blaugra

Too much pork for just one fork!

Poor Salty D.  He's in bed with the swine flu.  Nah, I think it's just a cold. But it got me thinking, what am I gonna do with this chunk of pork tenderloin I have to cook up?

Peachy Pork Picante

I grabbed this recipe from somewhere who knows- but I think it was credited to a Four Ingredient Recipe cookbook or site. 

I had a jar of Peach Velvet jam in the pantry, a souvenir from one of my mother's trips down south.  What the hell do I do with it?  So this recipe was perfect:

1. Pork cubes (about 1 pound), covered with
2. a packet of magical mystery taco seasoning, and

3. browned in a frying pan,

4. then mixed with a small jar of peach preserves and a cup or more of salsa.

Simmer for 10.  Really good.

Then I scoured the refrigerator and pantry for more things to throw at the other pound of pork. I came up with:

• a tiny little Barbie-sized bag of green chile seasoning (a souvenir from my parents' most recent trip to New Mexico)
• the last of a bag of frozen chopped onions which I bought by mistake, thinking they were peppers or peas, WTF
• a can of Ro-Tel diced tomatoes with green chiles
• an extra shmear of taco seasoning from above recipe
• a can of pink beans.  Frijoles Rosadas.  Sounds so pretty.
• a half-bottle of Bloody Mary mix, "Bold & Spicy" left in fridge after last month's visit from a bloody-mary-loving friend who apparently drank a few of them.

I think the Bloody Mary mixer was the key ingredient, for there's a touch of molasses in it to give the porky concoction a bit of sweetness.

This cooking was more fun than watching American Idol, even though I'm happy with the outcome.

Tips!

Over the last couple of weeks, I've been subjected to a wide range of service quality in restaurants.  Suprisingly, some bad waiters in southern California.  I expect poor service in my home area, but in a west coast city with lots of restaurants, I was surprised at how bad the service was in the "nicer" restaurants.  

So my friends and family have been talking a lot lately about the amount to tip your waitstaff. 

Usually it's 15-18% for decent service, 20% for great service, right? 

If service sucks, we do 10% or less. 

But this formula isn't always fair because you can have really really terrific service at a place with really cheap food, and you can sit at a table for a long time, then, what, you're only going to leave 20% of a $10 bill?  In those cases, following the percentage rule, I'd overtip.  Why penalize them for working their ass off at a cheap restaurant?

And if service at an expensive restaurant is godawful, why leave even 10 bucks of your hard-earned money when the waitperson delivered only half of your entrees and then disappeared, leaving you with a burning mouth from spicy food and no water refills?

Basically, when I'm at a table, it's a given that I'll tip 18%.  The number will go up or down from there.

Points are deducted for:

• Ignoring requests for water or bread
• Blaming the kitchen for any fuckups
• Taking away the salad or appetizer plates, removing my used fork from the plate and placing it on the table for the main course, instead of bringing me a clean fork
• Clearing dishes from the table when people are still eating
• Telling me about your personal problems
• Checking in every three minutes and being over-solicitous

TRUE STORY!  I actually overtipped a guy at a pizza place yesterday who had absolutely no personality.  A big zero. He sauntered up to the table, took our order, brought the food, fulfilled every request, without an ounce of enthusiasm.  He didn't speak except to say, "Ready to order?" and "Pepsi refill?" 

But he didn't have any annoying personality, or a corporate shtick, he wasn't frazzled, he didn't say, "Enjoy!" *   No, "Hi!  I'm John and I'll be taking care of you tonight!  And how are you this evening?  Would you like one of our featured half-price Cheesy-Fried-Riblet appetizers to start off with?"

It was very refreshing.  He deserved every penny.

* I say "enjoy!" when I'm serving food.  I'm not sure why.  I think it's just a way to try to overcome awkwardness.  I guess I really don't need to say anything.  Hmm.  Thoughts on that? *

Also, another story - one time I was serving 7 people crowded around a low table built for 4, and in order to get them their (hot) drinks and utensils, I had to say, "Excuse me..." and bend over their chairs to reach the table, which is really hard to do gracefully and without boobs getting in the way or dropping the tray, and there wasn't enough room for me to do a bunny dip, and I accidentally bumped this one geeky guy because he didn't get out of the way, and I think I did that twice, and apologized, and he totally gave me a dirty look, rolled his eyes and brushed off the part of his body that I had touched as if I had cooties.  I should have rubbed his coffee spoon in my armpit before I served him.  He didn't tip, either. Thoughts on that? 

 

Margarita Monday is no way to start a productive week.

I used to thrive on Margarita Mondays (a term I use for drinking tequila anywhere I wanted on a Monday night) when I worked in publishing/advertising to cure my "case of the mondays."  That was then, this is now.

I met this celebrity author at my friends' bookshop last evening.  Lemme tell ya, I wouldn't have recognized her. Ms. Sandra Lee was wearing glasses, with her hair up in a clip, and casual clothes.  It actually made me feel better. Or like I wish I had a stylist and photo editor of my own, just for fun. She was down-to- earth and remembered my name all through the night (I was working the event.) very impressive.

Cuervo is sponsoring the book tour.  Yeah.  Oh,  I should be more enthused because it was really good in the moment!  They brought their pre-made margarita that is delicious straight from the bottle.  No mixing, no shaking, and it wasn't too gaggy sweet.  I guess the sponsorship worked because I'm a new fan.  After drinking it for a few hours while working the door. 

A little groggy this morning,  I went to my favorite Wawa, an old small store that I hope never gets replaced by a substandard Quick-E-Mart.  Their coffee is some of the best in town and I love the staff.

Tall funny guy at the register, always has a little flair, asked me, "And how are you doing this morning?"

"Pretty good," I mustered.  "How are you?"  Like I cared at that moment - just a reflex.

"I'M SUPER!!"  he exclaimed.  "Better than YOU!!"

Love the honesty.

Adventures with Gigantor

It was Friday evening and Salty D. was laying on the couch watching a CSI rerun waiting for me to come home and cook dinner.  Well, that wasn't gonna happen, so we made a spontaneous decision to go to a new steakhouse in the area.  We called and said we'd be there in 20 minutes. 

Pomegranate martini sloshing around in waving hand, I made an attempt to be adventurous, and ordered the raw oyster appetizer for us to share.

"Ew.  I don't like raw oysters."  D. said. 

"What?  We've eaten oysters before, come on!"  I replied.

"Those were poached.  I don't  know if I can eat more than one or two raw oysters." 

That's OK, I said, I'll eat four oysters, you'll eat two.  I remembered the really good, shucked-before-your-eyes oysters I ate in Georgia with hot sauce.

At this place, you have two waiters, a primary who does most of the talking and an assistant.  Plus the clearing people and the roving manager.  So there are a lot of people watching you eat and checking in and asking the appropriate scripted questions, and shining a little flashlight on the cow meat so you can see for sure if it has the right amount of cooked-ness.

We were naturally seated next to the kitchen, which happens more often than not, so it's become a joke between us.   But the kitchen vapors that were hanging around our table were a steamy mix of old meat and dishwashing cleanser.  Barfy. 

Back to the oysters.  Six briney Cape Cod oysters showed up with some vodka dipping sauce.  They were all "normal" slurpy-shot sized except for one of them which was supersized oyster on steroids.  D. immediately said he wasn't gonna touch that one.   I said, come on, we're going to New Orleans in a few months, don't you want to get psyched for oysters?  He was like, yeah, FRIED oysters, hello!

I got to Gigantor oyster last. It was the size of my foot.  How the hell was I gonna eat this thing?  I poured as much vodka sauce as I could on Gigantor and decided I would just throw it back like a big shot.   I tried that.  But half of Gigantor was sliding down my esophogus and half was still in my mouth.  Uh-oh.   I turned my head and tried to choke it down, but Gigantor wasn't goin' without a fight.   I tried to chew it.  That was a mistake.  I started really gagging and turned my head away, as delicately as possible, with my napkin poised to catch Gigantor if it flew out. 

I heard D. laughing as I was convulsing with disgust.   Finally, with tears rolling out of my eyes, I turned back to the table, having vanquished Gigantor.   Waitress #2 had been standing next to D., at the ready, waiting to take the plate away, watching me heave. And D. was laughing his ass off.  NICE.  I had been trying to avoid a totally embarassing moment and that didn't play out at all.

"How were your oysters?"  she asked.  What a ridiculous question, since you just witnessed me struggling with Gigantor.

So I gave a ridiculous answer. "GREAT.  I REALLY ENJOYED them, especially the giant one." I said, wiping the tears away and trying to compose myself.  I'm sure she stored that little gem in her Book of Funny Customer Stories.  I would have, anyway.

"That was not very aphrodisiac," D. said.        

 

Hello, Dalai!

We're all ready for HHTDL to stop by our town and bless this mess.  To capitalize upon The Dalai's visit, the coffeeshop is offering up a limited-time-only drink special:  The Dalai Latte.  Sweet, sweet Himalayan happiness.  You won't get this at a Starchucks. 

Wanna make your own?  Here's the proprietary recipe:

Equal parts chai tea and milk of your choice, lightly steamed, + 2 teaspoons white chocolate syrup, 1 little teaspoon peppermint syrup, then pour into a tall glass full of coffee-ice-cubes, stir gently + whipped cream on top + sprinkle of ground nutmeg.

Blissful nirvana.  Oh wait, wrong religion.

It's way too complicated to make yourself. Come to the coffeeshop (you know the one) and ask for some icy enlightenment in a cup.

Another epiphany

You know how food journaling is supposed to be the best way to get healthy and lose weight?  You write down what you eat and exactly how much and when..... SNORE! I can think of nothing boring-er.  But I've done it numerous times.

Have you ever falsified your food journal?   You wrote "1 cup granola" instead of "3.5 cups granola, honey, milk, brown sugar and french fries?"  Me neither.

I did a food journal once and was brutally honest.  I made a dedicated effort to eat more fruits and vegetables.  This was on a work-encouraged program, so I took it very seriously, like I was getting paid to do it. Twice a month, we turned our journals in to the company nutritionist, who would review them. 

She called me into her office.  "Apples? Oranges? Grapes! BANANAS!?  You really need to incorporate more variety into your fruit palette."  Like what? I asked her. What the hell is wrong with apples now? 

She said, "Eat mangoes, melons, kiwis, tangerines!"  Like tangerines are so different in their chemical makeup from oranges.  Bitch.  It's not easy to eat a fresh mango for breakfast what with that wacky pit and all.  And kiwi seeds get stuck in my teeth.  And TRY EATING MELON IN THE CAR.

For years after that conversation I felt guilty if I ate too many apples, and what's worse, I felt ordinary.  If I couldn't be exotic in the fruit market, how will I ever survive?  How will I ever be truly, spiritually nourished by all the colorful fruits that the earth has to offer. Or that can be shipped to my local supermarket from tropical locations.  These days I feel triumphant if I remember to eat an apple a day.

I saw Baby Mama today, which was, well, if it weren't for the pretty pair of Tina and Amy plus Romany Malco, kinda lame. 

Tina's character was trying to get Amy's character to eat healthier to nourish the fetus.  And Amy gagged at the thought of cold organic split pea soup, organic juices and vegetables. She said, "I never eat that shit, that's for rich people who feel guilty."

So. I'VE DECIDED I'm no longer going to feel guilty for eating ordinary, less expensive, non-organic apples.  There.

Panko is the new Chipotle

Remember back in the day when suddenly wasabi-smashed potatoes accompanied every entree at your local trendy restaurant?

And then everything started showing up on the menu with chipotle-mayo, or roasted tomato chipotle dipping sauce with chipotle-glazed salmon.

Now it seems to me that panko has hit critical mass.  Panko-seared goat cheese, panko-crusted cod, calamari cooked panko-style - enough already.  It's bread crumbs.  These are fried foods. I know panko crumbs are lighter and crunchier than regular bread crumbs with seafood.   But it's breaded fish or cheese or whatever, you don't have to build a freakin' menu around panko. 

I mean, what are diners saying, "Hmmm...normally I eschew breaded halibut, but this one is rolled in panko?  I must have it!" 

Some foods combine all of the above flavor trends - like, Southwestern Roll = chipotle glazed shrimp encrusted with panko and wrapped with jasmine rice and black sesame seeds and drizzled with wasabi sauce with a chipotle remoulade on the side.  I just made it up but I'm sure it's on a menu somewhere. 

Oh, and any recommendations for books on food trends through the years?  I love old cookbooks that treat Dijon mustard like an exotic ingredient.

I love to eat. Gimme more.

This is one of those posts that everyone says not to do.  I don't care.  Most of the time I'm hungry, gawddammit, and this is what I really want to eat right now:

1. Stacy's Pita Chips (Simply Naked - ooh la la)
2. Sabra Hummus  if you can't make your own, this is the best - markets in my area are finally stocking it!
3. Dried cherries - Where have you been all my life?
4. Fage yogurt - and why am I so excited about Greek strained yogurt?  OMG it's TDF
5. Weetabix - It's a biscuit!  It's a porridge!  It's brilliant!  It's the tofu of cereals!
6. Frozen cauliflower - I never liked cauliflower until recently, and whoever thought to freeze cauliflower is a freakin genius.  A bag of pure white florets with olive oil, prosciutto, garlic and pasta is a delicious feast.  Then again, I could cook up dirty old shoelaces with olive oil and prosciutto and I would say the same thing.
7. Mangosteen - Has the western world recently discovered this product of the Muluku Islands (wherever they are?) and why is it suddenly in everything?   Like my favorite Honest Ade - organic and orangey and full of mangosteen!

I'm happy (fancy that!) because I no longer pick up a box of Entenmann's crumb donuts and stare at them longingly, leaking drool upon the plasticine, and I only have a frosted pop tart once every couple of months.  I'd much rather have foods that have stuff besides sugar and blasted-on flavors. So, this is progress, even if it is covered in prosciutto schnibblings, right?  I'm actually craving beets now.  Have I turned into some kind of freak??

So, do you have any good foods to recommend, that you're loving right now? 

flantastic!

Friday night and as usual neither Salty D. nor I had any major direction as to where to take our end-of-the-week appetites.  I was on an after-work shopping binge at Target so I was kinda late in getting home.

Yeah, I needed a new mop and new umbrella, and, um, an Isaac Mizrahi dress because he's leaving Target so it could be his final collection (I'll probably return it after seeing it in the light of day)...

So by the time I returned home from retail magic-land, I was starving.  We ended up back at the mediocre restaurant in suburbia because it was easy and D. wanted veal.  The veal was, I suppose (because I don't eat veal, and not for any moral reasons, I just don't like the taste because few restaurants do it well) originally a baby cow who had run away from her little cage to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, totally got trashed on hurricanes, then came back to her farm all sheepish or cowish and snuck back into her cage just in time to be slaughtered to get onto Salty D's plate, because he said it was veal gone bad.  Worst ever.

And we had as a waiter this guy who is always working there who waits on tables in order to pay for his membership and supplements at Gold's Gym.  He's the waiter who is casual and friendly, "Hey there folks, you ready to order?"  yet never makes direct eye contact, always looking around the restaurant at other things going on.  Is he waiting for a hottie to walk in the door?  Keep on waiting. 

D. asked for the dessert tray again.  I stage-whispered to him "Whatever you do, DON'T get the carrot cake!  Or any of the cakes, because they taste like freezer-burned cardboard!"  So on the tray was flan.  D. asked, "Is the flan made here?"  Yes, said Golden Boy.  So D. got that.  We knew there were Mexicans hidden in the kitchen so he figured the flan had to be good.

It wasn't the best flan ever.  That honor would be held by a friend of ours who hails from Cuba.  Her flan is smooth and perfectly sweetened.  This flan was a little clumpy. 

Golden Boy came back to our table, "How's that flan?"  Good.  "What is flan, anyway?"  D. described it to him, like a custard, with sugary syrup.  Golden Boy wrinkled up his face, his vapid blue eyes trying to imagine what something that was not a chicken caesar salad would taste like.  "Oh. Is it from Spain?"  Yes.  "Yeah, I think I learned about it in my college Spanish class.  Maybe I should try it sometime?"  OK, I'll give him props for being honest.

D. loves the flan.  He said, "Maybe we need to buy some flan from the Flan Pushers next time they're out in force." 

old new york report

Except for the fact that at the last minute I decided my high heeled booties were not a smart fashion choice, the picture below is EXACTLY what we looked like in the city.   Since I was not wearing the heels, I was basically tripping and falling because I was drunk.   

I drank one at the Flatiron Lounge.  The theme of the night was old style new york and this place fit the expensive bill.  I had some concoction of muddled stawberries, tequila, something else, and rose champagne.  Knocked me on my ass.  Salty D. kept with the theme and ordered a Knickerbocker.

Lil' Kenny had the Pink Lady.

Despite the high prices, I really dug the fancy lighting and yummy cocktail menu.

We hit the bar at Keens Chophouse.  I had been there once before but I don't remember it.  If you love single malt whisky, you must visit.   I don't love it, but some in my party do. 

I know this sounds odd, but the crudite plate was AWESOME.  I swear, the best carrots God ever invented.   

Lil' Kenny and I decided to split the famous mutton chop.   I was just happy he was ingesting calories from food as well as liquor.  Kid needs to freakin' eat.  We decided that mutton, we're over you.  Once was enough and it was the best place to eat the sheep.  Baaaaaaa

For dessert, I asked the waiter if the Berry Bibble was a drink, and he was like, "no, you lush. it's like berries and cream."  to which I replied, "Well then, I must have it."  It was yummy stewed cherries and raspberries with creme fraiche on the top.

Lil' Kenny at this point in time is single and I believe he needs a girlfriend. Any interested parties, let me know.  He is dimunitive but very smart and funny.  The reason I believe he needs a girlfriend is because I wrote something on a piece of Keens notepaper that they provide on each table, and he was marvelling at my penmanship.  So he had me writing things all night and I do believe he was getting oddly turned on by my script.   Clearly, man needs a lady in his life.  And girls, lemme tell you, he treats women like pure gold.  Even other men's women. 

Since you've read this far, I'll give you a piece of travel advice.  When you leave the city after 11:00, you may want to eschew the Holland Tunnel for the Lincoln, for there is a DWI checkpoint right outside of the Holland on a regular basis.  Even if you haven't been drinking, it's a pain in the ass traffic jam.  Of course, the tunnel itself then is awesome so I guess it's good traffic flow control.

I will leave you with this little skit.

New York's Finest:  Good evening, have you been drinking tonight?

Salty D., chewing fresh piece of Eclipse:  No.  [Lie.  But that's what you answer no matter what.]

New York's Finest:  Alright, thank you. Don't drink and drive.

D:   Thank you.

New York's Finest:  You can go through this red light, just don't hit no people.