Bloating Down The Stream

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, dogs and cats, big news: Irish Gumbo is expanding.

Is it a web portal of my own?  Is it the burgeoning of a publishing empire?  Is it the long awaited launch to fulfill my dream of owning a company that corners the market on t-shirts with snarky or ironic or just plain odd slogans and fake advertisements?

Sadly, no.  What is expanding...is mah belleh.

I have noticed more than once in the past two weeks, that some of my shirts and some of my pants are now bit more taut than usual when I put them on.  One of the shirts, a sort of shiny wine-colored number that I've been wearing for a few years, now gaps out at the buttonhole closest to my waist when I sit.  This perturbs me.

I am fortunate to have a metabolism and body type that, while not exactly svelte, I have not had to fight to keep from becoming too heavy for my own good.  In general my health has been pretty good considering that I do not get enough proper exercise* to stay toned up and fit.  So in general, I've managed to squeak by on the maintenance side of things.

But, now?  Perhaps I need to reconsider.  Exercise will have to brought on board.  Diet and nutrition will have to be improved**.  I will have to find a way to tame the cravings for le cuisine junque to go away, as my appetite for the salty-chippy-cheesy snacks has been fierce lately, and I think it is beginning to take its toll.  Also (and this could be really tough) I need to cut back on my indulgence in sandwiches of the Italian cold-cut variety.  I loves me a hoagie, no doubt.

I have also been possessed of an increased appetite in recent weeks, something I don't have a good explanation for at the moment.  I feel most days like I may not be eating enough, as my trade deficit with the company snack box would seem to indicate.  I need to get a handle on this soon, though, or there will definitely be handles on me...love handles.

And I'm not convinced anyone wants to see that on the Gumbo!

---

*Unless you count running around the office like my hair was on fire.
**Try as I might, I cannot figure out a way to get Doritos and potato chips to be defined as 'pasta or grain'.  Damnit.

I Met A Blond for Dinner in Napa, and It Was Good

I bet she was the kind of blond that would make a bishop want to kick a hole in a stained glass window, if he was inclined to drink enough of her. As for myself, I wasn't in the mood for vandalism or desecration, I was in the mood for dinner. Good on me, that I had the following lovelies in my fridge:

2 slices dry-cured Virginia ham, about 8 ounces total*

1 head of Napa cabbage, about 2 pounds after trimming

2 medium sized carrots

1 bottle Leffe Blond Belgian ale**

Now, I know what you are thinking: why not sit down with fork in one hand and glass in the other, and just set to on the victuals as is?

Because I aims to be all civilized, like. And that means some cooking is in the offing. So here is what occurred to my head bone while I was driving home from work, Tuesday night last week. I had been eyeballing the last two ham slices for a bit, having been inspired by a most excellent fried ham slice with egg, that I had for breakfast the Saturday before. This is top notch stuff and I wanted to do something special with it. My first thought was to make a ham and egg omelet: easy, quick and very tasty. But then I recalled my resolution to eat more vegetables, and remembered that I had also bought a head of Napa cabbage, which was waiting patiently in the crisper drawer. Ding! Light goes off! How about a saute, Gumbo-style?

Eureka! The plan came together like so. I would cut the ham into smaller pieces, fry them gently until just getting brown, then tip in the cabbage, cook until done. Sounded good, but I felt something was missing. I know: sauce or gravy of some sort. But how to get it?

That's when inspiration struck again. Why not a saute-braise combo, with the braising liquid...beer. Oh, yeah, now I'm on to something! I actually had three types of beer in the fridge, Anchor Bock, Sierra Nevada Bock and one Leffe. For whatever reason, my hand fell on the blond (hehheh) and that became the beer of choice.

I needed something else, though, some color...the cabbage was white and pale yellow-green, the ham a dark pink to sort of wine-red. How to brighten it up? Carrots, of course. The orange would make a good play against the other ingredients, I thought, so into the mix they went. I crossed my fingers, made an offering to the kitchen gods, and got down to it.

PLAY BY PLAY:

Open bottle of ale. Pour 2/3 to 1 cup into a bowl or cup and set aside. Sip the rest while you cook. Trim root end from cabbage. Slice leafy portions off ribs. Slice leafy portions into ribbons. Cut ribs into smaller pieces, about the size of a quarter. Slice carrots on the bias into pieces about an eighth of an inch thick, try to get them the same size as the cabbage ribs. Cut ham slices into pieces about an inch to inch-and-a-half wide on each side. Place ham slices in a large skillet (one that has a lid) and saute gently over medium heat. After they begin to color up a bit and render some of the fat, stir in the cabbage rib pieces and carrot slices. Stir to mix, and let saute for two to three minutes, until they begin to release some juices. When ready, drop in a handful of the cabbage ribbons and stir. Let the shrink (which they will) and then stir in more cabbage ribbons. Repeat until all the cabbage is in. Stir to mix and let saute thirty seconds to a minute more. Turn the heat up to medium high if needed. Season the mix with fresh ground black pepper to taste. Pour in the reserved ale, bring to a boil, them reduce the heat, place on the lid and simmer until the carrots and ribs are tender. It will take about 6-8 minutes, test as you go.

VERDICT:

For something I made up off the top of my head...it was much better than it had any right to be. It was tasty, and I had to restrain myself from eating the entire pan. I served it in a big bowl, over steamed long-grain rice with bay leaf and herbs and black pepper in the water. There was a fair amount of liquid in the pan, and it made a good sauce for the rice. I didn't use any salt because the Virginia ham is salty, and seasoned the dish up quite well.

Photos? My apologies, dear readers, I was having so much fun making the dish, and eating it, that I forgot to take any this time. Next time, I'll write myself a note...

*In case you are curious, the ham was from S. Wallace Edwards & Sons, in Surry, Virginia. Prime ham country, that is, and Edwards is primo stuff. They know from pig!

**A tip o' the tam to my bloggy friend, Mo "Mad Dog" Stoneskin, for bringing Leffe to my attention. Thanks, Mo! Everyone drop by his place, give him a read, drop some luv and tell him I sent you.

Come On In My Kitchen

A chance encounter with smoky temptation...

 

...led the mind a' wanderin'...

 

...the not-so-strangers in the night...

...eyed each other across the aisles...

...and a little mood music...

That's all it took, and something wonderful was about to happen, oh yes it was...

Kitchen Stories: Romance for the Belly  

'One Charmin' Muthaf**kin' Pig'

Vincent: Bacon tastes good. Pork chops taste good.

Jules: A sewer rat might taste like pumpkin pie, but I'll never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I don't wanna eat nothin' that ain't got enough sense to disregard its own feces.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vincent: So by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he’d cease to be a filthy animal?

Jules: We'd have to be talkin' 'bout one charmin’ muthafuckin’ pig. It'd have to be ten times more charming than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I’m sayin’?

-Pulp Fiction

Unlike our buddy Jules in ‘Pulp Fiction’, I occasionally do eat animals that don’t have enough sense to disregard their own feces (and I don’t mean dog.) Why is that? It isn’t because I think wallowing in feces would add anything to the flavor (eeewww), but because our buddy Vincent is right: bacon tastes good.

Recently I have had the opportunity to sample chocolate flavored with bacon. I forget the name of the company that makes it. It isn’t a slice of bacon covered in chocolate, although that would certainly make for an interesting candy bar. This stuff was little bits of crispy bacon all mixed up into the chocolate. It sounded really weird at first (pork candy, anyone?) but I finally tried a few pieces. It was better than it had any right to be. Let’s just say it is a breakfast item that could get your day off to a blazing start.

“I love the smell of bacon frying in the morning. That smell, that crispy bacon smell. Smells like…breakfast.” – Lt. Colonel Bill Killpork, 'Aporkalypse Now'

Okay, so I totally made that last quote up. If I were to make a movie about cured pork products, that is what I would call it. So it’s mine, yo! True dat! I claim copyright on the title!

That brings me to the main subject at hand: BACON. For whatever reason, in the past two years or so I have really picked up a taste for bacon. I ate it now and then as I kid, but not every day for breakfast or anything like that. It was good, but I didn’t see then what was the big deal. Lots of fried stuff tasted good; bacon was just one of many. But lately? I look forward to my four strips of bacon with my Sunday morning breakfast. Plus I am sort of regular at a diner around the corner from my office (a story for another post) and they make a turkey club with bacon that is mondo good; I rarely get anything else. I can’t explain the bacon cravings. And no, I am not pregnant. At least I don’t think I am. (pause for testicle check) Yep, I’m a boy, so no preggers.

One delicious (ooh, get it? delicious) irony in all this is that I have also discovered in the past two years what could possibly be the BEST BACON EVER on Planet Earth. And even more ironicer (?) ironically(?) this bacon is made in southern Virginia, in a small town that is much closer to where I grew up than where I live now. So when I am jonesin’ for some bacon, I have to get it via UPS. Well, when I want to get some primo bacon, I do. It’s kind of like the difference between a Hershey bar (good enough) and a Godiva chocolate (oohhhumm!!!!). Once you have the really good stuff, it’s hard to go back.

To borrow from Jules the gangster, this is one charmin’ muthaf***in’ pig!

“My name is Irish Gumbo, eater of cured pork; Look on my bacon, ye hungry, and Despair!”

The Pork? Meh.

So I mentioned a sandwich yesterday. I went to a local 'cue restaurant (which shall remain unidentified for now) as I feeling rather carnivorous and jonesing for some smoked meat. The special was a pork sandwich, bunned, sopped in spicy sauce. It was plenty o' meat, I had every reason to believe that it would hit the spot. Or at least come close enough to the spot that I could make it to dinner without undue snackage. It arrived on a plate accompanied by a mound of green beans (more on those later), looking all cute and yummy. Just the hit I needed!

Then I took my first bite. Ahhh....wait. Hold on. chew,chew,chew..? Pork it was, and there was a sauce like substance. The pork was a bit dry, chewy (although sometimes that isn't necessarily bad), but it didn't have that lusciousness a good BBQ needs. The sauce was wet, sure, but no kick. Hey, man, where's the HEAT, the TANG? A few bites later, I was getting desperate. I was so hungry though I couldn't give UP. Plus I was paying for this! Finally, I had to admit defeat. The 'cue was just, well, meh.

It didn't suck, but it didn't really satisfy, you know? You know that saying about pizza:

Pizza is like sex: when it's good, it's REAL GOOD, but even if it is bad, it's still pretty good.

That doesn't apply in this case. Mediocre seems a bit worse than truly AWFUL, at least then righteous anger is justifiable. Here I was just disappointed. They could have done better. They HAVE done better.

So it was with a sigh I turned to the green beans. Hallelujah! There amongst the crunchy greenness were bits of crispy bacon. And just about everything tastes better with bacon on it.

Now, if had only had a pint to go with it...

Query: How do you feel when you get mediocre food? Does it make you sad, or do you just suck it up and go back to work? How about a Worst Food Experience? I'm curious.

(Note: I left out names because I want to give them another chance. I like them, but like a friend with less than fresh breath, I haven't figured out how to TELL them.)