When our friends Bob and the lovely Mrs. Bob made the trek across timezones last weekend, they offered to supplement our food supply with fine Wisconsin comestibles.  It seemed unfair to send them all the way to Oconomowoc for Hungarian bratwurst from the Sausage Haus, so I'll get those at Thanksgiving.  However, Lori is hooked on Widmer's brick cheese, and no other brick cheese will do.  In addition to that, Bob took it upon himself to bring us Usinger's summer sausage and Nueske's thick-cut bacon.  Mmmm, bacon.

In return, we headed off to the Westside Market after lunch at Melt Bar and Grilled, and took a brief tour of the city, both the hifalutin' and downtrodden areas.  For the record, I have yet to find a sandwich that hasn't been improved by the addition of fried eggs when the option is available.

Sunday, we hit Bob Evans, since it's Ohio-based and therefore relevant.  And because I'm an adult, I had pie before my breakfast.  Then Diane and I toured waterfalls and Amish country while Bob and Lori waited in line for roller coasters.  We were denied Amish baked goods, since the Amish don't work on Sundays, but I did get a 45-pound pumpkin (and a few others) at the roadside market, and we saw snakes and vintage cycles in Chagrin Falls.

And last night I watched Alton Brown make pralined bacon, so I think we know what's going to happen with the Nueske's. 

Remember, it's not what you know, it's who you know.

Compunction Junction, what's your dysfunction?

As I try to get the screechings of Pauly Shore out of the back of my head (buuudddie!), indicating that I've seen the requisite 'too many' Pauly Shore movies, I find myself a week later than the last time I checked in with you kids. 

My indication last week that I might have the flu was, in fact, false.  Apparently, despite our childhood memories, the real Influenza virus is respiratory, and there is no 'stomach flu'.  So whatever still has a death grip on my GI tract is as yet unnamed.  Fun times.

But I'm so excited about the things we'll get to share, dear readers, once I get in the groove of Ohio-izing myself.  We took a great drive into Amish country this weekend, it's so nice to live somewhere with hills and curves in the countryside again.  Got to see little buggies racing along at rather impressive speeds.

And to a counter-point, there was the rambler (homeless or not) wearing a very real shiny metal pointy crown as he walked down the side of the on-ramp.  No cheap cardboard imitations for him, no sir.

Would that I had more to share, I feel bad.  Please feel free to read my old posts as though you've never seen them before, in particular, check out last August where comments are still ripe for the leaving.

Dinnertime - Low and slow, that is the tempo

Mmmm, Crockpottery goodness. Sometimes (often times, I suppose) simple meals are the best. Last night's dinner was no exception. It's 'cold' here in Florida, and the occasional tang of woodsmoke in the air just adds to that wintry feeling. I love comfort foods, slow-cooked meats and the unctuous mouthfeel of melted fat. Add to that a bottle of very nice wine and my Bitsy Pookums, and dinner was incredible. This is a little more involved than some crock-pot dishes, but well worth that last half hour of work, trust me.

In the morning, combine the following in your crock pot:

4# chuck roast
4 cups carrots, peeled and cut to bite-size
8 branches of fresh rosemary
1 unpacked cup flatleaf parsley (I just grabbed a handful off the bunch)
4 cloves garlic, slivered
1 cup slivered onions
1/2 cup red wine
1 Tbsp celery salt, sprinkled on roast
Salt & Pepper

Turn the slow cooker on low heat for seven or eight hours. When you're ready to finish the meal, you will need:

8-10 pearl onions
4 cups rough-chopped mushrooms (I used cremini, shiitake, and oyster)
2 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp olive oil
1/2 cup red wine now
3-4 Tbsp flour
4 cups beef juices, divided (from the slow cooker, add water to supplement)
3 cups frozen baby peas, thawed
1/4 cup red wine later

Pierce the onions with a paring knife right next to the root end. Add to boiling water and boil for 10 minutes or until tender. My Julia Child trick, the piercing. I watched her belittle Jacques Pepin on national television for not piercing the onions, as they will expand uncontrollably without that release point. Drain and cool in ice water. Remove the root end and outer layers of the onions and reserve.

In a heavy saute pan, melt butter with olive oil until bubbling. Once bubbling subsides, add chopped mushrooms. You will want larger pieces, as they will cook down and you don't want them dwarfed by the other vegetables.

Something I learned about mushrooms that makes me very happy. DON'T TOUCH THEM. Let them sizzle away in one spot until you just can't take it anymore, then toss them. This allows them to take on a beautiful golden-brown crispiness instead of just steaming down. Do it. You will be rewarded.

Once the mushrooms are golden brown, add the pearl onions to the pan to allow them to soak up that delicious color. Sprinkle with two tablespoons of flour, and cook until flour has all but disappeared in the pan. Add 1/2 cup of red wine, and cook until all moisture is gone. Add half of the juices from the roast and stir, you'll see the sauce thicken. Because I don't separate the fat from the juices, this fat will rise to the top of the pan. Gauge this and measure 1-2 tablespoons of additional flour into a sealed container, then add the remainder of the juices and create a slurry by shaking the container vigorously. Add this to the saute pan and allow to simmer.

Remove the roast from the slow cooker and allow to rest, covered. Retrieve the carrots from the slow cooker and add to saute pan. Just before serving, add remaining wine and the peas to the saute pan and stir to combine. Spoon the sauce over shredded beef.

I love the egg noodles with this, but you can also serve over mashed or boiled potatoes. Parsnips and rutabaga would also be a nice addition. This makes four healthy portions, and you can adjust depending on the size of roast you buy.

As for the wine:

I had an open bottle of shiraz in the refrigerator, a Mollydooker Boxer if you must know. Thanks to early experiences and this Monty Python sketch, I've shied away from the Australians. The Mollydooker, when I opened it very long ago, was slightly reminiscent of cough medicine, so syrupy it was. But it still worked for cooking. From the same friend as the Mollydooker, I had an '05 Midnight Run Crow Eater, a blend of shiraz and grenache that was much friendlier than a full syrah. It was a bright, high-alcohol wine, and really stood out with the luscious earthiness of dinner. Certainly one of the best bottles we've had in a while.

Fun Fact Friday - Science, it's what's for dinner

While I'm performing little science experiments with dinner and blogging about them, Lori has embarked upon her own brilliant project. She's barely a week in so far, but she plans to post a new photograph every day for the next year. You can see what she's doing here! You'll notice that, in contrast to my own photography, her pictures are studied, well-balanced, in focus, and level. I can't even do level without photo-editing software, and she throws around big photography words like - well, I can't think of any. I can be supportive, just don't ask me to understand the lingo.

Wednesday night I threw together some crab cakes, thinking they'd be a nice addition to Melissa's white corn recipe over at Alosha's Kitchen. They sell sweet corn at the grocery store this time of year, how bad could it be, right?

Bad. Little chewy nuggets of starch. If vegetables could have gristle, this corn did. In a willful suspension of disbelief (WSD), I allowed myself to buy something that is clearly not in season.

For any of you that might not be familiar with the general geographic, geologic shape of the planet that we all, presumably, live upon, the earth is a sphere. That orbits a big ball of super-hot gas we call the sun. Because of that orbit, we have seasons. And if you live in the northern hemisphere, it's the coldest damn part of winter right now. Even here in Florida they're expecting us to dip below freezing again.

Corn, on the other hand, is a summer vegetable. Growing up in Wisconsin, oft was the time I'd heard 'knee-high by the Fourth of July', meaning that sweet corn wouldn't really be in season until mid- to late August.

Funny thing about hemispheres, when it's winter up here, it's summer down south, and vice-versa. That means that mid- to late February is the perfect sweet corn season, if, say, you live in Argentina, or New Zealand, or Rand McNally.

Which brings me to the actual science-y bit of today's discussion.

Fresh-picked sweet corn, corn that self-justifies the term 'milk stage' when a kernel is popped, corn which is then soaked in icy cold water and grilled until the husks are almost gone, dipped in melted butter and salted lightly is a good thing. It is good, because fresh corn kernels are still filled mostly with sugar. And it's difficult not to feel joy as butter dribbles down one's chin.

However, the farther corn needs to travel from field to table, or the longer it sits on grocery store shelves, the more that sugar is converted to starch through an enzymatic process, especially if the corn is held at less than optimal temperature. Sweet corn for market is hypercooled to remove as much field heat from the ears as quickly as possible to slow this conversion process. However, a careless or hurried farmer may rush the process, damaging the quality of the corn before it's even loaded on a truck.

Additionally, when I'd buy sweet corn in Wisconsin, it was coming from a farmer who drove it a mile up the road to where he's selling it, and probably picked the ears that day. Right now, I'm approximately 4000 miles from Argentina and Rand McNally, making that trip significantly longer.

Fresh corn is doomed this time of year, because no grocery store has the capacity to hold it at optimal temperature. The warmer corn is, the faster it converts all of the sugar to starch. Corn kept in a humid, 33-degree environment will convert approximately 6% of its sugar reserves to starch in a day. Conversely, in an arid, 50-degree environment, one I'd say closely resembles my local market, corn will convert nearly 60% of its sugar reserves to starch in one 24-hour period.

So sorry, Melissa, to have sullied such a fantastic recipe with bad science. Next time I'm buying frozen.

Fun Fact Friday - What's more Irish than fajitas?

Sure and begorrah! Inasmuch as I've been partaking of the Guinness the last few evenings, and spent an evening at a pub-ish sort of place last night with some former co-workers, I fully expected the restaurant to have an assortment of Irish dishes.

Now, we've not yet had the opportunity to travel in Ireland, but I can't say as I've seen the fourth item on their menu advertised for St. Patrick's Day specials. Maybe that's just me.

And I really do like the Guinness, with its health benefits and all, but fajitas and stout? Doesn't trip anything special for me.

Humanity has been grilling meat since we harnessed the power of fire. That was way back in like 1938 or thereabouts, I'm sure. I think. Maybe.

Anyway, back in the days of cattle drives, the ranchers would slaughter cattle during the drive to feed their cowhands. And the 'less-than-desireable' cuts were given to the Mexican vaqueros as part of their pay. Cow heads, hides, innards and skirt steak were all put to good use. Cow's head stew, menudo (not the band), and grilled skirt were all on the menu.

Over time, the grilled steak became a common household meal in Texas, up through the sixties. In 1969, Sonny Falcon, an Austin, Texas meat market manager, opened the first commercial fajita concession stand at a rural Dies Y Seis celebration in the town of Kyle. At the same time, fajitas made their debut on the menu at the Round-Up Restaurant in Pharr, Texas. Notwithstanding similar dishes served across the border in Mexican cattle towns for decades, the fajita had taken hold on the U.S. psyche. In the seventies, this meal took a step forward and started showing up on restaurant menus throughout the Lone Star State.

In 1982, the fajita took an even greater step. Chef George Weidmann, when opening the new Hyatt Regency in Austin, picked up on the dish and added a sizzle platter to the mix.

The sad part of this process is that as the dish evolved, it moved further away from its roots. Seldom do restaurants use the original skirt steak, opting instead for the more manageable and innocuous sirloin, as well as adding chicken and other meats to the mix. And the dish has evolved into an American melting-pot classic, with flavors that seldom evoke the flavors of Mexico.

Or Ireland.

Want Pie Now

In the coming week, you will notice a distinct theme here at Cheesehead Displacement Syndrome. Next Saturday is National Pie Day, but being as nobody reads my weekend posts around here, I thought I would devote the entire week to filled-crust desserts.

This includes important tips;

Amusing web animations;

The adventures of Elliott as Baker - for my first-ever chess pie is in the oven as I write this - and Elliott the Pie-Eater, because why would I bake pie if not to eat it?

Unnecessary references to Warrant and Don McLean;

And, of course, gratuitous but tasteful nudity. Can't forget that.

Remember. Life is short, eat more pie.

Have a question about pie? Ask the Nerdy Fat Guy! If he doesn't know, he'll make something up, and isn't that better in the long run, anyway?

Check and Mate

Have I mentioned yet that this upcoming Saturday is National Pie Day? I may have.

I baked a chess pie today, and it was everything I dreamed it would be. The last time I had chess pie was at a Furr's on the east side of Topeka in September of 2001. It was a rainy day. Anyone who knows me won't be shocked that I remember this. We are talking about pie, after all.

This is the recipe I followed, the pseudo-official Luby's Buttermilk Chess Pie recipe, and it's so simple even I can make it without disaster ensuing:

1 2/3 cups granulated sugar

2/3 cup butter or margarine, melted

1/3 cup all-purpose flour

4 extra-large eggs

1 1/3 cups buttermilk

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Dash of salt

1 unbaked 9" pie shell

Heat oven to 375°F.

In large bowl, combine sugar, butter, and flour. Mix well. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Add buttermilk, vanilla and salt. Mix just until blended. Do not overmix.

Pour into pie shells.Bake 45 to 50 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out almost clean. Do not overbake. Makes one 9" pie, I had some extra filling left over so you could probably use a deep-dish crust.

It is a thing of beauty, both in appearance and taste. I highly recommend it.

Dinnertime - Wrapped around my finger

You have only come here seeking knowledge, and I'm here to help, hopefully.

Beef and herb tortelloni

3 cups roast beef, cooked and shredded

4 oz ricotta

1 Tbsp fresh parsley

1 Tbsp fresh rosemary

1 Shallot

Salt & Pepper

1 - 16 0z package 3" wonton wrappers

Last week, I threw a beautiful rump roast in the Crockpot with 10 cloves of crushed garlic, along with some salt and pepper. While it was quite delicious, it was also quite large. After being roast beef dinner with noodles, it was put into service for sandwiches and tacos, but there was still a giant chunk left, and I didn't want it to go to waste.

I've seen tortellini and tortelloni made before, on television, but my past attempts have been less than pretty, to say the least. However, I have to challenge myself from time to time, and this, strangely, felt like the day for a challenge.

Finely chop the herbs and shallot, and if you just have unseasoned roast beef, add a clove of garlic to the mix. Do not, I repeat, DO...NOT...buy the jar of pre-minced, oil-or-water soaked garlic of unknown provenance and age. You will regret it. Your children will regret it. Shame will be piled upon your family name for generations. Just buy the head of whole garlic. There will be much rejoicing.

Mix the herb-shallot mince with the chopped, shredded roast beef and the ricotta, stirring with a fork to combine well. Get yourself a glass of water (and perhaps a glass of wine) and a teaspoon measure. Place a wonton wrapper at a bias (so it looks like a diamond instead of a square) and wet half of the wrapper from corner to corner with your fingertips. Place a teaspoon of filling in the middle of the wonton*, then fold on the bias. Place the seam on top of your index finger, then pull the corners around to form a loop, stickng the ends with more water. Go HERE for a beautiful visual tutorial, I couldn't have done nearly this well.

Clear a large workspace for yourself, since you'll need to arrange the finished tortelloni so they're not touching. Once you've formed your first tortelloni, you're on your way! Less than 4 dozen more to go. I arranged a piece of foil on a baking sheet for easy transportation.

Once you've finished, you can:

(a) Freeze the tortelloni on the baking sheet before bagging if you're going to eat them later. Because we've been eating this roast for a few days, I think waiting is a good thing. Besides, I have ribeyes to grill yet tonight and Lori made some incredible dill potato salad.

(b) Cook the tortelloni. Get yourself a nice big kettle of boiling, salted water. Because your filling is already cooked, you're just cooking the pasta. Five minutes MAX, when they float they should be done. And nothing's wrong with a little taste test. After all, you just slaved for an hour to make these things. In a separate saute pan, add four tablespoons of butter and a tablespoon of olive oil, along with some chopped parsley. Remove the cooked tortelloni from the water, shake free of excess water and add to the saute pan. Garnish with shredded parmesan.**

Makes four nice dinner portions with a side of grilled asparagus, hit with a quick squeeze of lemon. Also makes eight servings for a beautiful pasta course.

* It's important that you not overfill your pasta. Don't underestimate the edge you'll need to bring these together. Also, make sure you work all the air out of the filling pocket before forming the tortelloni, air will expand during cooking and you'll have a tortelloni explosion. If you have leftover filling, freeze it to add to tomato sauce later.

** Parmesan, or parmagiano, does NOT come in a green shaker can. Those are floor sweepings. Buy a wedge and shred it yourself, or buy the clear tub of recently shredded cheese from your deli. Really.

It's a small world, after all.

When I was a child, my elementary school was HUGE. In my mind, the doors were four inches thick and 20 feet tall. When I visited again as an adult, somehow the building shrunk four sizes to human dimension.
I get that, because size is relative. What was a giant bottle of soda that took both hands to manage when we were kids is now three swallows.

However, when manufacturers start shrinking their products on purpose and think we'll just shrug it off, I get a little upset. The marketing genius who thought we'd pay the same price for 25% less product should have received a monster bonus, because we're suckers and well, we will. What choice do we have when everyone does it?

It started with ice cream. Let's go to the metric system, because there are, perhaps, three Americans who aren't fooled by grams versus ounces. Let's keep the lid the same, and rakishly taper the container, because it will just look like forced perspective when they're scooping.

And I was livid when the major cola manufacturers switched from the 12-pack to the 8-pack, and STILL raised the price from $3 to $4. They're slowly moving back to the 12, because America wouldn't stand for it. Same thing happened when they tried to switch our bottles from 20 ounces to 500 mL. Metric system! 500 is more then 20, right?

And now, after buying the same unnamed quilted toilet paper from up north for years, the rolls shrank almost 3/4 of an inch in width from the last package to this one. I could understand one tier getting cut down a little off, it happens. But EVERY ROLL IN THE PACKAGE? Not coincidence, not an accident, this is purposeful, malicious downsizing. Cornholio does not like this. Not one bit.

Pretty soon, we'll all feel like Andre the Giant drinking our adorable little carbonated beverages and daintily wiping, as we all run out of ice cream and potato chips long before we should. I take it back. That marketing genius shouldn't have received a monster bonus, shouldn't be celebrated in the annals of marketing history. He should be unemployed.

In Greenland.

Random Acts of Thursday - Driving me nuts

You may recall my sandwich story from a few weeks ago. And I love me some sandwiches. Of course, we live in a world of fast-paced, work-a-day multitaskers, myself included. And while I eat in my car FAR too often, I would never think of eating a spaghetti sandwich while driving.

The same holds true of tacos. Burritos, yes, if they aren't the modern large-as-your-head burritos, but instead come from that tintinabular pseudo-Mexican place that we all know and love. Last year I nearly choked to death on an Egg McMuffin. I've been known more than once to attempt an ice cream cone during a hot summer month. There really is a line where driving while dining has gone too far. And we've all crossed it at some point.

The reason I bring this up is because on my evening commute last night, I saw a woman eating corn-on-the-cob. CORN. ON. THE. COB. In her bright yellow Mustang.I won't even eat corn on the cob in my house, given the choice. To me, buttery, salty corn on the cob was meant to be consumed outdoors, stooped over to avoid dripping corn juice and butter on anything but the ground. I wouldn't eat corn on the cob in my car for money. The same goes for barbecue ribs, in all their saucy goodness.

(disclaimer: everyone has his price, and if you really, REALLY want me to eat corn on the cob or ribs in my car, I'm open to offers.) But really, people will eat nearly anything in their cars. Same as we'll answer the phone, fumble for maps, scratch an itch in a 'personal area', apply makeup, read the paper (or a novel) or carry on face-to-face conversations with people in the back seat.

At best, we'll just get a lapful of molten cheese and burger grease. At worst, we all know that it could lead to serious injury, even death. Remember. We don't judge here. Openly mock, perhaps, but we don't judge. What's the worst car-unfriendly food you've attempted to eat on the run? What's your secret driving faux pas?

We won't tell. Promise.

Random Acts of Thursday - My Title is Earl

A few years ago, back when MySpace was king and Twitter wasn't even a glimmer in some papa bird's eye, I was hooked. (Because it's good to be the king.) However, being self-conscious enough about my picture, I never posted the 'who's your celebrity look-alike?', because apparently, my celebrity look-alikes aren't very attractive people. One of my friends posted a candid picture of me, post-gin, staring into the sun, and I got the 'Look everyone, it's Jimmy Kimmel!' The big killer, though, is that advanced computer programming decided that I looked like Jason Lee. And only Jason Lee. This wasn't even the cool, best-lines-in-the-movie Jason Lee, the 'Chasing Amy', 'Dogma' Jason Lee, this was 'My Name Is Earl', I-just-rolled-out-of-the-sleeper-sofa-and-put-on-dirty-socks Jason Lee.

Splendid.

Anecdote aside, I really want to talk sandwiches with you folks. I had the acme of childhood memory food the other day. In honor of International Bacon Day last Saturday (What? You didn't miss it, did you?), I made bacon spagetti, the only recipe of my grandmother's I have any hope of replicating. This meant that Sunday, lunch was bacon spagetti sandwiches. Heaven.

What? You've never had a spagetti sandwich? Shame on you. If I ever manage to get off my ass and actually open the sandwich restaurant I've been devising in my head for years, this is going on the menu.

Please now, share the strangest sandwich you absolutely must have, that odd little combination of food between two slices that takes you back to your childhood. And be honest, this is for science. Once you've posted, go make yourself a spagetti sandwich, you're missing out.

Poetry in motion, I'm not

Baking is science, and a scientist I am not.

We were to have a pot-luck breakfast at work this morning, and in an attempt to bring culture and joy to the office, I planned to celebrate International Bacon Day one day early.

The muffins above are NOT mine, though that is usually how my baking projects turn out. (and on a side note, be careful when Googling 'muffin' at work to key the whole word instead of accepting the first suggestion the Mighty G offers you. Just sayin'.) Instead, I wanted to share bacon-cheddar corn muffins with everyone, because that's how I roll (or muffin, as the case may be).

Bad things, man. Bad things! Really. How difficult could it be to fry some bacon, crumble it and add it to a Jiffy cornbread mix with some shredded cheddar? It was, even for me, baking simplicity, and I don't bake, because for me baking is always a baking fail.

A lot of it comes down to three important factors, and I will always screw at least one of them up. First, there's the whole greasing/flouring of the baking pan. No matter how hard I try to get that right, somehow I manage never to do it right, as my baking sticks in non-stick bakeware no matter what I've done, even if I use Crisco and powdered Teflon, my baking will split in half.

Second, there's the distraction factor. If I'm cooking, it's an active process. Pans to watch, sauces and pasta to stir, temperatures to monitor. With baking, the prepared dough/batter/whatnot goes in a preheated oven, the timer gets set, and there's nothing to do. This often means I wander off to do something else, like mow the lawn or teach underprivileged kids to yodel, and I end up with baked goods that could have been manufactured by Kingsford.

Finally, there is the experimentation that for an accomplished baker would be child's play. For me, I end up messing up the wet-to-dry ratio, or completely missing that I doubled an ingredient that I already doubled once, and get a wet, sloppy mess that will never set.

Last night I committed sin #1, and despite heartily greasing my mini muffin tins, those damn things wouldn't come free for anything. I overfilled, which meant that I couldn't even get a knife around the sides without popping off the muffin crown. Cornbread, being crumbly like it's wont to do, wasn't cooperating on the properly filled tins, either, so I have two dozen mini-muffin crumbles at home.

Apparently, the road to pot-luck breakfast, running parallel to the road to Hell as it does, is paved with good intentions and muffin crumbs.

Fail.

Dinnertime - Chicken Gremolata

Ever on the quest for quick, simple meals that still qualify as comfort food, this week's recipe brought back memories of the Gasthaus in Waukesha, WI, with their wiener schnitzel. (A la holstein? Yes, please!)

4 skinless, boneless chicken breasts
1 Tbsp flour
2 Cups panko breadcrumbs
butter and oil for frying

Equal measures of:
Flatleaf parsley
garlic
lemon zest

Split the chicken breasts on the flat as though you were going to butterfly them, but you want to end up with two individual cutlets rather than one large piece of chicken. Toss in the flour and then press into the panko.

Over medium-high heat, saute chicken two cutlets at a time in vegetable oil, adding a pat of butter near the end to turn the panko golden. Add to a baking dish in a low (180-degree) oven until finished cooking all chicken. Reserve the pan.

Make your gremolata by finely chopping equal parts flatleaf parsley, garlic and lemon zest. I tried this in the Magic Bullet, not my finest product. Still had to chop everything by hand.

Cook 8 ounces angel hair or other pasta until al dente, then drain and return to pan. Mix in one tablespoon of gremolata and one tablespoon of butter.

Reheat the saute pan and toast the remaining panko. Deglaze the pan with the juice of one lemon and toss with the angel hair. Remove chicken from the oven and plate with angel hair, and sprinkle the chicken with gremolata.

Random Acts of Thursday

I was learning useless things this morning, while eating my lunch at 9:15, one of which is that such lovely sandwiches as the one pictured above (Tankatsu-Sando, or fried pork sandwich) truly exist in the world. Which got me to thinking about umami, the 'fifth taste', or meatiness, and how joyous it is. I get that odd tickle at the back of my throat just looking at this sandwich, memories of frittered pork of days gone by.

Iowa, being the land of all things porky and divine, was home to what was likely the best pork tenderloin sandwich I ever had on a bad road trip. We went to pick up Buttercup in the middle of nowhere, and how can you pass up a tiny roadside restaurant, especially when our friends already insisted they would never again return to Iowa. Good stuff. Good, good stuff. You can see the pictures in my MySpace album, if you're so inclined.

There is, any time I eat such things, a tingling of physical joy in my medulla oblongata that I cannot explain. Like the tickle one gets while swinging on a park swing, right before someone attempts to underdog you and takes a laden swing to the head.

And yes, I had to include a picture of the brain and all of its lovely braininess, just so you could tell exactly where the medulla oblongata resides, not mistaking it for the angular gyrus.

Speaking of the facets of the brain, it's time for your bonus movie quote of the week, since Courtney knocked out Monday's quote in minutes flat and we still have four more days until the next Movie Mania Monday:

I stand on the hill, not for a thrill,
but for the breath of a fresh kill.
Never mind the man who contemplates
doin' away with license plates.
He stands alone, anyhow, bakin' the cookies of discontent
by the heat of the laundromat vent. Leavin' his soul…and partin' the waters of the
medulla oblongata of - -brrrrrr! - -mankind!

Guess away, the prizes are endless and highly envied!

Of course, at mention of the angular gyrus, I'm made to reminisce about another sandwich favorite, and am so glad we found two quite adequate replacements for Yanni's gyros back in Wisconsin. Romano's grates the onions finely, so they're not trailing about when I take my too-big bites.

I was watching Top Chef Masters last night, and the most brilliant concept for a four-course meal was spread before me. A meal based on memories, on those stand-out moments in the culinary lives of these chefs, and I had to look back. What was my first prominent food memory? I remember little of our trip to Colorado in 1975, other than falling in the Cripple Creek while panning gold. I remember our neighbors hosting a pig roast every year, moist, salty crackling pork, with sauerkraut and white potatoes laden with the drippings. I remember my first taste of blood-rare beef, in Quebec City at age 10.

Food really is an adventure for me, I never want to be bored with it, there are so many exciting places to go in this world and when I get there, I want something I can't eat anywhere else.

I'm actually misty (and semi-tumescent) at the thought of these things. What kinds of memories have guided you in life? What first triggered you to do what you wanted to do with your life (or still want to do?)

Oh, and lastly, I must thank Mjenks the Indefatigable for posting the following photo. I wonder if they come in a boy version? I may have to get a pair nonetheless.

Dinnertime - It's not easy being green

Sometimes I worry about my food. Okay, I always worry about the meals I share with you, my faithful reader. I decided that as I look across all the pictures, my meals are surprisingly monochromatic. Yes, many delicious foods are reddish-brown (bacon, for example) but I wanted to think outside the little reddish-brown box. It's important to me, too, that I create meals that you can recreate with minimal effort. I love long, complicated recipes that I can use to challenge myself, but if all I wrote down were those, you'd never believe me when I tell you that anyone can cook.

As such, I bring you Crab in Green Thai Curry. In your blender or food processor, combine:

2 tbsp galangal
1/2 cup basil
1/4 cup flat-leaf parsley
1/2 cup cilantro
1 tbsp coriander seed
1 tbsp green curry paste
1 cup chopped white onion
2 cloves garlic, peeled
1 serrano pepper
1 large tomatillo
1 tbsp fish sauce

Blend until smooth. You may need to add a small amount of water to the blender to get things started.

In a large skillet, add another cup of onion, 1 serrano pepper and another tomatillo, chopped to one tablespoon of vegetable oil. Once soft, break up and add a stalk of lemon grass, and add 1 pound canned crab (four cans). You can certainly splurge and buy the beautiful lump crab, I'm trying to stay on a budget and four ounces of lump crab costs as much as a full pound of the canned, fine flaky crab. I'll save the expensive stuff for crab cakes.

Add the curry sauce, salt and pepper to the skillet and simmer for 10 minutes. Add 8 ounces of coconut milk and the zest and juice of one lime to the pan, and simmer for another five. Remove the lemon grass before serving over steamed jasmine rice, and top with steamed fresh spinach, garnish with green onions.

Makes four servings, I also had the leftovers in an egg-white omelette this morning. Very nice.

Dinnertime - Pollosole

I love my Crock Pot. The joy of putting something together in the morning or night before, and coming home eight hours later to a near-complete meal, is sheer perfection.

Traditionally, posole is a pork stew, and I love pork shoulder in the Crock Pot. However, the posole model seems to hold true no matter what meat is in place, including the last time I had menudo at our favorite Mexican restaurant in Wisconsin. (Our favorite Mexican restaurant, period, is La Playa Bonita, on the east coast of Cozumel. Worth the trip, try the ceviche and margaritas before you have a massage on the beach.)

In your Crock Pot, combine:

1 medium roasting chicken, about three pounds

1 small onion, chopped

2 cups red cabbage, shredded

1 tsp cumin seeds

1 tsp chili powder

1 Tbsp salt

1 16-oz can white hominy, drained

1 8-oz can Ro-Tel tomatoes and peppers

After stewing all day, I removed the chicken to a baking dish and ran it under the broiler for five minutes just to crisp up the skin. I also turned up the Crock Pot with the lid off to let the soup thicken slightly. You can then carve the chicken traditionally and serve it atop the soup, or you can shred the meat and stir it back in for something more refined.

Garnishes are what finish the dish, I love an interactive meal and each diner can flavor the dish to his or her liking.

Chopped green onions or minced white onion

Shredded cabbage

Sliced radishes

Sliced jalapeno

Chopped cilantro

Sour cream

Lime wedges

Warm corn tortillas

This is a healthy meal for four, or would serve eight as a soup course.

Fun Fact Friday - Vendor now or vendor later?

I have an addiction to the carbonated arts, particularly in diet cola form. This has persisted for years, even though I did manage to quit for an arduous three months back in 2006. My co-worker quit smoking at the same time, and NOBODY wanted to work with us.

I like vending machines. They're convenient and impersonal, so nobody can judge your unhealthy choices. Today while buying my third soda of the day, I got to wondering about the original vending machine concept.

Apparently, during the early 1880s, the first commercial coin-operated vending machines were introduced in London, England and dispensed post cards. English publisher and bookshop owner, Richard Carlisle invented a vending machine for selling books, around the same time. I don't like this, personally, because how can you randomly read a few pages to know if you'll like it? And unless there's a coffee-and-pastry machine right next to it, how do I get my full Barnes and Noble experience?

In 1888, the Thomas Adams Gum Company introduced the very first vending machines to the United States. The machines were installed on the elevated subway platforms in New York City and sold Tutti-Fruiti gum. In 1897, the Pulver Manufacturing Company added animated figures to its gum machines as an added attraction. The round candy coated gumball and gumball vending machines were introduced in 1907.

Vending machines soon offered everything including; cigars, postcards, stamps, etc. In Philadelphia, a completely coin-operated restaurant called Horn & Hardart was opened in 1902 and stayed opened until 1962. In the early 1920's, the first automatic vending machines started dispensing sodas into cups. In 1926, an American inventor named William Rowe invented the cigarette vending machine.

Beginning in the 1940's, A company called Vendorlator Manufacturing Company of Fresno California made a series of classic vending machines that mostly sold Coca-Cola and Pepsi.

Of course, I look forward to an eventual trip to Japan, where they have the best vending machines ever. Beer? Don't mind if I do. And while you're down there, could you pick me up some panties and a 25-pound bag of rice? And if you get the chance, you can play the claw game, too.

Dinnertime - Chicken Curry

In case you haven't figured this out by now, I am not a photographer, that's Lori's job. I am only allowed to use a camera if I promise not to pass my shots off as photography. Obviously, I'm not a food stylist, either. I regret the cilantro on the picture above, but since I ate this soon after I took the shot, there wasn't the opportunity for a do-over.

However, when it comes to flavor, this is a winner. Lori and I love the flavors of India, but it gets pricey going out - mainly because I want to order everything on the menu. In fact, given the opportunity, I would have made some paneer saag to go along with this, it's one of my favorites.

Indian food gives me the opportunity to work with a dozen or more ingredients without feeling guilty, since so much good food is simple. However, the layers of flavor in an Indian-style dish cry out for this.

1 star anise
1 shallot or half a small onion
3 cloves garlic
1 Tbsp grated ginger
1 Tbsp curry powder
1 Tbsp red Thai curry paste
large handful fresh cilantro
1 large jalapeno pepper
1 Tbsp coriander seed
1 Tbsp mustard seed
12 oz canned tomatoes or tomato puree

Combine Blend to a smooth puree. If you want less heat, you can seed the jalapeno or even put in half - or you can add a second one for see-through-time heat.

1 Tbsp vegetable oil
4 chicken breasts or 8 thighs, skinless and boneless, chopped
1 red onion, sliced into strips
8 oz plain yogurt

In a large skillet, heat the oil and add chopped chicken. Brown on both sides, then add onion. Once onions are soft, add curry sauce and reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer while you cook rice to accompany the dish. (Did you miss the note about 'see-through-time hot'?)

Just before serving, stir yogurt into the curry and heat through. Serve over rice and accompany with naan or other flatbread.

Makes 4 servings. Enjoy!