Philly Cheese Steak (wit whiz)

   It's been a rough year for the original American city. Between Hurricane Sandy and the Eagles going 3-8, the city of Philadelphia could probably use a pick-me up. Luckily, Philly is a city that knows nothing else if not how to indulge itself. This week, in honor of their struggle, I indulged with them with a Philly Cheese Steak cum Whiz.
   'What in the world,' you high-brow non-Philadelphians may ask, 'is Whiz?'. Cheez Whiz is a marvelous concoction, by the good people at Kraft, most analogous to the mustard-yellow cheese melt found on your nachos at a ski lodge.

    Of course, a Philly Cheese Steak may not necessarily be enjoyed exclusively with Cheez Whiz (9 out of 10 doctors say it shouldn't). Provolone and American are also acceptable substitutes. But, for that artery-clogging goodness that fills each and every valve of your heart with warm, creamy satisfaction - one really should go for the Whiz.
    The first thing you'll want to do when preparing your very own Philly Cheese Steak (after you procure the whiz) is to sauté a bunch of vegetables. Start with your onions because they will take the longest. I cut up three large onions, two white and one red, and put them in a medium saucepan with two tablespoons of unsalted butter, 1 table spoon of canola oil, a teaspoon of kosher salt and a mild dose of ground black pepper. Thus, my onions began to caramelize.

    As you may now notice that I used a pretty small pan. This was my fault, but not to worry - as the onions caramelize they become smaller and less opaque. The process should take somewhere between 30 to 40 minutes on medium heat.

    Next came the meat. I used two and a half pounds of shaved steak. After quickly coating in salt, pepper and olive oil, I spread the meat on a griddle at medium heat. I poured some extra olive oil over the top of the meat and re-peppered for good measure.

(Sorry for the blur)

   You may notice, again, that I used far too small a pan. This affliction that plagued me throughout this meal. I suppose I wanted to feel like the residents of Philadelphia; surrounded by people/things packed into entirely too small spaces.

    In case you didn't already realize, Philadelphia is one of America's fattest cities (Reference: Andy Reid).

   Now to sauté the rest of your vegetables. Start with your mushrooms, but don't waste too much time before getting to the peppers. You want your peppers burnt, but you don't want your mushrooms cooked to an elastic texture. I recommend Porte Bella. You'll need something to class up your sub, you know, to balance out the Whiz. 

    Cut your mushrooms into small, bite-size pieces. Put two tablespoons of olive oil and one of unsalted butter into a pan. Let the butter dissolve. Throw in your mushrooms and (a tip from Iron Chief Bobby Flay), add three teaspoons of chopped parsley. Usually I don't trust Flay on anything not involving barbecue or hot sauce, but he's onto something here.

Here are the mushrooms and parsley, getting all nice and sautéed:

(again, the blur - sorry)

    By the time you do the peppers you should have the routine pretty much down. Coat heavily in salt and pepper and throw in a pan with two tablespoons of olive oil in which to sauté (most frequently used word in a blog post thus far. I wish it had been a better one, like aphrodisiac of daffodil ).

    Just as all your ingredients finish cooking, heat up your Cheez Whiz. No need for anything classy, after all, it's nacho cheese. Any microwave should do. When assembling the sub, I advice you to apply a coating of Whiz first, then the meat, and the vegetables on top. The result is ascetically pleasing and creates the sensation of a "creme filled" cheese center - much like a Twinkie. For future generations viewing this blog: the Twinkie was a highly successful cake-snack, with cream filling, that, despite being sold everywhere, no one actually enjoyed. 

    At the end of the day, your meal should look like this:

And the happy diner should look like this:

       

-EM

      

         

Beer Battered Steak

Side note: the British really seam to love my blog. Here's to you, ol' chaps.

    Anyway, back in 'merica, I decided it was time I beer batter some steaks. This is a technique that I've perfected over many a camp fire, but was unsure how to adapt it to the stove-top.
    First and foremost, one must consider their choice of beer. It is important to use something definitively hoppy, but at the same time, do you really want to waist an IPA just for the sake of cooking up some steak? Probably not. Really, the best possible thing to use is Dogfish Head's 90 minute IPA. It has a hop-ish, but almost thin taste, that coats and complements the meat quite well. If budget is your concern, but you still want something that will bring out taste when cooked, the answer has been keeping Americans drunk since 1936. I am speaking, of course, of the cheep, dorm-room classic: Budweiser.

Never the wiser than to choose a Budweiser so that none of your pennies could go to waste.
And though it is thicker than most beers, and bitter, at least you'll be able to stomach the taste.

    Ah, Budweiser. The king of the cheep beers. You know it's classy because in 2011 the can bought a bow tie.

P.S. People of Budweiser - you just got some free advertising, but let it be known, that I like the old logo better.

    The art of battering a steak in bear is virtually nonexistent. If you're by a camp-fire in the open woods, you don't have much of a choice but to slap your meat down on a flat skillet - the metal grate will not do - and occasionally poor some out for the homies right onto your meat. Flip frequently to get the most even coating, and make sure you are poring beer on either end of the steak.
    Those of us beer battering at home have a little more flexibility. The first thing you'll want to do is season your steaks with a little bit of salt and a whole lot of pepper. Next, fill up about 1/4 of a 16 oz beer - (that's 4 ounces for you math whizzes) - in a glass container with the meat.  make sure beer was spread along the top as well as soaking up in the bottom and sides of the meat. Put a top on the container and let it sit for a half hour, occasionally poring more beer over the top of the meets.

   
    After the meat is appropriately seasoned under the influence, it is time to fry those suckers up. Heat up a skillet to medium heat and slap down some meat. Poor the excess batter-beer into the pan to preserve the juices. Also, this means that so long as you keep the heat low, you won't have to use any non-stick spray. The beer should provide a liquid layer between the meat and the pan to prevent it from sticking, but, if it gets to hot, the beer will burn between the meat and the pan and do just the opposite.
    I wanted my steaks to have a bit of a kick, so I chopped up some Baby Bell Peppers and dipped each slice in Cholula's hot sauce. Cholula's is an old classic, and pretty much goes with everything. With the peppers dabbed in more pepper, I threw them down on the skillet to cook with my meat.

Also, though they were not in my arsenal this particular night, I hear diced Porta Bella mushrooms make an excellent addition.

   But, alas, one cannot simply have steak with peppers and pepper sauce for diner. This is not a well-balanced life style. So, in an effort to class things up a bit, I made couscous.  Specifically, I made these couscous:

    Near East is a good brand. I forget how long it took, but any idiot can prepare a box. Boil some water, add couscous, stir occasionally for X amount of time. maybe 20 minutes. 

    Once again, the picture of the full meal suffered due to the quality of my phone's internal camera. So don't judge to harshly, I assure you that both my brother and I were very satisfied with both the cook and flavor of the meet. 

   

   Mmm Mmm, Good! This meal goes especially well with, you guessed it, Budweiser, or another, higher-quality beer. Join me next time when I'll make a Philly Cheese Steak Wit Wiz; and remember - if Denzel can land a plane drunk you can cook a steak.  I leave you, people of England, with this:

-EM

   

Taco Tuesday

   

      In the interest of Journalistic integrity, it must be mentioned that I did not make the Tacos on this Tuesday. I maintain that I made them on a Tuesday, about two weeks ago, thereby justifying the title of this post. Anyway, here's what I remember of what happened:
     The Taco is by far the most extensive project I have undertaken in my cooking. This is not to say that the full meal was particularly difficult in experiment, but that it consisted of many different things; more things than I had yet to cook at once.
     The full meal required preparation of rice, beans, meat, and guacamole - none of which, except for the frying of the meat, was a task to which I felt particularly attune. At many times while cooking, I felt very panicked and housewiferous. I can now claim to understand that sense of baseless frenzy, like the pit of the stomach in free-fall, that accompanies the multi-task of huswifery.
     It took a good 30 minutes of situating before I could begin to cook. When, at last, I thought I had all the ingredients readily available at my disposal, I started on the rice. The special brand of yellow rice I had bought came in a little square box and was easily prepared in boiling water with a pinch of salt and a teaspoon of olive oil. After the water had boiled and the rice, plus seasoning packet, had been added, a lid was placed on the pot and it was left to sit for 25 minutes.
      I now had to complete the rest of my work within the confines of the clock. Of course, there was no real need to be as punctuational; the rice, upon completion, could have been easily kept warm in my ultra-modern, 21st century kitchen by a number of different means. However, I engaged the challenge of the clock, regardless, as one of those inexplicable wants of human competitiveness.
     While the rice sat, broiling in warm water, I started on the meat. I had purchased skirt stake. This would prove to be the easiest part of the final creation. I utilized what I had already learned of cooking meats in research for my previous blog posts: like a pro, I lathered it in a concoction of mostly olive oil, as well as hefty doses of salt and pepper. At the last moment, I squeezed two genetically enlarged cloves of garlic through my faulty garlic press, on either end of the meat.
      Feeling like the skirt was properly seasoned, I sprayed a pan with some pam and slapped down the hunk of flesh, pouring the remaining seasoning for frying, into the pan.

     Notice the olive-oil/garlic muck

     The rice:

     I now had pots and pans cooking food-stuffs and taking up residence on two of the four burners in my kitchen when I decided it was time to set about filling the others.  With still some 25 minutes on the clock, I went to work on the beans.

     Before using that powerful enigma, the can opener, I cut up some green pepper with half a cup of diced onions, a few cloves of poorly pressed garlic, and half a teaspoon of basil. I threw the resulting amalgam into a pan coated with a chief's staple ingredient: extra virgin olive oil, a teaspoon full.

    3-5 minutes later, I added 2 and 3/4 cups of water. After bringing the mixture to a boil, I added the canned beans. Unfortunately, this being a first-time endeavorer, I poured the entire contents of the can into my pot. For those of you unversed, as I was, in the nature of canned goods, it may or may not come as a surprise that the product was preserved by an aquatic bean juice for freshness. Unthinkingly, I poured the whole mixture, anemic bean-water and all, into my pot. The result, though unpleasant, was not beyond fixing.

         10 minutes later, the beans were put through a colander so as to relieve them of the brownish muck

     Now, all that remained was the guacamole. I had never made guac before, but am a longtime admirer, and felt I knew what I had to do. I sliced and pitted two avocados, mashing them together with a wooden tool, the kind used for cracking nuts, the shape of which was a spheroid I cannot define.

     I then squeezed the juice from two halves of a lime, through an aptly-named citrus juicer, into my avocado mush, which, though previously left implied, was in a standard size bowl.

    Next came the addition of salt and ground paprika to taste, which for my taste was a plentiful amount. Then things got spicy; I added a whole lot of hot sauce, enough to leave the taster with a kick of an aftertaste, but not enough to overwhelm the citrus. In since adaptations, I have added flakes of ground pepper to enhance the sensation.

     Throughout all of this, the meat, which had been cooking upon its burner, had to be moved from the heat of the stove to the preserving warmth of the oven. Despite this miscalculation, I considered my race with the clock to have been a victory as rice, beans and guac were all finished around the same time, leaving me only to fill a bowl of sour creme, and one of salsa, after the alloted 30 minutes.

Here is the rice and the guacamole:

      Some of you may now be shaming my previous use of "standard size bowl" to describe the vessel of my guacamole. I should have been more clear. What I meant was, standard for the demand of guacamole, for even with a bowl this size there is never enough guac. 

Here are the beans, which I assure you, looked better in real life:

The meat, diced and ready to be served:

And, at last, the dinner table - made complete with festive plates:

      

           

      At this time, reader, I owe you an apology for the confusion you surely experience at the beginning of this post. Let me clarify, that when I began writing this post it was a Tuesday, though it is now Thursday. It appears the tacos have effected my work ethic.  Next time: beer battered steak

-EM

     

Hoi Sin Chicken

    I awoke this morning feeling strangely oriental. Therein, I decided it was time to make some Hoi Sin chicken.

    Hoi Sin comes from a Cantonese word meaning 'sea food'. Luckily, for both my family and the chicken, Hoi Sin sauce contains no maritime ingredients. Rather, it is a starch-heavy mixture usually containing soy beans. 'Why the nautical etymology?' you may ask, to which I have no reply.

    In order to make Hoi Sin chicken one first must acquire chicken. 8 thighs should do, but any cut is acceptable. The sauce should be made of ¾ a cup of Hoi Sin sauce, 1 teaspoon of ginger, many cloves of garlic, a teaspoon of pepper flakes, ½ teaspoon of sesame oil, a tablespoon of soy sauce, one of rice vinegar and a secret ingredient that shall be discussed later.

    When preparing a meal from the orient, it is always good to be prepared with a bag of rice so snooty that even the most pedantic of Confucian scholars would bow there heads, lower than Ran Qiu, in shame (look it up). Though the Chinese (that are probably not reading this) would curse at the ambiguity, I used Kagayaki rice, a Japanese favorite.  

    I should clarify that I do not randomly know my brands of oriental rice. A few years ago my liberal-minded family befriended another nice family of similar customs. The friendship, my mother's doing, was struck up with a Jewish-Japanese couple from America's Red State: Massachusetts. These people first introduced us to Kagayaki rice, which is much better than normal rice. They are also responsible for the rice cooker in which I cooked the rice.  

                                       The rice cooker takes about thirty minutes to complete its eponymous duty.

   

  Thus, I proceeded to mix the aforementioned ingredients in a large glass bowl. The ginger, which must be finely minced, presented the biggest problem. Though I am sure there exists a device for properly mincing ginger with minimal effort, I did not own such a contraption, and, therefore, was forced to use a tomato knife.  The tediousness of this task caused me more distress than a Buddhist during the Han dynasty. However, once the minced garlic and other ingredients were added, they assimilated better than the Mahayana.

The Sauce:

   China is a land of many ancient secrets, and so was my chicken sauce. However, for you, my faithful blog reader, I shall reveal its secrets. Don't tell anybody. 

   What made my Hoi Sin sauce so good? A little extra something: lots of chili powder. For those thinking of Jesse Pinkman, yeah, I stole the idea. Chili powder goes with anything!

   Another trade secret is to add just a dab of Japanese peanut sauce. Again, not something usually found on Chinese mainland, but what they hey. 

  I then lavishly applied my sauce to the chicken, placed on tinfoil in a 1'' deep pan, ready for cooking.   

   The oven should be preheated to 500 degrees and expected to cook for 20-30 minutes.

 

     The final piece to the puzzle was to find a green. Here, I thought it would be okay to settle for a little Americanization. I fried up some green beans, but, in an effort to get that blend of East and West culinary heritage first popularized by Blade Runner, cooked it in the aforementioned (2X!) peanut sauce. 

   

       Green beans are a lot like the Sui dynasty; though the action of cooking them is short-lived, people often underestimate the significant impact they have on the development of the meal.

   Here is the chicken, ready to be served:

Here's the full meal on the table:

   I sincerely hope this article has been informative, both in the culinary arts and (maybe a little) in Eastern culture. It is far too often we Westerners become lost in our self-contained worlds of golf carts, Roman heritage and shopping sprees. We often forget the thriving metropolis that is, and has been, Eastern civilization. China, the oldest continuously existing civilization, has been nagging at our conscious of late. But, in our intolerance of centuries before the American revolution, we forget that there was a time before the sun never set on the British Empire, when it damn near never set on China's. Their culture is a rich one, full of as many artistic and poetic triumphs as the Renaissance, as well as the technological and philosophical innovation to match. I leave you, good reader, with the pinnacle of Eastern culture as it has most recently re-defined itself. Enjoy:

  http://youtu.be/Xt_2v3T_yD8

       

Pudding Out

   Tonight, I decided it was time to get town and dirty with some brown sugar. Well, actually white sugar mixed with chocolate powder creating more of a beige than anything else, really. Regardless, I set to work with an old family recipe to create some puddin'.
   Puddin' isn't so difficult to make, but, as anyone whose ever tried the delicious treat could tell you, there is never enough. So I took the standard puddin' recipee (makes 3 servings) and doubled it. This meant that I used 3 cups of sugar, 6 tablespoons of unsweetened coco powder, 4 tablespoons of corn starch, 3 pinches of salt, 3 cups of milk, and a whole lot of chocolate and vanilla.
    Like a good joke, puddin' is all about the timing. The first part is easy; mix your sugar, coco powder, cornstarch and salt into the bowl you intend to cook with. The stirred mixture should end up looking like this:

Enough chocolate for all the little boys

   Now, something almost resembling skill must come into play. As you poor your three cups of milk into the mixture be sure to mix continuously. The recipe I used advised me to pour in half the milk, whisk until smooth, and then add the rest of the milk. In an effort to get a clear picture of both the poring milk and rotating whisk, I sort of half did this. What actually happened was that I stopped whisking and poring in-between many attempts to get a picture that was not blurred by motion or awkwardly catching a glare from an overhanging light. 

Attempt # 1

Attempt # 2

Attempt # 3

Attempt #4

   With all the first-round ingredients appropriately mixed, I placed the pot on a burner and cooked at half power, constantly stirring. The process, which was supposed to take 5 minutes, was greatly elongated by the exaggerated ingredients. It seemed to take a fortnight. 

   Finally, the pudding began to thicken in the pot. This was good as I was beginning to feel myself age and was starting to worry about my social security. After another eternity the mixture began to boil. I let it sit on the stove for an additional one minute (as should you) before turning off the heat and removing the pot from the hot burner. I added 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract and my chocolate chips. I am told the pudding can be too chocolaty. Though I am not sure if this is true, I decided to play is safe and only added 1-1/2 handfuls of delicious chocolate chips. 

   Then, I stirred all the ingredients together and scooped out the pudding into a glass bowl to be put into the freezer for cooling. The pudding should be let to cool for 30-40 minutes before serving. Being a person inclined to immediate gratification, I decided to scoop myself one bowl of hot pudding. However, during the scooping process, the whisk which had been sitting in the pot fell from its resting place, hit my sweater and then hit the floor. Chocolate went everywhere. It was no mess that couldn't be cleaned with a paper towel and a quick trip to the laundry, but it was the only cooking-foul made. 

My little brother helped with the cleaning process:

And a hot bowl for the chef:

  At this moment, a shout out must be given to the woman who made it all possible. Momma Maroney, who provided and created the recipe, is the true heroin of today's post.  

Unemployment Pork

    Today's recipe came from an article I found in the New York Times. It called for a thick hind of pork, beaten until tender, and coated in a spread of olive oil, garlic and rosemary. The dish is meant to be cooked over an open flame so as to sear the skin to a crunchy burgundy. The rump should also not be barbequed. To preserve extraneous juices and flavor, it must be cooked in a rimmed pan above an open fire. The idea is such that, if executed properly, the resulting pork hind will blacken on the outside while preserving a moist, tender on the inside. The New York Times Magazine recommended it be cooked with peaches, cut in half and pitted, to add to the flavor. In concept, it was a meal worthy of a four-star restaurant. Here is what actually happened:

      As it turns out pork butt is rather expensive. The pig is awfully modest for an animal with a 30 dollar ass. I searched high and low for a generously priced swine hind – from Hannaford's, to Market Basket to Shaw's. But, alas, in my current state of income-less leisure, I could not afford that ass.

     Instead, I settled for cuts of pork loin. The recipe from the New York Times called for the meat to be beaten until tender, about 3/4'' thick. I did not own a tenderizer and, as detailed before, was in no position to go out and buy one. So, I did what any man would do, and I proceeded to beat the spit out of the loin with my bare hands (see picture bellow). This was made unpleasant by the impact marks left by my unusually large knuckles, a product of years of cracking. Small, knuckle sized craters were left in the meat, which I tried to beat around so as to dilute their actual depth. "Ew," said my brother. 

     Until that day I had never been in a real fight.

    After the meat was pulverized, I set to work on the spread. Two cups of extra-virgin olive oil were pored into a bowl. I added to the mixture, slightly more than a tablespoon of rosemary, picked from the garden behind my house, and 5-6 cloves of garlic. As previously mentioned, I like my garlic. This was, however, the first time I attempted to use a garlic press (ignore the apparent chronology of these blog posts).

Pictured bellow is my family's garlic press:

   Do you notice anything peculiar about the device, aside from the leftover garlic on the flat head? I do, it's a terrible invention. The concept is that the garlic sits in the little basket and the flat head comes down upon closing so as to smush the garlic through the little holes. This is idiotic because, naturally, more of the garlic ends up smushed on the surface area around the holes than actually goes through. Now, not only is your garlic not in your meal, its stuck all over the inside of the press! Thus, this tool cannot be used without the aid of another knife to pry loose smushed garlic. It should have little spikes on the flat-end to line up with the holes! Someone who can weld needs to get on this, ASAP. 

   But, I digress. Once the spread was made and mixed together, I coated the loin with copious amounts of salt and pepper. I then added the spread, as lavishly as I possibly could, to both sides of the meats. Excess spread, of which there was not much, was to be poored into the pan for cooking.

   However, this presented a problem, as I had no idea what pan would fare well on top an open flame. The pan would also have to be large enough to accommodate the amount of meat I was preparing. Initially, I thought a cookie sheet might work, but then I remembered that it would probably explode, sending metal shrapnel into the chief. I decided against this.

   Eventually, I decided on no pan at all. Rather, I took a good amount of heavy-duty tin foil, folded up the edges, and declared it a surface on which to cook pork. The peaches were then pitted and, once the entire ensemble was placed on the grill, were lain around the sides to blacken. 

   The peaches cooked much faster than the meat and, therein, had to be moved to the upper rack about halfway through the process. The meat itself took about 20 minutes to blacken on the outside and, when finished, I say without a hint of modesty; was damn good.  Not bad for the discount version.

The Final Product:           

TBU

-EM

Hamburgers, Loaded

    Due to a certain promise I made several posts ago, I decided that now was the time to dabble in the art of the hamburger. Many people think a hamburger is a rudimentary cooking effort, however, far too many American's also lack the ability to distinguish between a genuine beef burger and a McDouble.  

   To the good people at McDonalds: I would never imply that I consider your products to be anything less than a treat. I love the Big Mac, Mcdouble, and even the nuggets. At the same rate, I do frequently enjoy a Whopper or, the prize of fast food, the Tendercrisp. However, I consider none of these items to be a burger. Delicious, though they may be, in taste, they are another creation.

    A Hamburger takes art. It's recipe must be deep rooted in American culture, and the final presentation cooked by a master grill-er. Since I was a young boy, I observed the art of the grill. Many a time, in the backyards of extended family, I've hovered behind the grilling station, like a fly on the wall, and watched the men stare at their meet as it blackened; occasionally commenting on the process, “Yeah, that looks good,” “Now pick it up and put it down in the same spot. That's nice.”

    Feeling as though I understood the concept, I tried my hand in the sacred tradition of the burger. The burger recipe I chose could very well have been called my own. Most of it was derived from something I read when I was younger. I suspect it was a Walter Dean Myers book. I had a phase in Elementary school. I recalled a description of a hamburger, all thick and meaty, with chunks of green pepper and onion buried inside and protruding from the ends. Perhaps the vision was sent by God, himself.

    For you see, I had a dream. A dream not of flat burgers, cooked mechanically on a griddle by the semi-comatose wielding a spatula. I dreamed of the burgers of old. Large hunks of mostly cow, free of pureed pink slime, and cooked to the risk of disease. The kind of burger that was the staple food of the American 1950's, before people traded living well for living longer. (This is a choice I don't understand. I say, eat up. We have a population problem as is. Well you're at it, light a cigarette. It helps digestion).

    Therein, I set out to create the perfect hamburger. My burger would require plenty of garlic, peppers , onions, salt, some seasoning and about a spoonful of Worcestershire sauce. Oh yeah, it was that serious. Unfortunately, I severely underestimated the amount of ground burger meet I would require to produce an adequate amount of patties, the girth of which I had previously imagined. In fact, 'patty' is to delicate a word for what I've created. I made mounds. 

   The main mound of meat, henceforth referred to as "the mother wad", was of a slightly disappointing quantity. I did what I could with scarce of two pounds of meet. Once the chopped peppers and onion chunks were added, the mother wad took on new dimension. I used 5 or 6 garlic cloves, because garlic is delicious, and a fair amount of McCromic Hamburger Seasoning. It is hard to identify the specific taste of McCormic's seasoning, but whatever it is, the good people at McCormic do it right. A dab of salt later and some Worcestershire sauce to die the motherwad a light brown, and it was ready for rationing. I warn, the following is not a pretty sight:

   Just to think that it used to 'moo'.

  But, alas, I cannot claim hamburger purism. For you see, it was really cold on Friday. The New Hampshire autumn is a bipolar beast, and I am a wimp to the cold. This is an unfortunate trait for a Northerner, but let's not forget the early settlers who were driven to cannibalism by the harsh New England climate. I believe this is only partially due to the lack of fertile soil. Rational thought is impossible in the cold. Any New Englander can testify to the inability of the human mind to finish a thought, say "let's not eat each other", without interrupting itself with, "&@*% it's cold!"

  Not wanting my blog to become an exercise in cyber-doneer-ism, I forsook the grill and cooked inside. Though the motherwad was insufficient in quantity, I managed to carve out four decent sized mounds from it's bulk. I cooked on a PAM soaked, cast-iron pan so as to get that fake grill texture that is far inferior to the real thing, but ascetically pleasing, nonetheless.

   Decent looking mounds, right? Note, a family secret; At the center of each mound, I have made with my thumb, a circumventable indentation. Apparently, this kitchen witchary helps the burger cook through in a lesser time. Kudos to Mamma Maroney for the tip.

   If I do say so, myself, the mounds were excellently cooked. A crunchy layer of black char enveloped the succulent, pink center. In the modern world of pre-made, post-inspection burgers, such a hue would never sell in a consumer outlet. The paranoid would cry disease and the liberals, mistreatment. Every now and then, I find it's healthy to toss social stigma to the wind and enjoy a good burger the way our omnivorous ancestors would.

Here is the finished package ready for assembly:

   The burger is the ultimate meal of the omnivore. It fulfills all cubicles in the food pyramid, or staircase or whatever we have now. Protein-full patties topped in greens and vegetables are packed into fibrous buns. It is no wonder that the burger was the staple-food of the American family in our glory years. The burger is part of American history, it's girth and versatility a parallel to the spirit that makes this country great. The Whooper, the Big Mac, are industrialized outgrowths of this tradition. Thus, though they are not burgers, I love them like a veteran loves the flag. To those who scorn fast food and the burger as a glutinous expression of Western excess: what are you, a communist?          

-EM

   

        

    

   

          

Christopher Walken Chicken

   For this week's meal I tried a youtube classic <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43VjLCRqKNk>. I know, when most people think cooking their minds don't immediately jump to "True Romance" star Christopher Walken. But, watch the video. The man makes a mean chicken.  

   I was very careful when handling my raw chicken not to get salmonella everywhere. It went directly from the bag, to the sink. Before it was washed, I took a break from sterilization to make the chicken tap dance (much to the amusement of my little brother). I used one specific washcloth to wipe my hands periodically, which has since been disposed of. The washcloth, however, was placed on various surfaces around the kitchen, causing me now to fear that salmonella lingers on my counter-tops. I do not like that we, as a civilization, must be perpetually wary of disease when handling raw poultry. I mean, cows can't eat corn, but we fixed that.

   If you've watched the video by now you've seen Mr. Walken's rather nifty, French device for keeping a chicken upright whilst cooking. I went to Bed Bath and Beyond in search of such a device, however, there were none to be found. I even ventured to the 'Way Beyond' section where Walken lurked in Adam Sandler's “Click.” But, alas, no French-chicken anal-stuffer (See picture bellow).  

Therein, I devised a master plan to act as substitute. I took a handful of wooden skewers and let them soak in boiling hot water.    

With the skewers properly heated they became malleable and I proceeded to bend them at the sharp end to create something resembling the cone-shape of Walken's device. The contraption was held together with dampened yarn, to prevent a fire from erupting inside the chicken. 

The mount successfully McGuivered, it was ready for insertion into the one place on a chicken safe enough to hide a watch in a Japanese POW camp. (Get it? "Pulp Fiction?").

You may notice the innards or "jiblets" positioned around the mount. They come in a bag stuffed inside the chicken. Oh, the world we live in.

The finished mount looked like this:

I poured a large amount of salt into the chicken's neck cavity. (Little known fact, Christopher Walken played the headless horseman in Tim Burton's rendition of "Sleepy Hollow." Ironic? Not really.) I thought Walken's chicken from the video to be rather bland, so I coated mine in Olive Oil with healthy doses if salt and pepper. 

I placed my pears on a cookie sheet beneath the chicken. They looked like this:

  Notice that I've sliced the bottom to prevent sticking, just as Walken does in the video. At this point, may I say, that the Walken cookies are delicious. Laugh if you may at the awkward trill in his voice when he announces, more to himself, "I save these". The man knows what he's talking about.

After putting chicken and pear into the oven, preheated to 400 degrees, it occurred to me that I could go for some gravy. So I opened the oven and went in with a pear of tongs to rescue the giblets. I got them all but the heart, which fell to an unreachable corner. I hadn't seen a heart lost like that since Walken lost the love of Cassandra Wong in Wayne's World II, but I digress. 

  Not being one to just whip up some giblet gravy off the top of the dome-piece, I consulted the almighty information cloud. Lo and behold, Google provided me an answer with the first of 210,000 results it returned in a concise .30 seconds! This was it: <http://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/giblet_gravy/> . 

  The gravy was pretty straight forward. You'll need a bunch of carrots, onion, celery, garlic, thyme, a bay leaf and some Dijon mustard. It's a good recipe, and easier to create than a cat woman. (Whatever).

Finished, It looks like this:

Here's the final product:

And here's the man who made it all possible:

-EM