Actually they are baby chicks and ducks that Olivia bought at tractor supply. Some of them will be our feathered friends. The other jerks we'll eat.
I don’t have any food pictures or recipes today, so instead I’ll regale you with an amusing tale of why I will never go back to Erie, Pennsylvania. Annika's making latkes tonight, so maybe I'll post that later.
In high school, my brother Josh and me as well as a whole bunch of my friends were on the Academic Decathalon team. If you don’t know what that is, basically you study a lot of extra history, music, math, etc., and then take tests in competition with other schools. Nerdy, I know, but the teacher who ran it, named Mr. Bradley was awesome and we got to hang out at his house on Saturdays to practice, watch football and eat junk food.
Well, in my junior year of school, our team advanced to the state-level competition and we got to take a trip to Erie and stay in a huge hotel downtown. The entire city smells of sewage for some reason. So, when we got there, my friend Dan S. put on a three-piece suit that he had brought with him in order to appear older, went to the closest liquor store and bought about $200 of liquor which he carried back in a massive duffel bag.
We didn’t really expect to do win the competition and advance to Nationals, so our plan was to throw a huge party in the hotel, invite the kids from the other schools and basically ensure that they would be hung over the next day and not compete as well. Our plan worked far too well.
So that night we’re all drunk, the kids from other teams are hanging out in our rooms, basically having a great time. We’re the kings of the hotel. Eventually, me and my brother end up in the downstairs lobby, lounging on the couches and chain smoking cigarettes like the bad asses we thought we were.
Something seems a little strange because I start hearing a lot of sirens. My friend Furey and Dan S. discuss as to whether the sirens are a fire truck, or an ambulance, or a police car. While the conversation explores these accoustical possibilities, Josh says that he’s starting to not feel so good. It turns out the sirens are all 3 types of vehicles that have come to the hotel simultaneously, and presumably we’re all in trouble.
Furey and Dan leave to try and hide all the alcohol upstairs. As they get into the elevator, they are joined by 2 unsuspecting cops. They hear their conversation as they’re going up, and how they are looking for kids having a party with alcohol. Apparently 2 kids from the other school got alcohol poisining and their teacher called the authorities. The cops get off at another floor and Furey and Dan escape and begin cleaning up our rooms.
Meanwhile, me and Josh are still in the lobby. The coast is clear for the moment so I tell Josh, “lets get out of here.” He responds by puking violently on the floor. At that moment two more cops enter the lobby and see my brother heaving his guts up. “We got one!” they yell, and saunter over to us. At this point in time I remember that I have an entire bottle of scotch lodged in my back-pocket, so I can’t stand up without exposing it.
“I’m sorry officers, my brother feels rather nauseous. Perhaps it’s food poisoning.”
“Son, I’ve seen food poisoning vomit before. I’ve seen chemo vomit before. Heck, I’ve even seen typhoid vomit, and that there son, ain't nothing but drunk vomit!” I ponder his vomit expertise while adjusting my body to hide the bottle. They then proceed to call down my teacher, Mr. Bradley to take care of Josh. We are both very ashamed and my teacher is quite upset. While they are talking amongst themselves, I pretend to scratch my balls and manage to bury the scotch bottle in between the couch cushions beneath me.
We later get Josh back to my room. The entire hotel is still swarming with cops and medics. Me and my other friend Mike get Josh into the bathtub so that he can clean the puke off of himself. We turn on the water and he instantly starts to scream that he is drowning. I give him a good slap across the face and that shuts him up.
Mike says they haven’t searched our room yet, and I remember that I have a bottle of rum in the dresser drawer. In a panic I hurl it out of the window, and seconds later realized that I should have looked what was below us. We’re on the fourth floor. I look over the edge of the sill just in time to see the bottle of rum hit the top of the ambulance parked outside and explode into a million pieces, coating the roof with booze. I hear some outraged screaming from below, then silently close the window and draw the shades.
The cops eventually come by and search our room to no effect. One of my other friends poured liquor into his toilette but then realized it wouldn’t flush. A cop mistakes it for urine. Other friends made it onto the roof and managed to hurl all the bottles onto a neighboring roof.
We compete the next day and lose the competition. All the teachers from the other teams glare bloody murder at us. But the best part was when I got home, my parents tell me that the Erie police called them up. They said their son, Josh, was massively inebriated, but their other son, Michael, was very cooperative and quite sober. I win again. What morons.
On May 2nd I'll be going to a wine tasting hosted by the chef and owner of New World restaurant. His name is Ric Orlando and he is Terry's father (http://ricthechef.blogspot.com/) ; Here's the menu,,,
Early in this blog, I posted a recipe for braised pork chops with caramelized onions and smoked gouda cheese. This is a similar dish, except the chops are grilled and there's no cheese. It's a little more simple and not necessarily so rich. First, I'll talk about my method for caramelizing onions.
You want to slice an onion or two, but not so thin that the pieces will crisp in the pan. I melt about a tablespoon of butter over medium heat in a skillet, and add the onions once it stops foaming. Wait till the onions just start to take on a glassy texture (about 3 minutes) then sprinkle a tablespoon of brown sugar over them. Stir it up so that it coats all of the onions, then add a tablespoon of white wine vinegar. Immediately bring the heat down to very low. Spread the onions out so that they make as much surface contact with the pan as possible and let sit uncovered for about a half hour. Occasionally stir them up, but keep them spread out. The smaller pieces will crisp up first; you want to avoid that.
To complete the onions as a topping for the chops, I deglazed the pan with a splash of port wine, added about a 1/3 cup of beef stock, some fresh thyme, salt and pepper. By the way, I love port wine. I use it as often as I can. Combined with fresh thyme, I think it gives the most rustic French flavor to whatever your making. I used to keep bottles of good Cognac on my kitchen counter to use for the same purpose, but I would just drink them instead of cooking with them. Straight port I can't drink. Too syrupy.
The chops were quick grilled on my piece of shit electric coil mung bucket. The thing uses too much wattage so it's constantly tripping the surge protector. I can't wait to chuck it once it's replaced with a charcoal grill that I can't afford. Anyhoo- to complete the dish, Annika made some Mediterranean style spiced flour tortillas in the oven with cracked black pepper, marjoram and mint.
Annika cooked this spread, so I really have no idea what she used for the marinade. In her words, "a little bit of everything on the counter." Mmmmmm....delicious miscellanea.
I like chicken thighs very much because the skin crisps up nicely, and they have a bone in them, which imparts flavor and allows for a little more controlled cooking.
As for the potatoes, we do a simple trick where we quarter or eighth a red bliss tater, then put it in a ziploc bag, where we shake it up with some olive oil, salt, pepper, and a little bit of dried rosemary. Spread it out on a non-stick baking sheet and pop it in a 425 degree oven until golden brown. You get a delicious caramelized crust on each piece of potato, with a soft steamy center.
So now that April has rolled around, it was time to clear out all the dead leaves and till up a garden. Hopefully we'll have a small vegetable patch running, with tomatoes. As you can see, yesterday I installed a chicken-wire fence to keep the dogs from digging in my manure, and function as a barrier to the rest of the yard, known as the shit-realm.
Also in the background is a new clay oven that James brought home.
Just some classic diner fare.
My brother Josh, and Annika. This was the morning after we stayed at the Mariott by the Brooklyn Bridge. After we ate we had to go to the police precint to file an accident report because thieves smashed in the rear passenger window of her car and rifled through everything. Luckily, nothing was stolen. Except our love for mankind.
This was the breakfast that this guy made at my house. Who eats steak for breakfast anymore? A gorgeous sloppy mess this is. I think I annoyed him by making him wait for me to photograph it before he could eat.
