Crabby Birthday!

No, no, not "crappy birthday," but really, "crabby birthday," as in I ate some fantabulous soft-shell crabs last week for my birthday dinner. Alas, the life of the road warrior...spending another birthday on the road, in a strange town, and the only thing to do is have a nice blow-out dinner at Shaw's Crab House in Schaumburg, IL.

Luckily, I was not totally alone, because I had a co-worker with me, and she was more than happy to help me celebrate at Shaw's. I dearly love soft-shell crabs, and am in no way squicked out about eating the entire crab, crunchy bits and all. I like them fried, sauteed, or however you would like to prepare them for me...am not picky.

Soft-shell crabs are crabs that are molting, and losing their hard outershell. The shell doesn't expand as they grow, so they essentially have to grow a new shell and slough off the old one. The molting season traditionally lasts from early May to late July or early August. Of course, modern technology has come up with ways to either prolong or force the molt to happen, so the season o' soft-shells is not really a season any more.

Although, according to the Shaw's menu, these were imported from Virginia, at the height of freshness, etc., etc. I believed it, because these babies were beautiful and delicious...fried in a light tempura batter with a squeeze of lemon...they were plump and juicy and I could have cheerfully eaten a dozen, even though two quite filled me up. And, to top off this great meal, the nice folks at Shaw's comped my birthday dessert. We shared a plate of small bite desserts--a mini creme brulee, a mini slice of key lime pie, a mini slice of chocolate cake, and a mini slice of raspberry pie. It was just enough sweet/tart/tangy/sugary goodness that it wasn't overwhelming. We both agreed that miniature desserts are the way to go...just a little bit of something sweet to top off the meal, and not some big ass browniegoldrushtripleoverload sort of thing that you see at some places. Plus, it gives the opportunity to try several things at once, so if you come back and decide to actually go whole hog on dessert, you'll know what you like.

Since I was out of town for the birthday, we decided to continue celebrating (i.e., eating!) the next night at the Weber Grill Restaurant. What is not to love about a restaurant that has a giant red barbecue grill out front? And, the food is cooked on giant, industrial Weber grills! How cool is that?! I saw a blurb on Unwrapped the other night about the Weber Grill Restaurant, and they went behind the scenes and showed the grills and how meat was cooked, etc.

I had a lovely ginger-soy glazed skirt steak that was cooked to medium-rare perfection, and my co-worker had a grilled meatloaf that she pronounced very, very good. Webers are produced somewhere around Chicago, which I did not know, and whoever came up with the idea for a restaurant with the grills needs to be president of the company!

After spending the week in the Schaumburg area, I came home to a nice surprise--The Man showed up with poodles and a smoker! And, inside the smoker was a birthday cake with ladybugs and a poodle on it. The smoker is an electric Brinkmann, which I think will be a good learning tool.

I've dubbed it the "Mary Had a Little Pig" starter kit, and I gave it a whirl on Sunday. I wanted to start slow and small--not throw a whole brontosaurus haunch on there until I felt it out and seen what it could do. Big confession time--for all that I talk about barbecue and my passion for smoked and cured meats, I've never actually, until this past weekend, smoked anything myownself.

So, I got a package of boneless country ribs, and The Man wanted to try a lamb chop...I'm thinking that might not be bad, since the mutton experiment in Kentucky went pretty well. I decide that I'm not going to do anything really fancy--no major marinade, no wild concoction in the water pan--just a simple rub, a little aromatics in the water pan, and some hickory chips.

I opted to go with a spice rub that I gleaned from the second Rachael Ray 30-Minute Meals book...it's the best book of the whole RR oeuvre. she describes it as her interpretation/re-creation of a spice mixture that a friend brought from Israel. I use it on a lot of things, and it goes especially well with chicken. I realize that it's ironic, sacreligious, or somewhat unorthodox to put something called "Israeli" on pork, but I'm not trying to overtly offend anyone. We could call it "Icelandic Spice Rub," for that matter. : )

Israeli Spice Rub

• 1 1/2 tablespoons (1 1/2 palmfuls) sweet smoked paprika (you know how I love this stuff !)
  
• 1 1/2 tablespoons (1 1/2 palmfuls) ground cumin
• 1 teaspoon (1/3 palmful) dried oregano
• 1 teaspoon (1/3 palmful) ground coriander
• 1/2 to 1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (medium to hot in spice level)
• 1 1/2 teaspoons (1/2 palmful), coarse kosher salt

Combine all ingredients and store in an airtight container. Sprinkle liberally over chicken or other meats before grilling or roasting.

I usually slather up some chicken, either boneless or bone-in, with some olive oil and then rub this stuff on, and toss it on the grill. Most tasty.

Back to the regularly scheduled program...I rubbed some of the spice mix on the lamb and the pork. I cut up an onion and threw it and a handful of peppercorns into the water bath, and put it all out in the smoker.

Smoked everything for about 3 hours...proabably could have gone just a hair less, but everything turned out okay. The pork seemed just a wee bit drier than I would have liked, but the funny thing was, when I ate the leftovers for dinner, after they were in the fridge, they were moister and didn't seem dry at all.

The lamb was not anything that I care to repeat again...smoking it made it waaaay too "lamby," or gamey. I've been trying to work on expanding my lamb base and branching out a little more with it, but that piece did not add to my enjoyment. I promptly passed my share back to The Man.

The best thing was that everytime I opened the back door to let the dogs out or do some work on the deck, the whole house would smell of hickory smoke, and it was like being in a giant bacon locker...and what could possibly be wrong with that?!

I'm going to experiment more on the smoking...want to do a little research on the finer points, because in all my collection of cookbooks and reference materials, I have precious little on smoking, if you can believe it.

Which reminds me...Tessa-Lu and I need to get cracking on making some chocolate-covered bacon...an idea as revolutionary as Reese's Cups...you got your bacon in my chocolate! You got your chocolate on my bacon! It's almost lyrical, it is!

Noshing in Natchez

I know, I know...you thought I forgot about the blog. But, I really haven't; it's just that I don't think I've been doing much to warrant a good post, but I guess I'd better account for myself.

This past week, I was in Natchez, Mississippi, home of beautiful antebellum mansions, the Mississippi Delta, and humidity. I also ate some nice barbecue at the Pig Out Inn. When we opened the door, the most delicious hickory smoke smell wafted out, and I crossed my little piggy lovin' fingers and toes that I wouldn't be disappointed.

The pulled pork was tender, the sauce was on the side, and they had a dilled potato salad that went nicely with the beans and pork. And, we smelled like hickory smoke and barbecue for the rest of the afternoon, which is some of the best perfume on Earth.

I really, really, really wanted to eat at Mammy's Cupboard, which is a restaurant that is in the shape of a woman...yes, it's pretty politically incorrect, because you can tell it was built in a more closed-minded era, but when you read the Road Food review of the place,

you can see why your stomach might get the best of your belief system. I was all set to try some blueberry lemonade and whatever else might be on the menu for the day. Alas, the fine folks at Mammy's were on vacation last week, so I was thwarted in my quest. But, I did get a picture! (Yes, she's wearing a turban and big hoop earrings.)

So, instead of lunch at Mammy's, we went to The Castle at Dunleith and had some fine fried chicken. Dunlieth is an old plantation that is now a B&B. The house and grounds are gorgeous, and The Castle is located in the old carriage house.

Natchez is on a bluff overlooking the Mississippi River, and right across the river is Concordia, LA...which has "drive-thru" bars. Yeah, I know. Louisiana is an interesting state, for sure. And, what makes is legal and not a violation of open container laws is if you have a straw in the cup or not. No straw = not drinking and driving. Odd, very odd.

Natchez is about 2 hours south of Jackson, the capitol of Mississippi, and home of the Sweet Potato Queens. I've always had a fondness for sequins and majorette boots, so my fondest wish is to some day attend the St. Patrick's Day Parade in Jackson and see the SPQ in all their big hair glory. Since it was a little late in the year for that, I did the next best thing and had a bite to eat at the "official" parade headquarters, Hal and Mal's.

Hal & Mal's is really more of a bar than a restaurant, so don't expect 5-star cuisine. I had a great pimento cheese sandwich with bacon and jalapenos, and some half-decent gumbo. I love pimento cheese, and it has to be a savory pimento cheese--none of that sickly sweet pre-packaged stuff. No Sweet Potato Queens were in evidence, but it did look like a fun place to hang out.

I'm home for a little while, and then I'll be out and about in Chi-town, so I'll sacrifice myself and make sure I eat something and at some place interesting!

BBQ and Out!

As I lie here in my current Hampton Inn home away from home, I feel distinctly like one of those snakes on an old Wild Kingdom episode…you know, the one that ate something as big or bigger than it (the snake) was around. Just shy of miserable…but in a good way.
This past week culminates a 2-week barbecue odyssey that has me thinking that, yeah, I might actually be barbecued out for awhile. I know—call CNN. It’s a long post, and I apologize, because I should have written it in two posts, but I was in a barbecue coma for part of that time. Hickory smoke can make you a wee bit lazy and hungry...not unlike some other kinds of smoke. : )

Week before last, I rolled into Owensboro, KY—the barbecue capital of Kentucky to spend 3 days in hickory-smoked heaven. I hit the Moonlite again, then on to Old Hickory, which is supposed to be the locals’ favorite. The smell outside of Old Hickory was almost enough to bring me to my knees, faint with hunger and desire…whew! Gotta get a grip, because this is not a bodice ripper that I’m writing…unless my bodice happens to rip open because I ate too much barbecue. It’s hard to describe the smell, but if you’ve ever been to a really good, honest-to-swine wood-burning barbecue joint, you know exactly what I’m talking about. And, I swear that I could have just eaten a 40-course meal, be as full as the proverbial tick, and get a whiff of barbecue smoke, and my mouth will start to water. Sometimes, I think barbecue might smell better than it tastes, because the aroma is soooo heavenly, and maybe I should gnaw on a piece of hickory wood and save some calories.

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, Owensboro and that general area of western Kentucky is famous for mutton barbecue. I wasn’t too sure about actually ordering mutton as an entree, and from what I remembered from my last trip to the Moonlite, it wasn’t something I was likely to order. Best laid plans and all that…when I went to the 3^rd local joint, George’s, I decided to go out on a limb and order the sampler platter, which has sliced pork, sliced beef, and sliced mutton. (Sliced is usually how they roll in KY, although I did see pulled available. The most interesting thing is that you can order your meat “off the pit,” which seems to mean that it won’t be soaked in “dip,” and you can get that on the side. More on dip in a moment…)

My waitress comes back with a large oval platter piled high with meat. She informs me that they are out of beef, so the kitchen gave me more mutton. In the back of my mind, I’m thinking, why not more pork?, but I decide to go native and give the mutton a whirl. Along with the beans and fries, there is a little pitcher of “dip.” Dip is sauce, but it’s not thick like KC Masterpiece, and it’s not as thin as the vinegary pepper stuff usually served with Alabama ‘cue. It’s got a little more body, and evidently everyone has their own recipe. The mutton is not bad…I think the smoking helps it, because I manage to eat most of it. Another thing that distinguishes KY barbecue, or at least at George’s and Old Hickory, is they throw a little sassafras wood on the fire. The sassafras adds a little “something’-somethin’” to the flavor, maybe a little sweetness? Definitely in a good way. And, the coolest thing about George's is that there was impromptu bluegrass jam session going on in the back dining room. Guys would occasionally step outside to their trucks and come back through carrying instrument cases.

This past week, I was staying in Memphis, yes during the barbecue cooking contest part of Memphis in May, which sounds like heaven on earth, but alas, it was raining most of the time and I didn’t make it to the park…oh, and I had to work, too. Imagine that—gotta fund these barbecue expeditions somehow.

Never fear, I continue to partaking of a pantheon of pork. Lucky for me, a couple of fine joints were near my hotel. First up was Leonard’s, a Memphis staple since 1922. Leonard’s has some interesting items on its menu—some kind of hybrid Italian dishes, including barbecue and spaghetti, ribs and spaghetti, and my favorite description: ravioli and ribs served with slaw.

Wisely, I think, passing on the spaghetti options, I go for the pork and ribs plate. I’m not usually a rib eater, but someone walked by with a plate and they looked too good to pass up. The pork was good, and the ribs were mighty fine. Crisp on the outside and meaty on the inside, with not too much sauce, because I don’t want to look like a refugee from the emergency ward after I finish dinner.

Next day, for lunch, we went to a West Memphis joint, which was just okay. West Memphis is not actually in Memphis, but across the river in Arkansas. (We decided to opt for a local meat-and-three for the next day’s lunch, where I had some amazing fried okra. Not that pre-breaded crap from the freezer section, although that will do if you actually fry it up in a skillet and not a deep fryer.)

Dinner that night was at Neely’s, whose name you might find familiar from The Food Network’s “Down Home with the Neelys.” Pat Neely and his 3 brothers all got together and opened a barbecue place on Mt. Moriah Road, and they now have 3-4 locations in Memphis and 1 in Nashville. By far, dining at Neely’s was my best Memphis experience. I know there are dozens of must-eat places there, but I had 2 days people, 2 days! And, there was no way in hell to get remotely near Beale Street during the barbecue cook-off. I like to watch Down Home, because the Neelys look like they are having a ball while they cook, and most of the time, they make food that I want to eat.

Walking in the door of Neely’s, I get that knee-weakening feeling from the aroma of burning wood and charring meat. I stick with the pork, ordering the pork plate with beans and slaw. Memphis slaw is a whole ‘nother animal in itself. It’s chopped, it may have a little vinegar, mayo, and or mustard, or all 3 or some other combination. It’s definitely different. My waitress assures me that it’s good, with a little kick, and she’s right. I also order the sauce on the side, because—well, you know why. The pork is tender, with little bits of the outside meat (with succulent crispy bits of fat), and the sauce is very good. It’s reminds me a little of the Kentucky “dip” in consistency, but a just a little thicker; still not as thick as a KC Masterpiece-type of sauce.

And, she talked me into peach cobbler, which was good, and the reason why I started this post feeling like I’d swallowed a mongoose.

The last bit of Tennessee barbecue was at a special place…it’s not exactly the most famous and may not be the best, but it was a place I stopped in with my friend Johns and some other co-workers while on our way back from a business trip to Memphis about 13 years ago. Our company had a contract with the naval base in Memphis, and we all drove over for a meeting. Why there is a naval base in Memphis, I have no idea…probably the same reason there’s one in Cobb Co. in Georgia.

Anyway, the guys that we met with sent us down a back road to avoid some nasty construction on the perpetual Memphis-to-Atlanta highway pipe dream, which grows a little more each year, to Somerville, TN, to a place called The Hut. The thing I remember most about that trip was Johns teaching me the words to the Mr. Ed theme song on our way home, while the whole vanload of us sang old TV theme songs to keep awake. (Yeah, we’re nerds.) I did a little detour on my way home and had a sandwich there and then sang the theme to Mr. Ed as I drove away.

From the Wildlife Karma Department: As I’m barreling down Highway 64, on the part known as Buford Pusser Highway, I pass a large turtle crawling out from the median and into the left lane. Well, I wasn’t exactly speeding, because I’d hit a trap and got tagged on the way to Memphis, so I was being a little more cautious on the backroads. And, when I say “large turtle,” I mean LARGE turtle. Like a “if you hit it and you are driving a small car like mine, you might cause some significant damage, especially if you are moving at a high rate of speed” large turtle. Plus, it looked like it might be an old turtle, since it was so large, and for some reason, I thought maybe it might possibly be an important type of turtle. It really looked more like a tortoise, which may have been what started me thinking that it needed saving. Yes, I know that tortoises live in the desert, but this was all at 65 mph!

This is all going through my mind in a split second as I pass the turtle, and there was a cut-across right past the turtle, so before I can really think about it, I’m whipping around heading back towards the cut-across that I just passed before I passed the turtle. As I turn back to the turtle, I am gratified to see that it is still alive and trying to cross the road.

I pull over and hop out of the car…not a lot of traffic coming, so I cross the road and pick up the turtle from the back of its shell in a confident “I’m doing my part in saving the planet” sort of way. The turtle immediately responds by whipping its head back and hissing at me with its rather large mouth open wide and looking like it might just eat me. I scream and drop the turtle…which, by now, you have all figured was an adult snapping turtle…which I had never seen before, ever. Yes, even though I have lived in the South for ALL my fool life, I have never seen a full-grown snapping turtle until that very moment, in the middle of the highway in the middle of nowhere Tennessee.

When I drop the turtle, it lands on its back in the middle of the right lane. I’m trying to figure out what I’m going to do next, and it dawns on me that I am in the middle of a highway and maybe I should look to see if there is oncoming traffic…which there is…an 18-wheeler bearing down on us and getting closer by the second. So, and I’m not particularly proud of this, I scoot the turtle across the highway on its back with my foot, and then sort of drop kick it upright into the gravel at the side of the road.

I lean against the side of the car, because I’m feeling a little weak in the knees from the adrenaline of the turtle and my near brush with death on the highway. Then, I notice that the turtle seems to be flailing around, and I’m afraid it will get discombulated and try to re-cross the highway. Now, when I got out of the car, I notice that there was a creek of some sorts on the side of the highway I was parked on, so I knew that the turtle was headed towards the water. This is why I felt confident that I would be assisting the turtle with its goal, and that the turtle really did have a purpose in crossing the road.

I am not about to pick the turtle up again, nor am I putting my foot in danger, because I’m definitely not wearing steel-toed boots, and since I now know for sure that this is a damn snapping turtle, I know that it can take my finger off, no matter how noble my intentions are towards it and the environment. I had stopped at a discount outlet kind of store on the way over to Memphis and picked up a new telescoping aluminum pole for my pool cleaning stuff.

I get the pole out and feel that it’s a little ironic to be on Buford Pusser’s highway with a big stick. I start nudging the turtle, who, at this point, is mightly pissed off at me and hissing and snapping for all he’s worth, towards the water. As I’m standing there with my pole, a woman in an SUV slows down and yells out the window to me, “are you out saving turtles?” I reply that I am trying, whether he wants me to or not, and she gives me a merry “bless you” and speeds off. I get the feeling that either I’m not the only tree-hugging idiot she’s seen, or she’s been doing the same craziness herself…maybe to make up for the SUV.

I get the turtle off the gravel and into the grass and decide that my work here is done…I’ve been as ecologically and environmentally helpful as I can be today, and I should just get in the car before I get myself pancaked by an 18-wheeler myself. (Note that the picture of the snapping turtle is not one that I took myself...I swiped it off the internets, because I was too freaked out to think about grabbing my own damn camera.)

The rest of my trip passes uneventfully and I arrive home safe and sound, and I really hope that turtle made it to his creek as well. And, this afternoon, when I was unpacking my suitcase, I pulled the shirt I was wearing during my trip to Neelys out of the space bag, and the undeniable aroma of hickory smoke faintly wafted up from it, and you know, my mouth started watering and…what the hell, I could eat barbecue again this week. Wonder if you can barbecue a turtle, and if adding a little sassafras would...nevermind.

Eatin' on a Jet Plane...

Well, technically, it was in an airport and sort of looking at jet planes...that were really small 2- and 4-seater planes, and it was night, so I couldn't really see them that well, but I needed a good title!! (Maybe, I should subtitle with "On the Great Plains," since I was in Kansas this week.)

Airport and good food are not usually synonymous...most of the time, airport food is just chain food at twice the price. It's greasy and generally bad for you; there's the occasional kiosk of exception that has salad and fruit, but who really wants to balance a plastic clamshell of salad on their teeny tiny tray table? Plus, we can always tell ourselves that the calories don't count while on business trips. (As you can see, I lie to myself a lot...a whole, whole, lot.)

So, imagine my surprise when I show up in this little Kansas town, and the clerk at the Hampton Inn front desk tells me that "the Airport Steakhouse is really good."

Airport? Steakhouse? Steakhouse in the airport? The little municipal airport that I did not fly into, because there wasn't service to it, so I had to fly into Wichita and drive for an hour, that airport? The one that looks like it could have been a set for Wings--the airport where everybody knows your name? Yep, that airport.

From the outside, it doesn't look like much--the basic 60s-70s square building architecture, but inside was a whole 'nother story. It's going to sound stupid, but the Airport Steakhouse is a real restaurant--not just a lunch counter-type of place, or a place to get a $100 hamburger. I knew it was something completely different as I walked in the door and saw the specials board. Anything with the phrase "port wine reduction" in the entree description is not just another greasy spoon. With soft lighting, mod decor, and a bar...it was like going into a Crown Room or other oasis of calm and quiet (and free drinks) in many an airport...although, drinks were not free here.

The Airport Steakhouse doesn't have a website that I can find, but you can see their menu here. I had the KC Strip (am in Kansas...should do as the natives do, right?), which was flavorful, if a tad overdone...I think my waitress wrote down "medium" rather than "medium rare," but I was hungry and it tasted good, so I didn't bother sending it back. Had a lovely little banana cream pie for dessert--homemade, of course. (BTW, a Kansas City Strip and a New York Strip are virtually the same strip...sometimes, the KC has the bone left on, sometimes not.)

For lunch one day, the customer took me to Roy's Hickory Pit BBQ, a local joint...pretty darn close to a shack, since it was located in what looked to be an old house. The sign on front window sort of summed up the restaurant's philosophy: "Hours from 11-3 or until the food is gone." "Until the food is gone" pretty much says it all. I'm betting that the food is always gone, and they never have to worry about leftovers. I had chopped pork with a little ladle of slightly sweet sauce between two enormous pieces of buttery grilled Texas toast. I know this is weird, but that Texas toast was divine...probably a result of all the butter, but I'm not being picky. (Personally, I think Texas toast is a fine and wonderful thing and the perfect vehicle to make grilled cheese with...you can load on several slices of cheese to get a good bread to cheese ratio, and it comes out nice and golden. And, it's bigger, as everything is in Texas, and who doesn't like a bigger grilled cheese? : )

I also visited the Cosmosphere, which is an interesting little find. A space museum...in Kansas of all places. With IMAX. So, I had to go and see how it stacked up to the Rocket City one. Smaller, but with tons of stuff about the Germans that I don't remember seeing in ours, but I've not been in years. Plus, they put their SR-71 Blackbird inside the building...we left ours outside in the elements. Is that any way to treat a gift from the government? And, the Cosmosphere had a bunch of Russian space hardware that I've not seen before...a moon buggy-type of vehicle and some other things. Worth the walkthrough if you're a space buff. But, I'd advise staying away from the freeze-dried "astronaut food" in the gift shop...always stay away from that! Seriously, according to the blurb about the freeze-dried ice cream, " Freeze drying removes 98% of the original water content, which gives the ice cream a three-year shelf life. In addition to ice cream, Astronaut foods also feature a line of freeze-dried fruits: strawberries, bananas, peaches, cinnamon apples, and a Fruit & Nut mix that was originally designed for the Apollo Space Missions."

Do you really want to eat ice cream with a 3-year shelf life? I rest my case.

I'm home for awhile, and I got a new all soup cookbook that I'm going to delve into in the coming weeks, so stay tuned for some cozy comfort food.

Barbecue Coma

From the Silver Lining Department:  One of the good things about being back in the Rocket City is the proximity to decent barbecue.  (I know I've yammered on and on and on ad nauseum about barbecue, and will probably continue to do so, until I can't even remember how to spell barbecue.)

This week was an interesting one.  I went on my first site visit for the new company, and much to my relief, it's a lot like the old company's version (the one I got laid off from 3 years ago).  It's nice to know that the learning curve will not be quite as steep as it was waaaay back then.

Since the site was in Kentucky, close to the Indiana border, I decided that it would be easier to drive instead of fly.  It was going to take about the same amount of time, so why not be moving the whole time?  Plus, we were going to need a rental car anyway, and what's 4 and a half hours?  Especially if barbecue can fit into the equation.

As I started my journey, I decided to hit a barbecue joint in the little town directly to the west, since it was on the way.   Had a bit of a scare when the road in front of the barbecue shack was all torn up and required a detour...I wasn't sure that the barbecue shack was still there.  It was, thank the pig!  I got a sandwich, chips, and a big ol' sweet tea.  Heaven.

What is is with potato chips?  I remember as a kid, I could take them or leave them, but now they are like food of the gods.  Maybe it's because they're sort of "forbidden fruit" now that I know they are bad for me, will add inches to my hips, and take years off my life by eating, blah, blah, blah, blah, but damn, they are good!  All salty and potatoey...yum.

So, the site visit was near Owensboro, KY, an area long famed for its barbecue, and especially for an oddity even for the barbecue worlds--mutton.  Mutton does seem like an odd choice for barbecue, but I'm game to try it.  

The people we are working recommended a couple of places, one of which had burned 4 times!, and we settled on the Moonlite Barbecue Inn.  Located in Owensboro, KY, its parking lot was a veritable convention of pickup trucks, which is always a good sign for a barbecue joint.

We go in, and lo, behold, they have a buffet.  A freakin' barbecue BUFFET!  I am positively aquiver with excitement and the almost overwhelming thought that I can actually achieve smoked meat nirvana.  It's heady stuff, I tell you!

There's a salad bar, a hot bar with meat and vegetables, and a dessert bar.  I promptly make the call to punt the salad bar and move directly to the hot bar.  Amazingly enough, ALL the vegetables that I tried were wonderful.  Bad for you?--yes; tasty?--even more yes!  And this is very unusual for any buffet, you know.

And then, there was the meat end:  brisket, pulled pork, ribs, chicken, the mutton, and country ham.  I just knew that my ankles were going to swell to the size of my head by morning from this little foray into Sodium Land, but I didn't care...because, repeat after me, how often do you see a barbecue buffet that actually looks worth eating?  (Refuse to count chain "barbecue" places...is not real barbecue, according my version of the barbecue bible.)

I piled on some beef, pork, country ham, and a little mutton...remember, lamb is not all that high on my list, so old sheep is probably not going to be up there, either.  It actually was not bad...very moist, a little fatty, and not too gamey.  I would not order a whole barbecue mutton meal, but if given the opportunity to go back to the Moonlite, I'd put a little on my plate.

The meats were all tender and tasty, with the right amount of smoky flavor.  The Moonlite also has a couple of house specialities, like burgoo, which I did not have room to try, and "banana salad."  Banana Salad seems to be sliced bananas mixed with a little mayo and some chopped peanuts.  Not my favorite way to eat a banana for sure.

We moved on to the dessert portion of the meal, and I finally didn't have to make that hardest of choices:  chocolate pie or coconut cream pie?   I'm always torn between the two...homemade pie is hard to pass up anyway.  I try to remember which one I had last, so I can pay fair homage to the other flavor, but chocolate may be ahead.

Since the Moonlite has so thoughtfully provided the opportunity to eat both, along with banana pudding, buttermilk pie, cherry cobbler, blackberry cobbler, peanut butter pie, and a few other  goodies, I just had to build myself a dessert sampler with small slices and scoops of each.  It was all I could do to stay awake on the drive back to the hotel.

I decided that I would not subject my traveling companion to another night of barbecue...especially since she had just spent a week in Kansas City and had eaten barbecue practically every night.  But, I really wish I had.  We spent the last night in Evansville, IN to be closer to the airport for her flight out in the morning.  We ate at a local place that was sort of an Italian bistro kind of place.  I had the short ribs with risotto and asparagus.  The asparagus was great, the short ribs were so-so, and the risotto tasted like it came  out of a box and an off-brand box at that.  Ah, the joys of eating on the road--sometimes you win, sometimes you would have been better off going to Steak and Shake.

Seriously...the risotto really sucked.  And, I have actually made boxed risotto that tasted better.  (The key to using the boxed risotto is not to really think of it as risotto, but just as a rice side dish.  Your brain will be in a much better place if you do that.  Oh, and add about 1/2 cup of shredded Parmesan cheese.  Then, you won't care what you call it.)

And, to top off my trip, I get home to a dead refrigerator.  I walk into the house and smell something that is faintly reminiscent of burned electronics.  I think this is odd, but write it off to the AC not being on for a couple of days.  Then, when I go to get a glass of ice and water pours out of the ice chute, I realize something is up...or down.  Sure enough, I open the door, and while I still have some ice in the bin, it's pretty obvious that we're no longer freezing.  the fridge side was still cool, so this event must have occurred within the last 12 hours or so, and luckily, there was not much in there besides beer and butter.  

No one can come to fix it until Monday, so thank heavens for the garage fridge.  I can at least keep the beer cold...which is of utmost importance, you know.

And now, I must find the remote control and turn off the television, because The Semi-Ho Sandra Lee is doing Oktoberfest in La Crosse, WI, and she's scaring me in her dirndl and flower wreath.  She's promised us something called "Apple Lager" for the cocktail, and I am afraid...very afraid that she is going to add apple juice to beer.  You should be afraid, too.

(Okay, I had to watch to the bitter end to see if she really did put apple juice into beer.  She actually put a shot of apple brandy and an apple slice in glass of lager...which still makes me shake my head, but at least it's not apple juice...or Cool Whip.  Ah, now Paula's Home Cooking is on, so I can relax.  And laugh when Paula, who is making weiner schnitzel, which is essentially German country fried steak, says that it must be a diet dish because the meat is pounded so thin-hahahhahhahaa!  I love Paula!)   

 

Them barbecue blues...

Another thing that appeals to my inner southern belleness is barbecue, of which we have none in my immediate area. Or, at least none that I consider edible on a regular basis. How can that be?, you ask, you live in the South, home to more barbecue cook-offs than you can shake a spit at. Trust me. There's nothing within a 45+-mile radius. Zero, zilch, nada...or at least anything that I would deign to call barbecue and actually eat. How hard is it to smoke a piece of pig, I ask you? Evidently too damn hard.

(NOTE: This is not going to be a discussion of North Carolina vs Texas vs Georgia vs Alabama, etc. This is a discussion about MY longing for something good to eat...no matter what state of the Union produces it.) (And, "barbecue" is a noun, not a verb. We eat the barbecue, we don't barbecue.)

The actual closest thing, mileage-wise, is a place called The Rib Ranch, but it's Texas-style barbecue, which is a whole 'nother animal to us in the Southeast ( but still beef and pork) and not exactly what I'm looking for...but, in the Ranch's favor, they use actual wood to cook. Their ribs (both pork and beef) are pretty smokin', but I'm not always in the mood for ribs. I want some pulled pork, mixed with the crunchy, smoky outside meat. Add a little vinegar slaw and pile it on a white bread bun, and I'm your slave for life.

Nothing is worse than showing up at a barbecue place, mouth all ready for some delicious smoked pork meat and realize that what you are eating has never been close to a flame. Ever. It tends to make me very cranky and very unhappy, which in turn makes The Man unhappy, because he has to listen to me kvetch about it all the way home. It's like I have barbecue pipolar disorder (BBD). I'm all hyped up on the way to a new place, chattering a mile a minute about what kind of slaw do they have, will it be pulled and not the dreaded chopped, and sunk lower than low on the way home from yet another disappointing experience. (Not that I am making light of anyone who suffers from an actual bipolar disorder.)

We've trekked to a little place in Ellijay, GA, called Colonel Poole's. You have to love a place that has a bajillion cutout wooden pigs stuck on the hillside behind the restaurant. They call it the "Pig Hill of Fame." The best part about the Pig Hill? The wooden pigs are placed so they form the shape of a giant pig. The kitschier, the better, I always say. The pork is good, the slaw is vinegary, so it fits my acceptable standard for barbecue.

Poole's also fits the bill for The Man's criteria for a barbecue shack--he always wants to know if the place has burned down. His reasoning is if it burned down at least once, it's gotta be good. Makes as much sense as anything else. Poole's has burned, and quite spectacularly so, based on the photos that line the walls.

Swallow at the Hollow in Roswell, GA, is very tasty, and almost what I am searching for, but again the hike. However, they do serve beer and have live music on occasion, so I think they are elevated from barbecue "shack" to barbecue "joint."

And, lest I forget, there's also Fat Matt's, which is mostly ribs, and again "the hike." However, I would probably sell the Mother Who Never Cooks out for their rum beans recipe. It's pretty darn wonderful. So, I do have some options for good barbecue, but not nearly enough and not even remotely CLOSE enough.

So, I worked from home on Wednesday, since I had the ol' post-op follow-up visit that afternoon, and it just made no real sense to trek into The ATL for about 4 hours of work before I had to trek home.

On my way to the checkup, I stopped in at our newest restaurant, a ubiquitously named {insert a man's name here} Barbecue. I had high hopes for this place--we had tried to eat there a couple of weekends ago, but they were closed. This guy was taking it slow and easing his way into the restaurant scene--he was open from 11-2, Monday through Saturday, for the first few months he was open, trying to build up his clientele, and then opening one evening a week for dinner...which is a smart move, I think. The Saturday day that we tried to get in, we got there a few minutes after closing, which was disappointing. However, we were encouraged by the wonderfully smokey aroma inside, and the sight of an older man out back, manning a fire pit. The menu was pretty simple--pork barbecue in the form of sandwiches and plates, with sides like beans, slaw, and Brunswick stew. There was evidence of a homemade lemon pie as well.

(On the Brunswick Stew front--this is one of those things that everyone says their regional recipe is the original recipe...and how it got associated with barbecue as a side dish or first course accompaniment, who knows? There is just as many bad versions of Brunswick stew as there are good ones...if you can find a truly good one, then it's really pretty Good Eats, as AB would say.)

Anyhoo, I decided to run by and grab a quick sandwich on my way. It was about 1 pm, and there was only one other guy eating. This is not a good sign...this place should still have a few stragglers hanging around from the earlier 11-12 lunch rush. But, I'm still game to give it a whirl--it still smells pretty good inside--all smoky and meaty.

I order a sandwich and a drink, and after ascertaining that the slaw is a mayonnaise-based one, I decline its addition. (I could go on for a whole lot of bandwidth about the proper slaw for barbecue, which is a finely chopped, slightly sweet, vinegar-based one, but slaw or not, the meat has to stand up on it's own without any help or masking.) Seeing as how I am running later than I want to be, I opt to get it To Go and eat in the parking lot of the doctor's office.

The portion of meat was generous. It was tender and moist, but it had a weird aftertaste to it. The sauce, which was on the side thank pig!, was nigh unto inedible, with more of the weird flavor. But the kicker? Was the bun. The stupid white bun. It was so off tasting and off putting that I couldn't even eat the sandwich as a sandwich, and I ended up pulling all the meat out and eating it with my fingers, cavewoman style.

I can't properly describe the flavor, other than I thought it might have been made in China, and this was what melamine tasted like. Seriously, how hard is it to get a proper white bread bun? Personally, I think the standard should be Sunbeam, but that's what I grew up with...go with what you know. Seriously, most local type industrial bakeries make a fairly decent bun, and the the pork sandwich bun should just be a vehicle for holding the meat together and getting it down your gullet. It should not really have any other discernable flavor other than that of white bread. (And, this is one of those things for which white bread is a requirement, like 'mater sandwiches...wheat bread is not allowed. Ever.)

And, this is really the last straw for me. Again, how hard can this barbecue bizness possibly be? (I realize this comes under the headings of "famous last words," and "put your money where your mouth is.") So, I'm getting a smoker. Seriously. I've been threatening it for awhile, but I think it's time to fish or cut bait. And, if I get good enough at it, I think I just might open a barbecue shack of my very own. The Man has offered to burn it for me, so we can get those great local color pictures of us standing around amongst the fire trucks at 3 a.m., in our bathrobes, watching our dreams go up in flames. (You know I wouldn't be nearly so tongue-in-cheeky about this if my barbecue shack really burned, don't you?)

I will not fall into the trap of too many side dishes--you need slaw, baked beans, a good mac and cheese, and krinkle-kut french fries, and you could ditch the mac and cheese if necessary. I'm kinda 50/50 on the Brunswick stew thing, but I'll keep an open mind. I'm keeping it simple on the desserts, too. A chocolate pie, a lemon pie, and of course, my favorite banana pudding. And, when we're out, we're out for the day. And, I think I shall call it "Mary Had a Little Pig," and I will be fierce in my devotion to the gods of barbecue...so much so, that I need a least a year of research...by research, I mean traveling to barbecue festivals and soaking up the smoke, so to speak, by observation and tasting. (I may never get out of the research phase, but won't it be the most fun research ever?) I wonder if I could get an internship at Big Bob Gibson's? (Those people really are barbecue gods!)

Plus, I need some time to collect those requisite pig tchochkes that are de rigueur for most barbecue joints and shacks in the South. Because, somehow, I don't think poodle collectibles will quite fit the bill, do you? Plus, I want a sign like one of these:













Who doesn't want a legitimate excuse to have a giant neon sign with a pig in a top hat?

BTW, I checked out fine at the doc's. His technique seriously rocks, and I would recommend his parts removal service to anyone!!