Salami adventures

Two friends of mine, following their trip to the Netherlands, invited me over for wine, cheese and salami. Tonight, I learned that gouda from Holland is better than gouda from here. I'm also told Heineken is impressively superior over there too and is the second most-transported liquid following crude oil. That sounds suspicious to me, but it's late and I won't bother researching it.

But this does afford me the occasion to tell a story.

In 2000, I visited Prague and decided to bring my dad a salami. He, like me, is a devotee of encased meats. I had a special difficulty adjusting to Czech and spent 10 days struggling to say "thank you." So to buy a salami, I elected to walk into a salami store and look up the word "best" in my Czech-English dictionary. They seemed to understand and pointed at a salami hanging behind the counter. I bought two. One for me and one for my dad.

On the way to my return flight in Frankfurt, I stayed at an inn in Eisingen, Germany. Upon checking in, I saw the previous occupant left three salamis in the fridge. One was a hard salami, like I'd bought my dad; the other two were soft and gelatinous. I wasn't a fan of those and suspected my dad wasn't either. While I knew someone who'd be willing to take a hard and soft salami, I doubted he wanted three.

That left me with an extra salami and no one to give it to.

I'd stayed at this inn on the way into Prague and the innkeeper had been very kind, humoring my attempt at conversation in French, since I knew no German. So I elected to give it to him.

I went to the front desk and offered it to him. He looked at it. Puzzled over it. Then gestured as if to say, "for me?" I returned a gesture that indicated, "yes, for you."

He puzzled over it some more, then took it through the doorway behind the front desk, into what appeared to be a kitchen, where someone who appeared to be a cook popped up. The two of them conversed in German, so I don't know what transpired. But it appeared the innkeeper gestured toward me and told the cook something like, "this young American fellow has just given me a salami."

More conversation followed. Although I don't know what was said, I like to think the chef wondered whether this was an American custom, to give an innkeeper a salami. Perhaps it means I appreciated his hospitality. But does it have to be a salami, they wonder, or would any foodstuff do?

In any case, the innkeeper elected to accept my gift, which he acknowledged by returning to the front desk where he bemusedly said, "Thank you."

Sometimes I wonder whether either of them even liked salami, and, if neither of them did, whether they accepted the gift so as not to offend me.

Donut thief

Today, I decided to have donuts for breakfast. My corner store (Williams, at St. Chaz/Jxn)sells Krispy Kremes. They're allegedly delivered every day.

But not today.

I walked in at about 9 a.m., saw the barren Krispy Kreme case and looked over to the counter guy with a look on my face that he interpreted as "Where's the donuts!?"

Counter guy proceeds to tell me that donut man got himself a donut boy a few weeks ago. Sort of an apprenticeship. But two weeks ago, donut boy turned evil. He stole donut man's donut money, donut truck and even the donuts in the donut truck.

Ever since then, donut man hasn't been able to make any deliveries.

Curses, donut thief.

Curses.

Bacon links

Today, someone forwarded me this link. Can't say I'm eager to try them, especially at $2.50 a pop.

Also, while writing yesterday's post, I came across this, a site dedicated to providing a new bacon recipe every day.

Strangely delicious

For lunch I had a bacon and orange marmalade sandwich.

Recipe pilfered from here. In my rush to consume, I forgot to take a picture, so check out theirs.

Next time, I'll use more bacon and less marmalade. My sandwich came out too sweet. That's probably because I was using Bonne Maman marmalade, which isn't the best I've had, but was the best I could get in a pinch. (This is the best marmalade I've had.)

Nevertheless, I still managed to produce a sandwich that paired the bacon's salty smoke with the marmalade's sweet bitterness. Using pumpernickel is an interesting choice. The caraway gives the sandwich heft and complexity it wouldn't otherwise have and I think choosing it over rye provides a nice aesthetic.

I have high hopes for the next one. I might have it tomorrow. Or in an hour.

An ode

Right now, I'm nearly out of groceries. This was the case yesterday too. I'm still putting off shopping until the weekend, but I traipsed down to the corner store yesterday for one item.

Half and half.

Half and half is how I know I absolutely need coffee. In an utterly stuck-with-it-and-can't-live-without-it way.

Now, I can go without having coffee in the house. There's a cafe a few blocks away that serves a perfectly acceptable americano. For a good one, I can take a five-minute drive.

But I work from home, and if there's coffee in the house, I would prefer to drink it.

Right now, I have a bag of unexceptional Community Reserve. Tomorrow, I'll get a bag of real coffee from Orleans Coffee Exchange.

Everything about this coffee makes my heart sing. From the Sulawesi's buttery foam to the Harrar's blueberry finish. I'm already excited.

How to make friends and influence people

This weekend, I went to a two-day party in Jackson, Miss. It was sort of a reunion with the college pals. As it was a party, I thought it might be nice to imbibe spirits.

I remembered how, when I was in college, most of us couldn't afford more than Milwaukee's Best, probably the worst beer ever made. To this day, the thought of drinking it makes me gag and I generally drink either High Life or PBR, so I'm hardly a snob. (Yes, someone will suggest otherwise in comments. They are silly and wrong. Pay them no attention.)

Since I have a job these days - not a great one, but good enough so that I can afford a bottle of booze - I headed over to the liquor store. Unlike my fair city, Mississippi law forces its citizens to purchase liquor in designated areas, the puritans. It's also the home of one of my favorite blue laws - no alcohol sales the day before an election. Presumably, legislators feared the people would drink too much and forget to vote.

I headed to Kat's on Fortification Street, where I found a few bottles of Pyrat rum tucked away on the top shelf in fancy over-sized packaging. Score! The retailer explained they were leftover from the holiday season and they don't usually carry Pyrat. It's a good thing I made him open it for me too. The faux-pirate's chest might have looked nice, but he had a devil of a time getting it out of all that styrofoam.

If you've never had Pyrat, you're missing a delightful rum. It's dark and sweet and smooth, with hints of vanilla and grapes. Easily my favorite, ever since my buddy George poured me a glass a few years ago. Usually, Pyrat sells for about $35 for a 750 ml bottle, but these were only $22. I considered buying one that night and one to take home, but my job isn't that good.

As you can imagine, 750 ml is a lot of rum and there was only one of me. But it was a pretty big party and the guy with the bottle of booze is everyone's friend, right? Unsurprisingly, that bottle didn't last the night.

Now, if you're the guy waltzing around with a bottle of good rum on Friday, how do you follow that up on Saturday?

My answer: Patron.

Puerto Rican delicacy

I just heard of something that sounds so bizarre that I'm going to have to try it.

I'm acquainted with a young couple from Puerto Rico. The gentleman in this pair doesn't drink coffee. But he, like his mother, has a fondness for Nescafe.

But he likes his Nescafe a special way: with Export Soda Crackers, which, I'm told, is a household staple in Puerto Rico. They look like Saltines. Sometimes he'll dip the crackers in the Nescafe. Other times, he'll crumble them up in the Nescafe and eat it with a spoon.

Once in a while, and this is where he really got my attention, he, like his mother, likes to include a slice of Queso de Papa, which appears to be akin to Colby. He'll take a slice of cheese, put it between two crackers, submerge it in the Nescafe and eat it with a spoon.

I would never have thought to pair instant coffee with crackers and cheese, but having heard this story, I'll certainly try it and report back on the experience.

I asked my friend's wife if this delicacy has a name. "No," she said. "It's weird food from weird Puerto Ricans."

Oh, right: it's Monday

This morning, my lgd/central city neighborhood smelled like red beans and rice.

Not a bad way to start the week at all.

Chicharron burritos

When I first moved to Santa Fe in 2001, I was delighted to learn New Mexicans had an affinity for fried pork skin and fat. Sure, they called it chicharron instead of cracklin, but that was hardly a problem.


I first encountered it at Fiesta, which I guess would be Santa Fe's equivalent to Mardi Gras. People get a day or a half-day off work, there's food booths set up in the Plaza and people get trashed. But Zozobra, the centerpiece, is a radical departure from Mardi Gras' Catholic roots. No, instead of celebrating one last time before Lent, Santa Feans burn a six-story-tall puppet in effigy.

I was told it's the oldest pagan celebration in New Mexico. Which is kind of bizarre because Fiesta celebrates the Spanish reconquering Santa Fe in 1692. And by "reconquering" I mean, running the Indians out of town. They say it was "peaceful," but I'm not too sure about that.

But anyway. It's a big party and there's lots of food and there it was: my first chicharron burrito.

Growing up, we'd eat cracklin out of hand as a tasty snack. Didn't want to eat too much, because there'd be, you know... consequences. But the burrito makes it a meal. Encased in your flour tortilla are refried pintos, green chile, cheddar cheese and chicharrons.

You can make these at home with cracklin. Sure, unless you have a wicked good source for chile, it will probably be out of a tin. And unless you can make tortillas or pintos like an abuelita, they'll probably be store-bought too. But cheese is cheese, so you can't screw that up, right?

I don't really measure any of this stuff when I make them. I just make sure I have some good, meaty cracklin.

Heat up the beans, toss the green chile into it so it'll disperse. Don't stir the cracklin into the beans. That'll just make them chewy and unpleasant. Instead, layer the cracklin across a warmed tortilla. Sprinkle shredded cheese over the cracklin. Spoon beans over it. Don't worry: The heat from the beans will warm the cracklin and melt the cheese. Fold it up and you're all set.
If you don't want to use tinned chile (and really, why would you?), roast one, peel it and chop it up. The chiles I buy here - they're labeled Anaheim peppers at our stores - are usually very mild and that's a disappointment, but I haven't figured out how to do better.

Philly roast pork at Stein's (with assorted notes)

When I visited my sister in Philadelphia last December, I was only there for a weekend. While I pounded down no fewer than three cheese steaks*, I missed out on at least three local delicacies: Tastykakes**, scrapple*** and the Philly roast pork sandwich.

Today, I went to Stein's Market and Deli for lunch and the special was a roast pork and broccoli rabe sandwich. I had to have it. Three hours later, I'm still digesting it. Stein's patrons know that even though the sandwiches only come with a couple of pickle spears**** on the side, they're still big enough to share. But magically, every time I go, I eat the whole thing and pay for it later. It's tragic, really.

Today's pork was fall-apart tender shoulder. The broccoli rabe, which looks like spinach, adds just enough smoky bitterness to complement the pork's natural sweetness and a layer of melted cheese (Swiss, I think) gives it a salty richness. The doughy cibatta roll it's served on initially looks too fluffy. Why would you want that much bread? But I soon learned this is desirable because you want a bread that can soak up the pork juices. It's also a sourdough bread which completes the profile and gives us sour, salty, sweet and bitter in every bite.

My companion had The Sam, which is like a Reuben but with pastrami and coleslaw. I've had Stein's pastrami before and it's marvelous. Marrying the brisket's creamy fat with the spices' saltiness, it becomes the beef equivalent of bacon. Pairing it with sweet coleslaw and tangy Russian dressing might make it messy, but dear God, what wonder!

One day, I'll have the guts to order the tongue sandwich. I bet it's incredible. But today wasn't the day and the menu is pretty impressive.*****

Stein's is kind of pricy and sandwiches are nearly $10. Which calls this to mind.

*Cheese steaks. Yes, I went to Pat's. Yes, I went to Geno's. I went somewhere forgettable first. Don't ask where. Like I said, it was forgettable. That means I forgot, OK? So where do I come down on the Pat/Geno divide? It will hurt to write this, but Geno's was slightly - slightly - better. But the grotesque pseudo-patriotic signs in the window insisting THIS IS AMERICA, SPEAK ENGLISH1!!!, make me want to never go back there. Yes, Mr. Geno, I know where I am. You don't have to yell at me.

If you're from Philly and are going to tell me I missed out on your favorite steak joint, put it in comments. I'm going back in May.

**My sister mailed me a box of Tastykakes earlier this week. What flavor, you ask? Why, butterscotch krimpets, of course. Ahh butterscotch, king of flavors. Stein's also sells Tastykakes. In fact, they have a sign on the door advertising this.

Philly folk are kind of embarrassed about their association with low-brow snack cakes. And they're really just snack cakes. I love that my sister sent me a box, but they're hardly transcendent.

***I still haven't had scrapple, but from what I gather, it's pretty much Amish hogshead cheese, with lots of offal, especially from the head. And that means brain and face. And that means if I didn't know what it was, I'm sure I'd enjoy it. But for now, I'm kind of afraid of it.

****Stein's tosses a couple of pickle spears in with their sandwiches. You get a half-sour and a full-sour spear. The full-sour is a pickle. You've had them before. But the first and only half-sour I ever had came from Stein's. It's halfway between pickle and cucumber. How novel!

*****Today, I noticed that the menu indicated one of it's sandwiches - turkey, avocado, etc. - needs a name. I mentioned to the guy taking my order that in Santa Fe, where that sandwich, is ubiquitous, was named the Alice B. Toklas at Carlos' Gospel Cafe******. Same sandwich, but veggified, sans turkey, was the Gertrude Stein. Counter guy seemed to enjoy this.

******Carlos' is defunct last time I checked, but I still copy their Miles Standish at home. It's turkey with cranberry relish, cream cheese and a lettuce leaf. Note: must be cranberry relish. You can buy this at grocery stores. Don't try using cranberry mustard. I haven't had one of these in a while. I'll have to make one soon.

My first post is a stub

Yeah, that's lame, but my first real post will come later. Probably tonight. It will be about the sandwich I had for lunch (oooh, enticing, eh?).

But this will forever serve as my first post and when I link to it on a future blogoversary (Hello future readers!) this is what they'll get.