Cooking for One

The following is a post I made on Colony of Gamers, to a gentleman requesting advice on how to cook for only themelves.

Get an electric pressure cooker. I recommend this one: Cuisinart CPC 600 Electric Pressure Cooker

It'll steam rice in 10 minutes, cook beans in an hour, make soups and stocks in record time, braise meats, does slow cooker dishes without the "slow" part, all sorts of cool shit. That pressure cooker is the most useful device in my house and would be whether I was one or many.

Also, rice and beans really are a bachelor's best friend. Cheap as hell, and scale well to small or even individual batches. 

When I was alone I also found that the balance of my diet changed. Meat-heavy is out. Unless you buy warehouse-store bulk and freeze large amounts of it, you can't take advantage of the kinds of price scale you can when you're feeding multiples. 

Learn to eat like the Chinese. Little bit of meat, lots of veg and rice and such. That way you can buy a couple pork chops and have them stretch for several meals. Stir fries are your friend, find a wok. 

Your veggie issue is difficult. Veggies are a great source of nutrition and when you're solo, they actually get cheaper, unlike with meat. When it's just you, you can save money and freshness, because veggies are the same price per pound regardless how many you buy often. 1 carrot might be all you need for one person in a dish, and you can get that for like 10 cents. That sort of thing.

Pasta is good too. Find a brand of sauce you like, or make it yourself in big batches in the pressure cooker and freeze/store it. Personally, I tend to go for the inbetween method, and use canned plain tomato sauce and paste, along with some pesto and my own spices to taste, done on stovetop in big enough batches I can get several meals out of it. This plus one package of spaghetti noodles can go 3-4 meals when you're doing single servings, and it's filling. Alfredo is another good recipe to know, you just need some butter, parmesan, and heavy cream and you've got a rich, filling dish with minimal ingredients. Same with carbonara (eggs, cheese, some diced bacon, maybe some peas).

Learn to make real ramen or pho. You can buy the cheap brick noodles, those are fine (more authentic noodles are nice, but usually expensive, unless you're talking rice noodles, which cost pennies a pound), just toss out the season packet, that thing is pure salt. Get a box of hon dashi if you can find it in an Asian market, or make your own stock in the pressure cooker with some cheap bits of oxtail you've roasted in the oven along with a carrot, some onion, and a bit of celery. 

Soup in general is good. It costs little, because it's mostly water, but because it's mostly water it fills you up, which is why poor peasants the world over eat one hell of a lot of soup. The pressure cooker is again your friend here. You can make great soups in no time at all and with minimal prep, just toss in veg and meat and beans/rice, and set for whatever the longest cooking component is. Voila, soup for a week!

Another dish I find goes well for a poor bachelor: polenta. Make a batch of it, eat some that night, then let the rest chill in the fridge. Once it cools it sets up into a block, and you can cut it into slices or other shapes. The slices can be reheated or fried or even grilled and served with red sauce. It's also better than you might expect fried in strips and served with vinegar and ketchup/brown sauce just like chips. 

A grill is nice too, burgers and steaks and such are a nice treat and easy on the cleanup. My favorite though is a good hot smoker, though I dunno how easy they are to come by in the UK. But a big hunk of some kind of cheap pork roast, rubbed down with spices, and smoke-roasted at about 300 F over smoking wood chips is amazingly delicious, and more importantly, makes a lot of meat that keeps very well, and can thus feed you for a couple of weeks after the initial prep. This will of course require a living space with a yard and assumes that your local legislative body allows for the cooking of meat on flame in your neighborhood. If not, there are stovetop smokers, but their results are less impressive, and their size prevents taking advantage of the economies of scale that make them awesome.

This is also a place where having friends is handy. You can entice them to your house with promise of beer and cooking meat, then squeeze them for the funds to split the cost of a big pork shoulder. They get a yummy meal, as do you, but you don't have to pay for the whole cost, and they generally don't notice you keeping all the leftovers for yourself. Anywhere there is smoked pork, there is a party, remember that.

Buy sourdough bread. When you have other people sharing your bread, it goes quickly. When you do not, it has a habit of going south before you can finish it. Especially if you're like me and aren't big on eating sandwiches every day. Sourdough's natural cultures help fend off mold, so it tends to just go stale, rather than go to rot, which means you've still got good bread for toast or French toast or making croutons for soup even after it's exhausted it's usefulness for sandwiches.

Bacon and salt pork. There are practical reasons for these ingredients, not just the tastiness. They are dirt cheap, and they keep for ages, and you can put them in anything. A couple of strips of fatty bacon will add flavor and protein to anything from pasta to fried rice, and salt pork is practically integral to the making of good soups and beans.

Pork in general, is your friend. Chicken can be cheap too, but only if you buy it on the bone, which means learning to butcher it or cooking it whole, the boneless shit costs a fortune. Pork tends to cost about the same with or without bones, and can be had in larger bulk roasts and things that can be stretched pretty far.

This is generally the guidelines I have lived by when trying to go it alone on a cook's wage by myself. In general, I find the simplicity and low ingredient count of Asian and Italian foods, paired with homey large batch casseroles and soups, is a good strategy for keeping your money lasting and keeping you well fed on minimal funds.

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Thai curry is insanely easy to make if you can get the curry paste. Just saute a couple tablespoons of paste in a wok or fry pan, add raw chicken or pork, and some sliced mushroom and onion, stir fry quickly, then add a can of coconut milk. Serve with rice for pure awesome. Look for Mae Ploy paste, Google tells me Tesco sometimes carries it. I prefer the yellow, it's the most versatile, green and red are spicier and have more distinct flavors.

For pickles, I love homemade vinegar pickled veggies. Cut up chunks of carrot, onion, bell pepper, green bean, radish, and add dried chili peppers, toss with salt and pepper and spices if desired, then stuff them in a jar and fill with rice vinegar. They'll keep for at least a month and still be as crisp as the day they were cut, but with a nice extra bite. Instantly turns a bowl of rice into a meal.

Another good one to have around is pickled red onion. Slice red onion nice and thin, then toss with salt, pepper, and celery salt and put in a bowl or a jar. They start to get nice and soft in just an hour or so, you can make them up as needed, or save for a couple weeks. They make a great condiment for all kinds of things, rice, tacos, sandwiches, burritos, even a sushi ingredient. 

Sushi's a dish that is nice to know as well, and cheaper than you'd think. Stripped of the expensive ahis and yellowtails, it's just rice and vinegar and nori. Try some fake crab, cooked white fish, some salad shrimp tossed with mayonnaise and sriracha sauce, I even highly recommend a Hawaiian favorite: Spam. Get creative, and don't feel bound even to seafood, maki is almost as flexible as the sandwich. One of my favorite rolls is turkey pastrami and cream cheese.

Honestly, I love cooking alone, I get to make whatever I want and be as creative as I want without dealing with finicky eaters who might otherwise hold me back.

Beef Miso Ramen

One of my favorite things about my time spent at Yoko's, lo these many years ago, was the ramen.  As a young guy who'd only ever ate "ramen" from a packet that came in "chicken flavor", it was quite an eye opening thing to experience ramen that didn't basically just taste like a bullion cube dissolved in too much liquid.  

In particular, there were two varieties that stuck out for me: the pork, and the beef.  The pork was a quick-and-dirty concentrate of the classic tonkotsu stock, which I fell instantly in love with for that milky, salty, porky goodness.  The other, the beef, was a dark, rich miso beef broth (also a concentrate) that we did up in a wok with freshly stir-fried bits of New York strip and vegetables.  

It was the beef ramen I found myself particularly craving last week, after we came into some glorious bits of scrap tri-tip from Ray's, and I even bought some miso paste with the intent to make it.  Sadly, things got in the way and the meat went south before we could use it, but the idea stuck in the back of my mind until yesterday, when I was back at the Ray's again and saw some gorgeous hunks of ox-tail.

Now, the Yoko's beef ramen was just a paste from a jar you added to water and voila, beef ramen.  It was tasty, and good quality for an instant stock (along par with that "Better than Bouillon" stuff, with some miso in it), but not really available to me.  But those ox-tails put me in mind of the idea that I should just make my own stock, and build a ramen from home-made.  I seldom, if ever, make my own stocks (I know! A crime in foodie land these days), so this would be a good experiment, and one more use for my pressure cooker.

So, cobbling together bits of advice from my pressure cooker manual, Alton Brown's pressure cooker broth recipe, and the brilliantly elemental instruction of Michael Ruhlman's Ratio, more specifically it's advice on stock making, and of course some inspiration from Yoko's cooking methods, I came up with the following recipe:

J's Beef Miso Ramen (Serves 2)

For the stock:

1 Lb section of meaty oxtail

2 carrots, cut into 1-2" chunks

2 stalks of celery, cut into 1-2" chunks

1/2 an onion, cut into 1-2" chunks

1 handful of Italian parsley

5 cloves of garlic, whole, peeled

1 tsp peppercorns, lightly cracked

5 cups cold water

For the ramen broth:

1/4 cup red miso paste

2 Tbsp. ginger/garlic paste

1/8 cup soy sauce

The rest:

1 lb boneless beef spare ribs, cut into small strips

1 lb assorted favorite stir fry vegetables (recommend broccoli, carrot, onion, and green bean or snap peas)

8 oz. chuka soba noodles

Salt, pepper, soy sauce or Bragg's, and nanami to taste

Green onion and/or bean sprouts, for garnish

Making the stock

1. Preheat your oven to 450 degrees F.

2. Salt and pepper each side of the oxtail and place on a baking sheet.

3. Roast the oxtail in the oven for 30 minutes.

4. Add roasted oxtail, veg, parsley, garlic, pepper, and water to your pressure cooker pot.

5. Cook under high pressure for 50 minutes, then quick release.  

6. Drain the stock through a fine-mesh sieve or strainer into a saucepan. Discard meat and veg. 

Building your ramen:

1. Place the saucepan containing your freshly prepared stock on the stove over medium heat.

2. Add miso paste, ginger/garlic paste, and soy sauce, and whisk vigorously, ensuring that the miso paste has been fully dissolved into the liquid.  Leave on medium-low heat, whisking occasionally, until ready to serve.

3. Fill a large stockpot or pasta pot with enough water to cook the chuka soba, and salt liberally, then place over high heat to boiling

3. Heat 2 Tbsp of oil in a non-stick skillet or wok over high heat.

4. Add cut spare ribs and stirfry until cooked, seasoning with the nanami if desired

5. Once the meat is cooked just about medium, add the vegetables, and stir-fry, seasoning lightly with salt and pepper and soy sauce if desired (I like to use a garlic salt grinder for a little extra flavor).

6. Add your chuka soba noodles to the boiling water in your stockpot and cook for about 2-3 minutes on a high boil.  Drain.

Serving:

1. Divide the noodles between two large ramen bowls.

2. On top of the noodles, divide the stir-fried beef and vegetables between the two bowls

3. Pour ramen broth over noodles.

4. Garnish with green onion and bean sprouts as desired.

Voila!  Delicious, home cooked ramen.  It's the homemade stock that really seals the deal, all that stuff the chefs keep saying is true: you simply can't expect anywhere near this kind of flavor from a canned or an instant stock, no matter how good it is.  Even the expensive stocks like Stock Options just won't compare to the real thing.  

This recipe is more or less exactly how I cooked it.  You could probably simplify it a bit, if you've got a wok with good volume, by adding the stock directly to the wok after stir frying the meat and veg (maybe even a little early so they get simmered a bit in it), and building your broth flavor from there.  That's how we did it at Yoko's, and how I would've done it, if not for my cheap wok completely rusting over within minutes of cleaning as we were preparing dishes for the night's cooking.  

An Open Letter to McMenamins.

Greetings,

I am a long time fan of your McMenamins establishments. Your restaurants and pubs have built a well deserved reputation for quality gastropub-style cuisine and excellent microbrewed fare. I've been going to the McMenamins located here in Bend since it opened, and have generally been nothing less than pleased with my experiences.

However, the last two visits my friend and I have made to the Old St. Francis location have been off-putting to say the least, and I am deeply concerned by what I see as one of my local favorites slipping severely in quality, and unless steps are taken to significantly improve the standards of the place, neither of us foresee ever returning.

The first of these two visits, which occurred a few weeks ago, we walked out almost as soon as we entered, as from the moment we walked through the front door, we were immediately assailed by the pungent reek of what I can only identify as raw sewage. So repulsed was I that I insisted to my companion that we leave immediately, and we wound up dining elsewhere that afternoon.

Tonight however, I decided to give the place another chance, in part because it was a rather late hour, and few establishments were open at this time. This time we entered through the rear hotel entrance, and once again, upon entering, I picked up a distinctly toilet-like reek, though much milder than my previous encounter, and while my initial reaction was to leave yet again, my companion wrote it off as perhaps an overflowed toilet in one of the guest rooms, so we pressed on to the dining room proper and were relieved to be greeted with the smells of cooking food.

After a delightfully short wait we were seated, but from there, the problems began to pile up. The service was terrible. Once seated it took at least 10 minutes for our actual server to come around to take our drink orders, and it took longer still for them to actually arrive, despite the fact that both of us, from our vantage point, could see them waiting at the bar for the vast portion of this time. Our drinks themselves, a couple of root beers, were remarkably unpleasant, brackish things which I only stomached simply because the water, which didn't arrive until sometime after the soft drinks did, were significantly worse.

After a good wait further, our server again reared his head to take our dinner order. We ordered the Cajun tots as an appetizer, and two "Communication Breakdown" burgers with bacon and fries.

The Cajun tots arrived and were, for the most part, as good as always, if a bit unusually crumbly. Our burgers, on the other hand, were spectacular in no respect but in the magnitude of their mediocrity. My burger was utterly and completely tasteless, and my friend's was, in addition to tasteless, apparently dripping with a ridiculous quantity of grease. The fries, in both cases, with the same, which is to say utterly soaked in grease, and completely soggy. They honestly seemed rather more like they'd been boiled than fried, and then quickly tossed in a cold pan with some old fryer oil from the week before.

Disappointed with the quality of our meal, but still optimistic enough to brave the inevitable long wait it seemed to take the staff to accomplish anything whatsoever, we decided to order the bread pudding, a menu item that, like the tots, we've both traditionally almost always ordered, because it is generally fantastic.

It wasn't. In fact, it was the single most unpleasant thing we were served the entire evening. Presentation wise, it looked like a plate of baby vomit. Rather than the firm texture I have come to expect, it was rather a mushy pile, sitting in the midst of some curdled cream and crowned what appeared to be a to be a hastily added topping of ice cream that had completely melted to soup in the massive wait before it arrived at our table, and yet, despite it having melted, upon tasting it we were rather alarmed to discover that the dish was still ice cold in the middle. While we were warned the dish would be rather rich, an observation that bore out with previous experience and made me quite hopeful in fact, it was in fact, so mushy and bland as to be almost insubstantial.

I wish to mention further, at this point, because it surely played at least a part in how unpleasant some of the dishes served were, just how truly awful the service was through all this. Our "Server" we only encountered but a few times in the course of the evening, and only in the interest of occasionally bothering to come round with the rather ghastly excuses for beverages. Our actual food was delivered by a man who appeared to actually be one of the kitchen staff picking up the slack. Most of the waitstaff could be visibly seen gadding about socializing with their friend or other waitstaff, among them our server who at one point took a break to huddle up with several others for a long chat session that took up most of the time we were there. At another point, thanks to the visible window, we even witnessed another waitress (at least we assumed she was a waitress, even though she didn't appear to be dressed or equipped for the occasion) hanging about in the kitchen having a beer while she chatted up the only two cooks in the place, who similarly seemed to be spending most of the time horsing about.

And the resulting long waits were also all in spite of the fact that despite it being 10pm on a Saturday evening, and the downtown area being packed with people, the dining room was almost completely vacant. Not counting the waitresses socializing at a table near the entrance, I counted at most four tables besides ourselves.

As the final capper to the evening, my dining companion, whether due to the grease in his burger or the curdled nature of the dessert, or worse, some sinister and unseen microbial agent allowed to fester in the meal during it's frequent long waits under the heat lamp, became rather violently ill, and very shortly after leaving the establishment proceeded to evacuate the meal out of himself at a rather alarming rate.

Needless to say, I was mortified by the experience. The server was, at least, kind enough to credit us the amount of that truly godawful dessert, but the whole of the experience left me feeling more than a bit burned, and I am disappointed to say I will not be returning until I hear some form of report indicating that the restaurant has put due effort into mending its ways. I am sad to lose such a once wonderful spot in the Central Oregon dining scene, but it seems as if it is already on it's way out, if tonight's turnout was any indication.

I appreciate your time, and hope that in due haste your organization can remedy the deep problems that seem to be apparent in this once fine establishment.

Sincerely,
J Arcane*
jarcane@gmail.com

This is the actual letter sent to both McMenamins in Bend, as well as the home office, minus my actual name, which I do not use in public online discourse. Needless to say I was less than pleased with my experience.

I'm back on Blogger.

Well, it seems that not only did the Mac I was using to build the website at jarcane.info die, but my server host apparently died as well, and I can't even get ahold of the owner right now to find out what the hell's wrong.

So I'm back on blogger, and working to set up a redirect to bring jarcane.info traffic back here.  

I'm also back cooking again, so maybe I'll start writing about food and such again.  

The site to end all sites.

So, I have a new website.

It's at http://jarcane.info

It is, essentially, an attempt to consolidate all my various scattered blogs and web presences, as well as serve as a single repository for any future writing, of which I hope to make quite a lot more, as I intend to actually keep up with content updates in this new venture. I've also added a forum, with the hope of making it a great place to hang out and talk about food and games and things with all my various online friends and readers, and anyone else who happens to pop by.

Check it out, add it to your bookmarks, subscribe with your favorite feed reader. See you there!

Puerco al disco, sorta.

Last night, I caught a snippet of the Argentina episode of No Reservations, in which he visits a sort of commune there, where they prepared a rather magnificent looking dish, carne al disco, a dish of sliced beef, onions and peppers, cooked in garlic oil over an open flame in a shallow cast iron pan.

It looked absolutely amazing. So, naturally, I had to rip off the concept as best I could, and create a dish of my own inspired by what I saw. After a bit of fruitless searching on the internet for a recipe, I ultimately decided to just wing it, and we headed off to the store.

I wandered about, rounding up ingredients as inspiration struck me. I grabbed a yellow onion, a red bell pepper, one each of anaheim, habanero and yellow chiles, a can of coconut milk, a bag of key limes, a pound of linguica, and some corn tortillas.

The vegetables all got thinly sliced with a mandolin, except the habanero, which I diced. The linguica I cut into thin rounds as well. I also took out 4 thin sliced pork chops from the fridge, pounded them a bit, then seasoned with salt and lime juice and left to rest.

Come cooking time, I quickly seared the chops, then took them from the pan and tossed in the linguica, heating them a bit before tossing in all the vegetables, reducing the heat, and letting them sweat a bit, just long enough for the juices to start deglazing the pan. Then, in went the can of coconut milk, the juice of 4 of the key limes, and the pork chops. I threw a lid on top, and let them simmer on about medium heat for a bit.

For serving, the pork chops were served just with a bit of the resulting coconut sauce, while the remaining mixture of sausage and vegetables was served on tortillas as tacos. The pork was a bit dry, I think it would've been better if I'd basically poached it in the cocount milk without searing first, but the tacos were absolutely excellent. Rich, flavorful, truly a dish to be proud of.

Something to make again, that's for sure, and another pork recipe for that restaurant concept I've been pondering about lately . . .

A peace offering.

http://xkcd.com/418/

I haven't posted in even longer than usual. I haven't honestly done much lately I felt worthy of writing about. I've been on tighter finances than usual, and it's left my diet consisting of a hell of a lot of pasta and ramen.

There have been a few highlights. Homemade orichiette with butter and parmesan, for instance, probably the best damn pasta I've ever had, and I didn't even do that great a job with it. The esteemed Mr. Batali is right on when he says it's always better homemade with love, and he's equally dead on when he talks of the beauty of simplicity. Of all the pasta dishes I've prepared of late, that one was, without doubt in my mind, the absolute best.

I've also been playing with a Yucatan inspired ramen soup, made with shrimp broth and a healthy dosage of achiote. It develops this amazing, rich flavor and texture, and a gorgeous deep red color. It actually coats the side of the bowl. I also made a pretty damn nice turkey ramen with black pepper the other day.

I'm hoping soon to actually finally find a new kitchen to cook in, it's just a matter of finding the right opportunity. I stupidly let a shot at the Blacksmith slip by me out of lazyness and I'll regret that one forever. I'd really like to get a spot in a real haute cuisine sort of establishment, somewhere I can really learn the ropes, instead of the amateur fumbling about in the dark I do now.

Today's important culinary tip.

Stay away from the cheap Mexican sardines.

Thanks to a can of El Mexicano sardines, I've spent the last few days in general misery. I knew I should've stuck with a more traditional puttanesca recipe.

The folks over at Chowhound described them as "last on the list of over 39 canned sardines sampled. If I ever do buy a worse tasting sardine, it will go directly in the garbage." I can certainly attest to their foulness, indeed, it was rather apparent upon opening the can even, but I figured the rest of the dish would balance their overt fishyness. Indeed, the final dish was much more mild, though still a bit strong.

I didn't expect to actually get sick from the damn things though.

Catching up on events.

So the last week or so has been an almost exhausting cavalcade of new recipes and experiments, as well as an interesting new development in the form of me actually getting paid for doing this now.

Yup, that's right. The folks at Bend's Source Weekly have seen fit to give me irregular column space. The first piece, a profile of cook/owner Tammy Mills of Cross Creek Cafe, ran a few weeks ago, though due to some confusion had to be cut down considerably. I hope to post the extended profile soon.

Walking back through the menu over the last week, the biggest adventure was the smoke roasted pork tacos, for last weekend's D&D game.

I started with two roughly 6.5 lb boneless pork shoulder roasts, and brined them for two days in a brine seasons with whole dried japonica chiles, peppercorns, mustard and coriander seed, lime juice, and bistek.

This then got thrown on my smoker over hickory chips at about 250-300 for two hours, topping them off with a few slices of fresh pineapple. However, the temperature proved insufficient to get them done in a reasonable amount of time, a fact that was unfortunately largely the fault of the weather.

So I brought them inside and threw them both on a cookie sheet, and popped them in the oven for a bit. Unfortunately, I'd neglected to consider that the pan I'd grabbed had no edges on it, and the running molten fat from the pork wound up starting a bit of a fire in the bottom of the oven.

So the pig got yanked back out, and the oven left alone for a bit, and some rapid brainstorming occurred. One of my fellow players, and also a fellow cook, spotted a crock pot on the counter, and upon pointing it out, it occurred to me that if we were going to finish one of the roasts in that, we should take advantage of all the beer lying about, and cook it off in that with some more of the pineapple slices. The other roast meanwhile, went back on a proper baking sheet this time, and back in the oven at 350 degrees.

The oven roast went in for another hour, before, all of us quite hungry, we decided to pull that one out and carve into it. The thickest portion in the middle was still a bit rare in the center, but a good two thirds of it was quite done at this point, so we went ahead and carved off a healthy portion, and went about making tacos of it, served on corn tortillas with some fresh pico de gallo and a squeeze of lime. The oven pork was absolutely fantastic, moist, salty, rich with fat. The flavor was sort of like a pastrami, crossed with bacon, and the texture was perfect.

The remainder went back in the oven for another hour or so to finish, at which point we returned again to crack into both the oven and crockpot versions, which were both well and cooked by this point. The crockpot version, by contrast to it's oven compatriot, was almost a totally different animal. It was moist and tender, and the flavor of the smoke had mellowed and blended with the bite and the acidity from the beer and pineapple to create a whole different flavor from it's dry roasted counterpart.

It was well more food than any of us actually needed of course, and I wound up still having a third of the oven roast to take home, sadly leaving the crockpot one behind, having only really had the chance to give it a taste.

This wound up finding it's way into many of my recipes the following week. The next morning, we decided to make sandwiches with it, and I discovered that, now that it had chilled, I could slice it and use it rather like bacon, and so made some open faced sandwiches, by placing slices of the pork on a baking sheet under the broiler, before putting that back onto some bread with some healthy slices of pepper jack over the top. I served this with some Campbell's tomato soup, itself seasoned with a bit more of the pork, sliced thin, broiled until crisp, and then tossed back in the soup for flavor.

I also used it, sliced, then chopped into smaller pieces, to add some extra body and flavor to a few other dishes, like chicken and rice with sauce veloute, and a southwestern chicken lime pot pie. The last bit of it wound up coming full circle, and again being turned into tacos, this time diced, tossed with bistek and Tapatio, and then refried in butter on a flattop griddle.

I had considered repeating the experiment on a much smaller scale this weekend, but ultimately wound up taking a bit of a break from cooking over the last few days. However, tonight, my break ends, and I shall be returning to the kitchen to prepare a lovely spaghetti puttanesca with sardines.

A flavor trip to the real Mexico.

Recently, I hace discovered a new favorite taqueria, El Cochinito Contento in Redmond Oregon.

A small Mexican market on 6th, tucked in it's back corner by the butcher counter is a little taqueria, that serves some absolutely fantastic, and really authentic tacos and menudo that is simply to die for. The taco selection is a smörgåsbord of nasty bits, from tongue, to tripas, to cabeza, my personal favorite. Fatty, tender head meats on a warm corn tortilla with some chopped onion and cilantro, all it needs is a little squirt of lime to be one of the best things I've ever eaten. For the less adventurous, there's also some fantastic adovada, azada, and al pastor as well.

And the best part? Tacos are a mere $1.50 each. The amazing menudo, which takes me two sittings to finish? $5.50. It's an absolute steal, for some of the best damn REAL Mexican food you'll find short of travelling there.

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The other night I found myself with a strange craving for fish. I don't often eat seafood these days, largely because I've been quite broke, and any sort of seafood has a tendency to cost an arm and a leg.

But the power of one of my strange cravings is not to be trifled with, and rather than find myself fighting off said craving for the literal weeks it was likely to linger, I instead wound up going to the nearby Safeway to take a look at their seafood stock, hoping actually that they had gotten a share of the massive shipments of smelt that the Redmond Safeway has been getting of late.

They did not turn out to have any such, but they did have some surprisingly nice, surprisingly fresh, sole, which I acquired immediately, and then set about wandering through the store, trying to come up with a recipe for it. Wandering through the "ethnic food" aisle, I somehow hit upon the concept of poaching it in some kind of green salsa.

A brief perusal of my available options in the store, led me to promptly check out, and rush over to the Colima Market to acquire some real ingredients, in the form of two tomatillos, one each of pasilla and Anaheim peppers, two limes, cilantro, shrimp boullion, and bistek.

A sudden flash of inspiration on the way back home led to me swinging back by the Safeway for a can of coconut milk for which I was horridly over charged, and a can of Jumex mango nectar.

Once home, the tomatillos and the peppers were roughly chopped and tossed in the food processor, along with the juice of both limes, a healthy dose of cilantro, a sprinkling of bistek, salt, pepper, and Tapatio. this all got pulsed until very finely chopped but not quite pureed, essentially making a nice mild tomatillo salsa.

This then went into a saute pan, along with the coconut milk, a cube of the shrimp bouillion, more bistek and tapatio, a splash of the mango nectar, and salt and pepper. Into the resulting liquid went about 3/4 to 1 lb of sole fillets, on a high flame until the liquid just started to simmer, then reduced to a very low flame, covered, and them simmered for about 15 minutes, then removed from the flame and let to set for another 10 while the rice I intended to serve it over finished cooking.

For the rice, I made a 2 cup helping, substituting some of the liquid for half a lime's juice and some more of the mango nectar, and also adding a touch more bistek, tapatio, a couple whole sprigs of cilantro, and some salt and pepper. This gets brought to a boil and then covered and reduced to a very low flame for about 20 minutes, then taken off the flame and left to sit for about 10 minutes with the lid still on.

Once it's all done, fluff the rice with a fork, serve some out over the plate, and then top with sole and the left over cooking liquid.

The sole is positively melt in you mouth tender, and the sauce is tangy, sweet, savory, all at once, and almost no trace of heat surprisingly enough.

It was a great meal, and my dining companion said it was the closest to Yucatan style cuisine he's had since living there.

A fine evening.

Last night I finally got another opportunity to make my chicken Alfredo, and I must say, it was quite possibly the best batch of the stuff I've ever made.

The chicken was a little bit different this time. Usually I would go for fresh chicken, cut into chunks, and then sauteed. Once cooked through, in would go the butter, cream, cheese, and fettucine.

This time however, we'd gotten a killer deal on a rotisserie chicken from the nearby Costco. $5 for a whole chicken is rather tough to pass up. So I took the breasts of the chicken, pulled them apart, and then took the shredded chicken and tossed it in the saute pan with a whole stick of butter, a couple cloves of minced garlic, salt, pepper, garlic powder, and onion powder.

The chicken, by itself, was already incredibly delicious once it had been cooking in the butter for a while, and soaked up all kinds of wonderful fat and flavor. Once tossed together with the pasta, a pint of heavy cream, and about 5 oz of grated Asiago cheese, and then simmered for a while to thicken, it produced a rich pasta dish that felt like it was making love to your mouth.

Now, to cap the night with a cocktail, I continued my experimentation with cachaca. I havent' had the budget for my regular trips to Hola lately, and when I found that the East Bend Liquor Store stocks the stuff for about the price of two caipirinhas at Hola, I figured I would give a shot at making my own caipirinhas.

The first experiment was atrocious. For one, I couldn't find any decent limes at the shops we went to that day, so I wound up having to settle for lime juice. For two, I just plain fucked up the recipe. Not enough lime juice, too much brown sugar, too much cachaca. It was unpleasant to drink, and neither myself, nor my drinking buddy, were able to finish them. There were brief moments that almost tasted like the real thing, but mostly it was awful.

So last night, I basically gave up on trying to do a traditional caipirinha, with the intention of trying again at a later date with some real limes perhaps. Instead, I wound up doing something similar, only this time, I cut back a hair on the brown sugar, only used about a shot of cachaca, and finished it off with some 7-up.

The resulting mix was fantastic, the same kind of refreshing, mellow, "I-can-drink-this-all-day" feeling you get from a caipirinha, it just doesn't actually taste much of anything like one.

For whom the bell tolls.

Well, it seems my time has come at the Japanese restaurant.

I was informed today, whilst in the midst of my lunch I might add, that my employer no longer desires my services for the dinner shift, leaving only the now ever so brief morning period (currently a whopping two hours on average), and thus cutting my hours to roughly enough to buy me a hell of a lot of ramen.

Ultimately, I think it comes down to culture difference. Put simply, the kind of kitchen culture and attitude which comes naturally to me is one that more resembles Gordon Ramsay's behavior or what Anthony Bourdain describes when he speaks of life in the professional kitchen, while what they are expecting is apparently some coddled little whelp who takes a heap of shit and asks politely for more. These are the kind of people who probably watch Ramsay on Hell's Kitchen and think "What an awful man", whereas I am the type of person who would be sitting in the audience and probably beating him to the punch.

I admit, unwaveringly, that I am an ill-tempered bastard when the chips are down. I swear like a fucking sailor, I'm constantly in a near or outright rage, and I quite simply have no patience nor do I possess any capacity to put up with much shit. I swear at myself, I swear about the customers, about the orders, about the prep, about fucking everything. As Bourdain put it in an interview at the Google campus, the kitchen becomes a world of hyperbolic black and white, only in my case, things have a far greater tendency to be evil horrible bastards than great saviors, with the sole exception of my sous chef, whom I now realize I will not be working with again.

The engine of my rage however, had become downright turbocharged over the last several months however. Stuck, alone, fighting a seemingly constantly losing battle just to keep my head above water, working my ass harder and harder everyday it seemed, for less and less reward. Even on the two glorious nights out of my workweek when I actually had a second cook to assist, more often than not, he'd be stolen away to the sushi bar, leaving me alone trying to battle through a dinner rush, running what is essentially three or four stations at once. I had at least one episode which could be best described as a near nervous breakdown, complete with alternating bouts of violent destruction and near tears, and pushed through only by the sheer motivating power that is the call of "Order up!"

But for all that, I must say that in, say, Yoko's, my alma mater, the kind of furious temper that si known to overcome me in the heat of a hard rush or a massive prep crunch, never seemed out of place to anyone, never did anyone bat an eye. Certainly there were more than a few confrontations, with waitstaff, with fellow cooks, even the occasional one with the boss whom I otherwise got on quite well with. There were definite shouting matches, and in a few occasion, even threats of violence. But it's a high stress environment, and at the end of the day, everyone seemed to somehow accept that this was simply part of the job, the curse of the kitchen. The same son of a bitch who threatened to beat the shit out of me in the middle of the kitchen, and whose face I was sorely tempted to slam into the the hot grill, would wind up giving me a ride home a few weeks later. Honestly, I seemed to be the one who had the most problems with taking that shit home with me.

And for better or for worse, that's just the kind of environment I expect in a kitchen, and I know I'm not alone in this, or Bourdain wouldn't sell out so many damn book signings. It's liberating in a sense, and in some ways helps keep the blood flowing. The kitchen is a warzone, and you absolutely cannot let those bastards keep you down. The orders are the enemy, the tools of the trade your weapons, and the food your ammunition. It is nothing short of a battle for your own survival, but when you constantly find yourself outgunned, outmanned, ill-equipped, and poorly supplied, after a while the most battle-hardened soldier is gonna find his morale seriously tested.

The bastards nearly killed me this time, and for my service, I get bucked out. But this ronin doesn't know anything left but fighting the good fight, and that means it's time to find a new banner to fight for, and a more rough and tumble troop to serve with.

And I'm seriously thinking it might be time for some more advanced training.

A piece of home, with a twist.

As a kid, one of our favorite cheap meals in my family was the wiener wrap. You roll up some hotdogs and grated cheese inside cheap canned biscuit dough, and pop 'em in the oven for however long the package directions on the can say. It's a bit Sandra Lee, and admittedly chock full of all kinds of artificial preservatives and everything else, but it's a tasty bit of homemade junk food regardless.

Tonight, while sitting about waiting for a diagnostic on a spare PC I had sitting around, I got a sudden craving for the things, and decided they'd be a cheap alternative to what I'd originally planned, which was having some of Abby's Pizza's delicious chicken and spuds delivered.

So I marched off through the winter wonderland to Ray's, and after wandering indecisively for half an hour as is my custom, wound up deciding to get a little more fancy with them.

For the meat, I went with some fresh hot Italian sausage from the meat dept., for the cheese, some grated Asiago, and for the dough, some croissant dough.

The dough concerned me a little, I think it may've been past it's shelf life a bit as it smelled fermented. But it was late, and I didn't feel like trudging back through the snow to go get another one or something.

It took me several tries before I finally figured out how best to roll the sausages up in the dough, but once I did, I put them in the oven at 350 for about 18 minutes or so. They still looked kind of pale at this point, so I gave them another 2 minutes to get them nice and golden brown.

They looked fine at first when I pulled them out, until I started trying to take them off the pan. They'd cooked together on the sides, and for some reason this caused the dough to not cook completely on the sides, so they had to go back in the oven for another 5 minutes to finish them off.

I finally got them done however, and they proved quite tasty. Probably could've used a bit more cheese I think, and they were very heavy, and kinda greasy, but still rather tasty and quite filling too. I was only able to eat 2, and the second one was rather pushing it I think. I'll have leftovers now for lunch at work tomorrow, and possibly dinner as well.

Try the caipirinha.

I have discovered a new favorite drink.

Hola! makes caipirinhas.

Yet again, Bourdain has failed to steer me wrong.

It was a couple weeks ago I had my first one. We were out for the evening's meal, and I decided to have a cocktail. Without really thinking about it, I ordered my usual gin and tonic, and noted a look of disappointment on the face of my waiter.

As I idly sipped my gin and waited for my food, I picked up the drink menu, and my eyes wandered down and immediately noticed something I had not seen the last time: caipirinhas.

In that very instant, I knew I had to try one. I could not pass up the opportunity to consume a beverage that my personal idol has spoken so glowingly of, so without hesitation, I ordered one.

The waiter brought me the fresh caipirinhas, which adds to the usual mix of lime, cachaca, and sugar, some hibiscus nectar, mango, grilled pineapple, and a few other things I've now forgotten, because the instant you taste it, a wave of pure bliss over comes all of your synapses, and the only thing you can think about at that point is moving to the beaches of Brazil and drinking caipirinhas all day.

It is one of those moments much like the previously discussed climactic moment in Ratatouille, where a food transcends beyond merely tasting great, but actually takes you somewhere else altogether.

So this recent Saturday, when it came time to make dinner plans, the first thing that came to mind was caipirinhas, as I was nursing a bit of a hangover from a night of pounding Henry Weinhard's and playing Rock Band all night, and figured, what better "hair of the dog" solution than the magical nectar that is the caipirinha?

However, a sudden craving for tempura in my dining companion led to us deciding to first take our meal at Yoko's. We wound up getting the veggie tempura, the spicy Thai roll, Batman roll, spicy albacore roll, broiled mussels, and some seared albacore sashimi. Phelan was our sushi chef for the evening, and, as always, everything he made for us was absolutely fantastic. I've known Phelan for years, I got my start in the business of food at Yoko's downtown years ago, and he makes some excellent sushi.

After we wrapped up our fantastic meal however, we decided to end the evening with a nightcap of caipirinhas. This time, a slight misunderstanding with our waiter led to us getting the regular caipirinhas, and I was initially concerned once I realized that we had not been served the same drink as before.

All such doubt of course, instantly disappeared from my thoughts the second I tasted it, because it was still every bit the heavenly drink the fresh caipirinha is, just different. More pure and simple, but no less amazing. You will be served fantastically by either, and I would have a hard time choosing any preference between them.



For yesterday's meal, I finally executed a plan I'd been intending to try for some weeks now. At work I had attempted to make a rolled, breaded veal dish, stuffed with a "Peppadew" goat cheese, but the veal I had used was largely dismal, and the breading didn't adhere well. However, the goat cheese itself, once it had melted and blended with the hint of honey mustard I'd added, was incredible, and I knew from that moment I had to do something with it.

My friend had mentioned that he had a ton of ham, and so this rolled about in my brain a bit before deciding that I wanted to do some kind of goat cheese cordon bleu dish. Eventually, I decided to go all pretentious fusion cuisine, and make goat cheese Cordon Bleu wontons.

So I mixed the remaining "peppadew" goat cheese, with some other three pepper stuff, shredded ham, minced chicken, some garlic, honey mustard, and a few spices. The mixtured got put in the wonton's crab puff style, and dropped in the deep fryer.

Unfortunately, they just weren't that great. The oil was on it's second usage, and it started going funky quick, and somehow, the process wasn't hot enough to get the goat cheese to melt properly. Plus my wontons weren't staying terribly well sealed, which meant the insides getting a lot of grease in them.

The filling also needed something else, like some vegetable of some kind, or some apple. Something light and crisp to cut through the heaviness of all that meat and goat cheese. I tried it in a panini this morning and, while it melted properly and tastes pretty good, it's damn heavy on it's own, and the buttery grilled bread only exacerbates the problem.

However, one thing all this experimentation has succeeded in is breaking me of a fear of goat cheese that came from some truly foul Carre du Berry that was my only previous experience with the stuff. In fact, I've come to rather like the stuff, in moderation of course . . .

The Buffet of the Damned.

There is something about buffet restaurants that has always unnerved me as a cook. I was never quite sure what it was, exactly. Sure the food is generally frozen crap, and generally focused on pure quantity with quality of any sort rarely entering the picture except by pure chance, but the same could be said of much fast food or even the average chain restaurant.

Recently however, my eating companion and I visited a new restaurant, the King's Buffet in Bend, OR, and it was upon leaving that restaurant, feeling slightly unsettled, that I finally realized what it was that had been bothering me all this time.

Buffets are for people who hate food.

This might seem like a contradiction of basic logic. After all, what better place for a lover of food than a place where you can eat your fill of any of a staggering array of dishes. Selection, quantity, and all self service too!

This is of course, pure bullshit, but it is the kind of twist in logic that keeps bringing me back to the places from time to time, despite my almost irrational fear of them. However, there is another clue to the true nature of these places in the other reason I usually wind up in them: desperation.

And from this I return to the point that these are not places for people who love food, but rather, they are for people who see food as some sort of onerous obligation, and who would rather be done with it altogether were it not for that bothersome aspect of biology whereby the lack of consumption is liable to result in death.

So, rather than concentrate at all on what they eat, they take the route of the purest swine, and belly up to the nearest trough, and eat whatever vile slop flows past them until they can but roll about in the mud like an over bloated sow. How better to delay any further need for sustenance than simply cramming your gullet past it's limit. The goal is not satisfaction here, indeed, the goal is perverted into the reverse, to cram such massive slop buckets worth of garbage in your face that your body is now utterly repulsed by the mere thought of food.

You can see it in the faces of the patrons. The only ones who generally don't bear at least some hint of a depressing pallor are the children, who are by nature generally happy to eat basically anything. There is a strange, downtrodden grimace that afflicts the face of a buffet patron, as if the very soul of their palate has been drained from them, and they are now left only with a hatred of food and those who craft it.

The buffet is, to me, hostile territory, like the pious marching into the gates of hell. I cannot help but feel unnerved and out of place in a buffet, because it's very nature is poison to the pursuit of true cuisine. That sense of dread and fear is simply a manifestation of the very same bone chilling shiver that afflicts a man confronted with a place of pure evil, an infernal sacrificial altar upon which food is offered up for the slaughter in the name of a darker, twisted faith that worships only blind consumption and gluttony for gluttony's sake.

It may be that there are still buffets out there taken in a spirit of a love of food, I have heard good things about the true traditional smörgåsbord, but until presented with such, I can only intone that old saying, "There, but for the grace of God, go I."

Yin and Yang.

So, I have gone through, what is essentially, a study in opposites in the last 12 hours or so of eating.

Yesterday, I was down with a massive hangover, and as is often the case, my response to this was to crave a big greasy burger. I for some reason passed on grabbing a Jody's melt, and wound up going all through my short work shift without eating anything but a bit of miso and rice. So when I got off work, and my friend arrived to cart me off to Bend, I implored him to take me somewhere for a big greasy burger.

So, we went to Kayo's Roadhouse, a cheesy oddly Western-ish themed, and remarkably large restaurant on the north end of Redmond. My friend remarked that the cheep wood and sheet metal decor reminded him of the Japanese internment camps, and this disturbing ambience would prove to foreshadow the entire meal.

After considerable poring over the rather disappointing menu, he decided on the 8oz. petite sirloin, medium rare at my insistence, while I stuck to my guns and ordered a burger with Swiss, grilled onions, and bacon, despite the rather idiotic pricing scheme (purchase the base burger, then tack on the extras for a dollar a pop).

We were first served a basket of rolls which were obviously cheap and frozen, served with a cinnamon butter, and a simple Caesar salad. My friend was suitably impressed with the cinnamon butter, while I found the choice to be a bit odd to accompany a savory dish. The Caesar was reasonably competent I suppose, if, like most, largely inauthentic.

Then came the entrees, and this is of course the part where everything falls apart. For starters, my burger is not greasy at all, in fact, it's dry as a bone. Because it's burnt. The bottom half of the pre-formed and obviously also frozen, pre-packaged burger patty is a layer of black char. The fries are OK, again frozen but this is a common state of affairs in most American restaurants. My only quibble with those was that they had rather inexplicably added cinnamon to the seasoning salt they were dusted with, which again seemed rather out of place.

My companion's steak was, of course, not actually medium rare at all. As my mother taught me as a lad, the vast majority of restaurants tend to overcook everything, so it is generally wise to order the next level of doneness down from whatever you actually want. As a result, the steak wound up coming to us medium, with only a hint of pink left in it. Thank God he took my advice, and didn't ask for medium as he'd originally intended, as I fear for what resulting slab of likely near-charcoal meat might've wound up on his plate. However, this was a minor injustice compared to what one experienced upon actually tasting the steak. Honestly, neither of us were actually convinced it was a real steak, the texture was entirely wrong. There was no realy fiber to the meat, the mouthfeel more resembled a finely ground hamburger that had simply been pressed into a shape vaguely resembling a steak. And the actual flavor bore a strong resemblance to that organ meat flavor one gets in a beef heart or cheap supermarket chuck steak. The capper on the plate was supposedly mashed potatoes, but I'm personally more convinced it was some kind of synthetic gum resin, given the amount of texture and flavor that was left in them.

A waitress eventually came around and replaced my burnt burger with a second offering, as well as another helping of the strange cinnamon fries, which again wound up being the lion's share of my consumption. I made a half hearted attempt at this second burger and while they had managed to at least not actively burn this twice-damned slab of ground beef byproduct, on the whole it was still largely dismal, and the cheese wasn't even properly melted. It was actually still cold on the corners that stuck out of the side of the burger. Something about the whole thing somehow triggered my nose's sense memory, and I found myself again smelling the unspeakably foul "sukiyaki" from my own place of employ, and my appetite basically disappeared at this moment. I'd managed to fill myself up well enough on fries at this point, so at least I'd managed to feed the hunger from my all day fast.

A manager eventually came around as we were leaving, and comped us for $9 of the bill, which still left us paying $20 with tip, which was still far too much for what is, quite undoubtedly, one of the worst meals I have ever consumed. I don't even know that I would've been entirely satisfied with a total comp, and I will not be returning there ever again.


However, this afternoon's meal, was far superior. Instead of a restaurant, we cooked at home. Instead of Western cuisine, we went with American Chinese, in the form of the crab puff.

I had discussed earlier in the week doing a sort of "deep fried weekend", setting up one of the pans as a deep fryer, and going to town with all sorts of fun things. My main driving thought was Buffalo wings, a personal favorite of mine, and one that's just plain better when it's fresh fried at home. My friend however had seen an episode of Good Eats and been left with a massive craving for anything involving wontons.

As crab puffs are one of my favorite appetizer dishes in the world, they seemed like a natural fit for the combined preferences and cravings, being both deep fried, and wonton related.

So we went to the restaurant supply store, got a fryer thermometer, some wonton skins, a big package of imitation crab and a bottle of Kikkoman sweet and sour sauce, and from the regular supermarket, acquired some green onion, cilantro and carrot. We already had a good sized hunk of cream cheese in the fridge, as well as a big jug of cooking oil that had been acquired earlier in the week in preparation for the "deep fried weekend".

The filling wound up consisting of, of course, crab and cream cheese, as well as peeled carrot, chopped green onion, and dashes each of chopped garlic, salt, pepper, malt vinegar, Olive Garden Fiamme hot sauce, and olive oil, and then mashed all together. This went, about half a teaspoon or so at a time, folded into the wonton skins, first folding them in half and sealing the edge with water, then crimping edge corner flap twice.

These got dropped into hot oil, about 350 degrees F, and cooked till nice and golden brown on each side, generally taking about 3-5 minutes at a guess, turning them at least once during cooking.

The sweet and sour turned out to be largely disgusting, so for a dipping sauce we wound up just using some sweet chili sauce with a splash of malt vinegar.

The sauce wound up being largely superflous however. They were, simply, the best crab puffs I've ever consumed, better even than any of the restaurants I've eaten them at that impressed me with their quality. They had enough of a good flavor all their own, that they really were better without the sauce as tasty as it was.

We ate an insane number of them, in the end splitting something like 30 or more of the things, leaving the both of us stuffed to the gills. I ate so many I don't think I'll be able to think of eating them again for a while.

Certainly made up for last night's pathetic excuse for "food".

Kitchen nightmares.

I hate my job.

OK, lot's of people hate their jobs, so this should probably sound like a bit of a banal statement to the vast majority of you.

Thing is, I didn't hate my job before. But my workplace is rapidly doing it's absolute best to burn me completely the fuck out. Somehow, with every passing week, it seems I work harder and harder and harder, for the privilege of earning less and less money, and I'm frankly tiring of it.

At this juncture, the honeymoon period hasn't just worn off, it's jumped straight to the "plotting to kill your spouse and collect the insurance money" stage, or at least quite near abouts.

I am the only cook. This is, by and large, one of the core problems as it is, because it's simply a fuck of a lot to handle just getting orders out while running all the stations, and not having anything come out burnt to a crisp or forgotten or done wrong. This also means I'm the only one doing the prep most of the time, which is also something of a bear, but no big deal so long as I have time to do it, But lately, my hours have been dwindling rather rapidly, meaning that I have less and less time to actually get the prep work done, and on top of that, despite my hours shrinking, we've been getting more steady business, meaning I'm too busy cooking orders to work on prep at all. Which leads to lots of fun days wherein I get swamped with more orders than I can handle as it is, with the added joy of running out of bloody everything in the middle of a rush. And then comes the surprise orders for tempura bits for the sushi, or requests to come up and help with the sushi or wash dishes (as there is no dishwasher either), meaning further delay of often vital prep.

To top this off, there's an increasingly flippant and even condescending attitude towards my presence there that I'm getting rather agitated with. The other day, the waitress had the audacity to actually walk up and take one of the pans off my goddamn range while I was in the middle of setting up mise en place for a fried rice order. I've gone from being respected as a cook who knows what the hell he's doing, to being treated like another of their long line of idiot teenagers that have filled the whites before me, constantly being second guessed and nitpicked over everything I do, usually with disastrous results. I've actually had to goddamn fight over things so simple as how to rapidly thaw a box of shrimp. I have less authority over how things run in the kitchen apparently than random fuckwit friends of the owner's who claim to have worked in a sushi bar once, who in today's instance actually deigned to dictate the nature of the yakisoba recipe.

And now the aforementioned waitress has basically turned my goddamn kitchen into a daycare. During the lunch shift I now have to deal with the accompaniment of two screaming 5 year olds running amok in my kitchen, and of course, their parent's idea of "discipline" basically amounts to talking to them in a displeased tone. That old cliche about the definition of insanity springs instantly to mind whenever I witness her explaining for the hundredth time that they are not to leave their little corner in the back of the house. Tonight I also got the oddity of her recruiting her older daughter for clean up work. Yes, that's right, unpaid child labor, right in my kitchen.

And for all this, I make barely enough to pay the bills, and much of my food throughout the week comes from my meager tips. I've had to borrow money twice just so I'd have enough cash to eat over the weekend.

This will not last much longer, thankfully. Earlier this week I was informed by my landlord that he is losing the house, and as a result, I have to move, within the next several weeks. A perusal of the local housing scene has made it abundantly clear that I'm unlikely to find anything satisfactory, so I've decided to take advantage of the situation and use it as an excuse to get the fuck out of this redneck ass town, and start looking for a job elsewhere, and a cheap flat to go with. At this point, even if I'm making minimum wage, if it's at least full time, I'll be doing more comfortably than I am now.

For the most part, I haven't really been doing much cooking even, I've simply been too burned out, and have even fallen in with the dreaded frozen meal again. However, there have been a few shining beacons in the darkened wasteland of my recent diet, which I shall recount thusly:

1) Numbered by utmost importance, is Hola! Mexican Restaurant. A friend dragged me along last weekend, and it is, quite simply, the best restaurant in Central Oregon. Absolutely, and utterly, fantastic. The lomo de puerco I ate during my visit was, quite simply, the most delicious and perfectly cooked piece of pork I've ever consumed in my entire life. We're talking blow job good here. I have difficulty thinking about it without tears welling up in my eyes, it was like a tiny orgasm every time I took a bite of the absolutely fork tender, deliciously moist, perfectly seasoned pig. A further sampling of my friend's mole poblano provided one of the most complex and well crafted blends of flavor I have ever experienced. We finished the meal with a not at all bad and actually quite delicious coconut flan, in which my only quibble was simply that it didn't taste all that recognizably like coconut.

2) Sushi. I have sort of stumbled into an informal and unspoken arrangement whereby it seems I can make myself sushi all I want, so long as I'm providing the main ingredient. This has led to some interesting experimentations as a result of my cash-starved situation, and so far I've made sushi with such oddities as canned kippers (rolled with cream cheese and eel sauce), smoked mussels (prepared similarly to the "spicy tuna" roll), and probably the oddest, turkey pastrami, which went through several iterations. However the piece de resistance was when I lucked out on a sale and got a hold of our next item . . .

3) Oysters. The nearby Fred Meyers had a sale on medium oysters, and I leapt upon them. $2.50 for a 4 oz jar of oysters that is normally $5 was too good to pass up. Now, I have never actually had oysters that I recall, excepting some utterly vile canned smoked ones I was once subjected to by the owner of my previous Japanese restaurant job, but I decided in my head that what sounded like a good idea was to tempura fry them and roll them into a maki with some mayo and tobiko and whatever else sounded good. I wound up picking up some shiitake mushrooms as well, and sauteeing them with a bit of salt, pepper, and a dash of chili oil, and then rolled them with the fried oysters, spicy mayo, green onion, and carrot, into a Japanese style maki (which I am not very good at I might note, a great shame of mine). However, I still had 4 fist sized fried oysters left after making two rolls to bring to my computer shop guy, so I decided not to let them go to waste, and to eat them with a bit of ponzu.

This was really the best route to take. Because those oysters were absolutely incredible. Rich, melt in your mouth texture, wonderful flavor, and a touch of the sea that for once is welcome, instead of off putting. I eat them and I want to move to the coast somewhere, and live off them for the rest of my life. The sushi by comparison was simply too busy, and too much going on, and it drowned out the magic of the oysters. Even the tempura I used seemed to be just a bit too much getting in between me and the good stuff, and I now understand what Bourdain sees in the damn things, because I honestly just want to eat one of the buggers raw now. The closer to the primal essence of oyster, the better. Shame I'm not going to be getting them that fresh any time between now and I don't know when. In the mean time I think I'll settle for tweaking my frying method to cut down on extraneous breading.

I hope they have more tomorrow. They were almost sold out when I got today's.

The importance of fat.

I've discussed this with a few folks lately, and thought I'd bring my thoughts on the subject here:

We are all too damn afraid of fat.

It's been stripped from our food rather systematically over the last couple of decades, and as far as I am concerned, it's a damn crime.

Look at the hamburger. Most people don't even know what a good hamburger tastes like anymore, because they've never had one that hasn't been completely stripped of any fat. The "lean burger" is a damn crime, you cannot make a decent hamburger without the proper percentage of fat. A good fatty burger can even survive the evils of "well done".

Sausage is the same way anymore. When I go to the market and buy ground sausage, I expect there to be enough fat in that sausage to make gravy with afterwards, but with the exception of Ray's, the stuff you find in every grocery store around here is so dry and lean that I have to fry a couple of strips of bacon along side to get the fat I need to make a roux.

Fat isn't that big a deal, people, just don't eat so goddamn much of it, and get off your ass once in a while. There's a reason so much of that old country homecooking is riddled with it, it's actually a really good source of long burn energy, provided you're actually working for a living and not sitting on your ass all day.

At least we've managed to fight off the damn anti-carb thing.

I have seen Ratatouille.

I know, I know, it's been out for quite some time. I've never been much of a TV and film guy, I'm always too busy playing games or pottering around on message boards with my spare time, and very often simply have no TV at all. It's not that I don't like either of those things, it's just that, barring my recent extended and involuntary sabbatical to the familial homestead, most of the time I simply don't follow it or bother to watch it much.

In the specific case of Ratatouille, there was the additional hitch of it being a Disney/Pixar film, qualifiers that I largely avoid purely on reflex.

However, this one, had hints of promise. Thomas freaking Keller advised on the film. Anthony Bourdain called it one of the best restaurant movies he'd ever seen. And then came the final straw earlier today, when rumors trickled in to one of my IRC haunts that it was in the running for an Academy Award nomination.

My ears perked up. There was some discussion on the part of some of the chatters as to how in the hell a restaurant movie could even have such appeal as to net an Oscar. I attempted, in my own groggy, sleep-deprived, and largely futile way, to impart upon the residents as to the kind of drama and tension that goes on in a restaurant when the shit really hits the fan, the rising level of interest in the mysterious workings of the professional kitchen, and the proliferation of legend and myth surrounding it. But largely it all seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Having now seen it, I know now how I should have responded: "Just watch the fucking movie."

To really sum up in my mind exactly why this film is bloody incredible, however, I must dip into a rather singular moment from the film, it's climax to be exact. While most of you reading this have probably already seen it, for the sake of those who haven't, I will simply state that this is a film that captures the spirit of truly great cooking in a truly brilliant and clever fashion that I simply did not expect, that you must see it immediately, and that you should also really, really skip reading the rest of this post, because I'm about to spoil the hell out of one of the biggest moments in the film.

I'm serious. Stop it, now. Go get the film, watch it, then come back. You'll understand, trust me.

The film climaxes on what can be no better explained than by the application of the sadly cliche phraseology of "a moment of clarity". Not just for the for the character who experiences it, but for the audience, the creator, and I suspect a bit of the real life chef, Mr. Keller, who created the dish that sparks it.

The ominous, vampire-like restaurant critic is served the titular dish, with Remy the rat's (and real life chef Thomas Keller's) particular spin. We see him take a bite, and then suddenly, he is instantly transported back in time, to his childhood, standing in the doorway with a sad look on his face, his mother, smiling back, and comforting him with a bowl of simple ratatouille.

All in an instant, transported by memory to a better place, a better time, simply through the gentle touch of a chef, bringing to life a seemingly simple, unimpressive dish, simultaneously new and remarkable, and yet also old and familiar.

This is the power of truly great food. And this is why Ratatouille is one of the most incredible pieces of cinema I have ever seen, because in that brief scene, more than any other in a line of well-crafted moments and visual cues, we see it represented visually to a level of clarity I wouldn't have thought possible in the medium. So much is conveyed in such a brief, yet powerful image, and it seems to bely a level of understanding that I was simply floored by.

Setting aside my snarky, cynic's facade a moment, I must humbly admit that scene literally makes my cry just thinking about it. Its like someone reached right in my chest and found that spark that makes me want to do what I do, and thrust it on screen, and then comforts me softly just as Ego's mother comforts him.

The rest of the film is, in many ways, simply icing on the cake. The incredible verisimilitude, the clever writing, the animation, the sight gags, Collette, all really build the foundation for that final resolute moment in a way that few films manage.

So yes, it deserves an Oscar nod. At least a damn nomination. I'd consider it a victory for chefs and cooks everywhere if this film got the recognition it deserves, simply for managing to portray so well with so little, the passion and the joy that is food and cooking. This is an Important Movie(tm), if not for the rest of them, then at least for us.

The French are geniuses.

So, I never really thought much of French cooking, really. I dont know why, exactly, perhaps it was simply youthful rebellion against the overwhelming French influence on formalized Western cuisine, or my greater affinity for Asian styles of cooking, but I just never was terribly sold on the importance of it.

Oh, certainly, I recognized that some of the techniques were downright invaluable. I couldn't live without the roux, if nothing else. But I never really thought much of it, because it seemed like such a basic thing.

And despite being the Bourdain fan that I am, even when he'd go on at length about the wonders of French cooking, it still didn't really register.

Until I watched him make cassoulet.

It was for the Cleveland episode of No Reservations, that he prepared a cassoulet for Michael Ruhlman and his family.

Here was a dish, which basically involved cooking a bunch of different kinds of pork, inside of pork skin, with a pot-pie-like pastry crust to top the whole thing off.

Pork pot pie.

Any dismissal of the French instantly vaporized. I don't know how I can even entirely express in text with enough emphasis. I literally feel that the medium of text is inadequate to describe how utterly and completely astounded and infatuated I was at the very idea of this dish. I've taken longer to fall in love with women.

Of course, the moment I saw it, I knew I would have to make it. Someday, somehow, I would make a cassoulet, because it was simply too damn genius not to experience first hand, and there aren't exactly a lot of French bistros in the middle of the Oregon desert.

Well, today, I finally got my chance. I was perusing the days selection of meats at Ray's, and saw the package of pig skin, and immediately the light bulb moment went on in my head. I would make cassoulet. A chat with the butcher revealed that he was perfectly happy to cut me a bit of skin to suit even.

My mind was made up. A frenzy of activity ensued to acquire all the desired and needed ingredients for my own interpretation of the concept. First things first, I needed a pan, as my house is dreadfully short on them, and completely lacking one that was ovenable.

I wound up going with a cheap disposable foil 5lb. loaf pan.

Next was ingredients. At this point, I realized I was going to need a basket, so I went back to the door, and grabbed one, and basically worked my way around the store from there. A sweet potato, cheap surplus from Thanksgiving, a red bell pepper, shallot, Braeburn apple, fresh savory for some herbage, an onion which I didn't wind up actually using because of the strength of the shallot, some brown sugar and paprika for some further flavorants, a bottle of cheap pinot grigio (more cheap sale-priced Crane Lake), and two cans of white beans. From the butcher counter, 4 strips of peppered bacon, 1 large andouille sausage, a custom cut measure of pork skin, and a smoked pork hock chunk, cut in half. Finally, to top it off, premade pie crusts, to provide the topping.

Once I got it home, I discovered that the pork skin wasn't quite the big solid piece I'd hoped for, as he'd mostly just picked out bits from the already cut package from the shelf. Fortunately, there was a big enough sheet of it to cover the base of the pan, which I figured was good enough, so I laid it across the bottom of the pan.

Then, into the pan went the yam, shallot, apple, and red bell pepper, all diced, followed by three cloves of minced garlic. On top of this went the two halves of pork hock, followed by sliced andouille, and chopped bacon. On top of all this went the cans of white beans, draining the liguid into a seperate vessel first. Then seasoning: black pepper, paprika, cumin, New Mexico chili powder, garlic powder, salt, a sprig or two worth of the fresh savory, and a generous helping of brown sugar. For liquid, the liquid from the beans, a good amount of the pinot grigio (maybe a cup and a half or so), a bit of soya sauce and seasoned rice vinegar, and then topping it off with water until everything was roughly to the level of the top layer of beans.

All of this was topped by covering the top with the pie crust. One 9-inch pie crust wasn't quite big enough to cover the whole length of the pan, so I wound up using one whole one, and part of the other, crimping it over the top and trimming the excess from the side of the pan, then slitting across the top five times.

This went into the oven for about a half an hour at 350 degrees, followed by another 10 minutes or so at 450. This proved not enough, so it wound up going back into the oven for another hour at 350, and to be honest, I think it could've used another half an hour or so, and this will probably be what I do to heat up the leftovers for dinner tomorrow.

However, difficulties with nailing down the cooking time aside, the dish was overall absolutely fucking delicious. Like a rich, slightly sweet bean soup, and absolutely tasty. The red pepper and some of the sweet potato seemed a bit undercooked, hence the consideration of another half an hour's cooking time.

Still, while probably not remotely faithful to the traditional French recipe except in the overarching concept, I think I managed to pull of a very, very tasty dish, and I intend to make it again. Possibly even next weekend.