Posted by Joke at 11:40 AM
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Thanksgiving: The Turkey, Pt. 2
Posted by Joke at 6:58 AM
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Posted by Joke at 11:48 AM
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Thanksgiving, I have discovered, is my favorite holiday because it combines a lot of the things I like. There's the God angle, the gratitude angle, the "this country has gone abysmal and so we'll get on this boat and go to this whole other country" angle, the obscure history and trivia angle, the lack of cards and presents and appalling mass market candy, and -- let's not deny it -- the hyper-foodie angle. At least ovah heah, this is the one holiday (even more than New Year's) when one's foodie self can sashay freely in the open. Tell people you only feed your family organic chicken hand-reared by nuns and they'll roll their eyes, but tell people you're looking for the equivalent turkey and everyone nods sagely. So there.
Posted by Joke at 5:16 AM
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Posted by Joke at 12:36 PM
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Posted by Joke at 4:53 PM
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-J. ************ It's 1521. You're a chieftain of some lovely Pacific island. You have the most women, the biggest hut, your pick of outrigger canoes. Life is good. Then some big ships show up. "Great. MORE Europeans." The Europeans make friends with your rival chieftain from the other side of the island. You snub everyone. The Europeans take the snub as a snub and choose to attack you. But they misjudge the tide and leap into water waist deep in full armor, and too far to use their weapons. You slaughter them all, especially the leader. That leader was Magellan. Immortalized by the Magellan Straits and also that GPS* thingy, among other things. You? You're chief Lapu-Lapu and, instead, you're immortalized by a tiki drink served in a cored-out pineapple, most famously at Walt Disney World's Polynesian Resort's Tambu Lounge. This past Labor Day** we went to this very spot. TFBIM had the selfsame beverage. Verily she loved it and has developed a fondness therefor and I was commissioned to replicate it. Like so. You lop the top off, much like Lapu-Lapu's warriors seemed to have preferred. (Hence the name?) All you have to do to core out the pineapple is center the corer right on the, er, core of the pineapple and drive the corer in, twisting with slight downward pressure. When you get down as far as you want, you pull up as with a manual corkscrew. Et voilà TIP: Place the pineapple being cored inside bowl of some kind, as there WILL be juice spouting forth generously and you want to capture said juice. This will also keep your wife from exhibiting displeasure. 1 Tbsp Simple "2:1" syrup 1 Tbsp Passion fruit syrup (50-50 passion fruit pulp and 2:1 sugar syrup) 1 Tbsp Orgeat 2 oz Orange juice (absent any fresh-squeezed, of all the supermarket brands, I suggest Florida Natural) 2 oz Dark rum (Bacardi 8 in this case) 2 oz White Rum (I like Cruzan Aged Light, but I was trying to finish up the Bacardi Silver) [Picture would have gone here, but NOS was getting hollered at by TFBIM.] Put this all in a shaker with about 6oz of cracked ice. Then you shake... ...and shake. Until the tin of the shaker frosts over. And here you are. -J. * SatNav to the rest of the Anglosphere.
Posted by Joke at 6:54 PM
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Posted by Joke at 2:59 PM
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As the more assiduous and mnemonic among the assembled may recall, last year-ish I got a BBQ smoker. You will also recall (if not, the last couple of posts should have reminded you) of my love for Thanksgiving.
So, I have decided to combine the two in the cooking of the 3rd* turkey which will alleviate much ovenspace stress.
For anyone fool enough to try this, here's what my trial run -- yes, I do that -- hath revealed.
12-20lb Fresh Turkey (not self-basting, or God forbid, "enhanced")
Brine with:
4 Cups Coarse Salt
1 Cup White Sugar
3 Gallons Water
4T dried sage
2T dried marjoram
1T dried thyme
Heat up 2 cups of water and make a "tea" with the herbs. Mix everything until sugar and salt are dissolved. (This recipe can be cut by 1/3 and used as an injection if time is short. Inject the turkey an hour or so before you're ready to cook.)
Remove giblets, turkey neck and any metal or plastic trussing. Put turkey in vessel (I like a smallish cooler, supplemened with those blue gel freezer packs) and make sure the entire turkey is submerged. Let brine 8-12 hours or overnight in the fridge. Remove turkey from brine, VIGOROUSLY pat dry, rub the outside with coarse salt (and a little baking soda) and place on the smoker while it's still ice cold.
One is s'posed to rinse prior to smoking, but I don't. Smoke using a wood of your choice, I use hickory. Smoke in the 245ºF-260ºF range until the breast reads 160ºF and the thighs are at least 170ºF.
Authorities will have you wrap the turkey with foil and let rest 30 minutes - 1 hour on the counter before slicing. I don't wrap, and only rest it 20-30 min. Covering with foil only steams the otherwise shatteringly crisp skin. This is key.
Ta-da!
-J.
* There ARE 56 people to feed, after all.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
...and now, a brief...er...something.
I take this moment to wax rhapsodic about Thanksgiving.
Later on I'll repost my recipes, and even the Complete Unedited True Story of Thanksgiving.
But first, I must do my little, awkward best to 'splain why I love it so.
As you read before, this holiday has a lot going for it. It's got the God thing without being too specific about which version of God is being mentioned, and all that. But it's what it doesn't have that really gets me excited.
No cards, no gifts to buy, not much in the way of decoration (turn your jack o'lantern's around and you're done) and not much in the way of commercialization once you exit the halls of foodieness. For the most part, most people celebrating Thanksgiving have a remarkably similar menu; something of a feat when you're talking about +/-300M people.
But, and let's be honest here, I must say I revel in the accolades. People love what I cook (maybe they're just happy they don't have to cook) and I can tell they are going to love it by the way the verious items are coming along.
I especially love that NOS and NTS want to help (moreso the former than the latter, possibly because NOS gets to wield knives and NTS isn't quite at that stage). NOS is also loving the attention and accolades while NTS simply likes tasting things all along. So it's an ol' man and his lads, flailing away with knives and fires.
Now you know.
-J.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Lights. Tunnel. That sort of thing.
We interrupt this wildly neglected blog for some good news.
I can't, in the spirit of "In the name of all that's holy, do NOT jinx it," tell you what these good news are. But they are pretty good. Not out of the woods but, to mix my metaphors, the light at the end of the tunnel is finally larger than a pinhole. I actually exhaled restfully once or twice.
Which is a welcome development, and more than just for the "face value" of the good news. This is the first streak of good news since late 2007. Those of you who have prayed, sacrificed chickens, chanted, etc., are the object of my most fervent thanks.
This is the point of the post when I debate internally whether I should spill more details, or just stoically clam up. On the one hand, I think I owe the assembled throng a measure of candor, but I also shudder at the whinge-fest that would ensue from my keyboard. Especially since, let's be honest, as bad as things are this hasn't exactly been the Rwandan genocide.
For the moment, then, let's just go a bit via media.
I have learned a LOT about myself. I have learned that my marriage has been a LOT more resilient than I ever wanted to find out.
The good news is that I have confirmed I have my mother's "Bataan Death March" gene. The bad news is that there have been days when, during quiet moments, I could actually, literally, no-I'm-not-kidding, feel years being shaved off my life. Whenever, in 30 years' time, I blog about some horrible development in my health, you will all be able to snap your fingers in recognition and say "Of course! The Great Unclaimed Malady of 2007-2010!"
It takes, I suppose, "crucible moments" to reveal what lies at our core, both good and bad. I found it very jarring to have to face these aspects of my life, seeing as how my life's greatest ambition was to spend my earthly days in placid smugness and benevolent complacency, on a hammock and sipping a lovely beverage. Pride goeth before a fall, goeth the cliché and I have had to adjust my mindset in uncomfortable ways.
Among you are many, many, who have been startled by sudden crises or horrible developments that require, for successful navigation, perseverance above all. Having seen such from a new perspective, my hat is doffed in your direction. Seriously, to you -- and you know who you are -- Respect.
To keep this from devolving (further) into maudlin-land, I am now leaping to action as Thanksgiving is nearly upon us and, it being my VERY favorite holiday, I must prepare to feed a brigade of +/- 50 people.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
But before I do.
Much swampedness, some (!) of it actually good and positive.
Now.
Before I get all hopped up on writing about these developments, I have a VERY strange, important and oddly minor favor to ask, for a client.
We're looking for suggestions of unknown-in-the-USA children's authors and/or book series. Can't exactly tell you why or divulge much. Even better would "up and coming" authors of such a type. Feel free to answer in the combox.
More to come.
-J.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Cuban Sandwich.
Another one you missed.
-J.
******************************
Here is the RIGHT way to do this.
Start by slicing pickles. NOT the sweet kind, and (ideally) not the ones that sit at room temperature. You need the crunch. I'spose you could get away with the pre-sliced ones, but I like my surface:mass ratio just so, and the Pickle Industrial Complex will not comply.
Take Cuban bread, or Cuban rolls or, if you live in the provinces, something in the egg bread family (which turns this from a Cubano to a Medianoche, but whatever.) split them
and mustardize them. The classic choice is plain ol' yellow mustard
but I like the "deli" style mustard better. You do whatever you want. Some people, bless them, like mayonnaise in this sandwich. It's NOT correct, nor authentic, but whatever.
Then you lay down your pickle coverage. I love pickles, so I practically TILE the bloody thing.
Over the pickles you'll need to place a layer of ham. 
Since I am an insufferable foodie, I use prosciutto (but not the hyper-fancy stuff). Either way, you want to make sure it's sliced so thin, as to be translucent. This allows you to plop it down in a wavy sort of way, which is key to get the right sort of chew and mouthfeel.
Next,the swiss cheese. Yes, it must be swiss cheese. Or, if you're insufferable as I am, Swiss cheese (Emmentaler is a teeny bit preferable to Gruyere, but either is wonderful.)
To get the right melting action, you will need to grate it. Yes, slices will work okay, but by the time the cheese is melted, the bread will be too dry and brittle.
Shredding it in the food processor is fine, but yields bad photos. So I hand grated. Just for YOU, Internet. Scoop it up and get ready to apply to the sandwich.
Like so.
If you like to give the cheese a head start on the melting -- or you are a raving pyro -- you can use a kitchen torch.
Now, take your leftover roast pork (ideally a very citrus/garlic intensive roast pork, although that can be doctored up) which you have warmed up to about 125F (this is important)
if you have roasted it properly, it should shred into luxuriant, pillowy nuggets of porcine goodness.
Assemble atop the cheese (cold side cold, warm side warm). You want about a 3:2 pork:ham ratio. So that your whole assemblage looks like this.
Fold the bread around the filling. Place in a panini/sanwich press or, if you have a whole battalion to feed, use a griddle set to medium-high, buttered lightly -- DO NOT USE MARGARINE -- and toast the cheese side first until it JUST melts, and then flip over to warm the other side.
Eat.
-J.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
A history lesson.
More from the mo(u)ldering crypt of posts which didn't get auto-posted. 
You start off with a pineapple. Note the corer. US$3 on eBay. Before I get more carried away with this, let me say I cannot say enough good things about this cheap-o corer. Yes, you can get fancier ones, made of stainless steel with sharper blades and finer teeth. These will give you less jagged pineapple rings, if that means that much to you. I, personally, couldn't care less about the aesthetic qualities of the rings...so the extra 600% premium isn't worth it.
2 oz Pineapple juice (absent any fresh-squeezed -- you'll recall I said above you wanted the fresh juice -- I suggest Dole; this scenario presumes you're making this in a regular glass)
TIP: With any drink calling for syrups, juices, etc. and you're only using ONE measuring vessel (i.e. a jigger or shot glass) do so in this order: syrups THEN juices THEN any flavored liquors or liqueurs THEN the spirits.
(all photos -- both the excellent and the ones which proved unusable -- courtesy of Numbah One Son)
Monday, September 28, 2009
Whither Junior
Another from the archival mists, or something.
-J.
********************
One thing I have noticed in having two sons is the dwindling of naming a son for his father. Numbah One Son is not merely a Junior, he's actually a fourth. He, for reasons which I suspect are inextricably linked to genetic insufferability, particularly enjoys appending that IV to his name.
But within his (and his brother's sphere of influence) there are pratically no other boys named after their dad. This is not a rant about people who give their children crazy-ass names such as Carrion or Treyteur, what PG Wodehouse used to term "raw work at the font." In fact, our census shows exactly one other Junior, and that's pretty much all there is.
I'm not really sure why this is.
Some of them, I am reliably informed, have to do with the fact the wife, while she may love and adore her husband, she does so in spite of his name. Maybe it reminds her of a childhood bully, maybe she has harbored a grave distaste for the most prominent consonant thereof, maybe there is a villainous TV character who shares the name, no matter. That name will NOT be levied upon HER baby. And that's that.
My BiL is a Junior, and when my nephew was born, his wife resolutely refused to allow the lad to be saddled with a III. And so the long day wears on.
This isn't to say that every dad should have a lad named in his honor, but I am perplexed as to why this is in decline.
-Joke the III
Name... Joke
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