Winging It.

Before I begin, I would like to make a bold statement: never again will I have a brilliant writing concept as I'm falling asleep and assume I will recall it the next day. I would like to tell you all right here and now that forever forward I will keep an adorable little notebook and a nice pen on my person at all times. Even in bed. Especially in bed.

That said, I promise this will still be just as great as my brain flower seemed last night, while half asleep and a few glasses of wine down the hatch.

I know this because I want to talk about wings. And, really, who doesn't like wings?

Actually, for the better part of my possible wing-eating adult life, I have been slightly repulsed by them. Wing consumption can appear a little desperate, a little cannibalistic, hands in face, both covered in cloying, sticky sauce, gnawing away at that tiny little bit of meat. I found the meat-to-bone ratio unnerving.

But I've been sheltered. I have not been around wings much. Wings are usually served in bars. To be specific, wings are usually served in bars with beer and sports and boys in baseball hats. And while I am a fan of sports and boys and baseball hats (though not necessarily together), you won't often find me with a beer in my hand. I am a wine drinker through and through. And the bars I just mentioned, often at these bars, when I ask what sort of wine they serve I hear, “Both kinds. Red and white.”

Call it lack of exposure, call it association, but you can clearly see why I'm not a wingophile. But a few, perhaps six or so, years ago, my then boyfriend (who always wore a baseball hat, followed sports (if they were New York teams) and drank beer in the appropriate bars with others like him)) noticed a blurb about wings in an issue of Saveur I was reading. The recipewas the original from the Anchor Bar in Buffalo, New York. He was very into all things New York, being from Jersey himself. And so he tore the page out, shopped for the ingredients, including some ubiquitous and authentic cayenne pepper sauce, and made a batch of Buffalo wings that, to him, tasted like 'home.' I think he may have even smiled.

And you know what? More importantly, I liked them just fine. Even better, I secretly basked in the carnivorous, sloppy-faced, blue cheese dressing soaked process of it all. But I still paired mine with wine. A crisp white, I believe.

He made the wings once or twice more before our relationship ended. Funny thing, when he moved out, I'm almost positive he took that hot sauce-stained-ripped-out magazine page with him - and not a whole lot else.

In the years since, I've had very few wings. Until now.

It's summer, and Fred (who rarely wears baseball hats or goes to bars, but does enjoy his sports) not New York teams, however)) is back in full-on grill mode. And, in addition to all of the steaks, pork tenderloins, salmon, veggies, brick chickens, shisito peppers, and the like, Fred has been grilling wings.  A lot. About five or six times, now. Each time he has riffed and each time he has done something slightly different, be it in the marinade, the dipping sauce or the garnish. But every single time, with my sticky fingers and my smiling face, messy like a five year-old playing in the mud, I look down at my plate of carnage, my mountain of tiny, little chicken bones, and the cloth napkin, so dotted with sauce it resembles a Pollock painting, and exclaim how much I absolutely love wings. With a crisp, white wine, of course. I'm not an animal.

And I always want at least one more.

So, after all of this, I still don't remember what my brilliant, masterpiece brain flower was from last night. But I do remember I was thinking about the concept of 'winging it', and that I thought I had some extraordinary watershed concept with regard to that phrase. And, I suppose since it had dissapeared completely by the time I opened my eyes this morning, in writing this today, I did in fact, 'wing it'.

But I'm still keeping an adorable little notebook and a nice pen next to my bed from now on.

BBQ Buffalo Wings with Avocado-Ranch Dip

Serves 2-6, depending on your appetite.

Wings:

3 pounds chicken wings

Salt

2 Tbsp vegetable oil

Marinade:

1/2 cup unsalted butter

½ cup Frank's Red Hot Original Cayenne Pepper Sauce

2 tablespoons Texas Pete's, Tabasco or hot sauce of your preference

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon brown sugar

1 teaspoon honey

1 teaspoon black pepper

To make the sauce, mix all of the ingredients together in a small pot set over low heat and stir constantly until the butter melts. Once the butter melts, whisk the sauce vigorously off the heat and set aside. It should remain liquid throughout the cooking process. If it starts to solidify, heat it up just enough to melt it, whisking all the time. You don't want this sauce to boil.

Toss the wings with the vegetable oil and the salt, and arrange in one layer on the grill set over low heat. If you are using charcoal or wood, it will be very difficult to do this, so set your fire on one side of the grill and arrange the wings on the other side, away from the direct heat. You want them to cook slowly, with little or no sizzle. Cover the grill and cook like this for 30 minutes.

Turn the wings and paint with the sauce. Close the grill and cook for another 30 minutes. Repeat the process, until the wings are done to your liking, this time painting the wings every 15 minutes or so. Make sure you have a little leftover sauce to toss the wings with at the end and serve with the avocado-ranch dipping sauce.

Avocado-Ranch Dipping Sauce:

1 ripe avocado, halved and pitted

1/2 cup buttermilk

1/4 cup mayonnaise

1 tablespoon diced red onion

1 tablespoon chopped cilantro

1 clove of garlic

1 teaspoon fresh lime juice

1/2 teaspoon hot sauce (like Tabasco)

1/2 teaspoon sugar

salt & pepper to taste

Place the avocado in a food processor and add hot sauce and lime juice. Set the food processor to puree or high, and puree the avocado for 30 seconds or until it is a smooth paste.

Lift the lid from the food processor and to the avocado add buttermilk, mayonnaise, red onion, cilantro, garlic, sugar, and 1 pinch each of salt and pepper.

Replace the lid on the food processor and pulse the ingredients 5 or 6 times for about 15 seconds each time until all the ingredients are thoroughly combined. It may need a few more pulses if the garlic is not chopped finely enough.

Check the dressing for salt and pepper and adjust if required. You can add a bit more hot sauce at this point as well, if you want it a bit spicier.

Refrigerate until ready to use.

Printable recipe.

Two years ago: Yerp: Part 6. Barthelona (Part 2), THE HAMOVER.

Four years ago: Vichyssoise

BBQ Turkey Tails with Hoisin Sesame Glaze

if pigs could fly this would be the

PORK BELLY BITE OF THE BIRD.

"the last thing over the fence is the best bite of the bird"

TRUST ME !!!

this is not anything like the semi tough roasted turkey tail from your Thanksgiving Turkey.

IT IS FAR BEYOND.

you must try a turkey tail...

BUT it must be properly cooked.

i have posted about these before, but i feel i have not done the "tail" justice.  after quite a few years of cooking and sharing the turkey tail experience with any willing participant, i thought i better post again to get the message out there and add a few more de-tails...har har har

IN A NUT SHELL...

the goal is to simmer the tails in some good flavorful homemade stock for about 2 1/2 to 4 hours, until very fork tender.  then marinade them over night and BBQ them the next day with a nice char on the fatty bits smothered in a savory finger licking glaze.

HOW TO COOK, BBQ and EAT TURKEY TAILS

FIRST YOU'LL NEED...

12-15 turkey tails, as many as you can find !

chicken stock (see-NOTE), enough to fill pot and simmer your chosen amount of tails

1 big Tsp Mexican oregano

1 tsp cumin

1 tsp chili powder

1 onion quartered

4-6 smashed cloves of garlic

put every thing into a large stock pot.  bring to a boil and then to a simmer for about 2 1/2 to 4 hours, depending on the size and amount of tails.  sometimes i let mine go for the full 4 hours.  they are hard to ruin, but must be cooked until tender.

remove from heat.  remove tails from broth.  strain broth and save for yummy viscous stock.

NOTE...i save my roasted "Costco" chicken carcasses in the freezer for this event.  i throw everything in even if it's frozen, add a little water, aromatics and slowly heat it to a boil, then lower to a simmer.  the stock you end up with will be rich, viscous and delicious.

AFTER THE FIRST COOKING YOU'LL NEED...

"Soy Vay" Hoisin Garlic Sauce (or marinade/sauce/glaze of choice)

a sprinkle of cumin, chili powder and salt

sesame oil

sesame seeds (after grill)

chili garlic sauce and pickled ginger to serve.

YES...those little holes are where the big turkey feathers sprout from.  occasionally the tail has not been cleaned of every single feather and you might find a "nib" or two that you'll need to manually pull out (after braising, before grilling).  run your finger along the edges of the tails and check for any feather follicles that were left "behind" (PARDON THE PUN!) in the plucking.  you will feel any imperfections.  they should slip out.  it's kinda weird.  place warm tails in a tupperware ( i guess a ziplock baggie would work) and sprinkle with cumin, chili powder and a little salt.  put in fridge uncovered until chilled, then cover for over night marinade.(see photos below)

GRILLING...

now...this goes against grilling rules, BUT it's okay to put these on the grill straight out of the fridge.  it will even help keep them together.  they will warm through by the time you are done.  make sure your grill is clean and lightly greased.  fatty things with skin tend to stick.  put some more sauce on and try to continue putting sauce on as you grill to get a good sticky glaze going.  you want to sear both sides and occasionally stand the tails on end.  with long tongs, hold on and try to sear the fatty sides.  you can even lean them up against each other.  if you're a "griller", i don't need to tell you what your doing...right?

HOW TO EAT A TURKEY TAIL?...

above is an example of what you'll find.  there is quite a large tail bone that runs right through dividing the two unctuous nuggets.  if thoroughly cooked the two nuggets should separate from the bone very easily.

NOTE...please please don't be afraid of the fat....

think pork belly with wings.

eat one whole side in a single bite...like a big juicy meatball.  don't be timid.  just go for it.  for first timers, you can separate the nuggets from the bone.  the odd vertebrae might be a little scary for some.  for the less timid...hold the tail from tip to end and bite the whole side off...then, of course, suck the bone and ask for another!

ENJOY !

BELOW IS A JUST LITTLE VISUAL AID

the tails should be done in about 2 1/2 to 4 hours depending on the size.  give them the fork test.  the end vertebrae should easily pull off.  this batch was simmering for about 4 hours.  i doubt you can hurt them, so longer is better on a slow simmer.

put the warm cooked tails into a tupperware.  season with some dry ingredients and slather on some sauce (while they are warm).  let come to room temp and refrigerate over night.

above is a quick photo of my tails ready to go into the fridge and all the delicious stock.  this stock was so deep and rich. it was almost like a demi glace when done.  the tails definitely add to the viscosity of the stock, much like when grandma used to add in the chicken feet.

Jason Shaw

I started seeing Jason Shaw about seven or so years ago. I had a client up on Kings Road, just a few houses down from where Paris Hilton was living at the time. I had a somewhat unusual (unhealthy?) fixation with Paris Hilton. I thought she was kind of brilliant in an Emperor’s New Clothes kind of way. I never thought she was a mastermind, mind you, but I applauded her unwitting ability to turn her foibles into farce for her hungry public. She, again unwittingly, showed us our own reflection as gossip-hungry imbeciles. She was exactly what Hollywood is. And I, albeit self-reflexively, ate her every move right up.

Oh and she, very briefly, and pre-sex tape, pre-nipple/crotch slip(s), dated Jason Shaw who was a model slash actor at one time. And I happen to know this because, as I said, I was for Paris Hilton what bazillions of pre-nubile tweens are for Justin Bieber. If she was on a Trapper Keeper or a lunchbox, and I was like thirteen years old, I so would have had to have it. Move over Holly Hobbie (I actually had that lunchbox).

Okay, so, back to 2005 when I started seeing Jason Shaw. I guess he lived or worked or was dating someone on Kings Road. Out of the five days a week I drove up there, to my client’s house, I would see him driving up or down the street in his black Mercedez SUV at least half of those days. The first few times I didn’t think much of it. I would text Heather, “Jason Shaw. Again!”, as we would always text each other if we saw anyone. I would text a lot of my friends if I saw anyone. But only Heather knew who Jason Shaw was.

Then I started seeing him in places other than Kings Road. But only in his car. The same car. Always driving. We’d pass one another at Crescent Heights and Hollywood. He’d drive past me at the stoplight at Santa Monica and Poinsettia. We’d be right next to each other on Sunset. I started to think he was getting it. That he saw me, too. That we’d be sharing knowing looks. Like we were in on something together and only we knew. Maybe we were to be star crossed lovers? I mean, he was kind of cute in that pretty-jock-surfer-pop-music-Oakley-wearing-sort-of-way. He was definitely the guy I would have had a crush on in high school that would have definitely not had a crush on me back. So that’s always appealing.

Some time passed. I no longer needed to go up Kings Road as often as my business grew and I hired someone else to do that. I still saw Jason Shaw, but not with as much frequency. Then a few years ago I started to see him again. A lot. The crazy thing is that the new Jason Shaw hot spot was (and still is) my very own street. I see him driving up and down it all the time. In the same car. I see him when I’m driving up or down the hill. I see him when I’m taking my trash cans to the curb. I see him when I’m getting my mail. I even saw him at the dog park once - not in his car! And last week, while I was getting a cup of coffee at the Canyon Store, I did a stretchy move and twisted around. Right at that exact moment, that one ten second period while I stretched my back, who do I see in his car turning from my street to go down the hill? Of all the cars moving at that intersection at that time, where do my eyes fall? You got it. Jason Shaw.

What are the chances?

The thing is, I probably, we all probably, see the same people, see each other, a lot more than we know. I would be curious to know how many times I’ve seen that person, that so and so, in their cobalt Blue Prius zipping around town. But they’re not Jason Shaw. Who, I would imagine, probably needs a new car sometime soon.


Back in the Summer of 2009 I posted the recipe for pimiento cheese. More specifically, my mom’s pimiento cheese. We spent an afternoon making it together. And you should read the post. It’s fun and tells the story of the pimiento cheese. What’s so funny is that that very pimiento cheese, my mom’s pimiento cheese recipe, is being sold right here in sunny SoCal. Yep, the heralded Lindy & Grundy sells cute, little 8 ounce jars of the stuff. Erika and Amelia love it. Most folks that try it do. And since my mom is moving back to Richmond in January, she has passed the reins over to me. Last week, much like the afternoon in 2009, we went through it again. To make sure I get it just right. Because now, I’m the one making and selling this pimiento cheese.

And not unlike running in circles with Jason Shaw, seeing him over and over again, the recipe I will share with you today is the very one I shared back in the Summer of 2009; pimiento cheese. Pimiento cheese is good any manner of ways, but I only just learned from Amelia at Lindy & Grundy that it’s especially delicious on a burger. So I bought a pound of their Grundy Grind, and grilled up a couple of pimiento cheese burgers. And yes, this is a pretty rad application for the stuff.

By the by, this Saturday, I’ll be at Lindy and Grundy with my mom, doing a tasting for this very recipe. So, please, come and say hi and try a taste. Hopefully Jason Shaw will be there.  

Pimiento Cheese Burgers

Makes 4 Burgers

2 lbs. ground beef, formed into 4 medium-size patties
4 hamburger buns, toasted

A dash of worcestershire sauce

Salt & pepper to taste

Pimiento cheese

Ketchup

Duke's Mayonnaise

Sliced red onion
Iceberg lettuce
4 slices tomato

Season patties with worcestershire, salt and pepper. Prepare a medium-hot charcoal fire or heat a gas grill to medium-high (or heat a tablespoon of canola oil in a large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat). Grill burgers, flipping once, until cooked to desired doneness, about 10 minutes for medium rare. Spread 2 tbsp. pimento cheese over each burger; cover and let melt. Serve burgers on buns with lettuce, tomato, onion, ketchup and mayo.

Printable recipe.


One year ago: Creamy Roasted Garlic and Cauliflower Soup with Rye Croutons
Two years ago: Cream Biscuits
Three years ago: Pizzeria Bianc

Girl on Grill.

I feel bad. Maybe you haven’t noticed, or maybe it’s not a big deal, but I feel bad for being kind of absent lately. For the past couple of months a lot of things have been in flux. It’s felt a little bit like a deck of cards tossed up in the air. And some haven’t even hit the ground yet. But everything is all good, mind you. 


You all know Maggie, my dear friend and roommate of two years? She recently moved out. She found a magical, little spot all her own. Don't worry, she didn't go too far. In fact, we have plans to kick back with some wine at her new place tomorrow night.

Alas, you know how it go – Ch, ch, ch, ch, changes.

In the midst of Maggie’s move, my birthday happened. It was a fun one. Fred and I went to Los Olivos (and places surrounding) for the better part of the weekend, explored, went to wine tastings, had a beautiful dinner, and embraced the drive both up and back. I got some beautiful and touching cards and some wonderful gifts. Surprisingly, I actually received a couple of pretty extravagant gifts. One of these was from my dad. He called me and told me he wanted me to have a gas grill. The wording here is important: he wanted me to have. I already have a charcoal grill that I have been perfectly happy with for years. I had no idea I wanted or needed a gas grill. Dad’s logic was that, with a gas grill, I could use it like an oven and wouldn’t even have to heat up the kitchen. I guess in the Summer in the South that is a huge plus.

Dad seemed very enthusiastic about his gift idea (it reminded me of the time I was thirteen years old and he was brimming with excitement to give me the surprise gift of, wait for it… a plant), and I get it. It’s fun to give a gift. It’s rewarding. And when you think you’ve drummed up the best gift idea ever, it’s downright titillating. I’ve often felt it more fun to give gifts than to receive them. I guess that all depends on the gift going in either direction, though.

And so, after an arduoulsy involved process, I brought home my shiny, new gas grill. Dad insisted I get a Weber. He has one and he loves it. He told me, “I’ve had dozens of gas grills and this one is the best.” So that’s what I got.

This was about two or three weeks ago, and ever since the first day we put it on the patio, Fred (who was captivated by the idea from the get go) and I have done some thing or another with the grill almost every day: steaks (two or three times), BBQ chicken, mojo chicken wings (courtesy of Erika at Lindy & Grundy), vegetables, salmon, veggie burgers, meaty burgers, sausages, lamb chops, onions, a pork tenderloin. More than once I’ve sparked it up just to grill a zucchini or a sausage to use in a separate dish. And tonight we are going to grill oysters! I must admit, I love it and it is tons of fun – Thanks, Dad! Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about my little charcoal grill still which sits proudly on the patio, right next to The Monolith.

The most interesting thing we’ve been doing on the grill, and the most frequent – hell, and the most fun – has been pizzas. We have now made pizzas four different times, with a number of different kinds of pizzas each night. This past weekend we made four pizzas: a breakfast pizza with sausage egg and cheese, a classic pizza Margherita (but with purple basil instead of green (pictured above)), a dessert pizza with grilled peaches, mascarpone, mint and honey (not pictured) and Fred’s wild card pizza with grilled corn, salsa, cilantro, onions, bacon and Cotija cheese (pictured at top). They were all fantastic except for the dessert pizza. A - we didn’t think it through completely and the mascarpone turned into liquid and B – grilled fruit is going to make me hesitant because it just does. But I loved the idea of breakfast, dinner and dessert pizzas, all in a row. My favorite of all of our pizzas was the 'breakfast pizza'.

And so, my dear dad ended up giving me a pretty rad gift. And one I didn’t even realize I would want at the time. And I can’t even imagine all the amazing meals that lie ahead in the years that I will have my grill. So much better than a plant.

And with this, things are settling. New colors and shapes and people and sounds. 


You all know Fred? Well, pretty soon he’ll be moving in. The grill, Maggie, Fred…

Strange fascination, fascinating me.
Ah, changes are taking the pace I’m going through.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.

Sausage, Egg & Fontina Cheese Pizza

Makes 8 slices

What you need/what we used:

Pizza dough: make your own or use prepared pizza dough. In full disclosure, we used the prepared stuff from Trader Joe's = Not. Too. Shabby.

1-1 1/2 cup crushed tomatoes, cooked down with olive oil, basil, salt & garlic

1 1/2 cup grated Fontina cheese

1-2 grilled Andouille sausage(s), sliced

2-4 eggs (entirely depending on your eggy wantonness)

Salt & pepper

What you do/what we did:

Prepare the grill for high direct heat. If using a gas grill, preheat for 10 minutes until the temperature is between 550 and 600 degrees. Prepare a small bowl with olive oil for greasing the grill grates and for brushing the pizza. Prepare the toppings so they are ready to go on the pizza - tomato sauce, cheese, and anything else you wish.

Shape the pizza dough by flattening it with your hands on a slightly floured surface. Either use your fingers to stretch the dough out, or hold up the edges of the dough with your fingers, letting the dough hang and stretch, while working around the edges of the dough. Once you've stretched the dough, let it sit for 5 minutes and then push out the edges with your fingers again, until you have a nice round shape, about 12-inches in diameter. Do not make a raised rim, it will interfere with the grilling process.

Note that if you are preparing the pizza dough for a party, you can make several pizza dough rounds, stack them separated by parchment paper, and keep them in the refrigerator for up to two hours before cooking.

Once the grill is hot (you can hold your hands an inch over the grates for no more than 2 seconds), dip a tightly folded up paper towel in olive oil and use tongs to wipe the grill grates. Then place a pizza dough round on a lightly floured (or you can use cornmeal) pizza stone (or rimless cookie sheet). Let the dough slide off the stone onto the hot grill grates. Close the lid of the grill and let cook for 2 minutes.

After 2 minutes, open the grill and check underneath the dough to see if it is getting browned. If it is on one side, but not another, use a spatula or tongs to rotate the dough 90 degrees and cook for another minute. If it is not beginning to brown, cover the grill and continue to cook a minute at a time until the bottom has begun to brown. It should only take a couple minutes if you have a hot grill. The top of the pizza dough will start bubbling up with air pockets which you should stab and pop - gently.

Once the pizza dough has browned lightly on one side, use a spatula to flip the dough over so that the grilled side is now up. 

Paint the grilled surface of the pizza with a little olive oil, then cover with 1 ladle of sauce – no more, or you'll end up with a soggy pizza. Sprinkle on your grated Fontina cheese, slices of grilled sausage and, finally crack the eggs on top. Remember to go light on the toppings, or your pizza will be heavy and soggy.

Slide the topped pizza back onto the grill. If you are using a gas grill, reduce the heat to medium. If working with a charcoal grill, close the vents on the cover almost all the way. Close the lid and continue cooking. After 2-3 minutes open the lid to check the egg and the bottom of the crust. You want the whites just cooked through and the yolk soft. If the grill marks start to get too dark before the eggs is done, lower the heat some more and rotate the pizza 90 degrees. Check every 2 minutes until the eggs is done and and the cheese is bubbly, pull off the grate with a spatula onto a cutting board or other flat surface and let rest for a couple minutes before cutting into slices.


Salt & pepper that bad boy, slice and serve!

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Chicken Breasts with Anchovy-Basil Pan Sauce

Two years ago: Summer Squash Gratin with Salsa Verde

Three years ago: Pimiento Cheese

Winds of Change

I’ve never considered myself much of a spiritual person. I was brought up with zero knowledge of any sort of religion or religious history.  Apparently, one day, when I was very young I returned home from pre-school and exclaimed to my mother, “Who’s this little girl, Baby Jeeza havin’ a birthday?” Turns out it was Christmas time and the other kids were referring to Jesus' birth. I just thought one of my classmates was having a birthday party and I wasn’t invited. My mom says she was mortified. She promptly proceeded to outline Religion 101--no great detail, just basic historical information. Easter was only just explained to me at length a couple of years ago thanks to Brandon. Boy, was I off about that one.

Over time I became hugely interested in my peers’ various religions and practices. I loved going to the Friend’s Meeting House (Quaker) with Kelly Wolf and her parents. Everyone sat in a little steeple and meditated for set periods of time – the kids had fifteen minutes while the grown-ups had an hour. During this time anyone that felt compelled to stand up and say – or sing – something was more than welcome to do so. I vividly remember someone standing up from the silence and belting out Morning Has Broken by Cat Stevens.  Me – I counted the stripes on the people’s shirts in front of me. After our fifteen minutes us kids were allowed to go play and do arts and crafts and stuff (Macrame! Macaroni art! Things that start with MAC!).

I also enjoyed attending midnight mass with my Uncle Pat and his family in Roanoke, Va each Christmas Eve at their Southern Baptist church (interestingly, the same church where my parents were wed). Mostly I loved that we got to hold candles (I’m a bit of a pyro) and sing Christmas carols (I really like to sing).

Then, when I was eight years old, my mom married Michael Lasky. Michael was (and, I imagine, still is) Jewish. This was my most favorite of all. I loved the process. I loved the ceremony. I loved the sense of inclusion. I loved Seders, the Yarmulke, the Menorah, the language. Michael’s mom was not too pleased about Michael’s choice in wife. Hell, her oldest son married a divorced-with-young-kid-shiksa. I guess she was mostly indifferent toward me, though. I think I used to wear a Yarmulke at the table, which, for obvious reasons, was looked upon with various levels of disdain and confusion. I went to Hebrew school, became a member of the Jewish Community Center and went to a Jewish Summer Camp, Camp Hilbert. Incidentally, I attended quite a few Summer camps in my time, that way, was by far, my mitzvah. Especially compared to Camp Hanover. Don’t even get me started on Camp Hanover. Those bitches in the Hogan next to me made up a secret language so they could talk smack about me. A language I deconstructed very quickly, which was convenient so I could spend the entire two weeks understanding what the mean girls were saying about me.

Mom and Micheal moved to Colorado with me and our car, Chet, in tow and then Mom and I, with our car, Chet, in tow, moved back to Richmond, sans Michael, eight months later. It had nothing to do with religion. Far from it. Their relationship had just run its course, I suppose. I was only eight. I didn’t really understand or care. I was just really happy to get back to my dad, my hometown, my friends, and a school system that had a Summer break (not that three months on, three months off crap). Plus, E.T. came out while I was living in Colorado. My name is Elliott. I was in the third grade. Need I say more? I only hoped the buzz of the movie had died down by the time I returned to Virginia.

It had not.

I’m pretty sure that was the last of my religious vision quests for a while. There were drum circles and “sweat lodges” happening a lot in college (#drugs). I even took a “Religions of the World” class there. It was in a shoebox-sized room with only six students. Only moments into the first class, the dude sitting next to me, Jerry Bello, the stinkiest, hippiest boy on campus, (who if his B.O. wasn’t alarming enough (and I like B.O.)) proceeded to pluck a beard hair and floss his teeth with it. I walked out of the class and marched right to the Dean’s office to promptly drop said class. Never to return.

And that about wraps things up for the next decade - certainly through the Atlanta years and into The LA ones.

A couple of years after I moved here, however, my friend Heather introduced me to this thing called yoga. Maybe you’ve heard of it?

If there’s anything I lack more of than religious education it would be the drive to exercise. In college I took juggling and “Independent Rollerskating” for PE credit to avoid any team sports or actual sweat, in general. I have tried various gym memberships over the past fifteen years, but nothing lasts longer than about a month. This has all fine and dandy until I noticed that, since moving into my thirties, my always-the-same-size-since-high-school body has, well, changed. It’s not a huge deal. I still fit into most of my clothes. Just differently.

And so I realized I have to get proactive. Obviously I enjoy food a great deal. I am willing to make certain sacrifices, certain tweaks, here and there, but let’s face it – I’m not going to fast or become vegan or macrobiotic. Same deal with the wine. I can certainly scale it back, but it’s still going to be around. That leaves one option: exercise.

So. Back to Heather and yoga almost a decade ago. When Heather first suggested we go to a Kundalini yoga class, I scoffed. I mean, exercise and chanting and meditating, with a pile of strangers? Honestly, I’d rather stick needles in my eyes.

But I went. And I fell in love with it.

I never became very regular with it. I still only lasted for brief fits and became distracted by something else. But something about this Kundalini stuff… It touches me. Spiritually. I am always very affected by the classes – both during and afterward. And it’s great exercise to boot.

Needless to say, I have returned to yoga. I just started going back this week so we shall see how long I last. But right now I feel energetic, alert, centered, happy and sore as hell. Even laughing hurts.

This past weekend my mom gave me a pork butt from, the most awesome Lindy Grundy, that was too big for her to cook in her kitchen. I had never prepared anything pork butt-ish as far as I knew, but the first word that popped into my mind was braise (and braising really is very zen, you know).

And, this past Sunday, braise I did. Heather came over and while the butt braised and braised, we settled in on the couch for a marathon of Criminal Minds. As we drew near the end of braise-o-rama, I pulled out the meat to rest while I made the pan sauce. I then was supposed to pull the meat apart with two forks.

What? I had imagined serving thick slices with the pan sauce over the meat.

This was when Heather gingerly pointed out that, not only did I not take note of the image of what the finished dish was supposed to look like, but I did not read the recipe in its entirety – or really look at the title of the dish: Beer Braised BBQ Pork Butt (actually she was far from “gingerly” about it – there may have been laughing and pointing).

So I accidentally made my first BBQ pulled pork. A lot of it. And it’s really good!

It’s true, I know I should always read a recipe all the way through before embarking on it – but, for some reason, I rarely do. I suppose this is because I feel so confident riffing in the kitchen. But Heather had a point. And it seems a prevalent point right now. While I’m all spiritual and stuff.

Be patient. Be thorough. Be calm. Be confident. Take your time and try do things correctly – even if you mess up a little. You will get it just right soon enough.

Beer Braised BBQ Pork Butt

Makes like 276485 pulled pork sandwiches

For the dry rub: 

 

2 tablespoons salt  

About 45 grinds black pepper  

2 tablespoons chili powder

1 tablespoon garlic powder

2 teaspoons ground coriander
2 teaspoons mustard seed
12 ounces good ale or dark beer

5 cloves garlic, chopped
1 5-pound pork butt (shoulder of the animal)

Directions: 

Combine rub ingredients in a bowl and mix well. Rub all over pork butt. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least one hour and as long as overnight.

Preheat oven to 500 degrees F. Unwrap pork and place in a roasting pan with sides about 2 inches high. Cook 45 minutes until dark browned and even blackening in places. Remove from oven. 

Lower oven to 325 degrees F. Pour beer over the top and add chopped garlic around the pork. Cover tightly with heavy duty aluminum foil or twice with regular foil. Poke about 10 holes all over the top of the foil. Cook pork butt 3 hours longer until so tender that it comes away very easily from center bone.


Place the meat on a plate and pour the pan juice (there will be plenty) into a saucepan. To the pan juices add: 

1/2 cup ketchup

2 tablespoons whole grain Dijon mustard

3 tablespoons Worchestershire sauce

1/3 cup dark brown sugar

1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar 

Bring to a simmer until reduced by half and thick, about 20 minutes.

While the sauce is boiling down, pull apart the pork with 2 forks. Pour the sauce over the pulled pork and work through until fully absorbed.

Make sandwiches!

Printable Recipe

We Still Are What We Once Were. Always.

My oldest and dearest friend, Paz, visited recently. She was here for ten (10) days. I was concerned, briefly, that ten (10) days would be a skosh too long. It wasn’t. It actually wasn’t nearly long enough. Well, maybe it was just right.

Although it has been many years since we’ve spent much, or any, time together, we fell right back into our stuff. Our nicknames, catchphrases, running (for a long time now) jokes. You know, our patterns.

When people visit Los Angeles they want to have (and we want to provide them with) two things: celebrity sightings and sunshine. Fortunately for both Paz and myself, we had both. Great sightings and great weather. We ate at some fantastic restaurants but we also cooked at my house on a few occasions.

It’s interesting – while Paz was here she asked me, “So, when exactly did this whole food thing happen with you?” And so I thought. And I continued to toss the question around for quite a while. The more I thought about it, as unromantic as it sounds, I realized that I don’t believe there was a defining moment. Of course, as I’ve mentioned more than once, my parents both cooked quite a bit and I did a lot of cooking and learning from Dad. Then there was the food co-op in college in which Paz was a major player.  And then there was the Atlanta period after college when Paz and I lived together on and off for about six years. This was a time when we had little to no money; certainly none to spend on eating out a whole bunch.  Even more rare was a fancy dining out night. We cooked. A lot. But it wasn’t like back home, with our parents. And it wasn’t like college in our food co-op with our friends. We cooked because we needed to eat – breakfast, lunch and dinner. And so we experimented. We flexed. I learned about dishes from her past, like tostones, tortilla de papas, and obviously her world famous rice and beans. I showed her dishes from mine, like broccoli and cheese sauce, creamy mushroom soup, rice pilaf and scallops and shrimp over linguine with baked feta. I feel like there was a lot of stir fry action as well.

And then it hit me – maybe the Atlanta era wasn’t the defining moment of all things food for me, but I sure would say that it was the defining moment for me, the cook. The cook that cooked my own meals, cooked for other people, cooked with people. The me that found my footing in the kitchen.

How about that for an answer, Paz?

So, of course, while Paz was here we had a couple of pretty fantastic meals that we collaborated on, in my kitchen, or in this case, grill. In keeping up with Paz over the past year or so, when we would chat on the phone, or text, or what have you, we would often share our culinary exploits with one another. Some of hers included cooking Gassy Larry (a lobster), and a whole snapper she named Charles. No, I don’t know why on either count. You should hear the cornucopia of names she’s coined for me.

So, needless to say, I was pretty geeked to get back in the kitchen with her after a decade or more.

The recipe I am sharing with you here is from a part of a magnificent dinner we made one night during her visit. This was a meal that we collaborated on in every way, from conception to execution to consumption. Besides Paz deciding that she was Bobby Flay in the grill mastery department (insert eye rolling here), she also found an alluring recipe for a Meyer lemon relish. She was pretty psyched about all the produce that we are fortunate enough to have here and was particularly interested in the Meyer lemon (always a favorite of mine). Although the recipe suggested it be served with pork belly or some such thing, we thought it would work beautifully with a mesquite-grilled Cornish game hen (grilling courtesy of Paz Bobby Flay).

 

We Bobby also grilled some fennel and onions, and I did up my stellar sautéed broccolini. We had a potato but Ms. Flay didn’t get that one quite right in time for the rest of the meal. We dined out on the patio, under the stars, and paired the meal with a luscious Donkey and Goat red wine blend (courtesy of Domaine LA) among a number of, ahem, other wines.

What a beautiful meal and what a beautiful night. Yep, we covered a lot in our ten (10) days together here in sunny California. What’s crazy is how much more there was to cover. There is just not enough time in the day, you know? But as sad as I was to see her and her little rolly suitcase walk out of my car and into the airport, I also felt really good. And I still do. Because rather than it seeming like we are thousands of miles apart, I feel like, now, we’re right next to each other again. After all these years here in LA figuring out who and what I am, as this little fish in this big sea, along comes one of the few things that reminds me exactly who and what that is. And now I see it’s never changed. And nothing can change it. That and it - is Me. 

And, I guess nothing can change our friendship either. And this makes me soften. This makes my heart swell. This makes me smile. And for this, Paz, I thank you and I love you. Always.

Not too much as changed from us, 15 years ago.

 Meyer Lemon Relish 

Recipe adapted from Food and Wine magazine, May, 2011

Makes about 1 cup

Ingredients

1 large Meyer lemon—peeled, peel very thinly sliced
1 shallot—1/2 minced, 1/2 very thinly sliced
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon orange muscat champagne vinegar (you can also use white wine vinegar)
1 garlic clove, minced
2 tablespoons minced chives 

1 tablespoon chopped mint
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Pinch of crushed red pepper
Salt and freshly ground black pepper 

Directions

Finely chop the lemon pulp, discarding any seeds, and transfer to a bowl. Add the lemon peel, minced and sliced shallot, lemon juice, vinegar, garlic, chives, mint, parsley, olive oil and crushed red pepper to the bowl. Season with salt and pepper and serve.
 

*The relish can be refrigerated for up to 3 days.