Stalin, Milosevic, et. all, will be waiting in hell for you.
Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out
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Monthly Archives: October 2006
KFC ditches trans fat
KFC plans ‘important’ trans fat ‘milestone’.
That’s awesome. I can now return to that fried chicken diet that was all the rage a few years back.
Thai chicken wings
Now that football season is in full swing, it’s time for chicken wings. Actually, any time or occasion is a good time or occasion for chicken wings. Including hockey preseason, the fortnight between Triple Crown of Thoroughbred Racing events, proms, quicieneras, and the occasional bris.
A couple years ago I was invited to a Super Bowl party (Patriots v. Eagles) hosted by one of my wife’s co-workers and her boyfriend. The theme was chicken wings, and apparently it was a contest*. The following is my favorite spicy Thai-style wing recipe – for this event I “kicked it up a notch” (remind me to kill myself for using that phrase) and added a “wet” component, but these wings are plenty flavorful without the final steps. Here are a couple photos of these delicious wings:
*I placed second in the wing contest. However, I was early to the party. And apparently everybody brought their wings raw to be cooked there either in the oven or on the grill. I was not aware of this custom. And so my plated, ready-to-eat wings were quicky devoured by the early party guests. The host’s boyfriend, who I was quite certain was stoned at the time, kept remarking how “fucking” good the wings were as he downed close to a dozen himself. Therefore when balloting happened, many of the party guests DIDN’T EVEN GET A CHANCE TO TASTE MY WINGS and of course did not rate them on the ballot. Thus, I firmly believe I actually won the wing contest. However, since there was no real prize for winning outside of the personal satisfaction of knowing you’ve won, I didn’t contest the results.
Thai chicken wings
- 1 lbs chicken wings
- 6 garlic cloves
- 1 small knob ginger (approx. 2 inches, peeled and sliced in thin sheets ~ 2 tablespoons)
- 2 thin slices of a decent sized, peeled galanga (1 tablespoon?)
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt
- 7 thai bird chilies
- 2 lemon grass stalks, stems and ends trimmed, finely minced
- 2 tablespoon sesame oil
- 1 tablespoon Maggi or soy sauce
- 1 tablespoon fish sauce
- 1 teaspoon ground coriander
- 2 tablespoons honey
- Juice of a lime
Optional Enhancement
- 1/2 cup water
- 1 tablespoon ketchup
- 1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar
- 1 tablespoon honey
In your large stone mortar (What, you don’t have one? Go buy one.) combine garlic, ginger, galanga, chilies and salt. Pound the living shit out of the contents.
Scrape your mash into a large mixing bowl. Add the rest of the ingredients, mix well, and chill overnight or at least 4 hours.
Grill over hoat coals.
2nd place enhancement option. Here’s the extra step for a bootstrapped special flavor upgrade with added presentational flair. This is what I did when I captured 2nd place at the aforementioned Super Bowl party.
Reserve marinade after placing wings on grill. Preheat oven to 500 degrees. Add 1/2 cup water to reserved marinade, 1 tablespoon ketchup, and 1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar, and additional tablespoon honey. Simmer until reduced to a glaze. Toss glaze with wings once they are removed from the grill, spread on sheet pan, and bake for 3-4 minutes. Platter and top with finely diced chives.
Rush Limbaugh
Rush Limbaugh is a fat, disgusting drug addict. He is a hypocrite, an unfortunate scion of pent up rage, unrequited hatred, and inordinate hubris. He is an unscrupulous parasite, one for whom habitual and conscious lying is as natural as breathing or shitting. His soul exists as an empty, vacuous and barren desert. His idea of recreation is to visit an island notorious for barely-teen prostitutes and underage sex slaves, armed to the teeth with erectile dysfunction medication. His heart, if it at all exists, will undoubtedly one day burst from the collective pressures of the following: a miscalculated, sick and uncontrollable anger; a lifestyle of revolting excess; a diet of illicitly gained and powerful prescription drugs; an overwhelming karmic correction. He is a wheezing, decrepit, decaying piece of rotting maggot filth.
That is all.
Dogs are hyper-umami sensationalists.
Probably why my beagle considers cat shit to be foie gras.
Chile salt
When I was in fourth grade, we spent a month in Thailand, including 3 weeks in Bangkok. I distinctly remember the street vendors, sellling grilled meats and soups. My favorite carts, at the time, were the ones that sold green mango with chile salt.
I grew up with chile salt. It was a constant condiment that existed in my kitchen, and even from a young age I enjoyed it regularly. I remember being as young as six, eating fruit with mashed bird chiles and salt, and being derided as a pussy when hyperventilating upon inhaling too much capsicum. You want to stop, but you can’t. My wife also appreciates this fetish-like culinary experience. And she’s totally white.
Chile Salt with Fruit
- 5 thai bird chiles
- Salt
First of all, if you do not have a stone mortar and pestle, stop right here. I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear, but you will need a stone mortar and pestle.
Stem the chiles. Throw them in the mortar. Add enough salt to cover them loosely. Pound the living shit out of the salt and chiles. Serve with under-ripe fruits and stone fruits like green mango, granny smith apples, peaches, apricots, nectarines. The peaches, apricots, and nectarines should be hard as possible. It’s hard to find really hard, under-ripe stone fruits at the supermarket — most of fruit is ripe and slight squishy, i.e. ripe, which is how I understand most of the world enjoys their fruit. Bah.
Too much junk in our trunk
Want to know the REAL reason why we have to start wars in the Middle East that drag on for years and years? It’s because we are so fucking fat.
Why does Krispy Kreme hate America?
“10 Ways to Eat Well”
The Sierra Club has always impressed me with their responsible stewardship on behalf of our planet. Their stated goal is to advocate for the environment, to effect a sea change amongst the vox populi, to exemplify that caring about clean air, clean water and pristine nature leaves a legacy for our children and our children’s children. Their grassroots efforts in terms of education, awareness and enlightenment are commendable; they truly want a better world, and are willing to do what it takes to see their vision take hold. They aren’t simply content to make these tenets appear more mainstream, the Sierra Club’s aim is to make these concepts THE mainstream.
In the November/December issue of Sierra Magazine, the erudite and always insightful Bob Schildgen gifts us with his newest gem, “10 Ways to Eat Well”, a compendium of ten steps each individual can take in order to purposely reclaim your core center from the cultural turpitude that inevitably seeps through to your psyche as a result of this rush hour, drive-through, 24-hour-cable-news society.
Schildgen jumps right into the new “Ten Commandments” of eating green with #1, “Eschew meat-centered meals”…
Okay. Fuck the Sierra Club. You’re a hack, Schildgenfucker. Cold, dead hands, bitches.
An Epicurean Pilgrimage: Meals Worth the Price of a Plane Ticket.
R.W. Apple’s last submission to the NYT before his passing. A man who truly was an epicure nonpareil.
Costco Soup
I like Costco. It is the closest thing to Disneyland for me. There’s just something about buying industrial sized goods and commodities in a staid, grey warehouse that gets my juices flowing. Costco is distinguished by the lack of a refined and crafted branding strategy, bereft of the ostentatious promotional displays and garishness that almost implies a conscious lack of self awareness.
A lot of people don’t like Costco because they claim its practices (packaging, mainly) perpetuate a lot of waste. Many others don’t enjoy the experience of jockeying with the effusive jowl set that habituate the Costco environs. I like it despite all these things, pointing to its wonderful labor practices (it’s the anti-Wal Mart), and how the original owner/founder still collects only $350k/yr in a time when successful CEOs reward themselves with eight (or nine) figure salaries. I’m sure there’s enough dark practices behind the curtain that we plebes are unaware of, but if anyone ever took the time to analyze my dreams I’m sure you’ll also find some evil simmering under the surface.
One time after a Costco run I discovered that during the course of my shopping stupor/hysteria I had purchased, among other things, a chicken, a bunch of asparagus, and a bunch of artichokes. I imagined all of them together — since I don’t really have that great of an imagination — in a soup. Now, Costco ingredients are generally high quality, and quite acceptable to my standards. Their choice meats, for instance, are something I woudn’t be embarrased to eat or serve to people I don’t hate. But they are pretty mainstream – for instance, the roasted chickens are actually from a well-known brand. This isn’t free range fowl, raised on an outpatient rehab center in Sedona, and I can’t confirm the vegetables were grown locally on a sustainable wind farm and irrigated by pygmy horse tears and the reconstituted sweat of a hundred Quakers brimming with an overwhelming sense of immense self-satisfaction. But I can confirm that the place you would buy goods of that sort would not also feature 42″ plasma televisions, steel-belted radials, or a customize-your-own-death series of designer caskets.
Asparagus, Artichoke and Chicken Soup
- 1 $4.99 Costco roasted rotisserie chicken, sold one chicken per package
- 2 carrots
- 2 stalks celery
- 5 sprigs thyme
- 2 bay leaves
- 4 1/2 cups artichoke boil (you’ll see below)
- 1 1/2 pound asparagus, sold in a 2 1/4 pound increment
- 4 artichokes, sold 4 per package
- 1 white onion, chopped
- 2 tablespoons butter
- 2 cloves garlic
- 1/2 teaspoon white pepper
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/2 cup cream or half-n-half
- Salt
Pick apart that chicken carcass, setting aside the meat. You’ll only be using some of the shredded breast portion. Use the rest for sandwiches, salads, ramen, tacos, enchilidas, whatever. It’s your life.
Cut stems off artichokes. Place artichokes into large stockpot and cover with water. Bring to boil and cover and simmer for 45 minutes, and remove from water. Set aside. You’ll actually be using just one artichoke, so save the others and eat when your fancy strikes. I like eating the petals with lime juice, olive oil, and an insane amount of coarse cracked pepper and salt. I grew up eating artichokes with equal parts ketchup and mayo, though, and will return to this when I’m feeling nostalgic (I also watch “Cheers” the same reason).
Trim the asparagus 1/2 inch from the ends, and throw those callous ends away. Then seperate the stalky ends from the green tips (about a bisect). Blanch the green tips in the artichoke water for a couple minutes and shock in ice bath (make sure you don’t dump out the artichoke water, though) and set aside. Once cool, dice into 1/8” segments.
Put the chicken bones (and chicken skin, if you so desire) and raw artichoke stalks into a stock pot with carrots, celery, thyme. Cover with 4 1/2 cups of the water with which you boiled the artichokes. Bring to a boil and simmer for another 45 minutes. Strain, pick out the asparagus stalks(!important) from the bone and vegetable mixture and place into blender.
Peel one artichoke, and remove that hairy toupee. Roughly chop the heart and add to blender.
In a dutch oven, melt butter and sautee onions. Add garlic and sweat for a few minutes. Add to blender.
Puree to a smooth, even consistency. Depending on the size of your blender, you’ll need to do this in batches.
Return blended soup to dutch oven, and heat under medium. Add peppers, salt it to taste (be careful, the chicken has already been seasoned by Costco). Once soup starts to bubble, turn off the heat and whisk in cream.
Ladel the soup, top with diced asparagus tips and shredded chicken. Top with more fresh cracked white pepper.
Vegemite ban
In retaliation, Men at Work cancels stateside reunion tour.
But seriously. I have a jar of Marmite in my cupboard (given to me by Irish in-laws). I wonder what the street value will be once that’s invariably banned as well?
The end of cod
Whither fish and chips. Another byproduct of industrialized fishing, and it’s not like they haven’t tried to police the catch.
The main problem is that although cod catches have been cut to 26,500 tonnes a year, more than twice that amount is being caught in bycatches by fishermen chasing other species such as haddock, whiting, hake and plaice. Fishermen accidentally caught about 50,000 tonnes of cod last year, and have to throw the dead fish back in the sea because it is classed as an illegal catch.
The bycatches are difficult to avoid because cod are bigger than the other fish and no method has been devised to catch the other fish without scooping up cod in the process.
Throwing the dead fish back in the water? Waste upon waste.
Chilean sea bass, cod…the list continues to grow. When will the laboratories be ready with that vat spawned meat?
McCain suicide pledge
McCain jokes about suicide if Democrats win Senate.
Time to get the car running in the garage, St. Dickhead.
Eating out cheaper?
Is Eating Out Cheaper Than Eating In?
Of course not. But it does feature about 800% more fat and butter. Mmmmm. Fat. And butter. [Homer drooling]
Rick Santorum loses it
Would Gandalf stay the course?
Sen. Rick Santorum (R-PA) explains the Iraq war by citing Lord of the Rings: “As the hobbits are going up Mount Doom, the Eye of Mordor is being drawn somewhere else,” Santorum told a newspaper editorial board. “It’s being drawn to Iraq and it’s not being drawn to the U.S. You know what? I want to keep it on Iraq. I don’t want the Eye to come back here to the United States.”
Salt of the earth
Great article at Food Dude’s place about “The Meadow”, a new shop on Mississippi that purveys, among other things, a diverse selection of artisanal, gourmet salts.
“-s”, who runs a great food blog, in comments takes umbrage with the owner’s seemingly “effusive” personality vis a vis his shop’s manifesto.
However, the manifesto pretty much guarantees that I won’t do it there, as I’m not one to do business with someone who thinks that the life that I rather enjoy is sucking the life out of my bones. There’s a fine line between evangelist and a$$hole.
-s – is this the part that put you off?
“I believe a strong relationship with gourmet salt safeguards against the stagnation and turpitude that overtakes us as money, children, and slackening metabolism slowly suck the juice from our bones…”
Very over the top, agreed, but in my case THAT IS PRECISELY MY MALEDICTION. That, and lots of drink, greasy food, and cultural pollution, mainly in the form of television advertising and the soul sucking transference that is the Internets.
The old P.T. Barnum truism invariably applies here, but I readily admit I’m a sucka, AND I love me the salt. I will be there this weekend.
Lamb loin chops
As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to increasingly appreciate lamb. When I was quite young and discovering all the deliciousness that existed in the world of food, lamb was slightly gamey for my virgin tastes. This pretty much all changed when I was seventeen and worked as a server at a spa resort in northeast Tucson. Every 10th day was lamb chop day, and we would serve each nutritionally apportioned lamb entree with 2 frenched rib chops per plate – topped with a herbed dijon “sludge”. Since we would have anywhere from 200-325 guests showing up for dinner on any given day, the kitchen would make enough chops to serve the high end number of potential house covers.
The result is that at the end of the night there were pans and pans of uneaten lamb chops – sometimes enough for a greedy starving teenager to eat as much as a dozen and take a few home as well. I would scape off the sludge, which left behind a subtle dijon and herb essence, and top the chops with low sodium Kikkoman. I did this for 2 years. And this wasn’t only lamb chops either – this applied to nearly everything. The spa was pretty posh and had a clientele of east coast stock brokers and the Hollywood elite. So while the menu was definitely geared towards lean and healthy preparations (we would memorize the calories, fat and sodium stats for every item each shift — they gave us cheat sheets we taped inside of our books), the ingredients were top shelf. In college, although we were broke (and often resorted to scraping together change to attend “silver coin drink night” at the local college binge drink warehouse) my roommate and I often ate lobster tail in our Maruchan and Top Ramen.
There is hardly anything has delicious as the lamb loin chop, which is the T-bone steak of lamb. The only drawback is that the chops I encounter are quite spartan in terms of flesh preponderance. There’s only a few bites of meat you can negotiate with a knife and fork before you pick up the chop and go full on neanderthal on the bone — this act being one of life’s unrivaled joys.
Here’s a quick and simple preparation that doesn’t do too much – you don’t want to mask the loin chop’s natural flavor. It’s almost imperative that you use a cast iron pan to really get a good char – if not grill these on a high flame.
Lamb Loin Chops with Tamari, Black Vinegar, Garlic Chives and Fried Shallots
- 3 lamb loin chops. You could trim the fat, but lamb fat really does taste delicious.
- 1 Tablespoon tamari
- 1 Tablespoon Chinese Black Vinegar
- Kosher salt and coarse cracked pepper
- Fried shallots
- Chopped garlic chives
Pre-heat a cast iron frying pan over medium to medium high heat for five minutes.
Sprinkle both side of the chops with salt and pepper. Sear the chops, about 4-6 minutes per side. Remove and let rest for 3 minutes.
Top with tamari and vinegar. Sprinkle on chives and fried shallots (you can fry the shallots yourself and keep them around – or you can buy pre-fried shallots from an Asian store). Eat.
Uwajimaya
Today I hung out at Pioneer Place at The Apple Store, while a Genius™ diagnosed my recently serviced Macbook to determine why the optical drive decided to crap out and why the laptop for the most part is developmentally disabled. After an hour of observing shiny happy people and being penetrated in every orifice by the Apple brand experience, I decided to reconcile my Chi by visiting the housewares section of Uwajimaya.
In addition to picking up a cute 3″x 2″ tamago omelette pan for $5, I found this elongated, bamboo cutting board for $45.00. It really is quite elegant, about the size of a skate board deck. It is perfect for serving/deconstructing an entire cooked fish, and the form factor really fits into my cutting workflow (i.e. cucumbers, squashes, onions – green and otherwise).
Uwajimaya was running an anniversary special, so everything was 10% off. It was quite a bonus Saturday. I made my rounds and picked up, among other things, a pound of thinly sliced raw pork leg for sukiyaki, mini lemons for .29 cents apiece (they were the size of a lime), nori sheets, frozen chicken and leek dumplings, and two new Korean cup ramen brands I have yet to try. Compared to other Asian markets in the metro area, Uwajimaya’s produce is unparalleled. I picked up beautiful baby bok choy (not the white kind – the pale green kind for which I forgot the name) for .89 a pound.
On the way out, I stopped by the deli and ordered a bowl of ramen. In the case adjancent to the register, I spied a bunch of deep fried, panko-battered treats, and noticed the fried oysters were 99 cents apiece, and realized that I had 2 dollars, so I got a couple.
The ramen – insipid. Came with bbq pork slivers and green onion. I prefer to put this behind me, so I won’t speak of it again. My idea was to put the delightful, impossibly crispy and light fried oysters on top of my ramen and bask in the experience, but I took one bite of the oyster and almost threw up. It was cold as a stick of margarine. They really should disclaim this somehow. Granted, I took them home and crisped them in my toaster oven, and ate the oysters with sweet chili sauce and it was quite good.
Here’s my new mack daddy cutting board.
Hey Apple, fix your shit
And here’s an idea: when it’s sent in for Apple Care service, test your crap before sending it back out. You’ll save your customers a trip to Swan Island and a week without a laptop.
Your asshatery is starting to piss off your customers. If we wanted crap, we would have bought a Dell.
That’s what a hamburger’s all about
jonahshpdx is probably being a bit delusional, but I can’t blame him for his optimism and wishful thinking.
This summer I spent some time in San Diego for a wedding. Two months prior, I was in Las Vegas for the bachelor party, and both times I made sure to hit In-N-Out Burger.
In-N-Out has been around forever, but only exists in a few locales outside of Southern California. They are privately owned and don’t want expansion for the sake of growth – they prefer to have a firm grasp on quality control. As jonahshpdx mentions in his post, this may be changing some time in the future.
A source close to the situation, who requested anonymity because of a confidentiality agreement, told The Daily that the burger chain is besieged daily by investors interested in buying the privately-held company. But a sale, the source said, is unlikely to happen anytime soon…
…But even if In-N-Out remains in the family, the company could decide to move beyond California, Nevada and Arizona, where its 202 restaurants are now concentrated. The chain could also opt to expand faster, as Boyd’s lawsuit alleges Taylor and Martinez secretly plan. In an effort to head off these grumblings, the company released a statement after Snyder’s death pledging to continue to grow at “a moderate and deliberate pace.” The company currently opens 10 to 12 new restaurants every year. But the company, known for its secrecy, has said little else, inevitably leading to speculation from industry observers.
As much as I’d enjoy an In-N-Out here in Portland, I’d prefer it to be on their own terms in order to keep a firm grasp on quality control. Every time I go to In-N-Out and order a Double Double-Animal Style-Mustard/Ketchup Instead, it’s produced perfectly as I imagined. Every time.
The buns come out perfectly toasted each and every time. The menu itself is a lesson in simplicity, efficiency and usability. The secret menu is not just a gimmick, but a ingenius way pimp your burger.
Did you know the employees, with their cute and clever throwback uniforms, are paid $3-XX/hour higher than most other burger joints? When I was in San Diego in the mid-to-late nineties, they would start their employees off at $9/hr, which at the time was almost $4 over minimum wage. That was probably why everyone working there seemed so jovial and easygoing, and took pride in their job. I would sit back after my order and admire them working – I know, it’s kinda creepy, but for me it’s hard to not fetishize about efficiency (which is why I love Ikea).
There would be one guy whose sole purpose was to hand load potatoes – one by one – in a slicer, and yank the lever to force them through the expeller (fresh cut fries – yum). And another guy would empty out the fries into a huge white cotton towel (to soak up the grease), salt, and then toss the fries by holding each end of the towel and shaking. That was his sole responsibility.
Also, what other fast food joint has been immortalized in a Coen brother’s movie?
The old skool marquee. Makes you feel all tingly.
A Double-Double and a single Cheeseburger, both Animal Style-Mustard/Ketchup Instead. With grilled onions, that are nicely browned and carmelized.
Another shot, so you can see the packaging and the fresh cut fries.
Whither Napa Valley
Go North, Young Grapes. The effect of global warming on the world’s vineyards.
This sets up Oregon nicely to be the next Napa or Sonoma. That is, if we’re not killing each other over scant resources in a post-apocalyptic war zone. One can only dream!
Interview with Bourdain
Author/Chef Anthony Bourdain: Five Questions from Eater.com’s Ben Leventhal.
BL: What restaurants and chefs are you excited about right now? Are there any new places you’re eager to try?
TB: I think Grant Achatz at Alinea in Chicago is doing really forward looking, exciting, high quality stuff. But most of the food that pleases me these days is casual, ethnic and free of the pomp and circumstance and potential exhaustion that comes with a fine dining tasting menu.
Yes.
Kinda like Bender, except for cooking
Do androids dream of electric mutton? Chinese cookbot arrives, you are now obsolete.
No word on whether it possesses the necessary sentience for a “no MSG” option when cooking for elderly Jewish matrons.
The story behind aerosol cheese
Mini burger and fries
Amateur Gourmet visits with Calvin Trillin
Living vicariously through The Amateur Gourmet as he goes on a culinary walking tour of NYC with the inestimable Calvin Trillin.
Binh Minh, Phở Kim
On the strength of the recommendations at this thread at PortlandFood.org, this weekend I decided to check out Binh Minh, nee Maxim’s Bakery, over on NE Broadway (just north of I-84). VJ @alt.portland has a good write up on the place.
There’s a consensus that the proprietor lady is notoriously cranky, and I can see how that consensus has been reached. But growing up amongst a cadre of Vietnamese cranks who insist on nagging your every move and decision and whose idea of escalating communicative skills consists of yelling louder in an increasingly annoying pitch, I’m somewhat impervious.
The short story is that the bánh mì here is very good. At $2.50, I got the BBQ pork. The younger lady behind the counter asked if I wanted sliced jalapenos, and of course I did – I think a bánh mì without chilies is like a hot dog without mustard. She toasted the bread with very thin slices of delicious bbq pork – the pork was lean enough (unlike, say, Fubonn, where it is half fat). The carrots were julienned nice and thin, and the entire sandwich was the “flavor bomb” that Mr. Pok Pok eloquently describes at the PortlandFood.org thread. The bread was nice and crusty and french – this is the best bánh mì I’ve had in Portland. I also like how they include an option for more meat for 50 cents — my main quibble is that there’s never enough meat in a bánh mì. If I knew Vietnamese, I would ask for a double double meat, but I am too afraid to confront the lady working the register. When my mom is in town next month I will bring her here so she can communicate for me, and hopefully establish a working baseline from which I can pivot future overstuffed bánh mì experiences.
Walking back to my car, I stopped into Pacific Market to grab a green mango, and ran across a newly minted Phở joint next door — Phở Kim. Their grand opening runs most of this month, and they are offering 15% off all menu offerings. I decided to drop in and perform my Vietnamese litmus test – an order of goi cuon (with nuoc mam instead of hoisin dipping sauce), and a bowl of phở tai.
The goi cuon ($3) was pre-rolled, as the rice paper wrapping was a bit sticky and gummy. The fillings were fresh enough, and the pork and shrimp tasted right (not off), and the pork was lean enough as well. They were somewhat on the smaller side. The nuoc mam came out with just a few slivers of carrot, basically fish sauce cut with a bit of sugar and water, which is how understand the northerners like their dipping sauce (commie rat bastards). I definitely needed to kick it up with a healthy dollop of the fresh chili sauce that is on the tables.
The phở itself was entirely unremarkable. The stock really wasn’t flavorful at all — not bad by any means — just not redolent of the spices and subtle flavors of anise that make for a complex soup. The beef flavor wasn’t pronounced at all – this was very weak stock. The garnish dish came with enough fresh sprouts, basil, and jalapenos, but there was no saw leaf herb. The tables have the usual accoutrements, including the aforementioned chili sauce, a chili flake oil, fish and soy sauces, and grab your own chopsticks and soup spoons.
In reality, I wished I had simply ordered 2 more bánh mì. You’re better off going to one of the Phở Oregon’s that are near enough if you want a better bowl of soup.
I did see a man who I thought was Mr. Pok Pok take a seat as I was leaving – I think he may have had the same Binh Minh -> Phở Kim trajectory I did.
You say potat-oh, I say…oh just S.T.F.U.
Via Off The Broiler, Generic Names for Soft Drinks in America, broken down by county.
I say “soda”, which I guess makes sense seeing as I was raised ostensibly in Arizona and, to a lesser extent, California.
But I guess “pop” is the accepted vernacular here in the northwest. Seems very quaint, almost anachronistic, like “Hey Mary Louise Sue Anne, how about we grab a pop and jump in the jalopy and drive out to the levee and heavy pet?”
Those in the south are fucking brand whore red state corporate cum swallowers, apparently, as they refer to all bubbly drinks as “coke”. Stop drinking the Kool-Aid, man!
Molecular happy hour
Better Drinking Through Chemistry.
Molecular gastronomy as applied to the cocktail. Here’s another drink recipe:
Scotching and Talking
1 eightball of Peruvian flake cocaine
1 1/2 jigger of scotch
Snort the cocaine. Drink the scotch. Lock yourself in a bathroom with a stranger and discuss politics for 3 hours.
The beautiful fruit
Back when I was in college, for a few years I lived with a couple Mexican-American brothers. Let’s call them…Mark and Matt. Because that’s what were their names were.
Mark and Matt had a very large, extended family in Tucson, and sourced much of their food and methods from their nanas and nonas or whatever they called them. It wasn’t uncommon for them to show up with a half-dozen, huge ziplock bags of roasted and peeled chilies that we would freeze and eat over the course of a few weeks.
On top of the fridge there was usually a stack of fresh tortillas from the local, handmade tortilla purveyor — large as pizzas, made with delicious lard. You could eat these plain.
And there was constantly a crock pot full of seasoned pintos on a low simmer in the kitchen – something I could always count on after the bars closed. Being in college, this was a great way to stretch your food dollar – raw pintos, bought in bulk. I remember Matt, buzzed from cheap domestic beer and a few pulls from the tube, sitting in front of the coffee table, sifting through individual beans for rocks and assorted detritus while listening to the Jerky Boys. Yeoman’s work.
Now that I’m gainfully employed and able to set my sights on more highbrow culinary goals, I still go back to the food of peasants. There’s simply nothing more satisfying than eating how most of the world eats, using cheap, plentiful ingredients, carefully prepared with time and precision. And a pot of slow cooked pinto beans is still a (personal) crowd favorite.
Pinto Beans
- 1 pound of pinto beans
Cover the beans in water, after you’ve picked through them to make sure there isn’t a rock or a hypodermic needle or anything you don’t want to swallow. Soak overnight. I recently bought Rick Bayless’ Mexican Everyday and he says most Mexican cooks do not soak their beans, but rather use lots of water and up the cooking times to 3 to 4 hours. You can do that as well. I’m not a fascist.
After soaking overnight, drain the beans. Put them in a pot big enough to hold them. If you couldn’t figure that part out, stop right here.
Cover the beans with water. The water should be an inch or so over the tops of the beans.
Add the following:
- 1 white onion, quartered
- 1 jalapeno, sliced (not lengthwise. or lengthwise)
- 1 or 2 dried chili (gaujillo, pasilla, anaheim, new mexico, etc.) — depithed and torn into a pieces (some seeds are OK!)
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
- 1 tablespoon coarse ground pepper (I like a lot. Your situation may call for less pepper — I don’t know you.)
- Optional – Few “sprigs” of epazote1
Mix well, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, and simmer for an hour and a half or two, stirring occasionally (you could use a crockpot if you are so inclined). Once the beans are tender and are starting to lose their individual shape, salt the beans to taste.
Then take out your potato masher, and do a rough mash. The idea here is to sort of mash some of the beans, and the others not so much. The final consistency should just begin to start to resemble a porridge of sorts.
You’re done! Enjoy the beans as a side dish with ribs or meat, in tacos, or, like here, on a delicious, completely vegan tostado, topped with Bufalo Jalapeno sauce, salsa verda, avocado, and shredded lettuce.
This is like only one of the few times I ever eat vegan!
1Epazote is a Mexican herb that adds a subtle background noise. Mexican cooks often add it to slow-cooked beans, I’m told, to temper the legendary flatulent side effects of eating beans. But if you’re like me and enjoy ripping one, then this benefit is somewhat marginal.
Shroom fest at New Seasons
If you’re a mushroom lover like me, you’ll want to check out New Seasons this weekend. Their expo this week is devoted to the fungus, and this week’s flyer promises each store will feature Shitake, Crimini, Agaricus (nee white button), Portabella, Wild Lobster, Chanterelles, Black Oyster, Alba Clamshell(?) and Trumpets.
New Seasons demos run from 11am to 5pm on both weekend days.
According to flyer (“Did You Know?”), the largest living organism ever found is the honey mushroom — called Armillaria ostoyae. It was discovered here in Oregon in the Blue Mountains, covers 3.4 square miles and is still alive and growing. It is an estimated 2,400 years old.
If you could make a risotto out of it you could cure world hunger.
Legendary NYT writer R.W. Apple passes away
One of the greats. More about Apple here.