My herb garden must be tamed.

Who knew lemon balm could grow so big? Or lemon verbena so tall? Between the two lemony bullies and the weeds the size of trees that I haven’t bothered to pull out (they certainly haven’t affected the lemon balm), sunlight to those herbs that are not upright of habit is all but choked off. That’s why I had to mercilessly mow down the lemon verbena tonight for some striped bass with lemon verbena-macadamia pesto.

The lemon balm, I didn’t touch. It’s large enough to be dangerous, and I don’t trust it. Who knows what lurks within its depths?

Well, giant bumblebees, for one, which is quite enough to keep me from investigating any further. We’re lucky I forced myself to get close enough to the herbs to snag the verbena, or dinner would have been utterly lacking in condiment.

Macadamias completed the pesto dyad.* Fish naturally pairs up with butter and lemon, so why wouldn’t it pair well with a pesto made of lemony herbs and buttery nuts? It only makes sense. That was the premise from which this meal proceeded.

It also provided a convenient excuse to splurge on macadamia nuts (which, in this photo, look very much like tiny potatoes). And to munch on said nuts while making dinner.

*No cheese, because fish with cheese squicks me out, crustaceans exempted. It’s like my own personal rule of kashrut.

Here’s the thing: my original butter + lemon premise only works if the lemony herb in question actually tastes lemony. Which lemon verbena, as it turns out, does not when pulverized; the bright, sharp lemon scent given off by the leaves transforms after being FoProed into something decidedly herbaceous but remarkably sweet.

So I bolstered it with lemon zest and juice, because it was crying out for some punch. Damn lemon verbena and its damn misleading scent. What kind of fucked up asshole of a plant reeks of lemon but refuses to taste like it? I CALL SHENANIGANS.

See if I ever plant YOU again, lemon verbena. I bet the lemon balm could KICK YOUR ASS.

It all ended up tasting good in the end, so I’ll stop excoriating the verbena. It knows how I feel.

I had some truly loverly pieces of local wild striped bass that I seasoned simply with salt and pepper and cooked off quickly in a hot pan. Brian, who is known as a lover of A Nice Piece of Fish (said with old Brooklyn man accent) had been waiting for this meal like a kid on Christmas.

Not that he knows what Christmas is like, because he’s Jewish and they don’t get Christmas because they killed Jesus. For other Jews who may be reading, Christmas is when Santa comes down from heaven and gives new bicycles to the good Christian children so they can ride in circles around their non-Christian classmates and gloat.

But let us not allow theological inquiry, however intriguing it may be, to stand in the way of dinner.

Lemony pesto on fish is a winner – the citrus and herb are bracing against the sweet, succulent fish – and the macadamia nuts are so wonderfully fatty that Brian asked if there was butter in the pesto. We both scarfed our dinners in record time, and I didn’t even remember to be mad at the lemon verbena.

This is the fourth killer pesto in a row – spinach and walnut, basic basil, cilantro and now lemon verbena – and I decree that all greens shall henceforth be consumed only in pesto form.

Lemon Verbena Pesto
2 c. lightly packed lemon verbena
1/2 c. macadamia nuts
2 tbsp. lemon juice
1 tsp. lemon zest
1/4 c. olive oil
s+p to taste

Whiz the verbena, macadamia nuts and lemon juice/zest in the FoPro until finely minced. With the FoPro running, slowly add the olive oil until you get a thick paste. Taste, and adjust the seasoning; you’ll likely need salt.

Related posts:

1. Thursday Night Smackdown: The Bacon Revolution Jamie Oliver: A man on a mission, a mission to...
2. Thursday Night Smackdown: Crabby Patties HEY YOU! Vote now on the year’s ugliest oven mitts,...
3. Thursday Night Smackdown: The Kind of Crabs You Want to Have They’ve got a crunchy topping! I love crab, but last...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Another harried weeknight, another bowl of pasta covered in green crap.

Said green crap being yet more spinach, this time in the form of a spinach-walnut pesto.

Since I wasn’t worried about being a tight-ass tonight, I went buck nutty and decided to make this the pasta equivalent of a spinach salad and threw in some crumbled bacon and blue cheese. Sometimes it’s GOOD to be buck nutty, and this pasta is excellent medication for the condition, like culinary Prozac but with fewer side effects.

The only downside was the total lack of leftovers, because I snarfed down two bowls of this shit without a second thought. What else could I do? There was gorgonzola. GORGONZOLA, people.

The pesto itself was a speedy little affair, as pesto is wont to be. Garlic, walnuts, a splash of white balsamic and spinach went for a deadly ride in the FoPro, and were then doused with olive oil until they formed a thick paste; a lovely shade of pale green.

Watch out with the garlic in this bad boy if you’re using baby spinach like I did – too much will be way too assertive for the more delicate flavor of baby spinach. Unless you’re like me and don’t mind being knocked on your ass by garlic, in which case go to town.

I set the finished pesto aside while I rendered some bacon and put water on for the pasta. All I can say is, thank god there was no crusty bread in the house, or the pesto never would have made it through the end of dinner preparation. I may have momentarily contemplated spreading some on a slice of whole wheat just to have a vehicle for cramming it into my waiting maw, but I restrained myself.

While the bacon splattered me with hot grease and the water came up to temperature, I crumbled some gorgonzola so it would be ready for me. It was shockingly good for bodega gorgonzola. This should give you some idea of the neighborhood I live in: there’s bodega gorgonzola. That explains my mortgage. Yes, I pay out the ass so I can buy decent blue cheese at the bodega along with my iced tea and bag of gummy cola bottles.

I know there’s really no way to crumble blue cheese except with your fingers; I guess I could have fooled with some forks, but it would have been just that – fooling. My question: what do you do about the cheese stink? I mean, I love to eat it, but I don’t necessarily want my hands to smell like it hours later. This shit CLINGS, and you have to go all OCD and wash your hands ten zillion times in scalding water before they start to smell less like old socks.

Note that I am allowed to be cavalier about being OCD because I am myself a barely contained wackjob.

When the pasta was done, I tossed it with a healthy amount of pesto along with a bit of the pasta cooking water, to loosen things up. In went most of the bacon and most of the gorgonzola.

Why did I hold back on some of the add-ins? Because I have become the Ultimate Anal Foodblogger: yes, I art-directed my bacon.

I can explain. See, if I’d just tossed EVERYTHING together, the bacon and cheese would have gotten all covered in the pesto and everything would have looked like a green mess. So I saved some, so I could dot the top of the pasta. It’s not like I used tweezers or anything, and it doesn’t make up for my shitty lighting…also, I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to TELL you that I did it, because you’re supposed to think my pasta looks this carefree naturally. Whoops.

In the end, it doesn’t matter, right? The only thing that matters is that this tasted really, really good, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have it again for dinner tomorrow night. It really was like a spinach salad; all the flavors came through amazingly well. Delicate spinach with a slight bite, earthy walnuts, pops of salty bacon and pungent cheese like little firecrackers tossed in the pasta, with a background note of garlic (which was tamed when tossed with the hot pasta) and the peppery olive oil I used in the pesto.

I won’t be art directing my cheese in the future, because I find I prefer it when my food just looks like what it looks like. Also I felt like a giant dork, but mostly that first part. But I will be making this again, especially once pizza grilling time is here. Oh, yes.

Spinach- Walnut Pesto
2 c. lightly packed baby spinach (or regular, if you prefer)
1/2 walnuts
2 cloves garlic
2 tbsp. white balsamic vinegar (good stuff, keep some on hand)
olive oil
1/2 tsp. kosher salt

Put the first 4 ingredients and the salt in the FoPro and whiz until finely chopped.

With the FoPro running, pour in the olive oil until you have a thick, light green paste; the amount will vary depending on exactly how much spinach you’ve used, since that measurement isn’t exact. Just go by the texture.

That’s it.

Related posts:

1. Thursday Night Smackdown: Nope, Still Not Enough Cowbell Something’s going screwy with my Olympic fever. I am, obviously,...
2. Tight Ass Tuesday: Between Four and Six Ingredient Fix So as not to infringe on the Food Network. You’re...
3. It’s Not the Pasta’s Fault You can decide you want dinner at 8:45, and still...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

With bourbon. Because THAT IS WHAT MEN DO.

Also women because let’s be honest, a charry grilled burger with sharp provolone, red onions and a slightly spicy honey-bourbon sauce (recipe at the end) is something that both sexes can agree on.

And I didn’t even have to make it myself, which just makes the whole thing even better.

(It may not look like much, but it is good. Excellent to glaze chicken or pork with, too.)

Brian also made the burgers, because he is the GRILL MASTER of the household whereas I retain humankind’s innate fear of being that close to fire. Call me crazy, but avoiding situations that can result in third degree burns is a neurosis of mine.

His burger secrets: Hoisin sauce. With a little hoisin your burger will always be juicy without actually tasting of hoisin.  A dash of worcestershire, but I assume that goes without saying; I mean, we’re talking about burgers here. Finally, dents in the middle of the patties to keep them from puffing up like baseballs.

Okay, that last one is not so much a secret, but it’s still useful.

My burger secret: Hooking up with a guy who knows how to make kick-ass burgers. Then you can spend the afternoon reading a book while sipping sparkling water with St. Germain, and napping. And when you wake up, there are burgers! Best Saturday ever.

Here is true evidence of his grill mastery: He not only does the grilling, he BUILT THE DAMN GRILL HISSELF. Seriously. He ordered this hobo drum and a bunch of other grill-y parts, spent the morning in assembly and produced a pit smoker that can also be used as a grill. Here he is showing his dominion over the hobo drum.

Our motto: “Will it make us look more like hoboes? We’ll take it!”

I cannot, however, complain about the burgers it produces. Next weekend is ribs, as a run-up to the Memorial Day grillapalooza or, as it is formally known in the invitation, “Smoke-a-thon IV: The Ass Kicker.”

Here, it perhaps looks as though I am violating my personal rule against being close to fire, but I’m actually using a zoom lens.

And here, I am about to chow down. Note the plastic basket, which instantly makes any burger more burger-y. Not that this one needed it; hoisin burgers are always plenty good on their own. Charred and carcinogenic on the outside, tender and juicy on the inside, the sharp cheese playing off the sweetish sauce, with the gentle bite of red onion…it’s what grills were made for.

Yep, I done picked a good one.

Honey-Bourbon Sauce
makes about 1 cup, can be scaled up or down

1/4 c. decent bourbon
1/4 c. honey
1/4 c. ketchup
2 tbsp. worcestershire sauce
2 tbsp. maple syrup
2 tbsp. cider vinegar
2 tsp. mustard
1 tbsp. hoisin
1 tbsp. plum sauce
1/4-1/2 tsp. chili-garlic paste, depending on how spicy you like things

Combine all the ingredients in a pot over low heat. Simmer until everything is combined and the mixture coats the back of a spoon. Done.

Related posts:

1. Smoking a Fatty It’s really not what you think. It’s BETTER than what...
2. Smoke-a-Thon IV: Chicken Phase 3: Chicken thighs. Second only to the pulled pork,...
3. Smoke-a-Thon IV: Ribs Phase I: Baby Backs. (And don’t forget the giveaway!) 15...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Jamie Oliver: A man on a mission, a mission to single-handedly piss off every elementary school lunch lady in the United States.

He also wants to make me a better cook, and I am all for letting him, especially when making me a better cook involves bacon. I can easily become a better cook where bacon is at issue. Frankly, I can think of very few people who do not become better cooks when encouraged to wrap things in bacon.

Jamie Oliver also wants to be very up front about what you’re getting when you delve into one of his recipes. This one, for example, is called “Delicious white fish in smoked bacon with asparagus and lemony mayo.” So: teach me to be a better cook, yes. Teach me to be terse, no. Otherwise, he could easily have written a very short book called “Just Wrap That Shit All Up In Some Bacon.”

Maybe I’ll write that book. It might be short, but you know it would be a bestseller. Because, you know, bacon.

In this case, the fish in question is a hunk of monkfish, which is meaty enough to stand up to being wrapped in bacon. Monkfish that Brian practically had to wrestle from the hands of the so-called fishmonger at Whole Foods, and I think he’s still a little bitter about the experience.

Dear “Fishmonger,”

“My boss told me not to” is not an excuse to not fulfill a customer’s request that you cut an even filet from the giant side of fish you have rather than make up his requested weight in scraps. Also, it’s totally a bad lie. You kind of suck.

Best,
Me

But whatever, we got fish in the end and there’s still bacon to mitigate the bitterness. I zested a lemon, mixed it with some chopped fresh rosemary and gave my monkfish a patdown before wrapping it in the bacon. It got a quick dip in a medium-hot pan before the whole pan went into the oven to roast the fish and crisp the bacon.

Once the timer started on the oven, it was Mission: Mayonnaise.

Jamie did tell me that if I wanted to have an extra glass of wine, I could use store-bought mayo and whisk in some lemon juice to flavor and thin it, which makes me laugh and makes me wonder if he had had a few glasses too many when he wrote the recipe up. “Sure, use the processed crap. Waiter, a refill please!”

I would have taken pictures of the mayo-making process, but I was too busy trying to keep my right arm from falling off at the shoulder from all the whisking, the incessant whisking. Because you know I didn’t take the easy way out and make it in the FoPro, because I am an idiot.  It’s actually a shame that there is no photographic evidence, because this was the strangest mayo I’ve ever made: it thickened up instantly, and by the time half the oil was whisked it almost resembled a pate a choux (aka creampuff dough). It took much aggressive whisking – aided by Brian – and a not-inconsiderable amount of lemon juice to get it to loosen up.

Luckily, Jamie directs that the mayo be on the extra-tangy side, so all the lemon juice was a good thing.

Simultaneous with Mission: Mayonnaise, we cooked up the asparagus; Jamie suggested steamed or boiled, but I like to saute it in a hot pan and get a little color on it. In the meantime, I forgot about the fish (see above, re: me = idiot) and thank god that monkfish is somewhat forgiving and was wrapped in bacon.

I scatted some asparagus in artful disarray on the plate, drizzled some mayo over it and carefully transferred a piece of fish to the plate. “Artful disarray” is going to be the new “rustic” when I make something that doesn’t look all perfect-like.

I was a little apprehensive about the asparagus mayo, because I’m not ordinarily a big mayo fan; I think Brian shared my apprehension. I should have more trust in Jamie Oliver, because roasted asparagus with very lemony mayo is really good, almost like asparagus with hollandaise but lemony-er. It doesn’t take much mayo, and it’s damn good. I have no idea what I’m going to do with the tub of exceptionally tart mayo that’s now sitting in the fridge – how long does homemade mayo last? – because you sure as hell wouldn’t want to put that shit on a sandwich.

The fish was solid. I mean, it was really good, but then you’d expect good fish wrapped in bacon to be solid. Brian had high expectations and found that while it “was near the hizzy” it was not “all up in the hizzy”; I assumed it would simply be solid, so I was content. I was a little sad that Brian wasn’t thrilled with the dish after his unfortunate experience with the fishmonger, but I think we were both pretty happy in the end.

Has the food revolution come to my kitchen? I like to think it was already here, but I’ll let Jamie and his pinchable cheeks revolutionize my dinner any day.

Related posts:

1. Thursday Night Smackdown: A House Divided Cannot Stand We are sharply divided over this dinner chez TNS. We...
2. Thursday Night Smackdown: I Am Not a Donkey Actually, I probably am. I choose to ignore it. For...
3. Thursday Night Smackdown: The Quail’s the Thing Have nasty potholders? Want some new ones? Enter the Skanky-Assiest...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Something’s going screwy with my Olympic fever.

I am, obviously, watching the Olympics although in the ordinary course of my life I don’t give a flying fuck about alpine skiing. Yet I’ve also become strangely emotional -

excuse me, I’m choking on a piece of popcorn

- while watching, and so far have gotten teary-eyed at (1) skiing; (2) that Visa commercial with Dan Jansen about his dead sister; and (3) a Walmart commercial that I don’t even remember any more. Let’s hope I can make it through the women’s snowboard half-pipe. Which, FYI, I also don’t ordinarily give a crap about. I just hope I don’t cry at Bob Costas, because I don’t know how I would live with myself if that happened.

I needed a fast dinner tonight so we could eat before Brian headed out to a show; the ability to relax with this post a little and indulge my Olympic fever is just a fortuitous side effect. Ain’t nothing faster than pesto – and basil is just SO GOOD in the middle of winter – so tonight was Mario Batali’s spicy hazelnut pesto with goat cheese from Mario Batali Simple Italian Food: Recipes from My Two Villages

You know what commercial doesn’t make me cry? The McDonald’s commercial that insinuates that all the athletes are just hanging around the McDonald in the athlete’s village snorting down piles of McNuggets. Yes, McDonald’s, we all believe that Olympic-caliber athletes are horsing the Big Macs. I’m going to go on record as saying that not even Michael Phelps is loading up on the snack wraps.

(I have to fill this post with lots of meaningless blather because it’s really hard to pontificate at length about pesto, at least in the middle of winter when I can’t wax rhapsodic about the gorgeous fresh basil fresh from the garden I’d be using.)

Anyway, I chucked the basil into the FoPro along with hazelnuts, garlic, salt and some cayenne (which was supposed to be red pepper flakes, but I was all out) and whizzed it with the olive oil. Yes, you are reading correctly – there is no cheese in the pesto, which feels a little like…anathema. I get that the pasta will ultimately be all goat cheesed out, but I still don’t feel quite right about pesto without parm.

Still, it did look good; a little chunkier than a pine-nut pesto but appropriately green and unctuous looking. And yes, I know the food blogging world is over the word “unctuous,” but I don’t care just like I don’t normally care about ice hockey, about which I care EVEN LESS than alpine skiing. It was unctuous. Deal with it.

I should have put the pot of water for the pasta on while I was making the pesto, which would have made sense, but I, you know, didn’t. So I spent 15 minutes milling around waiting for water to boil, willing myself not to have a snack because I skipped lunch and was effing HUNGRY at this point. It finally boiled, which water is wont to do when put over high heat, and I dumped in half a bag of the fancy pants imported-from-Napoli pasta that Fresh Direct had on sale this week. Eleven minutes to al dente, said the package, which also told me that this might be a few minutes longer than the cooking time for normal penne, but that good things take more time and I would understand all when I tasted their magical pasta. Thanks, bag.

FYI, I haven’t teared up again since that Walmart commercial, so things are looking better on the Olympic fever front.

Once the penne were cooked and drained, I tossed them with the goat cheese – two adorable nubbins of Coach Farm, as directed by Mario – and stirred in the pesto; I didn’t think I’d need the whole cup of pesto the recipe made, but I did.

This was some hearty pasta. Naples does not fuck around with its pasta; it was perfectly al dente and chewy and – to use another hated word – toothsome.

It just was. Toothsome pasta, covered in unctuous pesto. Oh, yes.

The hazelnuts were a nice switch-up in the pesto, which was more aggressively nutty than I find pine-nut pesto to be. It also didn’t grind up as smoothly, so there was a lot of texture to make this more interesting than your standard pesto dish. The down-on-the-farm flavor of the goat cheese lent a background tang to the spicy pesto and also helped round out the flavor. It was good, and I’ll definitely give it another try in the summer with real basil. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Now if you’ll excuse me my Olympic fever is acting up, so I’ve gotta take a dose of men’s long program figure skating.

Related posts:

1. Not a Salad Another harried weeknight, another bowl of pasta covered in green...
2. It’s Not the Pasta’s Fault You can decide you want dinner at 8:45, and still...
3. Thursday Night Smackdown: Crabby Patties HEY YOU! Vote now on the year’s ugliest oven mitts,...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Needless to say, my second thought was complete and unadulterated panic because although I’m never quite sure what insane fodder is going to come out of my mouth until it does (and I’m suddenly surrounded by silence and five pairs of blinking eyes on nonplussed faces), I’m not…well, I’m not Michelle.

I can count on one hand the sum total of cuss-words on our site.  All of them from Mike, naturally, and the number would likely be doubled if he didn’t make the mistake of letting me proof his posts once in a dog’s year.  There was one time that I was overwhelmed with disdain about something and wrote the word (shite).  I still feel a bit guilty about that. Oh yes, that and referring to Bob Blumer as a maelstrom of douchebaggery.  I certainly don’t feel guilty about *that*.

My point is that, as a guest, I am desperately afraid that I’ll spend the next three paragraphs speaking frankly and passionately about the merits of food safety when making meringue, or the subtle but important differences between a microplane and regular box grater, and you’ll all be so disillusioned by the sudden change in content that you’ll tab away and vow never to return and poor Michelle, who is truly a jewel of entertainment, will face a debilitating downward spiral of plummeting stats that eventually get so depressing she avers that her days of writing this blog are done and somehow in this awful world of failure the only thing on TV is a re-run episode of The Barefoot Contessa and my pantry is full of Vienna sausages and marshmallow fluff MIRACLE WHIP, and it’s all my fault for having pseudo-neuroses and an inability to write articles that won’t bore the bejeezus out of you.  *Deep breath*

Okay, so fuck that donkey whore of a shit eating introduction and let’s get to some bitchin’ summer rolls.  But before we do, can I interest you in a brief history of hand held grating devices….?

Pad Thai Summer Rolls with Peanut Sauce

Serves 6-8 skinny bitches as a light lunch, or 4 drunky diddlers as a late night snack

Pad Thai Summer Rolls

• 200 g (4 small bundles) thin rice vermicelli noodles
• 1/4 cup dried tamarind + 1/4 cup boiling water
• 3 tbsp vegetable oil, divided
• 3 eggs
• 1 tbsp cold water
• 2 fat cloves garlic
• 2 juicy limes
• 2 tbsp + 2 tsp fish sauce, divided
• 2 tbsp soya sauce
• 2 tbsp brown sugar
• 2 tbsp rice vinegar
• 1 – 2 tsp sriracha chili sauce *
• 1 – 1.5 lb cooked jumbo shrimp (at least 16 – 20 pieces)
• 2 cups bean sprouts
• 1 red pepper
• small bunch cilantro
• 2 green onions
• 16-20 large (8″) rice paper wrappers

Peanut Sauce

• 3/4 cup unsweetened peanut butter **
• 3/4 cup orange juice
• 3 tbsp soya sauce
• 2 tbsp fish sauce
• 1 tbsp brown sugar
• 3 tsp chili garlic sauce (or 1 clove garlic + 1-2 tsp sriracha, to taste)
• 1 lime (1/2 tsp zest + juice of whole)

* If you don’t have sriracha chili sauce you can use your favorite hot blooded chili sauce…even if the best you can do is Tabasco.  I don’t judge.  Just be sure to monitor how much you add according to how hot it tastes.

** I bought sugar-free and additive free 100% Kraft peanut butter, thinking it would be….you know, Kraft peanut butter.  Instead it was the Exxon Valdez of condiments, as pure peanut butter is known to be, and Mike (who can generally go through a jar of PB in about 2 days, further convincing people that I never feed him) has been glowering balefully at the poor jar for the last four months.  So, hey – no time like the present to use it up in mass quantities!

Preheat your oven to 375ºC.  Pour one tablespoon of oil into an 8×8″ square baking dish and tuck it in the center of the oven to heat for at least 15 minutes while you get a start on preparing the other ingredients.

To make the peanut sauce, put the peanut butter, fish sauce, soy sauce, chili garlic sauce, sugar and OJ into a smallish pot set over medium low heat.  Add the zest of 1/4 lime (about a heaping half teaspoon).

Whisk the sauce regularly as it starts to heat through.  There is always an uncomfortable period of time when you’re doing this, and it happens when the peanut butter is getting whisked through but has not yet combined and you’ll see greasy brown threads clotting in the sauce.  Fear not and soldier on through, because when the sauce is heated and the PB liquefies all will be right in the world once more.

See?  I told you it would all come out in the wash.  Remember that the sauce will thicken as it cools, so if it looks a bit too thick you can whisk in a tablespoon or two of water as you see fit.

Put the dried tamarind in a smallish bowl and pour the boiling water over top.  And please, spare me the side bar.  I know exactly what this picture looks like, but Bill Cosby is totally going to sue your sorry ass if you keep that shit up.

(It might be worth noting, at this point, that in an effort to loosen my tongue and avoid waxing poetic about the when to use dried tamarind versus liquid tamarind pulp, I am working my way through a 20 of vodka while I write this post.  I’m doing it for YOU. Mostly.)

Let the tamarind soak for 20-30 minutes or until it starts to look a little bit…I don’t know, loose. We’ve all spent a night at the home of “No Flushing After 9pm”, so I’m sure you know what I’m taking about.  Now close your eyes, grit your teeth, and start to work the tamarind into the water, rubbing and squeezing, until the pulp grows thick in the water and the seeds scatter down below.  Now wipe that smirk off your face and try to pretend that you didn’t enjoy doing it, even just a little bit.  But please don’t look in my eye and lick your fingers afterwards, because that might be more than I can bear.

Pour the contents through a wire mesh strainer and work the pulp/seeds with a spoon to extract as much juice as possible.  Don’t forget to scrape the bottom of the strainer when you’re done because that’s where the flavor is.  Yes, ‘the flavor’ is stuck to the bottom of a mesh strainer and if you squint closely you will also see the outline of the Baby Jesus.  True story.

Put the vermicelli noodles into a large bowl and pour super hot (but not boiling) water over top.  Let the noodles steep and soak for 3-5 minutes until they are tender but not mushy or soft.

Immediately drain the noodles through a colander or mesh strainer and set them off to the side.  No need to give them a cold shower for this recipe!  Hygiene is for chumps anyway.

In a small saucepan heat the remaining 2 tablespoons of oil over medium high heat.  Mince the garlic very finely and add it to the hot pan.  Let the garlic sizzle for just a minute or two (be careful that it doesn’t brown) before pouring in the rice vinegar, soya sauce, two tablespoons of fish sauce and the brown sugar.  Add the chili sauce to taste (and by that I mean “add 2 tsp of sriracha, unless your name is Sally.  In that case, one will do…”) and whisk it until everything is evenly combined.  Squeeze in the juice of about 1.5 limes (3-4 tbsp of juice) and take the saucepan immediately off the heat.

Pour the sauce over the noodles and toss to combine.  You might see the liquid pool in the bottom of the bowl like the noodles wet themselves during gym class, but that’s okay.  Let them sit and soak, tossing them around every now and then, and the sodden strumpets will soak up everything you had on offer.

Now then, I’ve been neglecting the pan of hot oil in the stove.  Whoops!  Whisk the eggs with one tablespoon of water and the remaining two teaspoons of fish sauce.  The pan has been heating in the oven for…ahem….’some time’ now, so it should be blistering hot.  Pop it out and quickly pour your eggs inside, swirling to coat the bottom fully, and tuck it back in the oven in less time than it takes to say, “steam makes my faces hurt”.

Let the eggs cook for about 3 minutes, or just until they are puffy,  set in the center and pulling away from the edges of the pan.

Carefully turn the thin egg fabric out onto a cutting board and slice it in half.  Layer the two halves on top of one another and cut each 8 times so you have a total of 18 strips of Thai omelet.  As for the rest of the ingredients, finely mince some scallions, thinly slice the red pepper into wee little strips, and lay out the bean sprouts and well cleaned fresh cilantro.

I have a nasty little cheap-ass habit of stocking up on discount frozen shrimp rings after the holiday, which means that the cooked shrimp  I use tends to veer towards the scrawny side and I need to use two per roll.  However, this Christmas  I scavenged half of a leftover jumbo shrimp ring from the home of my future parents-in-law when they weren’t paying attention (I dare to impress), which meant that we had nice big ocean-roaches for these wraps. Aw, man! The rest of them po’ folks gonna be so jealous of my takins. If you have Big Daddy (in law) shrimp, slice them vertically in half and use two halves per roll.

Now for the assembly!  This is the part where it is always fun to get your kids involved, because their tiny little fingers are just perfect for delicate piece work.  And they know that if they wrap the summer rolls too loosely they’ll be flogged.

Fill a large shallow bowl with water which is as hot as you can stand it, preferably close to boiling (which is a good way to introduce your children to a possible future working the laundry service in the basement of a penitentiary.  Yay for realistic job previews!!)  and slip a rice paper wrapper inside.  Turn it over and let it stand in the water for 5-10 seconds  if it is very hot, or 20-30 seconds as the water starts to cool.  Remove the rice paper as soon as it becomes pliable, because if you leave them too long they get flimsy and easily tear.  When the water starts to get tepid pour it out and replace with fresh hot water.

Lay the wrapper flat on your work surface and put a single slice of egg on it.  Cover the egg with a small handful (about 1/4 – 1/3 cup) of the Pad Thai seasoned noodles, a few thin slices of red pepper, a small mound of bean sprouts, a wee smattering of scallion and two shrimp (or 2 halves of 1 large shrimp).  Lay a small stem of cilantro on top.

Tuck in the bottom and sides before rolling the beast up like a soggy taco.  Holy jeepers, did I just say soggy taco? Because that’s just a despicablly horrible thought.  And shit, I just said “holy jeepers”.  I think it’s time for another cocktail.

Serve the Pad Thai summer rolls with a side of peanut sauce and tuck in.

Yup.  Those sure are some Pad Thai summer rolls with peanut sauce.

This is one of those dishes that I make again and again, if only to say, “Screw y’all, I can TOO make an appetizer without cheese in it.  OR GRAVY. But just this once…”

As an added bonus, you can grate an extra clove or two of garlic and a smattering of curry powder into any leftover peanut sauce, as it is delightful reused as a marinade for Thai peanut pork tenderloin the next night.  Your guests will never know that you’re whistling while you serve them meat soaked in leftover dip, and you’ll never tell.

Summer rolls stuffed with Pad Thai seasoned noodles, Thai omelet, shrimp and vegetables.  They won’t make you fat.

Related posts:

1. Tight Ass Tuesday: Rip Torn…with Peanuts The soft tinkle of rain is such a lovely sound...
2. Tight Ass Tuesday: Our children is learning! I’m a teaching tool! Get this crazy shit: I notice...
3. FIRE HOT. MAN TAME FIRE, MAKE BURGERS With bourbon. Because THAT IS WHAT MEN DO. Also women...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

I’m a teaching tool!

Get this crazy shit: I notice a bunch of hits coming from a university, because I pay attention to crap like that. I click on the link because I’m curious like a cat, and find out that a writing class at Unnamed University is being forced by their sadistic professor to read this blog and analyze its tone and voice and describe its potential audience. To what is higher education coming?

Here kids, I’ll write your papers for you real quick-like:

• TONE: Coarse.
• VOICE: Sailor-esque, both in written and oral forms. A little gravelly. Low-pitched.
• AUDIENCE: Thieves and whores. Also gluttons.

I have an intense hatred of sentences that end with prepositions, even if the grammar police say it’s now okay and even if I forget and do it on occasion. I also love a good semicolon, and lament their underuse in contemporary writing. I’m heavy on the commas.

I just called Brian over to ask whether or not I was crossing a line calling the students out like that and he says no, so blame him for this. And then he says, “I thought you were going to ask if that picture of a pepper looks like a vagina, which it does, and that IS wrong.”

See? Coarse. But the gluttons among you thought that was HILARIOUS.

My voice is also somewhat rambling, because as you can see, we’re several photos down and I’ve said nothing about what’s IN the photos, what I had for dinner, how I made it or how good it was. I could push the boundaries and just keep going like this, but I do have some standards. So: re-purposed peanut sauce.

Last Tuesday I made some ass-kicking spicy peanut noodles that I was unable to eat due to anxiety and my obsession over the hole in the ceiling. Which does meet our insurance deductible, by the way, but we have to fax them some bylaws and get an affidavit from the plumber and give blood samples or some shit before someone will come over and make it go away.* See? There I go again, not talking about food. Oh, also, we re-arranged the living room furniture over the weekend, and now the room looks HUGE. I know you’re all very excited.

So the spicy peanut sauce makes a lot more than can coat 2 diners’ worth of noodles, and it keeps for a little while. There’s nothing cheaper than leftovers, but I didn’t want to just use it the same way or as a dipping sauce. The peanut sauce must not remain unadulterated, or I feel like I haven’t really done anything.

*NOT an audience for this blog: insurance agents and claims adjusters.

I did wuss out on the choice of ingredients a little, pretty much using the same veg and replacing the noodles with salad-in-a-bag. For protein, we seared off a chicken breast, glazing it at the last minute with some of the same sweet chili sauce that went into the peanut sauce. I would have taken more pictures of the chicken but – this may come as a shock – I do have some limits to how boring a photo I will force myself to take and subsequently inflict upon you, my pilfering, skanky, gluttons of an audience. I have long contended that chicken breasts in a pan fall outside those limits.

For the dressing, I took a couple good glops of peanut sauce, thinned it out with equal parts mirin and rice wine vinegar and smoothed the flavor out with a touch of honey. Above, witness the salad naked, then cloaked.

You may be thinking, “This meal doesn’t sound so cheap to me,” but almost everything that went into it save the fresh veggies were pantry (mirin, rice wine vinegar, honey) or freezer (chicken breasts) staples, and they should be for you, too. I will allow a substitution of seitan for the chicken breasts, but I’m quite firm on anything else, especially if you ever want to cook anything vaguely Asian. Come to think of it, almost everything that went into the original peanut sauce was also a pantry staple for me. So see? In the long run, cheap.

When the chicken was done, I tossed the salad, some bell pepper, cucumber and some peanuts with the dressing, heaped the clothed salad into a bowl and topped it with some sliced chicken.

Here’s the best way I can describe this salad: it’s like the Spicy Asian Chicken Salad you might get at your TGI Fridays or your Applebees, but good. I mean, really; chuck some mandarin orange slices and some crispy fried noodles on this thing, and you might as well be sitting under some faux-mobilia at a Ruby Tuesday with a 32-ounce beer. Also breadsticks. At a chain restaurant, there would be breadsticks.

So this is the fresher, better, less preservative-laden version of that salad. The dressing retains all its spicy peanut-ness, but it’s tempered so it doesn’t overwhelm the veg, either in taste or texture. The glazed chicken (which I assure you was moister than it appears) had a slight sweetness from the glaze that further cut through the spice, and the vinegar reminded you that you were, in fact, eating a salad.

We ate until we were full and then we kept eating, so tasty was this dressing, and we didn’t have to feel guilty because it was a salad. Fucking A!

(NOTE: Kay at the Keyboard is still running her comment-for-donations drive for Haiti, so head on over, leave her a comment and force her to pay up.)

Original Spicy Peanut Sauce Recipe
To make the dressing, just whisk in equal parts mirin and vinegar until the dressing is the consistency of a Caesar dressing, followed by a tablespoon of honey.

Related posts:

1. Tight Ass Tuesday: Rip Torn…with Peanuts The soft tinkle of rain is such a lovely sound...
2. Tight Ass Tuesday: Wary of the Salad I’m not convinced that this salad and I are on...
3. FIRE HOT. MAN TAME FIRE, MAKE BURGERS With bourbon. Because THAT IS WHAT MEN DO. Also women...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

I wussed out on my own event last week, because I wasn’t sufficiently Abilified. I’m now partway through the introductory phase of Abilification and that, coupled with tranqs – I’m not an addict but goddamn, Valium is some good shit – means feeling good enough to take on these black bean and vidalia quesadillas with green SALSA DE LA MUERTE.

Thank god I like milk. Do you think this salsa is a joke? Because IT IS NOT and it will cut you. No, really. It’s like a laser, it’ll slice right through your palate like a plastic knife through cream cheese that you accidentally left on the counter for six hours.

It burns worse than a Health Care Town Hall Meetings (I assume a lot of acid is thrown at these? I haven’t seen any, but that’s what it sounds like.), but it also is remarkably fresh and flavorful. One might say that it “Hurts So Good,” if one were inclined to say such things, which I am NOT.

I’d made a roasted tomatillo-jalapeño salsa last September that did it’s damnedest to do me in; it verged on impossible to eat and required lots of chugging milk directly from the carton with no shame, only sweet relief. I learned afterward that roasting chiles with seeds and ribs intact is not simple roasting, it is an alchemical act that turns the ordinarily sweet flesh of the chile into gold ingots a deadly firebomb. I’d planned on using that same theory for this month’s First Tuesday, in which July’s Smugness Prize winner (I don’t remember who, am I supposed to know every little detail? I have a life, you know.) commanded us to make the hottest food we could stand.

This time, I omitted the tomatillos so there would be nothing to mitigate the burn. I figured I could take it; I mean, I didn’t actually die of anything last time.

I also had fresh chiles from the backyard this time around, which couldn’t hurt. I took a handful of jalapeños and the single anaheim chile my anaheim plant managed, after fighting the good fight, to produce and threw them into a cast iron skillet. I’d have roasted them and made the quesadillas on the grill, but it’s so humid here that wading through the air to get to the grill takes too much energy.

I’d been planning on just throwing some black beans into the quesadillas until I remembered the vidalia onions in the fridge. I took one, cut it into fat rings and threw those into the pan as well. After another few minutes, I separated a head of the hardneck garlic I just got at the farmer’s market and put the cloves in as well. I spent the next five minutes looking around the kitchen for more things to put in the pan. Luckily, no further inspiration hit me and I didn’t throw in any rice pudding or a lemon or a piece of chalk.

The onion seared and the chile skins sizzled and popped while Brian and I discussed the cost of front-row tickets to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 25th Anniversary Concert at Madison Square Garden (Springsteen with E Street, Simon AND Garfunkel, Simon alone, Crosby Stills and Nash and Stevie Fucking Wonder) ($6000+) and held a point/counterpoint along the lines of “This Concert is Fricking BANANAS” vs. “Yes, I’d Like to Go But I’d Also Really Like to Hang on to Both Kidneys, So Keep Your Damn Rabbis Away From Me.”

FYI, we both ended up coming down on the side of keeping kidneys.

I took the browned onions out after three or four minutes a side and left the chiles in until the skins were blistered. I left them, covered, to cool while I peeled the garlic and then crushed the shit out of everything in the molcajete, keeping about half the chile seeds.  Do you have one of these? You should get one and pound the shit out of something in it. Highly therapeutic, and good for the forearms.

I mixed the chile-garlic paste with a little olive oil, some lime juice and a big handful of cilantro and let it sit during quesadilla construction.

Vegetarians, I know this was a veg-friendly recipe up to now but you’ll want to skip this part (if you’re not already skipping the whole blog):

In the same cast iron skillet but over lower heat I added a little bacon fat. The New Best Recipe says butter, but as much I trust them I just can’t believe that a quesadilla can’t be improved by bacon fat. Which is easily explainable, really, because it’s fat that comes from BACON. The defense rests.

I laid a ginormo flour tortilla in the pan and added cheese – onion – black beans – cheese before topping with another tortilla. If I’d spent as much time thinking about the construction as I did about the whole kidney thing I probably would have just folded the giant tortilla, but I didn’t, requiring me to flip the quesadilla with a giant cake layer-separator. Whatever, cheese melts either way.

Having learned my lesson last time, I dug some sour cream out of the back of the fridge to mitigate the SALSA DE LA MUERTA and went easier on the salsa.

The tomatillo salsa was a Rick Bayless recipe from a Smackdown; I don’t want to compare myself to Bayless (who, judging from the old photos they showed of him on Top Chef Masters two weeks ago, was and possibly still is a giant pothead, which only makes me like him more), but this salsa was excellent. It was hot, yes – Brian ate a forkful plain and did, in fact, have to run for the milk carton with tears in his eyes – but with the quesadillas and a good dollop of sour cream, was incredibly flavorful. The mix of chiles gave it sweetness along with the the heat, while cilantro freshens everything it touches.

Unless you’re one of those freak anti-cilantro people who thinks it tastes like soap, in which case it destroys everything it touches and also I’m not sure if we’re friends any more.

Damage: Olive oil, garlic, onions, salt, bacon fat: staples.  Chiles: free. (You want to quibble? Grow your own damn chiles. You can do it in a pot, don’t talk back.) Tortillas: $1. Cheese: $2.32. Black beans:  $0.42. Lime: $0.78. Total: $4.53, or $2.27 per person.

Roasted Green Chile SALSA DE LA MUERTA
Makes about half a cup, but it doesn’t take much
2 anaheim chiles
8-10 jalapeños (depending on size)
6 large cloves of garlic, skin on
1/2 c. cilantro, chopped
2 tbsp. fresh lime juice
2 tsp. olive oil
kosher salt

Roast all the chiles until the skins are blistered and blackened. You can do this in a variety of ways: on a grill, under the broiler, directly over a gas range (if the peppers are big enough) or in a smoking-hot cast-iron skillet (what I did). Toss the garlic cloves in as well, and keep ‘em moving around so they don’t scorch, because yuck. Take the garlic out when it starts to color; let sit out to cool for a few minutes, peel, and dice roughly.

When the chiles are blackened all over, remove them to a small bowl and cover with plastic wrap; this will steam them a little and ease peeling. After 5 minutes, remove them and peel the larger chiles; I don’t bother with the wee ones. Seed about half the chiles – more if you want more heat, less if you’re weak.

If you have a molcajete or mortar and pestle, haul it out now. Add the garlic and chiles, sprinkle them with a few pinches of salt and pound away until you have a rough puree. You could also do this in a little food processor, or just mince everything together with a good knife.

Scrape the puree into a bowl.  Add the cilantro, lime juice and olive oil and combine well.  Serve immediately, or refridgerate for a day. Let come to room temp before eating so you don’t blunt the flavor with cold.

Related posts:

1. Tight Ass Tuesday: Old Skool Once up a time, I was a vegetarian. For almost...
2. Tight Ass Tuesday: Beans and Quin That’s pronounced “beans and keen,” for you whole grain noobs....

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

Remember Sunday, when I wrote a post made of haiku because I said I was having a relapse (into an acute cycling phase of bipolar disorder, for those not in the know)? I should have said RELAPSE. Or better yet, GIANT FUCKING RELAPSE.

Also appropriate:

• MY GOD, LOOK AT THE MAGNITUDE OF THAT RELAPSE

• “SEND THE KIDS OUT OF THE ROOM FOR THIS PART; THE GIANT RELAPSE IS GOING TO BE TOO SCARY FOR THEM.”

• RELAPSE THAT IS VISIBLE FROM SPACE

• RELAPSOCOLYPSE

• RELAPSONOMICON: THE RECKONING II

So today we begin trying to get things under control with a new mood stabilizer, Abilify! I’m not jumping up and down about it or anything because I’m too depressed to jump; it just seems like a word that should have an exclamation point after it.

I’m a little wary of new drugs in general, especially of drugs with names that sound like verbs. “The car’s been stalling lately, I think we need to abilify the transmission.” “The pool’s looking a little green, when was the last time you abilified it?” But I’d like to stay, you know, alive, so I’ll give it a whirl. At this point, if you told me that shooting up cat piss would be a viable therapy option I would do it.

But enough about me! Dinner. Needless to say I didn’t make it, but I did have a concrete plan: quesadillas with salsa verde. I know that doesn’t sound very exciting, but I was going to roast the jalapenos intact; this infuses the chile’s flesh with the heat of the ribs and seeds so that even when you clean them out, the resulting salsa is hotter than the flames of hell. There were going to be photos of pounding salsa in the molcajete, blackened chicken for the quesadillas, piles of cheese used to neutralize the heat, the giant glass of milk I’d be drinking and the handful of tranquilizers I’d be tossing back throughout the night.

But there aren’t. Sorry. I’ll be here tomorrow night for Top Chef Masters, though, so see you then.

*I.e., I didn’t do it, but if I had, here’s how I would have.

Technorati Tags: mexico, salsa, chiles, depression, biopolar, abilify, lamictal, psychiatric, medication

Related posts:

1. Tight Ass Tuesday: Old Skool Once up a time, I was a vegetarian. For almost...
2. Tight Ass Tuesday: Did Not Suck Poblano and mushroom quesadillas with pepper jack. Does suck: me,...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

I just looked up from the computer to glance at the TV and check out the current stage of the Tour de France, which is actually in Spain today. As if that weren’t strange enough, smack in the middle of the shot I’m confronted by a structure shaped like a 90-foot wang. EXACTLY like a 90-foot wang. Thanks for that extended shot from the helicopter, Tour producers.

I will use the memory of this completely non-genitalia-related meal to erase Spain’s horrifyingly penile architecture from the valuable brain space it’s now occupying, space that’s in high demand for much-needed self-deprecation efforts and mental images of Golden Retriever puppies.

(Okay, one last dangle reference: This? Is the most hilarious ultrasound I’ve ever seen. Also the only one where I’ve ever been able to tell what it is, exactly, that I’m looking at. If this is what he’s like in utero God save his mother, because he’s going to be a fricking hellbeast. I say that out of love.)

Dinner tonight came from the authoresses of The Splendid Table or as I like to call them, “The PBS Ladies.” I know they’re from public radio, but my brain conflates all types of public media and flattens them into PBS. The PBS Ladies suggested that I pair their grilled tamarind-glazed pork chops with a napa cabbage slaw in pepita dressing; I decided to tack on the Thai cantaloupe salad because PBS needs to be shaken up once in a while. Live a little, PBS.

The weather was cooperative for grilling, the Fresh Direct cantaloupe actually smelled like fruit and I discovered another kind of slaw that I like, bringing the grand total to three or – more impressively – a 200% increase over my previous slaw-enjoyment total.

Unfortunately, I destroyed a perfectly good work shirt making the tamarind glaze. I know, I should know better than to do anything food-related without wearing a smock, but since Brian was manning the grill I figured my role was limited to the chopping of non-staining items. How was I to know that the FoPro had developed a mystery crack in an undisclosed yet apparently key location, causing it to shoot viscous, gluey, highly stain-worthy pure tamarind puree all over the counter, floor, back of the couch and my person? The answer, of course, is that I should have known because I am more stain-prone than a toddler in a white dress about to blow out the candles on a half-melted ice cream cake covered in grape jelly and tomato paste. Also she’s just learned to walk and has to lurch across a sandpit to get to the cake. And the sand is actually Oreo cookie crumbs. And she has polio.

If there is a food in the vicinity that can stain me it will find a way to do so no matter what contortions are required. And I am utterly helpless, even more so than the aforementioned toddler, because a grown-up could conceivably pluck her from danger before she plunges into the cake-jelly-tomato whereas I have to hope the hand of God will do so for me.  Which it never does, because God hates me. I mean, we’re talking about a God who let a pigeon with an outsized colon shit on my hair on my way to a job interview. I appreciate your sense of humor, supreme deity, but sometimes enough is enough.

Anyway, the pork chop glaze had slightly less tamarind than it was meant to due to the quantity absorbed by my shirt.  Also included: garlic, wine, fish sauce, ancho chiles and a hit of sugar.  None of them stained me, though I’m sure it wasn’t for lack of trying.

I knew I’d have to face the FoPro again for the slaw dressing, so I thought I’d give myself a break before the next splatter-fest with some relatively stain-free cabbage chopping and carrot shredding; thankfully, no beets were needed for the slaw. Brian washed the tamarind-coated FoPro in preparation for the next phase before heading out to light up the grill.

The slaw dressing had an interesting base of orange juice and pepitas – pumpkin seeds, but calling them “pepitas” makes us sound so much foodier, n’est ce-pas?* – along with orange zest, cumin, coriander and olive oil.  The FoPro also shot this at me, but it was much thicker than the tamarind glaze and was less amenable to seeping into a cotton/modal blend.**

After the initial whiz, the mixture seemed a little thick and pasty. Or a lot thick and pasty. And unappetizing. And so solid that there was no way it was going to coat anything other than that hole in the wall I’ve been meaning to spackle for the last three years.  I squeezed a little more orange juice in, gave it another go and it turned into an actual liquid the not unpleasant avocado-y color of a 1978 Frigidaire.  The pureed pepitas ended up creating a creamy texture that kept the mix from being a thin vinaigrette-style dressing while also allowing me to avoid the horror of mayonnaise. ¡Olé Pepitas!

*Unless you are a Spanish-speaker, in which case my telling you this is kinda like asking to eat “Chinese food” in China.

**I don’t know what modal is – I assume it doesn’t come from an animal, unless I’m just behind the times and am the last one to hear about the new hybrid modal goat – but it is fucking comfortable.

I could smell the sweet, charry smell of the pork wafting in through the back windows; it signaled that I was behind on my chopping and it was time to pick up the pace.  I hacked up the melon, diced a jalapeño or two and made a chiffonade of Thai basil.

Question: How do you describe the process of chopping herbs into a chiffonade while being both grammatically correct and not sounding like a douchebag?  Can it be a verb? “I chiffonaded the basil” sounds non-Dbaggy, but incorrect.  Does it have to be a noun? “I prepared a chiffonade” sounds slightly more correct, but more Dbaggy.  Do these two have an inversely proportional relationship?  If so, on which side do I want to fall? (Note that I am willing to be grammatically incorrect with my usage of the word “chiffonade,” but may the God who obviously hates me strike me dead where I stand recline if I end a sentence with a preposition.)

Never mind anyway, easy question: I want to be on the non-douchebag side, since that’s, you know, the side devoid of douchebags. I chiffonaded the SHIT out of that basil and tossed the fruit, veg and herbs with lime juice and a few drops of fish sauce, finishing mere seconds before Brian came in laden with pork. Pork CHOPS. Don’t be nasty.

Total dinner-making time, just under an hour if you don’t count the ninety minutes I spent hunting down every tamarind stain on my shirt with a Tide-to-Go pen.*

*Lie. I’m WAY too unmotivated for that, and this shirt wasn’t so hot to begin with.

PBS is nothing if not a group of trustworthy moneygrubbers. (Come on, you know the fund drives irritate you even though you feel bad about it because you want to think of yourself as the kind of person who supports PBS.)  This was a relatively simple meal compared to many other Smackdowns, but thanks to slightly off-kilter flavor combos and well-paired dishes it came across as much more than the sum of its ingredients.

The pork was juicy and deeply sweet from the tamarind, with a little ancho heat (and sweetness; dried anchos have a lovely fruity quality) and a sharp hit of fish sauce funk.  The cabbage – as I’ve already mentioned, this was another slaw that won me over. The pepita dressing was citrusy and nutty and the pureed seeds brought an interesting textural quality to the vegetables; the olive oil added a mild peppery bite, and the other spices, small quantity notwithstanding, added a little depth of flavor without competing with the headlining pepitas.

Cantaloupe and jalapeños? SCORE. With the herbal, licorice-y note from the Thai basil and the sharp lime… I could eat a lot of it, and I did.  There’s a recipe later in the book that’s basically this salad blended with some ice to make a chilled soup, and even though it will doubtlessly end in my being covered head-to-toe with melon puree I am all over that shit like fruit cocktail on my prom dress. (True.)

PBS ladies, I’m totally donating during your next funding drive, and I’ll feel really good about myself until I remember that you actually work for public radio.

ONE YEAR AGO: Restaurant Recreations: Le Croque Madame

Technorati Tags: food, cooking, NPR, splendid table, pork, cabbage, cantaloupe, tamarind, grilling, pepitas, pumpkin seeds, ancho, chiles, orange

Related posts:

1. Thursday Night Smackdown: The Quail’s the Thing Have nasty potholders? Want some new ones? Enter the Skanky-Assiest...
2. Thursday Night Smackdown: Reading is for Losers I can be a wordy motherfucker. I’m a fan of,...
3. Thursday Night Smackdown: Nope, Still Not Enough Cowbell Something’s going screwy with my Olympic fever. I am, obviously,...

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.