Somewhere Between Meat and Fat

I've got your nose.

Something Summery

This was the statement that Shaddley made as we g-chatted about cooking dinner a few Fridays back: 'something summery'. It had been a while since we had hung out and eaten and drank to excess. Annoying summer allergies had forced Blackberry Shortcake and I to cancel a barbeque the week prior and now, feeling better, it was on. 

I had some ideas for something summery. I sell produce for a living, so knowing what was in season was already covered. When I think about something summery, I think about grills. I think about fish. I think about fruit and booze. Unfortunately, whenever we get together for these multi-coursed Dionysian affairs it tends to be on a Friday, which happens to be my day off. This means that rather than going to Wheatsville, where I work, we go to a more centrally-located market down south. The selection is good, but it is never the same. At least for me, being mostly concerning the produce. 

Shaddley came by and scooped me up and we headed down to the grocery store. I had a few ideas, but wanted to see what kind of proteins they had to work with. I was thinking strictly seafood. I wanted to keep this thing light. I wanted to do several courses and have the ladies be able to keep up. This mostly means that I didn't want to bog them down in the first two or three courses as we have done a few times in the colder, distant past. 

We spent a good amount of time in the produce section, selecting seasonal varieties of squash, eggplant, stone-fruits, berries, rhubarb, figs and snap peas. After that it was off to the meat market. Unlike my place of employment, this centrally-located market offers seafood that is not sustainable. I try and eat seafood in good standing according to the list generated by the Monterey Bay Aquarium—I even keep one of the guides in my wallet—so Chilean sea bass was a big no, as were a few other delicious looking items. 

We sampled some wild caught sockeye and picked out some halibut, Gulf shrimp and Gulf red snapper (red snapper is on the avoid list, yet the piece was so small they gave it to us for free and I imagine it would have been thrown away otherwise—to me throwing away food is a greater atrocity then helping it go extinct). After our brief stint in the seafood section, we only had a few odds and ends to get from the rest of the maze-like cavernous expanse that is this southern, centrally-located market. This had Shaddley a bit freaked. "That's it? We don't need any _____ or _____ ?" Nope. 

As soon as we got to YogaMarketingBrownieGirl and Shaddley's house, I got to work on sauces for the meal and dessert. After all the veggie prep was done, it was time to get started on individual dishes. Since 'something summery' was the goal, a good portion of this meal would consist of cold dishes that could be made in advance. The grill was lit, wine was poured, gazpacho strained and chilled. We were on the track for a great meal. 

The ladies arrived, more wine was poured and I started to plate up the first course: cherry gazpacho. I really like gazpacho. I like it both ways that I've seen it served, strained with a velvety texture and chunky like salsa. I'd say the latter is the more commonly seen option around town. For this celebration of cherry season we went for the former. The result was a cooling, creamy, delicately-flavored soup that had a near bisque-like quality to it. It was very rich for a mix of vegetables, fruit and herbs. If I hadn't have made it myself I would have been certain there was some heavy cream in it. 

Soup shooters. 

Following the pallet-piquing gazpacho, we had a small portion of sockeye sashimi served with a sweet red miso-shozu sauce, toasted nori and a small slice of fresh Texas peach. I would have preferred the more subtle Coho salmon for this dish, but the option at the centrally- located market was farm raised and I don't play that either. The result was beautiful. I was a bit worried about the intensity of the red miso, yet didn't see the reasoning to purchase white miso when I knew that Scotts had the red on hand. All in all, it was good so I'll stop complaining about what-ifs and could-have-beens.

Sockeye it to me.

We had a small salad of snap peas, red onion and garlic dressed in a simple white wine vinaigrette. This was a delicious and crisp little salad, yet you can see from the photograph that I probably should have either cut back on the raw garlic or minced it. Some found it to be a bit too 'spicy'. I had one bite in particular that pretty much wiped out my palette for the rest of the dish. Fortunately, we had plenty of dry, salty Spanish white on hand to rinse out the overly acrid garlic sensation. If you see any of this Txacolina around while you are out and about you should get some. It has a refreshing saltiness about it like Gatorade without all the annoying colored-sweat laden commercials. 

Raw garlic all up in yo face.

Chaw-koe-leena

After the salad, it was on to some lovely red snapper and strawberry ceviche. This was a really fresh ceviche, tossed with valencia orange juice and a sploosh of extra vigin olive oil right before serving as to not tense up the snapper and allow for its taste to still stand out. I love the combination of fruit and fish. This may be the islander in me, but for some reason it just makes sense. We had moved on to the Albarino and it was delicious and complementary to the subtle acidity of the ceviche. This dish was a hit. 

Unsustainably delicious. 

Delicious. 

Just about the time that we finished up the ceviche, the paprika-rubbed halibut and summer veggies were ready to pull from the grill. Continuing with our theme of fruit and fish, the halibut was dressed with a spicy Texas peach relish and a grilled Gulf shrimp. The grilled eggplant and baby zucchini were dolled up with a little dollop of creme fraiche. This dish was a hit as well. 

"Just for the halibut." - Blackberry Shortcake

Well, it wouldn't be a meal with Shaddley without fromage. The funny thing about this course was that we ate the cheese we bought for it before we started our meal. Good thing he is such a cheese head that he had an extra wedge laying about in his fridge. Grilled figs and balsamic were served with this chunk of semi-hard cheese. I had drank some wine by then, so I have no clue what we were having. 

Figs et fromage.

Normally, I don't eat ice cream because it causes me to pass out in about thirty minutes, but I was feeling ballsy. After all, we live in Texas and nothing says 'something summery' like Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla. This lovable treat was served along side some nice fried plantains with a strawberry-rhubarb compote. Shaddley had said he'd never had something with rhubarb that was done 'right', so I endeavored to do so. When he and YogaMarketingBrownieGirl went back for a larger bowl of seconds, I knew I had won. 

I also endeavor to take a photo of dessert that isn't blurry. 

As usual, we drank way too much wine. I don't have any fancy list this time to prove it, but trust me, we did a damn fine job. This meal was the gateway to a summer full of culinary promise and seasonal revelry. The company was great and the food spectacular. It was yet another great night at the North Buda bungaloo. I sat on the couch eating my ice cream as the sustained notes of Miles Davis' Sketches of Spain put the finishing touch on a meal that fused Spain, Japan and Texas into a refined taste experience. Content, I went back for seconds too. I sat there on the couch amongst great friends, full from a fantastic meal and was able to stay awake to enjoy the rest of an evening that was a testament to everything I love about the life I am able to live. 

Tasting Notes: Too Hot To Handle

It is fucking hot! Here are some photos of beer. Maybe they will cool you down a bit. 

Deschutte Green Lake or some shit. 

Maharaja fucking rules!

Beer companion at the recently relocated Ginger Man.

Uncle Billy's Hefe and the Woo.

Michelada at Sazon. Summer is here, drink up. 

No Such Thing

Working in a grocery store makes for an interesting story. I won't tell it today, but I assure you it is interesting. Fortunately, the grocery store I work in happens to sell really high-quality (this term apparently means nothing anymore), local, artisan, organic, craft, and specialty items. We also have receptacles that house items that are damaged, out of date, or otherwise unsell-able for what ever the reason. For the better part of a decade I have relied on the free-box to supplement my purchases and get me through the hard times. 

Vein-clogging goodness oozing into the abyss.

This sandwich was completely free-boxed. Fresh baked [day-old] baguette, meats [out-of-date], lettuce and tomato [wilted, soft — respectively], and Brazos Valley Local Brie [out-of-date]. This is the new frugality. This is recession eating. I am Dionysus.

Lengua en Mejilla

It is no secret that I enjoy offal. I love it so much, I have even made the Hajj to the Mecca of all things offal, St. John. I. Love. Guts. They are good, and good for you. In our new hard times it makes sense to return to eating them. Frankly, if you are looking for flavor, heart and tongue and sweetbreads beat the hell out of a fillet, and they are far cheaper. Waste not, want not. 

Of course, the reality is that people are very turned off to the idea of eating what is politely seen as "left-overs". However, I've seen the same people have no problem eating a hot dog, which is really the "left-overs". There are two exceptions in the world of offal that are worth noting: the heart and the tongue. These are muscles. Most offal consumed, such as liver, sweetbreads, tripe, and kidneys are organs. They have that organ-y taste and texture that made you hate your Grandma for serving you liver and onions. That chalky taste. That bit of giblet that you missed picking out of your stuffing. Chances are you've never had well prepared liver or kidneys or giblets. They are delicate and should be cooked very little. Grandma probably cooked the shit out of that liver, which not only destroys the nutrient content, but also affects the flavor and texture. 

When Amenity invited me over to eat some tongue, I was stoked. I love tongue. And we're not talking some bullshit either. I mean, this was local grass-fed calves tongue. This is a delicacy. And again, this is a muscle, not an organ. The Butcher and I ventured over to Amenity and Adam's house over on the Eastside for what turned out to be quite the spread. A treat really. Homemade tortillas, awesome beans, tostones and sweet plantain, two salsas, and a whole slew of sides and accoutrements for our little lengua tacos. Cooking tongue is an undertaking, so I really appreciated that she wanted to try this for guests. 

Tongue has to be boiled for several hours, cooled, then all of the furry taste-buds must be peeled off before you can do much with it. Or you can simply allow it to cool and slice it and eat it fur and all. That's a pretty standard way to do it for the Brits — cold slices of tongue with mustard or piccalilly. We live close to the Mexican border so it is fitting to want to seek inspiration there in the form of tacos. When peeled, the tongue falls apart, resembling brisket. Amenity  then slow cooked this meaty goodness in a mix of spices and adobo. The flavor was delectable with notes of clove and cinnamon accentuating the delicate flavors of the beefy calves tongue. If I was James Brown, I'd say "Good Gawduh." 

Tortillas frescas.

Spread.

Those fuckers had some heat!

Big ol' bowl o'tongue!

This was one of my favorite recent meals. For one, I was a guest. I like this. The food was excellent and prepared with care. Adam made the tortillas with locally produced El Milagro masa as we arrived. That's freshness you just can't beat unless you've got toothless old Mexican women stashed around your house grinding corn and mixing it with manteca. Seriously, what a treat! Such a treat that I had to bring a New Glarus Wisconsin Belgian Red to commemorate the event. 

You've got the power and the glory!

These are hard times for some. I am a firm believer in using all parts of an animal. Indigenous cultures worldwide rely on this practice for survival. Why let it go to waste? You can't eat steak every night! Well, you can. I have done it. But it is at a premium. I digress. My point here is that these commonly discarded parts have utility and there is little reason to avoid consuming them. I don't want to seem pushy, and would never force someone to eat something they wouldn't enjoy, yet I would urge them to try new things and let old social stigmas fall by the wayside. After all, we are in a recession. . . 

Gilded Recession Pt. 5

Spring evokes a sense of light food fare in me. Maybe it's because the little lip of my gut has grown a bit more puffy over the winter months, as if it's gotten a few bad Botox treatments. Maybe it's because it's suddenly too warm to keep my oven on 300º for six hours. Maybe it's because there is external pressure to cook something light for the ones I love. Maybe it's because I'm tired of eating beef five nights a week.

Regardless of the reason, I feel the urge to eat lighter meals. I also feel the urge to dip into a different skill set of cooking, moving away from the New American cuisine and French-inspired foods of the cooler winter months. I used to be really into East Asian cuisine: Thai, Japanese, and a few different styles of Chinese.

It was many years ago that I first learned to appreciate the simple flavors used in these styles of cooking. It all began with a Thai restaurant – Lemongrass – that opened out by Lake Travis. I ate there several times a week, and eventually wasn't allowed to order dinner off the menu. The owner and chef, Ped (Bahn Pommavong), would make me elaborate meals, using his mad fusion skills. He was like the Herbie Hancock of Thai cuisine. He was a classically trained chef with a French background and was from Laos. This made for some interesting towers of food. He was doing things nine years ago that Uchi is doing now. This may account for my lackluster appreciation of Uchi's food. I felt that it was a rehash of some creativity I'd already seen; an expensive imitation.

Anyway, Ped spoiled my palate. Unfortunately, he decided to expand his business and opened up a second Lemongrass at Sixth and Nueces (the current home of Thai Tara). This dragged his business down and eventually led to the closing of both restaurants. The best thing about this was that my interest in the flavors, textures, and heat of Thai food had been piqued, and I was on the hunt to learn more about them. Then came Japanese food.

Actually, then came my Nipponophile period. I was hooked on anything and everything Japanese. I started studying Zen Bhuddism. Zatoichi and Kurosawa dvd's were strewn about. I cooked elaborate, multi-coursed meals that thoroughly annoyed and impressed my roommates. I cooked for them, and after a while they were like, "Dude. Really. What's with all these noodles and shit that tastes like seaweed?" Fuck it. I was on a roll. I carried a wooden miso bowl and chopsticks in my bag with me everyday. It was a bizarre period in my life.

I had all but forgotten the wondrous flavors of sesame and dashi and tamari over the past few years as I worked on Mother Sauces and foams and gelees. It was time to come home. Time to get back to those flavors that had made deep roots for my passion for cooking. Shaddley had invited Blackberry Shortcake and I to dinner down in North Buda. We seemed to all be on the same page about this meal and met at a centrally located South Austin grocery store that shall remain nameless.

This crew has been on the same high caloric kick over the winter months, and it was time to lighten it up a bit. In the maze-like aisles of this supermarket, wells of inspiration sprung up. There were some nice tatsoi greens and micro greens and baby bok choy lurking about in produce. The seafood case was stocked with fresh (never frozen) halibut. Wonton wrappers and bittersweet chocolate practically leapt into the cart as we passed. Scallops and eggplants and chicken - oh my! After a cleanup by the courtesy desk, it was off to Shaddley's kitchen.

To start, we had a nice, light, refreshing salad: daikon and carrot ribbons with scallions, tatsoi and micro greens tossed in a sesame-rice vinaigrette. Soaking the daikon and carrot ribbons in cold water makes them curl up and take on a more malleable consistency. This salad would also be nice with some soaked arame or wakame, if you're into that kind of thing. Paired with the Daedalus pinot gris, this was a crisp, and acidic starter; definitely not a belly filler.

Get your daikon.

After this wonderful salad, we moved on to the fish course. To celebrate the freshness of the newly in season halibut, we ate it raw. This course consisted of halibut sashimi and wild salmon and tangerine ceviche. Being a lover of raw meat, I found this course delectable. There is an amazing difference in the texture of a fish that has never been below 32º Fahrenheit. (I will be buying Shaddley and YogaMarketingBrownieGirl a whet stone or at the least a steel. Merry Christmas!) Everyone seemed to love the sashimi, and cutting it left a good bit of leftover fish scraps. In this economy, every little bit counts. Welcome to the new frugality.

Right before your very eyes you can't sashimi.

I hadn't accounted for any soups in this meal, yet I didn't think about all the fish scraps either. I found some shochu in the fridge, and this combined with water, scallions, fish scraps, ginger and garlic would be the base for a spicy fish broth that would segue to the seafood courses. After being strained and hit with a glug of soy, this broth was served in bowls and garnished with scallions and thai peppers (two things that look rather similar when sliced incredibly thin). YogaMarketingBrownieGirl, who declared herself a "Vata" had a hard time sipping this spicy broth. Most vatas I know have no problem with spicy food. ¿Ay, vata? ¡Odelay!

¡Ah, Vata, si, es muy caliente!

The next seafood course featured an oldie but goodie from my Nipponophile days: Asian eggplant with red miso. This recipe is as simple as brewing green tea. Saute or stir fry a couple of eggplants sliced on a bias until soft, mix three tablespoons of red miso, two tablespoons each of water and sugar together, and combine. The result will amaze you in its simplicity. Sharing the stage with this miso treat were seared scallops with a watermelon gastrique. The scallops were perfect, evoking the following quote from Shaddley: "Those scallops are like little balls of mouth orgasms!" Nuff said.

Mouthgasm.

Finally coming out of the blue depths of three back-to-back seafood courses, we moved on to the entree. Tangerine and miso glazed roast chicken with brown rice and steamed baby bok choy. The chicken was as moist and tender as my eyes were the first time I saw Old Yeller put down. The glaze was flavorful but didn't outshine the flavor of the yard bird. You can't go wrong with either brown rice or steamed baby bok choy. Really. You can't! I don't even know which wine we had with this course. We always drink so much wine, and unlike the other food bloggers I saw at the last happy hour–thanks parkside! you rule– I don't scribble notes in little books. Maybe I should? Then I'd be one of their ilk. I don't know how I feel about that. Until then I'll rely on catch-all parenthetical lists of wine to get my point across.

Bok choy and bok ba gok.

We rested a bit after the entree. We all needed a little break. Besides, the ginger-watermelon ice in the freezer needed a little bit more time before it was broken into. We killed another bottle of something, and ate the ice. I was tired. Nearing the realm of spent. I noticed people were looking at me weird. Then someone spoke up, "I thought you bought chocolate?" Shit. Busted. Didn't they know I was tired? Didn't they see the line of spent wine soldiers on the counter (Apolloni Pinot Grigio (Willamette Valley, OR), Carabella Pinot Gris (Willamette), Daedalus Pinot Gris (Willamette), Apolloni Pinot Noir (Willamette), W.H. Smith Pinot Noir, Maritime Vyd (Sonoma Coast), Kerpen 05 Wehlener Sonnenuhr Spatlese, Merkelbach 05 Urziger Wurzgarten Auslese)?!

I begrudgingly got up off the oh-so-comfortable couch and went back to the kitchen. I heated some oil. Made some ganache. I took the Nada Moo vegan-maple-pecan 'ice cream' out of the freezer. After cutting them in little thin strips, I fried the wonton wrappers. Fake ice cream, plus fried wontons, plus chocolate, equals crazy delicious. Everyone loved it even though it was made hesitantly on the fly. Nada Moo doesn't give me the nods like real ice cream. Dare I say that vegan ice cream may be an answer to one of my food issues? Not in public I won't.

I went back to the couch. Shit, I may have even closed my eyes. This meal was an excellent first step on the path to what has become a fruitful spring season of light eats. Shaddley, host extraordinaire, didn't even say "charcuterie" or "fromage" during the six hours of feasting that transpired. We still drank entirely too much wine, which in no way is a bad thing.

If there was lesson or moral to this story, it was certainly lost somewhere between sashimi and roast chicken. Maybe that is the moral of this story? Maybe adding an extra course of spicy fish broth so as not to waste some expensive seafood perfectly sums up the current state of the American citizen's recession-based mind. Maybe this new frugality will stay with us after the recession recedes. Maybe I'll find a way to straddle the line between excess and frugality that will fuel my passion to cook Bacchanalian feasts for minimal dollars per head. And maybe I'll be first the American President elected who was born outside of the States. Maybe.

The Sacrificial Lamb

Sometimes it takes a while to pull a plan together. Ruby had been pestering me for months for one of my "home-cooked meals." I wasn't exactly playing coy, yet I wasn't rushing it either. Not that cooking meals for my friends isn't a priority; it was more that timing was going to be crucial for what she was asking me to do. I can't recall whether the pestering began before or after I went to London. Her shattering her jaw in a tragic bike accident set back our engagement a month or so as well. 

You see, some of my friends really, really, really like food; others would eat dog shit if it were deep fried and conveniently accessible. Ruby falls into the first category. She has been to France, learned to make cheese there, and lent me Nourishing Traditions. I knew that cooking a meal for her was going to be a production, a multi-course feast of Bacchanalian proportion. Good times. There was a leg of lamb involved in the pestering. She was sitting on it, and I knew that it would be a while before I was able to devote the right amount of time and attention to such a piece of meat. 

The leg came from a Christian family farm out by New Braunfels: the Lamb's lamb. I really didn't want to fuck this up so the pressure was on. When I was finally able to devote the time to the leg and its bearers, I was excited to get to host a meal at my house. It had been since before my trip to Hampton that I had folks at my table. She delivered the little leg to me, and I let it slack. The day of our feast, I salted the lamb limb and let it sit for about eight hours. I spent the day thinking about how to do the courses, and what would be seasonally appropriate. 

I decided on five courses. Salad, fish, lamb, fromage, and chocolate. This being springtime and all, I wanted the meal to be light - yet filling. I needed to use up some ganache that was laying low in my freezer like a member of the witness relocation program, so I thought that a mousse would be a nice way to utilize these decadent leftovers. With the garden being sparse, I got my produce from the co-op, as well as the mahi for the fish course and some other odd and ends. Citrus was still in season, and I wanted to work that into all of this as well. 

There were to be four of us in all: Ruby, her boyfriend, Kyle D, Blackberry Shortcake, and myself. Kyle and Ruby brought some wine, and I was stoked to see the familiar yellow label of Vueve Clicquot make an appearance, as well as the Becker Vineyards Prairie Rotie. There was also some Oyster Bay Sauvignon Blanc, and something else that I can't quite recall. I was excited to meet Kyle D and realized later that I had heard several stories about him from our mutual friend Clifford. Austin is a small town in that regard, big enough to be another face in the crowd, small enough to suffer the perils of ubiquity. 

Our salad was rather simple. Arugula, dried cranberries, pecans and shaved Parmigianno Regianno with a white wine vinaigrette. The acidity of the dressing was crisp and refreshing, pairing well with the dryness of the Vueve Clicquot Brut Yellow Label. With a salad, I feel that simplicity is key. This is not to say that there can't be a multitude of ingredients or flavors, but rather a statement about the end result. Even when there are several levels of orchestration and harmonies going on, I'd rather the end result be more Sketches of Spain and less Concert for the Comet Kohoutek. 

Where's ya shava mate?

Continuing on with our small plate affair, we moved on to the mahi and sauvignon blanc. Mahi really is a wonderful fish, with one foot in the supple fish world and another in the dense, steaky red meat world. I wanted this course to be really simplistic in its flavors, evoking a real sense of the season. The mahi was rubbed with a little salt and pepper and paprika before being seared in clarified butter. Braised hearts of romaine complimented the little cuts of fish both in texture and flavor. The romaine hearts were braised in chicken stock, white wine with anchovies, garlic, shallot and thyme. To tie in the citrus, I made a grapefruit and jalapeño foam. Foams intrigue me. For such light, airy sauces, they can really pack a ton of flavor. This was a great example of this feat; subtle heat and intense grapefruit flavors complemented yet did not overpower the flavor of the fish.

Rabid mahi.

The lamb came out near perfect, medium-rare and full of flavor. I used some on-hand red wine to make a reduction with the pan jus which went really nicely with our heavenly meat. Some pan roasted fingerlings and snap peas tossed with garlic and chervil shared the stage with our unblemished lamb. The Professor had popped in and made short work of the leftover veg. Sometimes it is good to have vegetarians around. I am a big fan of lamb, and this was a rather fine specimen of its species. It was clear that this little guy hadn't had a hard life, which makes for a tastier mouthful. 

Still working on that new camera.

After the lamb, it was time for the fromage. Thanks to Shaddley, I'll probably never call a cheese course a "cheese course" ever again. We had three nice cheeses: Chaumes, Pure Luck's Sainte Maure (possibly one of the finest domestic goat cheeses), and some Stilton. To round out the plate there were some raw cashews, slice d'anjou pears and my homemade apple chutney. Yum. J'aime le fromage!

Who cut the cheese?

Well, it wasn't all flowers and unicorns. It was clear to me that despite our long evening of feasting, the mousse didn't have enough time to set up properly. Maybe I didn't beat the egg whites long enough? Either way it was delicious, albeit a bit fallen. To take decadent to the next level, I made banana scallops with a bacon caramel sauce. This is one way to use failed bacon toffee - melt it down with heavy cream. The combination was divine, and something I will do in the future for sure. Playful and delicious. 

Fallen mousse looks sad.

After our five course food extravaganza, we rested. Despite all of this food, everyone seemed to be comfortably full, which is nice on a warm night. I'm glad that we waited for this meal. I would have hated to rush the lamb. If I had, the meal would have been kept silent. Meals like this are very special, a time for new and old friends to rejoice in the simplicity of life; the little things. Bonds are formed over glasses of bubbly, and a good sauce can both capture and encapsulate the essence of a season. Life is beautiful and so are you.

Ahem...

The new addition to Wheatsville is open. Go. Play. Rejoice.

Gilded Recession pt. 4

When laughing in the face of starving millions while eating and drinking like Bacchus, it's only a matter of time until you pay the piper. I thought it would be the food police. I figured they were on to me. There was no doubt in my mind. The sad reality was that my financial state had hit critical condition. I had been having cash woes since before I flew off into the sunrise to see Phish. That weekend only exacerbated the problem. Chicken and waffles and scotch be damned. 

Decadence and depravity are to blame. I was in the hole. Leonard Cohen, bard and sage he may be, is also to blame. As is my landlord, the entire Phish organization, butter, and the byproduct of yeast and sugar. And the Dali Lama. The conspiracy runs to the top. 

People came in town. We had some drinks. Put it on my tab. We go to the thing. Parking sucks, the free whiskey sucks; the music is good. We go to parkside. I eat marrow, and raw meat. Bearded weirdos come out to revel, feast. Cheese plates and bloody marys. I fall asleep on the couch, my guests go on without me.  

Fail. 

Echo and the Bunnymen

Deceit lies at every turn.

Rillette please.

What a fluke.

Tata.

See ya tamarrow.

To make up for the economic woes and fees, we go to UCHI. For some reason everyone has gift cards, making it near impossible to give away our spare. The food is good, but doesn't live up to the hype. This has more to do with the hype than the food. The food was really good. Very high quality fish. I feel like I can't go ten feet without hearing someone mentioning Mr. Cole. He deserves some accolades, yet he slowly approaching Bob Schneider-dom. This clouds judgements. 

Me so hungry.

Maters. Panko. Green. 

End over endo.

What angry villagers use to accost those who have transgressed upon them.

There is redemption, even solace in a plate of food that costs less than three fidy a person. Thanks to staff discounts, free boxes and pantries, you made the day. What better way to fill the gap of time between poetry reading identical twins and hillbillies with animatronic-animal-rock-band-fetishes than a home cooked meal wrought with care?

Seared butterfish and blood orange gastrique with kale and herbed quinoa.

$7 for a meal for two.

Back on top, I remember the view. I find the bar, order a drink. Oh, and I'll take a white for Tyson.

Taco Time: Most Important Meal of the Day

I own a shirt that states: I heart breakfast tacos. Of course it is supposed to read I love breakfast tacos, but in the parlance of our times heart is sufficient. This is a true statement. I do, very much, love the breakfast taco. Not the breakfast burrito, or even the sausage biscuit can compare. Being from Austin, Texas, I could rightfully assume the title of Breakfast Taco Aficionado, however, that may be a step down the path to being absorbed into the hipster rank and file. 

We could sit here and argue who makes the best breakfast taco in town, yet I tend to find such conversations pointless, therefore I will not waste more than this sentence's worth of your time on the topic. Besides, entire blogs are devoted to this, and you can go read them your damned self. I have a few favorites around town, yet always love to make my own at home. 

The migas taco, that enigmatic, deconstructed taco within a taco, is by far one of the most widely disputed taco in the circles that I run in. Tortillas, or tortilla chips? Cheese in the migas, or on the taco? I really heart migas. I go back and forth on the tortilla-tortilla chip tip, and find that both have merit. I am just now realizing how long it has been since I've actually made migas, so maybe I should shut up about them. Perhaps once my garden starts producing chiles and tomatoes, I'll make a batch and actually post a recipe. As you've probably surmised by now, we here at the Bearded Weirdo can't be bothered by posting recipes, leaving that up to other kind folks out there in the ether. 

Friday, prior to what would be day of galavanting around downtown at the thing, Blackberry Shortcake and I ate some breakfast tacos at my house. These were simple tacos made from mostly local ingredients: Margarita's corn torts, Richardson Family pork sausage, Alexander Farms eggs, and Austin Spice Company salsa. The only non-local item was the cheese, which was from Vermont. I like Vermont. You should go when you get the chance. 

These tacos were all made to order, and wrapped in foil to keep them hot until we were ready to eat. Blackberry Shortcake tends to be a bit more of a purist when it comes to her breakfast tacos, so she got two egg tacos. I was feeling a bit more hungry, so I went with the egg, sausage and cheese variety. As jarred salsas go, I really like the Austin Spice Company's Smoky Hill Hot. It may not be as fresh as homemade, or even Ana's Salsa, but the flavor is nice and the heat is present but not overwhelming. 

His.

Hers.

Good jar of salsa.

Saturday, we went to Taqueria Alayna's on Manor. I really like their tacos, and their special green sauce. The Shortcake had a migas taco, and an egg and bacon job. I went for the migas taco, a bean-bacon-cheese, and a chorizo-potato-egg and cheese taco. When we returned home to chow down on these, Blackberry was shocked to find that her bacon and egg taco was more like five or six tacos; a folded pile of pillowy eggs gently enveloping hunks of bacon that was more or less resting on a tortilla that had no chance of wrapping around its contents. I devoured mine in no time, and sat sipping Peaberry Reserve while starring out the window in a meaty daze. 

Unfortunately my love of Alayna's was not shared by Miss Shortcake who is a Taco Deli fan. I have only had one experience with Taco Deli, but not at Taco Deli, just a delivered taco that was rather delicious. They have a similar sauce to the green sauce at both Alayna's and La Guera's–some kind of emulsion that does not have avocado in it, but looks like it does–which I thought that it was just as good, which says a lot. I will have to go to this mystery taco land and educate my self in their ways before making a decision on whether or not they are superior to my beloved magic taco window.

The Beautiful People

Last Thursday I had some friends over to eat dinner and revel in the beauty that is life. The cast of characters is a familiar one which in no way degrades the significance of the meal, or the moment. I was cooking dinner for Cory, Blackberry Shortcake, and YogaMarketingBrownieGirl. Since Shaddley was galavanting around France, I was taking on the responsibility of feeding his wife some delicious food. 

This was a very casual, family style, multi-coursed affair. Good times. We started the evening off with a very simple salad of fresh picked lettuce with a balsamic vinaigrette, and some Parmigiano Reggiano. This was a nice, crisp way to start a meal that would get pretty heavy by the end. I was trying to embrace the last clutches of cool weather and feed my guests some wintery food as spring is looming on the horizon, and things like braises and soups will be retired for the next six months. 

Smiling, happy, shiny people.

Did someone say soup? The night before this shindig, I made some smoked ham and green lentil soup. If you plan on making soup for a dinner party, or for any occasion really, you should make it ahead of time. It borders on cliche, but soup tastes better the next day. Period. This was a simple soup: chicken stock, green lentils, turnips, smoked ham, fennel, and kale. The last of some of my winter garden goods went in this soup. I will replant turnips and fennel for the spring. Both have been good providers and ingredients I really enjoy. 

Thoup.

For our main we had two roasted Dewberry Hills chickens. You really can't beat these chicken's flavor or freshness. These two beauties were stuffed with rosemary, garlic, parsley, and Meyer lemons. This recipe hasn't failed me yet, and I plan on using it even when the Meyers are gone. The chicken was moist and delicious; the flavors of the herbs and lemon infused deep into the meat. The jus in the roasting pan makes a great sauce, and just for extra shits'n'giggles, I mounted it with butter to kick the richness up a few notches. 

Choose your own chicken adventure.

Glistening Goodness.

Dessert was good, but wrought with failure on the back-end. The bacon toffee recipe is wrong. It states that 285º is necessary for a hard break, but really it is 300º. A failed batch of bacon toffee is costly mainly because I use organic bacon, organic butter, and organic sugar. It is still edible, but might fuck up your dental work. Take out the partials first! My ganache also didn't set up right, leaving my truffles–bacon toffee filled, and a pecan encrusted–a bit soft. I used the wrong chocolate. Never. Again. It looked pretty and tasted good though. A bit of balsamic reduction, organic raspberries, and fresh, organic local mint really tied the plate together. 

A damn tasty shame.

This was a nice night. After we finished our meal several other people showed up, and we drank into the night. Life is beautiful and so are you.