Proof of Concept

It was in the middle of the night in September of 2008 when I first learned of the existence of bacon toffee. I was in the depths of a Master Cleanse. Not eating had me thinking of nothing but food. That was when I stumbled upon Derrick Schneider's An Obsession with Food, and with it, bacon toffee.

I had somehow linked to An Obsession with Food from another blog that I had completely scoured, Butter Pig. I had been staying up until five in the morning for several nights, incessantly reading food blogs and thinking of all these things I would make when I started eating food again. When the ten day fast had ended, I set out to knock things off my list.

The idea of a bacon candy intrigued me. I had had bacon and chocolate, and it was as good as it sounds, but bacon and toffee!? I made a few batches, some sucked: not reaching the right temp, not cracking, pulling fillings out, leaving napalmesque wounds on extremities, etc.—all the good stuff that can happen when making candy. Then I found my stride. It was about that time that I decided that I wanted to make cookies with chocolate chips and bacon toffee.

Nearly three years later, this idea has finally come to fruition. Since I now work in a kitchen, this idea has become more and more nagging in my mind. The idea was poo-pooed by a co-worker a few times, but now he's gone. We have a burgeoning ice cream program, too. The Universe spoke to me, and it said: "Flapjacks, you must make bacon toffee chocolate chip coffee ice cream sandwiches, it is your destiny."

I listened.

This first batch was a small batch, but they will return soon. The cookies are pretty damned amazing (think heath bar chunk cookies, but with bacon goddamnit), and mixing them with thick, custard based coffee ice cream creates the richest shit you can put in your mouth besides Warren Buffet's penis. I win! Wait, or do we all win?

Maybe we should dip them in chocolate next?

No NaNo

It's November and that means that NaNoWriMo is in full swing. I can imagine the entire legion of the makeshift novelists click-clacking away on their laptops, looking broody, brows furrowed, hands unsteady from drinking way too much caffeine, while watching their word-count plummet as their blood-pressure skyrockets. That's how it works though. You type a lot of crap and you write a novel in a month. Or at least 50,000 words of a novel.

I am not participating in NaNoWriMo this year, but plan on being back in action by next year. Last year's trip to London pretty much killed my chances last time around, but I still know the taste of victory from crossing that fifty "K" mark back in ought seven and it is kind of like when you find a morsel of bacon in your teeth later in the day—nostalgic and delicious. This is a very challenging competition to impose upon yourself, yet I suggest everyone try it at some point just for the hell of it. You occasionally will write something that will impress you later, but for the most part it feels like you are writing crap and desperately trying to carry a narrative. Good fun!

I recently landed a cookbook reviewer gig for ChefTalk.com. Should be neat. You can read my first review here.

From One Belly to Another

It's interesting how food trends seem to permeate all media at once in what seems to be a bizarre widespread synchronistic event. I've been waiting for a few weeks to cook this piece of pork belly and while I waited, everyone else was digging in. The Statesman ran a piece on pork belly and this week's Top Chef featured Pigs and Pinot, with two cheftestants doing belly.

Interesting. Of course, pork belly is nothing new, but it has been getting a lot of play over the past year or so. If you've ever enjoyed it then you understand why. This is one of things that lets you use the word unctuous in a positive way. Yum.

Slabbage.

Last week I ventured down to the North Buda Bungalow to feast with Shaddley & Co. I already had this nice piece of Niman Ranch pork belly so we were going to go about the evening in the usual fashion of multi-course Dionysian decadence. After a brief stop at a centrally-located market, it was off to the newly revamped kitchen of Shaddley and YogaMarketingBrownieGirl.

I was really excited about the pork belly and even the late start time couldn't deter me from braising it in the loving way it deserved. Yes, we had a late start, around eight or so, which made for an extended evening of dining and drinking.

There was much prep to do for all the other dishes, so I got the belly in the oven as quickly as possible, reserving a small amount for use in other dishes. The belly was the fourth course of this small plates feast. I had time to drink some wine and go about my business preparing the rest of the meal as the pork belly sat in the oven discovering itself.

There was a gap of time between the third course of lamb and tiny dutch potatoes, and the belly. A gap that was long enough, apparently, for one of the guests to suggest that they watch The Dark Knight. I think this time out of the eating and drinking pocket was the demise of two of our feast mates. Shaddley came back from the realms of dreamy floor land just in time to eat this dish. Of course, being that some of the inspiration for this plate was a play on bacon and eggs, it's almost appropriate to eat it after waking up. Then again it was one thirty a.m. and not noon.

Pork belly, I love you.

The braised belly was lightly fried, then coated in a sweet and sour Shochu glaze and served with rutabaga puree, egg white, an egg and apple emulsion and parsley puree. The pork was fun to eat, sticky and sweet with grounding, earthy flavors of pork, star anise and cinnamon. Like the best bacon you could eat. There was something reminiscent of sweet and sour pork as well, which is often made from this cut. The sticky Shochu glaze paired well with the pork belly's unctuous nature.

Bacon candy.

Unfortunately, only YogaMarketingBrownieGirl and I were able to feast on the desert of bacon toffee and panna cotta. I crisped some of the reserved belly for use in the toffee, which came out nicely, redeeming my last overdone batch. Shaddley was forced to enjoy the dessert after coffee the following morning.

Pork Three Way

The Suidae family of animals were dealt a harsh hand in the evolutionary process: deliciousness. I can't think of one part of these tasty beasts that isn't flavorful. Pigs. They're smart too. 

Once I knew guy with one of those pot bellied jobs that people had for pets in the Eighties and Nineties. His mom was out of town, and he was responsible for feeding the beast. He was definitely one of my less intelligent friends, and his idea of feeding the swine involved a casserole full of leftover lasagne, curdled milk, velveeta, and other culinary odds and ends from long forgotten tuperware in his refrigerator. He set the casserole down in the yard, and released the fat, wire-haired sow from her pen. 

She sauntered casually to the casserole. Smelled it. Smelled it again. The pig was not impressed to find upon inspection that she was being given garbage to dine on. She placed a foot in the casserole then another, and another until her hind legs were evenly spaced in the pan, and her front legs were back on solid ground. She urinated. She then proceeded to peel out in the pan, strewing the contents around the yard in digust and anger before running wildly into the woods. This was one of the funniest things I've ever witnessed involving animals, second maybe to 'Kittens Inspired by Kittens'.

Last week I cooked some delicious Niman Ranch thick cut pork chops for a few folks. These chops tend to be very flavorful and juicy unlike other versions of this 'other white meat'. I don't really like that term. If you cook beef too much it turns grey, so what? Pork is a red meat, and when you eat GOOD pork you can tell the difference. Anyway, this was a great little meal, and everone seemed to enjoy it. I fried some fingerling potatoes in duck fat, yet refuse to call them coins. There was some asparagus–which I'd be smelling later–and a fresh picked salad with pine nuts tossed with a blood orange vinaigrette. The portions were small enough to be enjoyed by all. 

No coins here.

Kitschy food terms tend to irritate me like Anglo dreadlocks do. Coins, cigars, lollipops, and anything of the like just seems unnecessary. Why not just call them fried potatoes, rolled whatnot, and chicken legs? Chefs out there in the ether may not agree with me. I understand that these cutsie terms help to jazz up a menu, or description, yet find them childish; sophomoric. Of course this is just a layman's critical opinion. One which could be easily shrugged off like dirt on your shoulder.

Earlier this week I cooked up some Richardson Family Farms bone in pork chops for Blackberry Shortcake and I (no photos were taken, I'm leary of the quality of the pics these days...). These were good too. I used some Asian five spice to season them, and served these beauties along side some brussels sprouts, steamed jewel yams, and roasted fennel. The flavor of the fennel was a nice compliment to the spices on the pork. 

Last night down at Shaddley's, we braised some Niman Ranch country style pork ribs in the Gastronome fashion from way back in October. I added some of my homemade feral hog sausage to this recipe to beef it up a bit. One last attempt to get away with winter cooking during this random cold snap. Shaddley has gone to the Dark Side; part of him died in France, and what ever came back is not entirely human. Some strange Franco-Texan hybrid too perverse for public display. Charcuterie plate, soup course (potato-leek, very dairy laden), main course, fromage, and dessert?! A fucking truffle cake at that. I see fromage staying the course; weathering the tempest of the recession. The ladies were all filled to the gills. We ate like we tend to: righteously. We were constantly checking out the window for the food police. They'll get us one day no doubt. 

Thoup!

Recipe for this side coming.

Bacon on pork ribs.

Fromage!

We drank too much wine; I awoke with the first real wine headache of the year. What gives? Fortunately Taco Deli tacos and peaberry reserve coffee saved the day. Here is why: Chateau Grand Bireau 2005 Bordeaux Rouge, Bourassa 2005 Rhapsody Syrah from Napa, 2004 Phillipe Faury St. Joseph Blanc (the best of the night fo sho), Sur de los Andes 05 Malbec Gran Reserva, Olivet Lane Chardonnay and Pinot 2006, Palacios Petalos Bierzo 2006. Seven bottles for four drinkers, and we killed them all. 

Pigs beware. I've got your number. Bacon goes with everything. As soon as I buy a new candy thermometer, I'll make another batch of the toffee. I'll work on some spring desserts featuring that beast. I'm thinking of bacon toffee chunk cookies, similar to Heath bar chunk. I think that would be good! Am I crazy? Am I? You wouldn't tell me if I were, would you? 

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.

Gilded Recession pt. 2

I woke to the steamy breath of my bed mate. We were spooning, an entanglement of limbs, and hair; our bodies intertwined. For a bulldog, he sure could cuddle. I apparently was in his space. He came and went, his toenails clicking on the hardwood as he made is way from my room into the hall and back again. I felt good. No hangover. Nothing. The true signs of an alcoholic, the absence of pain, and the thirst for more.

I was up for awhile before I got out of bed. YogaMarketingBrownieGirl had gotten up, leaving to go teach an early morning class somewhere. After some time passed, Shaddley could be heard stirring about. I got up. Coffee. I needed some, and he was on it. We briefly discussed breakfast. There was a little bit of steak and potatoes left from the night before, and I really wanted to make a hash with them. We had bacon, but no eggs, so we decided to go to the store.

It was Valentine's Day. The traffic in the store was heavy for 9:30 on a Saturday. We found the eggs, got some English muffins, more bacon and started to make our way back to the front, when we found ourselves standing in front of a massive display of lobster tails. We looked at each other, and thought, "Fuck it!" We took one with us. Shaddley picked up some flowers for the wife, and we were on the way back to his house with our early morning bounty.

Back at his house, we made another French press, and got to work. I diced the steak and potatoes and started frying them with some butter, onion and garlic for the hash. We prepared a nice hot tub of white wine and butter for the lobster tail to poach in. Shaddley got to work on preparing a delicate, and delicious Hollandaise. We fried some bacon, toasted some muffins, and cracked eggs for our Julia Child style omelets. We plated everything up, cracked the lobster tail, finishing the meat in even more butter. It was beautiful, this plate of food; breakfast. Steak and fingerling hash, bacon, english muffins, omelets smothered in Hollandaise, and topped with lobster.

Fuck your recession.

As we ate, we were in awe of ourselves. We both looked anxious. Fearful. I was certain that at any moment the authorities would be bursting through his door, taking us to some secret FEMA camp for those like us. Fiends. Gastronomical terrorists. How could we eat like this? People in the world were starving, and we were simply filling our arteries with fat, delicious, delicious fat. Each bite was like an orgasm for my mouth. One bite of omelet, Hollandaise, lobster, and bacon sat on my fork, poised to enter the gaping chasm through which so much other food had perished, I looked at it admiringly, lovingly, as if it were my lover on the tarmac, striding towards a plane that would take her from me forever. I took it in my mouth, closing my eyes.

"I feel like if your wife walked in right now, it'd be like she caught us having sex."

"I know..."

We cleaned our selves up, did the dishes, and sat there in awe. YogaMarketingBrownieGirl would be home soon. We were still high from our meal. After some discussion, we decided we had to make her something. Fortunately, we still had some lettuce that wasn't used from our dinner the night before, eggs, and bacon. We got to it. Carrots were diced put in a pan, smothered in duck fat, and roasted in the oven. The eggs got the nine minute non-boil method, this is where you boil some water toss in some eggs, turn of the heat and let them sit for nine minutes, resulting in creamy, cheese-like yolk, rather than a gray chalky one. Bacon was cut and cooked. Left over aioli turned into a vinaigrette, and the whole thing was dressed, tossed, plated and covered in Reggiano.

Salads are vehicles for perversion.

We were mad; in some states we would have been committed. The food had gotten to our heads. She came home excited as usual. We asked if she had eaten. She said 'no', just her luck. We presented her with the salad and sat with her at the table. She was excited about the eggs. She wanted protein after her day of leading complicated stretches. We stared at her. She noticed.

"What's wrong with y'all?"

"Nothing."

"Why are y'all watching me eat?"

"Just excited."

"You're kinda freaking me out..."

"Sorry, we're still high from breakfast."

"Oh? What did you have?"

That was a loaded question. We spilled our guts; our forbidden affair laid bare. Adulterous gastronomy, and we were the sinners. She ate. We watched. After she finished, we sat and relaxed. She left again, one of her millions of jobs beckoning to her from the ether. Alone again, Shaddley and I sat there.

"Do you have to be home soon?"

"Not really. It's my day off."

"Want a beer?"

"Of course."

To be continued...

How to Make Bacon Toffee

Back in September, when I was fasting, I did a lot of reading about food. I found two blogs that are worth both mentioning and reading. The first was one called Butter Pig, created by Tom Dowdy, a chef that had gone to the CIA in New York, had a tech job, and loved to feed his friends elaborate meals that were true Dionysian affairs, the second was Obsession with Food, written by Derrick Schneider, another techie-foodie, and best friend of Tom. It was on OWB that I found out that Tom had died suddenly last December, a solemn occasion that was celebrated by a beautiful feast prepared by his best friends for his family and loved ones. Tom's impact on his friends was powerful, and Derrick does a beautiful job of interpreting such a difficult subject in two admirable, and inspiring posts from earlier this year. The meal they cooked, and the feelings of remembrance, love, and grace, resound deeply with me. 

I had been pouring over these blogs late one foodless night, when I found it. It seemed too good to be true; a combination that seemed wrong in every way, yet so laden with ecstasy that it had to be right, like a forbidden culinary love affair. Bacon toffee. I wrote the recipe down in my recipe book, and vowed to make this beastly abomination soon enough. I tried my first batch for Thanksgiving, but the absence of a candy thermometer proved fatal to the consistency, and color of the final product. Guessing when candy hits 285º is hard your first time, so I sought out the tools I needed. Version 2.0 of the bacon toffee went off without a hitch. It hit its temperature, ensuring that it would have a hard break, and set up beautifully. I took the entire batch to Wheatsville on Sunday, and doled it out over the next two days to all my meaty friends. They loved it. I'll be making more this week end for an annual Holiday beer tasting potluck that a buddy of mine throws. Enjoy friends. This is a secret weapon for your arsenal. 

Bacon toffee slams!

Bacon Toffee

Ingredients:

1 cup sugar

1 stick of butter

1/4 cup water

5 strips of bacon

Method:

Crisp bacon, set aside to dry on a paper towel lined plate, chop into small squares when cool. In a sautè pan or sauce pan combine the rest of the ingredients, and mix well with a metal whisk or wooden implement (plastic will melt). Bring the mixture up to 285º[300º works], remove from heat, add bacon, and pour onto a  baking sheet covered in Silpat, or parchment paper. Let rest for two hours. Cover with a clean towel, and lightly rap with a hammer to break the toffee into shards. Keep in a covered container at room temperature.