Hallelujah!

I had to modify this post. Originally it was just about the glories of Sunday mornings off from work and the joy of Hollandaise sauce. In view of the event in Japan that seemed cavalier and more than a little tasteless. Instead my agnostic soul  hopes that I am just wrong. I hope there is a reason for the pain, redemption for the lost, and comfort for those left behind. A secular song that feels more spiritual than most religious songs is all I have. (the original post follows)




I love Sunday morning. As I have repeatedly said nothing is quite as spiritually satisfying as breakfast out. Food just tastes better when people make it for you. It also tastes better when you cover it with hollandaise sauce like the Irish benedict at Rafts in Haverhill.

Mmmm Irish benedict. Instead of english muffins use soda bread. Instead of canadian bacon use hash. Instead of poached eggs use poached...oops! brain freeze absolutely use poached eggs. Finally drench the whole thing in hollandaise sauce. Mmmm Hollandaise sauce.

Are you red, or... gray?

It was a tough week for working people. Wisconsin governor Scott Walker managed to strip the collective bargaining rights from government workers (at least the government workers that people don't care about. Fireman and policeman still have their right... well not a right, a privilege, since rights are for everybody, to bargain collectively). Same old same old. At least there was a fight.

"irony alert, he was a British dude"

Funny thing. Or maybe ironic. We'll be celebrating Saint Patrick's day this week. Probably with a big corned beef and cabbage hootenanny. Guess what, people in old Ireland didn't eat corned beef. As a British colony the best Irish lands were used  to raise cattle for meat. Meat that was not for British consumption but for export to other colonies. Meat that could travel in ships. Meat that was salt-cured so it wouldn't go bad, i.e. corned beef. If you were an Irish peasant and you wanted to eat  you helped your British masters raise cattle on the good land then planted rugged crops that took well to bad soil, i.e. potatoes, on the land that was left.

Corned beef was a money maker. Sucked about that potato blight though. Of coarse the Irish people didn't have any collective bargaining rights either, so the good lands were used for cattle, the food was for export, and you could either flee or die. Of coarse we wouldn't want to deny the Achievers in society their just due now would we? That would be socialism.

One Thin Mint

Food porn, or real porn? One degrades us all, one involves naked people. At my house it is almost impossible to tell the difference until you try and clean the rugs. As cultures go we are a hedonistic lot, wallowing in pleasure, defining ourselves by our stuff, and reaching so hard to grab the next bit of happy we completely miss being satisfied.



Not that I have ever posted a recipe that is even remotely healthy. In fact at least 2 of the Mardi Gras and 1 of the Valentines recipes are known to cause seizures in lab animals. Oh well, I wanted to leave you with something funny for you Friday, unfortunately you get this post instead. Irish food to follow.

The Supremes

Oh Judge Roberts, everyone hates you activist bastards. Letting the Reverend Phelps rip on gays and fallen soldiers at funerals just goes to show that conservative and liberal judges can agree on free speech, and conservative and liberal pundits can hate on any decision they don't like.


Me, me, me! When you live in a nation of narssistists this is the enemy.

The Last Supper

It is a little known fact that I am one of the most trivial people in America. My trivia team racks up the wins. I know the names of all 9 supreme court justices, how far the earth is to the sun, and who holds the current stolen base record and who he beat to get it. Well last night one of my teammates asked me if I knew what I wanted for my last meal. I was kind of stumped.

At first I went with the obvious, excess. Bring it on! Gold dusted truffles, platypus skewers, a salad of endangered rainforest ferns, a giant chocolate cake shaped like Madonna's mole. You know, live out a food porn dream that would make the food network and the travel channel bow their heads in shame. I thought about it though and it occurred to me that if it was my last meal wouldn't I want all my tried and true favorites?

So how about a slice of Regina's Pizza, a cannoli from Modern, which isn't the same as a fry cake from Lyndell's, or a donut at Kanes, add some stuffed peppers from Borrellis, and a hot dog at Lawton's, now we're styling. The question is if I do all that will I have room for an italian sub from Bob's, clams from Woodman's, or a pulled pork sandwich from Redbones? Hell, I'm still just eating take out that's with-in 30 miles of my house. It's my last meal, if I can have anything I want how about somebody brings me a clam pie from Frank Pepes in New Haven? Mmm! clam pizza.

That's what I'm talking about, in fact why stop in New Haven? If it's my last meal on this green earth I might as well make it a traveling show.  We'll put a keg in the hatch back and just keep going. We'll stop at Lombardi's in NYC then blast down the Jersey pike to... to... wait a minute. It's my last meal, why am I hung up on pizza, and excess, and rushing about? Why be such a modern American?

After all isn't the best thing you ever ate the best because of where you where and what you were doing? A hot dog at Fenway Park on a clear June night with the Sox up by 2 and Pap coming on to close. How about the pancakes you made in a big cast iron skillet that time you were camping over labor day.  The whole gang was there and it turned so cold and Shelly shared the sleeping bag with you and it was great even though there wasn't enough room to do anything. Remember those hamburgers you were grilling after the kids ball game. The whole neighborhood showed up and Frank and Ralphie took your truck and came back with a trash can full of ice and beer? That stuff was so cold it hurt your arm by the time you reached the bottom of the barrel. All the kids had sparklers but the real show was the fireflys. How good were those burgers? Even the ones you dropped on the coals. No one noticed anyway.

It seems that I have my answer about my last meal. You can do excess, you can indulge your personal favorites, or you can just be happy. I choose my Mom's Thanksgiving dinner, the night before was always with friends, the morning was at the football game, everybody is running around, Dad's eating olives by the TV, the house smells great, there's a fire going... Yeah, it's definitely my choice.

It's a real Holiday.

Remember how a month ago  you proved your true love, to corporations, by taking part in the big Valentines day rip off? How are those $100 roses looking right  about now? I thought so. Well it's Fat Tuesday. Maybe here in America its just a regular work day, but in the rest of the world people are laying in gutters or dancing their asses off as you read this. Is she still your favorite girl? Is he the only one for you? Make a reservation, make a date, buy some daisies, wear the naughty panties, treat yourself to a little romance not because corporations say you have to, but because you actually love each other.

A little prep always makes the romance so much sweeter. So after a nice meal out, The Black Cow or Michael's in Newburyport have sweet harbor views, you can come home to...



It's not New Orleans authentic, screw authentic,  but it has that perfect sleepy souther vibe that invokes languid, almost bed time,  heat. Dance her around a little bit. Get a good grab on his but. Tell her what you're going to do to her, put your head on his shoulder. Then have dessert.

Let's get southern.

So I started a new job today. Unemployed was harsh so why doesn't working make me feel better? I'll tell you what does make me feel better. A little Fat Tuesday Zydeco music, and some serious southern cooking.



Just go with it kids. I now it's not rock. I know it's not current. Did you ever notice how when you are at a party where people are really enjoying themselves you love whatever music is playing? Think about weddings, Mambo #5, The Electric Slide, The Chicken Dance? To really enjoy music  is just like really enjoying anything; you just have to be open to it. Clifton Chenier is an American icon and Zydeco is great party music. Go with it gall-darn-it!

Smothered pork chops, smothered anything, is about as dixie as you can get. So for Fat Tuesday Smothered pork chops is my first choice. It's a 2 step process, sear and braise, which can be adapted to an infinite number of pork chops. It's all process, amounts are for sissies.

1. Buy Double thick bone in pork chops. There is a lot of flavor in bones.
2. Salt them. Pepper them. Sear them in hot oil in a cast iron skillet.
3. Both sides.
4. Butter, Mmmm butter, a pan that will hold the chops in one layer.
5. Slice an onion into thin rings, slice a pepper into thin rings, julianne some celery. Add more or skip it altogether, what ever amount you like.
6. Put the Vegetables in the pan. Salt and pepper them. 
7. Layer the cops on top.
8. Deglaze the frying pan with some white wine. Get all the brown bits.
9. Pour the pan juice over the chops. 
10. Throw in 3 or 4 sprigs of thyme and some chopped sage. Skip it if you don't have any, or use dry.
11. Seal the pan with foil. 300 degrees for 2.5 hours.
12. Make a roux in a sauce pan. Equal parts flour and butter, Mmmm Butter, stirred on the heat for just a couple of minutes after they combine.
13. Remove everything from the pan to a platter. Cover with the foil
14. Pour the juices on top of the roux, blast the heat, stirring until the gravy comes together.
15. If you need more gravy add some chicken broth, I didn't see you use canned, and stir. 
16. Pour the gravy over the chops. 
17. Sprinkle with chopped parley or sliced green onion.
18. Mashed potatoes would be nice.