Perpetual Carouse

I think my dog has finally matured into a full-fledged chowhound. We’re rubbing off on him.

A few weeks ago, he discovered the joys of catching drippings from the grill. I was doing some ribs, and my grease-cup runneth over.

“Hey, where’s the dog?”

And there he was, hunkered down under the grill, eagerly lapping up whatever dripped his way.

Fast-forward to last night. I was grilling up a pork loin, and it started to rain. My dog, as a rule, is loathe to go out in the rain. Hates it. Even treats don’t work. To walk him in the rain, you essentially have to drag him behind you, while he zig-zags around, trying to avoid any sort of contact with moisture.

So there I am, grilling, and Shiloh is watching intently, laying just on the threshold of the doorway. Then, he creeps out (into the rain) and very gingerly makes his way underneath the grill to try and
catch something tasty.

Such is the power of pork fat; it trumps my dog’s hatred of rain. I’m so proud!

I don't think Rachael Ray’s about cooking, do you?

-Christoper Kimball

There’s an interview with Chris Kimball, the geek-mastermind behind Cooks Illustrated and America’s Test Kitchen in the Washington Post today. I have to admit that I love CI, and I love to hate Rachel Ray.

I’m sure she’s a nice person and all, but her knives suck, her lingo grates on my last nerve, and I don’t like seeing her O-face every time she takes a bite of a ham sandwich, or a sip of lemon-water. I mean, I love food far more than the next guy, but come on lady. Every bite leaves her moaning and squealing and her eyes rolling back in her head.

Anyway, Chris Kimball. Love him, love his magazine, love his show. I’ve probably cooked more recipes from CI than from any other source, and they all come out flawlessly. Usually the second time around involves jacking up the spices a bit, but I appreciate that the recipes can be counted on as a solid jumping-off point.

As I mentioned before, a friend of mine found a fantastically bad BBQ cookbook called The Art of Barbecue and Outdoor Cooking circa 1958.

Perpetual Carouse proudly presents:

Hobo Special For One*

1/2 pound ground beef
1/4 tsp. salt
pepper
1 tbps. chopped parsley
1 tsp. chopped onion
1 small carrot, cut into strips
2 small onions, peeled
3 slices potato, cut 1/2 inch thick
10 olives
1/2 ear of corn
salt and pepper to taste

You'll need a one-pound coffee can with lid.

Combine beef, salt, pepper, parsley and onion. Shape meat into a patty the size of the bottom of the coffee can. Place a meat patty in each can. Layer with carrot strips, onions, potato slices, olives, and corn. Salt and pepper to taste. Cover tightly with coffee can lid. Nestle cans in hot coals, and cook for one hour, or until vegetables are tender.

*I'm paraphrasing the cooking instructions, because, well, retyping them was a pain. And there's that whole copyright law thing, too. Plus they weren't really all that technical anyway. The ingredients, however, are straight out of the book.

Chow's got a short list of cheap kitchen gear just as good/better than the expensive stuff, and for the most part, I agree with their list.

I'm certainly guilty of overspending on certain gear, but frankly, you'll have to pry my All-Clad chef's pan out of my cold, dead hands. Same goes for my Global knives (although I hate the shape of the handles). My little-used but much-appreciated Cuisinart falls into the same category. Expensive, and worth every penny.

I'd say Chow's best picks are the restaurant-supply sheet pans, and Lodge cast iron. I'm big fans of both, and it kills me to watch people buy $40 baking sheets and $150 grill pans in fancy kitchen-porn shops.

It's also pretty easy to get good deals on the expensive stuff, too. We're always on the hunt for Le Creuset at garage sales, antique shops and discount stores, although the antique shops seem to be catching on lately and jacking up the prices. Thanks to the lifetime warranty, a cracked/chipped/otherwise fucked up Le Creuset will be replaced free by the company for the price of shipping it to them. And there's always the outlets.
[All-Clad, Le Creuset]

I'm not quite sure how we got along all these years without individually-labeled, pre-washed, plastic-wrapped, microwave-ready potatoes.

Ick!

Personally, I subscribe to the Alton Brown school of baked potatoes:
Stab the sucker full of holes with a fork, toss with a bit of olive oil and a heavy pinch of kosher salt, bake at 350 directly on the oven rack for about an hour. Perfect.

I want my 90 minutes back.

I was expecting that the Food Network Awards would be about-- oh, I don't know-- food. The dead giveaway that the whole idea was a clunker was the conspicuous lack of chefs not on the payroll. What a drag.

The award for best professional grade appliance goes to the microwave? The microwave? Do professional kitchens even use microwaves? And then there's the award given for Achatz' anti-griddle. That's supposed to be the kitchen technology just around the corner for all of us? Um, no.

Quick, name a Tuesday night dinner that requires the use of an anti-griddle!

I didn't think so.

It's sad, really. For the longest time, the Food Network was good TV. It's the reason I still have cable...although they're fading fast. Actual cooking on the Food Network is going the way of music videos on MTV. It sucks. Most of their new shows are leaning toward faux cooking like Sandra Lee, and they haven't added a serious chef to the lineup in I don't know how long.

People originally turned on to the Food Network because of the food. If they keep dumbing things down (California Raisins walking the red carpet, anyone?) they're going to alienate more people than they'll attract with stupider shows.

[The comic is Achewood from January 26, 2007.]

Everyone is obsessed with where their food comes from. We love to talk about it, read about it, think about it. People go to the farmers' market once a month for three heirloom tomatoes and pat themselves on the back for eating locally. The sad reality though is that we're not exactly eating the way we pretend to be. Three tomatoes does not a factory-farm-crushing movement make.

I'm guilty of it myself. I live close to a good-sized, well-priced, year-round farmers' market. For the first few months, we went pretty regularly, almost every Saturday. Almost every Thursday, we'd end up throwing out about 50% of the stuff bought the previous weekend. We always had the best intentions, and the best food-porn fantasies of some sort of urban (urbane?) Martha Stewart-ish life overflowing with the freshest local products consumed at their nutritional and culinary peak.

Unfortunately, it always seems easier to stock up on more shelf-stable, reliable (read: imported from Chile in the off-season) produce at our local chain store. Now add in the fact that, contrary to farmers' market propaganda, eating locally and seasonably translates into spending more cash. It's easy to see why most people most of the time just say "fuck it" and go to Safeway instead.

This idea of eating locally has always appealed to me for both reasons of taste as well as politics. Food that ripened on the vine tastes better than food that ripened in a box on the floor of a food distributor's warehouse. The closer it was made to you, the better it tastes, and the less time it spent traveling in a big-rig wasting gasoline and getting old. Buying local products supports local people. I probably buy a lot more locally than the average American already. But can I live on local products alone?

I recently stumbled across the The Eat Local Challenge, a bunch of food folks basically challenging themselves to eat food produced within a one hundred mile radius of home for a week.

Further, this challenge is about trying to eat local within the budget for the "average" American family. Whoever those people are, they must be eating like crap. For a household with two working adults, that budget is $144.

Why do this?

To prove that it can (or can't) be done. And to raise questions about the state of food production and consumption in this country.

$144 a week. I hate to say it, but that's only a bit more than we spend each week on lunch in downtown San Francisco. But that's what we're going to try and live on for seven days.

Wanna rock out some sous-vide, but you don't happen to have a $4000 thermal circulator?

Throw your protein in a freezer bag with some yummies, place the bag in a pot of water, and put the pot in your oven on low. So says the L.A. Times.

I'm also wondering if this might not be a good way to re-purpose a crock-pot. I was just reading one of Jeffrey Steingarten's essays the other night, and he clocked a crock-pot around 180 degrees I think.

[Via Megnut: Ziploc officially doesn't dig on the idea of people boiling its bags. Don't say I didn't warn you.]

The Chron's got pretty extensive coverage on The Eat Local Challenge. As I mentioned, we're going to be giving it a whirl starting tomorrow.

Already I can see some of the difficulties. Sticking to the budget is going to be the big one. The other is that there isn't really salt, pepper, flour, or a zillion other things I cook with all the time within a hundred miles of my kitchen. I was talking with a friend of mine, and he asked about restaurants. He pointed out that even restaurants that emphasize local products get a lot of stuff from far-away lands.

The way I look at it, this isn't an exercise in limitation. I'm taking it on as an opportunity to enjoy exploring the things around me, rather than fretting over where I'm going to find locally-produced cornmeal. It's rather telling that the most successful of the Chron's guinea-pigs were a retired couple who've been doing this for years, and restaurant-owners, although the less-connected, more time-constricted city-slicker made a good go. I don't have the time, or the experience required to spend my week hunting down every last ingredient. And that's fine for me.

As I mentioned to my friend, I'll be happy with an organic scone or loaf of bread from a locally-owned bakery. If the flour wasn't made in a shed in the back, it's not going to ruin my day. I'm approaching this whole thing as realistically as possible. We can't eat entirely locally. But that doesn't make trying to eat closer to home not worth working on.

Besides, anything that gives me an excuse to eat awesome cheese and drink good hooch can't be bad, right?

Shopping trips: 2
Total spent: $59
Remaining budget: $101

In light of the LA Times' reccomendations for a poor-man's sous-vide, Megnut did a little sleuthing into the dangers of plastic.

Turns out that both freezer bags and the vacuum seal bags the pros use are both made with polyethylene, a plastic that melts around 115 degrees, give or take a few.

Ergo, eat really tender and delicious meats at your peril.

Photo by Denise Siegel

The show was awesome, and only slightly marred by the woman in front of me who would turn around and glare disapprovingly anytime anyone would hoot or holler or otherwise make it known that they were indeed alive and breathing and enjoying this here rock and roll music that was being played. Pity the poor souls who had any sort of real-life emotional response. If you're that picky about your listening experience, stay the fuck home with your iPod, methinks.

Grant was in rock-tastic form, accompanied by a drummer and bassist. It was a much more "plugged-in" show than the last time I saw him, focused on material from the new record, Strangelet. There were a few bones thrown to the Grant Lee Buffalo die-hards, including a killer acoustic version of Honey Don't Think [from Mighty Joe Moon] and an awesome version of Truly, Truly [Jubilee].

When I first discovered Grant via Grant Lee Buffalo, I was living in a student co-op. There were about 150 people in the house I lived in, and we had this giant commercial kitchen. The organized meals usually sucked, so I'd head in there after dinner to cook for myself. I used to cook up a storm in there, and I can remember listening to a lot of GLB on the shitty stereo. One song in particular, Dixie Drug Store [Streaming MP3], captured my imagination, with its tale of a traveler in the French Quarter seduced by the ghost of Marie Laveau. Now I can't help associating Grant's voice with New Orleans, which is funny because he's actually from the same California town that I grew up in.

It's strange how taste memories manage to permeate seemingly unrelated things. Listening to Grant's records now remind me of meals I had in New Orleans and the steak sandwiches with caramelized onion and pepper jack cheese that I used to cook up on the flat top in my Berkeley co-op.

Today is Day 6 of the Challenge, and... we're going to go over budget.

Tuesday night, we both had dinners out that were at least semi-business related, and thus unavoidable. I also went to see Grant Lee Phillips, so I ended up spending $12 on a couple of beers. They were local beers, at least.

I made another shopping trip for a few things for Wednesday dinner/ Thursday lunch, and since we didn't cook Tuesday night, I bought lunch out. Michael got a free lunch from work, so I'm not counting it.

The money breaks out like this:

My Tuesday Dinner before Grant Lee Phillips show + beers at the show: $32
Michael's Tuesday Dinner: $24.50

Software for Wednesday dinner & Thursday lunch:
2 organic red bell peppers: $5 (probably local, but I'm not 100% certain)
1 loaf of organic local bread: $3

2 local/ sustainable carnitas tacos w/ chips & salsa: $11.50

That brings our total spent this week to $155.

Dinner last night was roasted red pepper, caramelized onion and Fatted Calf bacon sandwiches with Happy Boy greens from the farmers' market on Saturday. I had wanted tomatoes, but there were no local tomatoes to be found. Paying $5 for two smallish peppers totally sucked, especially since I know the non-local, non-organic variety would have cost about a buck at the Korean market where I usually buy them.

My lunch yesterday was also illuminative. I spent almost $12 for Traci Des Jardins' designer Mexican street food. The tacos were delicious, no doubt, but I could have had the exact same meal for about $5 from the taco truck a few blocks away. The taco truck doesn't use Niman Ranch pork, or local organic produce though. I also cheated, and used the excellent (and imported from Mexico) Valentina hot sauce on my lunch. Traci's salsa may be local and sustainable, but it's also somewhat lacking in the flavor and heat department. For twelve bucks I was going to enjoy those suckers.

We're left with five bucks in the budget. Five dollars would probably be enough to get us through the next 24 hours via a flank steak or something and the odds and ends around the house. Today is Dining Out For Life though, and some friends invited us out to Cesar for dinner. If it weren't a fundraiser, and just a regular night out, I would have postponed until after the challenge. It does raise an interesting point though, namely that this sort of conscious eating can make having a social life somewhat challenging.

Ironically in our case, it seems to have supercharged our social life. In an average week, we might dine with friends once... and yet somehow this particular week gave us four opportunities to eat out, only one of which was planned before the week started. I suppose we could have taken a more hardline approach to the challenge and declined these invitations, but we don't get to spend enough time with people as it is. The fact that all these occasions happened this week is purely coincidence.

So tomorrow we're off the hook, and I'm kind of looking forward to it. Not because of the food... we've had great stuff this week. I'm looking forward to not having to bean-count. We've definitely incorporated more local products into our diets than usual, and that's something I'd like to carry forward after this week.

I recently did an interview with Kara Zuaro, author of I Like Food, Food Tastes Good: In the Kitchen With Your Favorite Bands. If you're unfamilliar, it's a collection of recipes from mostly indie-rock bands including Death Cab For Cutie, Camera Obscura, Calexico, Belle and Sebastian, The Violent Femmes and a ton of others. The interview is pending publication elsewhere, but look for an extended version-- plus a special bonus recipe straight from Kara's grandma-- here at Perpetual Carouse soon.

In the meantime, pick up a copy here. Where else are you going to find The Decemberists' pork loin recipe (the preparation of which does not involve wearing pantaloons, by the way)?

Via Instructables: Make your own chocolate Han Solo in carbonite. Totally awesome. The technique can be applied to just about anything, but seeing as I don't have Han Solo in carbonite laying around, I might have to settle for chocolate dog toys or chocolate house keys or chocolate half-empty bottles of Maker's Mark.

Free yourself from the tyranny of corporate soda! Do it yourself with the open-source OpenCola.

And, uh, just in case you think OpenCola might be more... virtuous than your standard corporate soda, don't be fooled.

When you make cola, you basically end up filling a glass with sugar and then adding just enough water and ancillary ingredients to get it to dissolve.
-Cory Doctorow, on OpenCola

OpenCola

Flavoring

• 3.50 ml orange oil
• 1.00 ml lemon oil
• 1.00 ml nutmeg oil
• 1.25 ml cassia oil
• 0.25 ml coriander oil
• 0.25 ml neroli oil
• 2.75 ml lime oil
• 0.25 ml lavender oil
• 10.0 g gum arabic
• 3.00 ml water

Concentrate

• 2.00 tsp (10 ml) flavoring
• 3.50 tsp (17.5 ml) 75% phosphoric acid or citric acid
• 2.28 l water
• 2.36 kg granulated white sugar
• 0.50 tsp (2.5 ml) caffeine (optional. use caution)
• 30.0 ml caramel color

For all you meatball fans, a couple of bonus recipes, courtesy of I Like Food, Food Tastes Good author Kara Zuaro.

One of my favorite meals to share with hungry touring bands is spaghetti with my Grandma Martha Zuaro's meatballs and sauce. This is so good that whenever my big, loud Italian family sits down to eat it, a quiet falls over the table. Then, Grandma always breaks the silence by asking, "So, how do you like my balls?" Or, if the little cousins aren't around, she'll say, "How do you like my freakin' balls?" See for yourself – but I think they're pretty freakin' delicious.
-Kara Zuaro

Grandma Martha's Freakin' Meatballs

• 1 pound chopped meat (I use 85% lean ground round)
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 cup Italian-style breadcrumbs
• 1/2 cup grated Pecorino-Romano cheese
• 1/2 cup Italian (flat-leaf) parsley, chopped
• 1 packet of onion soup mix
• 1 teaspoon of soy sauce
• 1 capful of Kitchen Bouquet (browning and seasoning sauce)
• 1 teaspoon oregano
• salt, pepper, and garlic powder, to taste
• 2 tablespoons ketchup
• 1 teaspoon basil
• olive oil, for frying

When all the ingredients are combined, roll into small, golf ball-sized meatballs, and set aside on a piece of waxed paper or on a cutting board.

Coat the bottom of a pan with olive oil, and place over medium-high heat. Fry the meatballs in batches until they are well browned. Don't fill up the pan to tightly – you'll need room to roll the meatballs around so they cook evenly.

You can test for doneness by cutting a meatball in half – if it's not rare inside, it's ready to go.

Drain meatballs on brown paper bags to absorb excess oil, and start making some sauce. My grandma makes her meatballs in the morning, and then simmers them in homemade sauce all day.

Yields 15-18 small meatballs

Grandma Martha's Sauce

• 1/2 large onion, chopped
• olive oil
• 4-5 (or more) cloves of garlic, sliced or pressed
• 4 28-oz. cans crushed Red Pack tomatoes (put through the blender for a smoother sauce)
• 4 28-oz. cans of water (measured after you dump out the tomatoes)
• 15-oz. can of tomato sauce
• 1 packet of onion soup mix (mixed with a little hot water to help dissolve it)
• 2 capfuls of gravy master
• salt and pepper
• red wine
• oregano
• basil
• 4 bay leaves

Sauté the onion in some olive oil over medium heat until it's soft and translucent. Add the garlic and stir for a minute or two.

Add the tomatoes, water, sauce, onion soup mix, and gravy master. Turn up the heat and bring the sauce to a low simmer.

Add the salt, pepper, red wine, oregano, basil, and bay leaves to taste, and adjust the seasonings as needed as the sauce simmers. Grandma starts early in the morning and lets it simmer all day – the longer it cooks, the better it tastes.

Inspired by Off the Bone, I recently whipped up a batch of pig candy. In the process, I learned a few things, namely that once it sits for a day or so, eating bacon is sort of like chewing on pencil erasers. Sort-of bacon-flavored pencil erasers, but stil....

That said, when the pig candy was fresh, it was pretty damned good. Sweet and savory and crunchy and bacony all in the same bite. Interestingly, after just a few hours, the bacon flavor seemed to dissipate, leaving what was essentially a good, if basic, toffee with a hint of smoke.

I interpret this unanticipated ethereal quality of bacon as further proof that bacon is something to be considered thoughtfully and understood for the wonderful and delicate gift that it is.

Anyway, if you want to make your own pig candy, a few pointers:
Start with good bacon. This isn't the time for the cheap supermarket stuff. I'd also recommend cooking your bacon in the oven on a wire rack over a half-sheet pan. That way all your slices stay nice and pretty and not all shriveled. Plus then you get nice clean bacon fat in the sheet pan to use for other things. You do keep a jar of bacon fat, right?

The original recipe called for stirring the bacon into the toffee mixture, but that ended up looking kind of gross, and the bacon all clumped together. If I did it again, I'd lay the cooked bacon on a sheet pan in a single layer, and pour the toffee over the top.

Pig Candy (or Bacon Toffee, if you prefer)

• 1/4 C. Water
• 1 stick unsalted butter
• 1 C. sugar
• 1 heavy pinch kosher salt
• 1 # thick-cut bacon, cut into 2 inch pieces and cooked crisp

The pig candy can be stored for a few days in an airtight container, but you're really better off only making as much as you're going to eat. It's not nearly as good once it has sat for a while.