Taste this, "Toast of ..."

As much as I hate making - and hate those who make - sweeping generalizations, I simply must say this: The individuals who participated in the Tennessean's "Toast of Music City," uh, contest are ****in' idiots. No, wait ... they are ****in' idiots who don't know the first ****in' thing about good eatin'.

I don't remembering it happening, but the Tennessean purportedly polled its readers asking them to vote for the best restaurants, best entertainment venues, best dry goods stores, best doctors, best car dealerships, etc. The final results were published in a 56-page tabloid-style insert in this past Sunday's paper. My right eyebrow almost cocked over my skull when I saw Best Buy as the third-best "Best Record Store" (what about Phonoluxe?); but that was nothing. I almost choked on the RC Cola I was drinking when I got to the "Best Food and Drink" entries.

According to the Tennessean's readers, the best BBQ restaurant is Bar-B-Cutie. Not only that, but Bar-B-Cutie was voted the "best restaurant" in Nashville as well. A little pissant purveyor or sub-par smoked pork was chosen as the best BBQ joint AND the best restaurant in town. No wonder I'm slowly becoming an aspirin junkie. (For the record, there are only three quality BBQ joints in Nashville -- Neely's, Pop's, Mary's, and Dee's -- none of which found a place in the "Taste of Nashville.")

With that said, let me tell you what "Toast of Music City" entry almost sent me into an apoplectic-foodie fit: the "Best Hot Chicken" winners were - in 1, 2, 3 order - Bojangles', Popeyes, and Otter's.

If you're new to Nashville, or if you've never visited Music City, you probably need to be schooled a bit 'bout "hot chicken." It ain't chicken that's just been retrieved from a pan, or an oven, or a slow-cooker. Hot Chicken is a unique style of fried chicken that gets dusted with a cayenne-paprika spice mix before being served. And - and this is important - it's traditionally served with white bread and dill pickles.

You can't find Nashville-style hot chicken at Bojangles' or Popeyes or Otter's. The fact that great numbers of Tennessean readers chose chain-store fried chicken restaurants as the best hot chicken joints in town ... well, what was it I said 'bout Tennessean-readers being idiots?!

Who wants to join me at Prince's Hot Chicken Shack tomorrow? I'll be there 'bout 11:50 a.m.

On the road with Joltin' Django (part two)

I remember the first time I ate at Carl's Perfect Pig Bar-B-Que in White Bluff, TN. I was in college, and I was dating a girl whose parents lived just around the corner from the restaurant.

My girlfriend and I stopped at her parents' house one weekend whilst on our way to my Aunt's cabin on Kentucky Lake. We hadn't planned on staying in White Bluff for very long. When we got to her parents' house, however, her dad insisted that we go to Carl's Perfect Pig. The old man kept going on and on about Carl's "fantastic barbeque," so off to Carl's we went.

To make a long story short, I left that restaurant admiring the hell out of the barbeque served therein. I left the relationship with my little girlfriend - she was 5'1" and weighed maybe 100 lbs - wishing that I could keep hanging out with Daddy What's-His-Name every Saturday afternoon at Carl's. (Didn't happen, of course.) In the intervening twelve years, I went back to Carl's two times, the last time being in 2000. And each time I exited the restaurant, I said a silent "thank you" to the guy who took me to the place when, in truth, I didn't really want to go.

I was making 70 mph on Saturday when I passed Carl's Perfect Pig Bar-B-Que on my way back from McEwen. Don't really know what provoked me to do so, given that I was up to my eyeballs in Irish Picnic 'que and fixins, but I turned around and headed back to Carl's. I think it was 'cause "fantastic barbeque" kept rattling 'round my brain for two miles after I passed the place.

All of Carl's parking spots were filled when I turned into their lot. (What a great testament, n'est-ce pas?!) I parked in some nearby grass whilst trying to decide what my stuffed-to-the-gills self would order. I quickly said to myself, "I'll get a pound, sample some when I get home, and eat the rest for lunch tomorrow." I did get a pound of 'que, but I didn't just sample the stuff when I got home. Oh, no, I opened the tub and dug right in.

First thing I noticed when I opened my tub o' Carl's was the fact that it was pulled pork. ("Hoo-ray!" I says to myself.) When I order barbeque, I don't want the chopped-to-smithereens crap you get at places like Whitt's. Just pull it off the shoulder with your fingers and then serve it to me. That's all I ask; and 'tis just what the folks at Carl's did to the pork they served me. [Sidebar: Tony Neely, proprietor of Neely's BBQ in Nashville, once told me that folks in Memphis prefer chopped pork, and folks in Nashville prefer pulled pork. Neither he nor I could come up with an explanation for such.]

Second thing I noticed 'bout Carl's 'que was the visible chunks of pork skin peppered throughout the pound I'd purchased. You don't find that at many barbeque restaurants these days. Indeed, most joints pick over their meat like a monkey and discard anything that even hints of texture and/or flavor. I'd eaten, maybe, two bites of pulled 'que before my teeth met a crunchy bit of pork skin. What an unexpected treat. It was almost as if I'd been treated to a bit of fried pork skin right there midst my very few bites of smoked meat. Oh, my!

So how did Carl's pulled smoked pork shoulder taste? Good. No, groin-grabbingly good. And you can quote me on that. I always judge smoked pork by how well it tastes sans garnishment. That is, is it just as flavorful without sauce as it would be with (or "wit," as they say in Philadelphia)? In the case of Carl's 'que, it is. It's smoky, and spicy, and juicy, and it needs no garnishment to make your taste buds sing.

And sing my taste buds did when I ate me some Carls' at 10 p.m. Saturday. I was really too full to be eating again after my two-pound-plate lunch, but I simply had to eat me some Carl's 'que before it went into the refrigerator. I sliced me a tomato, put some Carl's on a plate, and put just a tad of Irish Picnic sauce on the whole shebang. This's how it looked:


Damn, damn, DAMN it was good (apologies to Florida Evans). And damned if it wasn't the first thing on my mind when I awoke Sunday! Lunch did finally roll around, 'bout 10 a.m. Yes, I ate barbeque for "lunch" on Sunday at 10 a.m. Enjoyed every minute of it, too. If you'd been here, you would've enjoyed every minute of it, too.

On the road with Joltin' Django (part one)

Yesterday, I traveled to Humphreys County, Tennessee, for the Irish Picnic and Homecoming. The Irish Picnic, which has taken place for over 150 years, serves as a fundraiser for the Saint Patrick School in McEwen. Hundreds of pounds of pork and chicken are smoked for the Picnic, and not one ounce of smoked meat is left by the time it's over.

The Irish Picnic takes place each year on the last Friday and Saturday in July. Over the last dozen years, I think I've missed the Picnic one time. "Why would anyone want to drive to McEwen, of all places, year after year for some festival BBQ?" you may be asking. Well ...

First, to eat a heaping plate of juicy and perfectly-smoked BBQ, green beans, slaw, homemade pickles, tater salad, and white bread. This is all washed down, of course, with tea so sweet it could count as dessert. It ain't dessert, though. You can have scratch-made chocolate cake, chess and/or pecan pie, or homemade cookies.

This was my plate:


At this point I think I should tell you that this meal, which in actuality was two meals 'cause there was enough left over for dinner, cost the princely sum of $6.

My second reason for making an annual pilgrimage to the Irish Picnic is so's I can purchase a big-ass jug of the famous Irish Picnic BBQ sauce which is only available during Picnic Weekend, if you will. (I've been told that the super-secret recipe for the sauce is kept in a lockbox in a Dickson,TN, bank, though I've not been able to find a Picnic official who can confirm such.) This, my friends, is one of the finest BBQ sauces I've ever put in my mouth:


I'm already looking forward to next year's Irish Picnic. Wanna go?!

A couple more pics from the Picnic ...

The pit bosses start stoking the hickory charcoal on Thursday. Man, it is freaking hot 'round these pits:





Barbeque and bluegrass. Tain't a better combination in the world!

It's Tomato Time in Tennessee! (update)

My tomatoes are ripening almost faster than I can pick 'em. This is what I picked this afternoon:


For dinner tonight, I used an entire tomato to make a mater sammich (on white bread with Duke's, of course). Then I sliced another tomato and ate it with some salt and pepper.

When I start to get my late evening sinking spell tonight, I'll probably eat me another sliced tomato. I'm already lookin' forward to it!

Homemade sausage. Me likey the sound of that!

As much as I distrust folks with hyphenated surnames (my ami Mordecai once stated, quite correctly, that it's difficult to take anyone with a hyphenated name seriously), I think I'm gonna follow Mr. Matthew Amster-Burton's lead and make me some sausage. Check this out:

I often make my own sausage, and if you love sausage, you should do the same. You can control exactly what goes into it. You can make a variety of sausages unavailable in your local market. You can begin with the best local meat. You can use tons of homegrown fresh herbs.

You can make fresh sausage so flavorful that a little goes a long way, and thereby encourage yourself to use meat as a flavoring rather than the main event, just like Mark Bittman told you to.

Wait, where are you going? Look what I’m not going to ask you to do:

Stuff casings. I’ve done it once. That was plenty. Now I make bulk sausage, which is extremely versatile.

Smoke or dry sausages. Not in my apartment. (In fact, as much as I like you, readers, I’d rather you didn’t do any of your sausage-making in my apartment.)

Work with pork fatback. I do buy and use pork fat regularly, but it’s not necessary for good homemade sausage if you start with the right cuts of meat: shoulder cuts of beef, pork, and lamb, and leg and thigh meat of duck, chicken, and turkey.

Now that you’ve calmed down instead of fleeing in terror, let’s begin.

You’ll need two pieces of equipment to make sausage: a stand mixer and its food-grinder attachment. Grinders are available for KitchenAid, Viking, and Cuisinart stand mixers. The stand mixer attachments work better than inexpensive standalone electric meat grinders; they’re also easier to clean and store.

Some people grind meat in the food processor. I have never mastered this and wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re already doing it successfully. For your first forays into home sausage making, you’ll want a foolproof setup.

A third, optional piece of equipment is a spice grinder, as freshly ground spices really shine in sausage. Get one of those cheap little propeller-bladed coffee grinders (your local Goodwill will probably have one, if you’re über-cheap) and use it for spices, not coffee.

No matter what kind of sausage you’re making, here’s the procedure:

Cut the meat into 1-inch chunks.

Season with herbs, spices, aromatics, and salt. (Not to mention dried or fresh fruit, roasted peppers, and any member of the onion and garlic family.)

Grind through the fine plate (the one with the smaller holes).

Stir in a bit of flavorful liquid (wine, vinegar, beer, cider) to help bind the sausage together.

At this point, you can cook a small patty of sausage, taste it for seasonings, and stir in whatever else it needs.

Like cookie recipes, most sausage formulas yield enough to feed a crowd. But I’d suggest making a pound at a time until you find a sausage you really love. Then you can make more and freeze it. I’ve had great luck freezing sausage with my vacuum sealer, the Reynolds Handi-Vac that I paid $9 for when I was experimenting with cilantro preservation.

You’ve probably heard that it’s vital to keep everything cold while making sausage. This is true up to a point. You’ll want to start with refrigerated (or even lightly frozen) meat, and it can’t hurt to put the grinder attachment in the freezer while you’re prepping ingredients. But it takes about one minute to grind a pound of sausage, not enough time for the materials to heat up. So you don’t need to bother using an ice-water bath as long as you get the sausage right into the fridge when you’re done.

They call 'em Tater Pancakes

Let's face it, mashed potatoes are best eaten very soon after they've come off the stove. Leftover mashed taters are dry and bland, and whilst eatin' 'em you can't help but say to yourself, "Man, these ain't as good as they were last night!"

Next time you find yourself with a bowl of leftover smashed taters, don't throw 'em in a microwave and eat 'em alongside another equally bland leftover dish. Instead, try this:

Pour a half-inch of oil into a skillet
Heat skillet to medium

Put the mashed potatoes in a mixing bowl
Throw in about a half-cup of flour
Add a half-cup of milk
Mix well

Put a heaping spoonful of the potato batter into the oil, flatten until 1/4-inch thick
Repeat until skillet is full, with no flattened taters touching each other
Fry until golden brown on one side, 'bout four minutes,
Flip and repeat on opposite side
Drain on paper towels

Serve with butter, sour cream, ketchup, hot sauce ... or whatever you like on a fried tater

Mon mauvais weekend

Friday night, I ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant in South Nashville. I've never been too crazy about the restaurant in question -- I'll call it Pas Llama's -- and I didn't want to go there on Friday. Since I wasn't paying, I didn't say anything. I rode to Pas Llama's with my mouth shut.

Pas Llama's is pretty popular 'mongst Nashvillians. I know this 'cause there're eight locations in and just outside of the city, and each and every one of 'em has a crowd for lunch each weekday and a crowd for dinner every Friday and Saturday night. But just because a lot of folks in Nashville like a place don't mean it's good. I mean, Whitt's BBQ has a dozen restaurants across Music City and has won awards and caters hundreds of 100-plus-people events each year. Whitt's also serves the stringiest, driest smoked pork shoulder I've ever eaten.

Like I said, I've never been a big Pas Llama's fan, mainly 'cause of this: three-quarters of the items on the Pas Llama's menu come slathered in cheap cheese and out-of-the-can red sauce. (A few menu items come slathered in out-of-the-can green sauce, and they're equally as bland as their red cousins.) With that said, I think you have a pretty good idea of why I didn't want to go to Pas Llama's on Friday.

When it came time to order Friday, I went with something I'd never had at Pas Llama's: a grilled chicken breast topped with grilled tomatoes, onions, and peppers. The chicken was a tad overcooked, and it tweren't topped with enough grilled tomatoes for my taste.

I ate my free dinner without uttering a disparaging word, and I dutifully, i.e., with a smile on my face, asked for a box for my left-overs (I reckon I ate a little over half of what I'd been served).

When I got home, I put my left-overs in the refrigerator. I got undressed, stretched out in my recliner and read for about three hours. I went to bed - oh, 'bout 11:30 - and I quickly dozed off. And then the unpleasantness began ...

I awoke about 4 a.m. Saturday morning with, well, let's just say I had a sour stomach. I drank some Pepto-Bismol®, I drank me some Sprite, and then I went back to bed. It took me a while to do, but I eventually went back to sleep. I awoke again at 6 a.m., and my sour stomach had advanced from the "sour" stage to the "four alarm fire" stage.

From 6 a.m. to 8 a.m., I reckon I visited my bathroom a dozen times. I also burped the tomatoes, onions and peppers I'd eaten twelve hours previously 'bout three dozen times. Each time I did so, I dropped an F-bomb whilst cursing anyone employed by, or associated with, Pas Llama's Mexican Restaurant.

I had important work to do at my office on Saturday, so I got dressed and soldiered on in. Two hours was all I could stand. I returned home and commandeered the couch. And that's pretty much where I stayed for the remainder of the weekend. I didn't get to see the new Batman movie, as planned, and I missed out on DirecTV's free MLB Extra Inning weekend, 'cause I was all hopped-up on medicine and I was sleeping. As Yoda might say, f***ed up my weekend was. Indeed.

I won't ever -- won't ever, never -- go back to Pas Llama's. If you're smart, you'll follow my lead.

Oh, how I love Nathan's. Oh, how I love Na-than's!

Tain't no secret that I love Nathan's hot dogs (see here and here). Today, I broke down and bought a Nathan's hot dog from the vending machine in my workplace's break room :



First thing I did after purchasing my Nathan's hot dog was separate dog and bun. I put the dog on a plate and put it in the microwave, then I cooked it on medium for one minute. The dog came out the microwave, to be replaced by the bun. I put the microwave on high and cooked the bun for 30 seconds.

I put me some Heinz Piccalilli on my dog; I grabbed me a brought-from-home Coca-Cola from the fridge; and then it was time to eat:


I was not prepared to like a Nathan's hot dog from a vending machine. Indeed, prior to taking the first bite, I was expecting to be incredibly disappointed. Didn't happen.

My hot dog bun wasn't the greatest -- I mean, can a refrigerated bun really be all that great? But the dog - whoa, the dog - was damn good. It not only had the patented Nathan's taste, it had a casing on it (yeah, a casing!). When you bite into a hot dog and it snaps, you know you're eating something special.

So, the verdict on my vending machine-bought Nathan's hot dog is: bun, okay; dog, great.

Oh, and I'll be telling you 'bout that Heinz Piccalilli Pickle real soon!

You can't beat Pete's heat

The Belmont Bi-Rite's plate-lunch counter serves up some of the best food in Nashville. If you're a regular AMGE reader, you know that already.

What I didn't know, until my ami Mr. Jimmy told me this evening, is that the Belmont Bi-Rite now offers little packets of Texas Pete at its plate-lunch counter, gratis:


Boy howdy, I do love me some Texas Pete hot sauce. And I respect the hell out of the Belmont Bi-Rite - as if I needed any additional reasons to admire the hell out of the place - for making Texas Pete available to its patrons.

If a day ever comes when I lose all sense of my liberty-lovin' faculties (that is, if I ever become another B. Hussein Obama), I'll urge my local lawmakers to pass legislation requiring restaurateurs to carry bottles or packets of hot sauce. That day ain't gonna come anytime soon, so I'll just keep heapin' praise on those eatin' places in which hot sauce(s) are offered alongside mustard and ketchup ... or is it catsup?

Granny Ruby's cornbread

Seems like I promised to tell my loyal readers how I make cornbread. I learned how to make cornbread from my Granny Ruby. Here's what she taught me:

Granny Ruby's Cornbread

Ingredients

1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 cups self-rising cornmeal
2 eggs
1 1/2 cups milk (or buttermilk)

Directions

Preheat oven to 350. Pour oil into an iron skillet. Heat skillet in oven, 8-10 minutes.

In a medium bowl mix the cornmeal, eggs, and milk. Remove the skillet from the oven and pour the hot oil into the cornmeal batter. Stir. Increase oven temperature to 400.

Pour the cornmeal batter into the hot skillet. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, or until the top of the cornbread is golden and crispy.

Serve alongside beans or fried chicken or meatloaf or boiled cabbage. Or, simply serve piping hot with a big glass of milk and lots of real butter.

You oughta see my baby at the hot dog stand ...

Well, my baby works in a hot dog stand
A-making them hot dogs as fast as she can
Up steps a cat and yells don't be slow
And get me two hot dogs ready to go
-- Buck Owens

Just like Benjamin J. Matlock, I like me a good hot dog. A few months ago, I discovered some incredible-tasting, and incredibly cheap, hot dogs about 100 yards from my place of business. Lemme tell you about 'em ...

There's a Kangaroo mini-mart right next to my office. I'd been in that place at least fifty times over the years to buy chewing tobacco and various snacks. I'd never once considered walking to the back of the store to check out the hot dogs sold therein.

'Bout two months ago, I was standing in the checkout line behind a feller who was holding a hot dog in a little clear sleeve. It didn't look like your typical red hot dog; instead, it looked like a skinny kielbasa. I stepped out of the line and went back to the hot dog, er, display. I cocked my head and raised my eyebrows when I saw this sign: "Hillshire Farms Sausage Dogs: 2 for $2." I looked at the dogs and said to myself, "I'm gettin' me one of those tomorrow!"

Get one I did. I ate it with a little mustard, and a lot of sliced peppers, and I just enjoyed the hell out of it. I enjoyed it so much that I went back to the Kangaroo 'bout ten more times to get me a one-dollar sausage dog topped with mustard and 10-12 jalapeño slices. Today, I made trip number eleven:


Looks good, don't it?!

I anticipated eating me a Kangaroo sausage dog before I even left for work this morning. Thus, I toted my jar of Heinz Piccalilli Pickle to work with me. I'll have more to say about Heinz's piccalilli in the very near future. Stay tuned ...

It's Tomato Time in Tennessee!

Homegrown tomatoes, homegrown tomatoes
What'd life be without homegrown tomatoes
Only two things that money can't buy
That's true love & homegrown tomatoes
-- Guy Clark

If you live to be 100, you will never hear-tell of an individual who's more hot-natured than yours truly. Because I'm so hot-natured, I am absolutely miserable during the months of July and August. About the only thing that brings me great pleasure each long, hot summer is homegrown tomatoes.

Back in the spring, I planted six tomato plants. I watered 'em, fertilized 'em, staked 'em, and then prayed that they wouldn't get blossom rot (which happened to half of my tomatoes last summer). Beginning last week, I started getting me some red tomatoes on my plants. I've had a few that were afflicted with blossom rot, but by and large my tomatoes are coming in quite nicely.

On Friday, I picked me a tomato that was just about fully ripe. I looked at it today and I said to myself, "That mater's ready to be eaten!" So I sliced my fine-lookin' mater; I put a couple of slices on some wheat bread; and I added several squirts of Duke's mayonnaise. Mmmm, mmmm good! Here's a pic:


(I snapped that picture after only one squirt of The Best Mayo In The USA. I wanted folks to see how good my tomato looked before it was fully covered with Duke's.)

Joltin' Django's Meatballs 'n' Gravy

Here's what me and mine ate ce soir ...

Joltin' Django's Meatballs 'n' Gravy

Ingredients

Meatballs

1/2 lb ground beef
1/2 lb ground pork
1/2 cup Italian bread crumbs
3/4 cup finely-grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
1 egg
1 tablespoon Italian seasoning
1 pinch salt
1 pinch pepper


Tomato Gravy

1/2 cup olive oil
1 cup chopped white onion
1 cup chopped green pepper
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 cans whole Italian tomatoes

Spaghetti

1 lb spaghetti noodles (preferably Barilla)

Directions

Meatballs

Crumble pork and ground beef into a large bowl
Add egg, bread crumbs, cheese, salt, pepper and Italian seasoning
Mix and form into one-inch balls
Set aside and let sit for 20 minutes

Tomato Gravy

Strain tomatoes, saving juice
Hand-crush and set aside

Heat olive oil in a heavy-bottomed pot
Add onion and green pepper and cook until softened, 3-5 minutes
Add garlic and quick-stir for one minute
Add tomatoes and juice
Lower heat and simmer for 15 minutes
Add meatballs and simmer for an additional 15 minutes
Turn off heat and allow gravy and meatballs to sit on stove for an additional 15-20 minutes


Spaghetti

Bring a pot of well-salted water to a boil
Add noodles and lower heat to medium-high
Cook 8-12 minutes (or until noodles are al dente)

Serving Instructions

Put s'ghetti on a plate, or in a bowl, and top with gravy and meatballs
Cover with olive oil, cheese, red pepper flakes, or hot sauce
Garnish with imported pepperoncini

Problèmes de signalisation

For whatever reason, I couldn't post nothin' the past two days. What I wrote during that 48-hour span will be published sooner rather than later. Stay tuned.

Roselli's rules!

Regular readers know that my favorite place in Nashville to get a pizza pie is Picnic Pizza. Sometimes, however, I get an urge to make my own pizza pie; and when I do, I always - and I mean always - use Roselli's Pizza Sauce.

What's so great about Roselli's-brand pizza sauce? For starters, it's all natural. The only ingredients on the label are tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, salt, and parsley.

Second, Roselli's is so thick and rich, a little will go a very long way. You can easily make three large pizzas with one 15 oz. jar of sauce.

Finally - and this is important - Roselli's does not taste like store-bought sauce. Indeed, it tastes like something you'd get at a premium pizza joint.

As far as I know, Publix is the only grocery store in Nashville to stock Roselli's products (my local Publix has Rosselli's pizza sauce and spaghetti sauce). If you're heading to Publix any time soon, I urge you to give Roselli's a try. You'll be glad you did.

Me likey lima beans

I can count on one hand the number of friends and family members I know who like lima beans. Too bad for them 'cause I can cook up a pot of lima beans that'll make a guy or gal wanna slap his or her pappy.

I let a pound of lima beans soak in cold water while I worked today. As soon as I got home, I started cooking 'em. Like this:

Joltin' Django's Lima Beans

Ingredients

1 pound dried lima beans, soaked 6-8 hours
1/2 cup bacon drippings
1 white onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
Salt and pepper to taste
Cool, clean Water

Directions

Drain and rinse beans
Heat bacon drippings over medium heat in a heavy-bottomed pot
Soften onions in heated drippings
Add lima beans to pot and just cover with water
Season with salt, pepper and garlic
Bring to a boil and reduce heat to a slow-simmer
Cook 40-50 minutes, or until beans are soft and simmering in a thick potage
Serve with skillet-baked cornbread

If you follow my recipe, you'll come up with something like this:


That might not look like much at a first glance; however, it was, by God, damn tasty ... especially since I cooked a skillet of cornbread to eat with it. So there.

Mmm ... pie

"Promises and pie-crust are made to be broken."

-- Jonathan Swift

I don't think I've ever mentioned it before -- hell, I've never had a reason to mention it before -- but my name can be found on the membership-roll at Antioch United Methodist Church in, well, Antioch, Tennessee.

This morning, I attended a UMC church service in La Vergne, TN, to witness a good friend's infant son's Christening. Since I was a visitor, the church's welcoming committee gave me a homemade chocolate-chess pie. Yes, a whole chocolate-chess pie. It was pretty good, too.


Reckon what kind of pie I'd have gotten if I'd visited a Unitarian-Universalist church?

Weed? Dirt?

Whitt's still sucks!

If you live in Nashville and you want good barbeque -- i.e., slow-smoked pork shoulder -- you're pretty much SOL.

Now, don't get me wrong ... Nashville has some damn-fine BBQ joints (Mary's, Neely's, Hog Heaven, Pop's). But Nashville ain't a city in which you can find a quality BBQ restaurant on nearly every corner like, say, Memphis or Kansas City. You really have to work your way round Nashville to hit the best BBQ joints.

That said, if you're in Nashville and you're just dying for some barbeque, you don't have to go without. You can flat find one particular BBQ restaurant on a lot of corners in Music City. Unfortunately, the restaurant in question - Whitt's BBQ - happens to be one of the worst purveyors of pork on the Southern - nay, the American - barbeque scene.

A lot of folks in Nashville eat at Whitt's on a regular basis (I work with some of 'em). I know they do so because they don't have a lot of options when it comes to quality smoked pork. I can forgive 'em for that. However, I sometimes cross paths with a gal or guy who wants to tell me that Whitt's serves the "best" barbeque they've ever had; and I want to just strangle 'em. Such happened ce soir.

There is indeed no rest for the wicked. I not only had to work on Friday the Fourth, I had to work on the day after. Even though I was dead-ass tired when I arrived home this e'ning, I went to my next-door neighbor's Independence Day cookout.

My neighbor/good buddy was placing racks of pork ribs on his charcoal grill when I arrived. I dressed-up a hot dog and grabbed me a chair by the pool. Some of the folks who were lounging on pool-chairs nearby started talking about barbeque (provoked, I guess, by what my neighbor was cooking on his grill).

As I was taking a big bite out of a big hot dog, I overheard a young lass who was participating in the barbeque discussion say, and this is a di-rect quote, "I've never had BBQ better than Whitt's." I almost choked on that bite of hot dog.

Since I wasn't introduced to Ms. I Love Whitt's, and I since I wasn't involved in her conversation, I bit my tongue - after hard-swallowing my bite o' hot dog - and resisted the urge to give her a Good BBQ-schooling. Upon further reflection, I now wish that I'd told her to check out some of the anti-Whitt's musings I've posted here at AMGE. Like this'n from last October:

I was chagrined - nay, I was pissed - to learn that Whitt's Barbeque was chosen as Nashville's "best" BBQ restaurant [in the Nashville Scene's "Best of Nashville" contest] for the 18th straight year. I posted this last year when Whitt's won for the 17th time; and I just might post it every year until folks in Nashville wise up and recognize that a pile of pork from Whitt's ain't fit to feed to dogs (as my late Granddaddy Hobbs used to say):

"I have a newsflash for the folks who participated in the Nashville Scene's 'Best of Nashville' contest: Whitt's is NOT the best barbecue restaurant in Nashville. The fact that this sad excuse for a restaurant has been chosen as the best in its particular category for over fifteen freakin' years reveals much about the taste(s) of those who read the Scene.

"Whitt's is to barbecue what McDonald's is to hamburgers. That is, Whitt's is cheap and will fill you up in a pinch, but any serious BBQ-eater will tell you that the pork shoulder served there is too dry and mealy to be considered first-class. Furthermore, why is it that in all the years Whitt's has been doing business in Middle Tennessee, the folks there have yet to develop a passable BBQ sauce? Could it be that the owners and operators of Whitt's are reluctant to do away with their one and only condiment, which is 95 percent straight cider vinegar, because it's the only thing keeping customers from choking to death?

"Local barbecue aficionados are well aware that Nashville's best barbecue joints, i.e., Neely's, Pop's, Mary's, and Hog Heaven, aren't chain restaurants, and they're not located in Hillsboro Village, Green Hills, SoBro, or the 'District.' (I hate to pass judgement, but I'd be willing to bet a dollar to anyone's dime that a majority of the individuals who took the time to partipate in the 'Best of Nashville' contest head to, well, Hillsboro Village, Green Hills, and downtown to eat out.)

"Nashville's sidestreets and backroads are filled with restaurants dishing out unique and well-crafted meals. Far too few of these restaurants made their way into the Scene's 'Best of ...' issue.

"Pretty sad, if you ask me."

Gentlemen, start your bellies

Philadelphia Magazine writer Jason Fagone spent a year profiling some of the more colorful personalities on the competative eating circuit. In his book Horsemen of the Esophagus: Competative Eating and the Big Fat American Dream, Fagone explains how all of the folks he covers have one shared goal: to win the International Hot Dog Eating Contest at Nathan's on Coney Island.

You can ead an excerpt from Fagone's book on AOL Food.

How now, Howton Farm's ...?

I happened upon Howton Farm's barbeque sauce in my favorite grocery store some 2 months ago. A Howton Farm's representative was personally placing product on the shelf, and I asked him 'bout his stuff. He told me that Howton Farm's is the "best barbeque sauce in the South." When I told him that he'd made a "mighty bold" statement, he gave me a free bottle.

As I was leaving the grocery store, Mr. Howton Farm's was standing beside his van. We struck up another conversation about barbeque sauce and he told me that Howton's has a hot-as-hell sauce that he didn't put on the shelf in the store in which we'd met. I said "Gimme one," and he got me a bottle out of his van. I paid him for the sauce and I headed home.

As soon as I got home, I got me some sammich-style chicken out of the frig and poured some of Howton's regular sauce on a slice. "This is good!" I said aloud to myself. I then uncorked the bottle of extra-hot sauce and gave it a try. If I had to pass judgement on it with one word and one word only, I'd just say "Wow" ... exclamation point.

Howton's extra-hot barbeque sauce is tomato and vinegar-based, and it packs a lot - and I mean a lot - of heat. I dumped it on a couple of pieces of chicken, and then I started eating it with a spoon. Yeah, it was that good!

I've grilled chicken with my Howton's sauce, and I've oven-cooked country ribs and pork chops (see pic above) that were just covered in the stuff. I'm not convinced that an old shoe wouldn't taste good if it had enough Howton's on it.

Look for Howton's the next time you're out a-shoppin' for foodstuffs. If your local grocer doesn't have it, go straight to the manager's desk and tell 'em you expect to be able to purchase it there soon.

Nathan's RULES!

Back in March, I talked about how much I enjoyed my dining experience(s) at Nathan's on Coney Island:

The first time I ever had a Nathan's hot dot was in 2001. I took the train from Manhattan to Brooklyn to see a Brooklyn Cyclones minor league baseball game. Before the baseball game started, I went over to the Nathan's stand and ordered two dogs, one with 'kraut and one with grilled onions. With each bite I became more excited. I told my traveling companion, "Those were the best ****in' hot dogs I've ever had in my life!"

When the game was over, I went back to Nathan's and ordered another dog, topped with just a little mustard. To say that I'd become a certified Fan O' Nathan's is indeed an understatement.

I've been back to NYC twice since my 2001 visit. During each visit I set aside time to go out to Brooklyn for hot dogs at Nathan's. Since that first visit, I also procured two black and white photos depicting happenings at Nathan's back in the day - in the 1940s, I think - and I hung 'em in my kitchen, where they're still hanging today.

There're a lot of hot dog stands in America, but there ain't a stand that serves a dog as good as the one you'll get at Nathan's in Brooklyn.

I ain't the only one who just ****in' loves a hot dog straight from Nathan's well-seasoned grill. The guys at Slashfood are fans, too. Check this out:

"I've mentioned NYC Dirty Water Dogs, but there is another big dog on the block in NYC, Nathan's Famous. First seen on the boardwalk in Coney Island at the amusement park in 1916, they later started a small chain of Nathan's with arcades and more types of food than you can shake a dog at. They make some mean pastrami and corned beef sandwiches, but it's the hot dogs that they are known for. Just ask the thousands who come out every 4th of July for the International Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Competition.

"A Nathan's was just a mile or three up the road on Central Ave in Yonkers, NY; where I spent my teen years. I visited them by bus after school a few times to play some pinball, but it was when I was 16 and got my driver's license and started borrowing my folks car, that I started chowing down on Nathan's dogs on a regular basis. These are griddled dogs, fat, crisp and browned outside, and juicy. They set my standard for what a dog should be. I finally came to realize that the best part is the Nathan's mustard. Over time it has become my favorite mustard of all. I try many, my fridge is full of literally dozens of jars, but the only one I buy time and again is Nathan's.

"My favorite way to have Nathan's dogs is to grab two and a small fries. The fries are fat, crinkle cut wedges that are crispy outside, fluffy inside, and the perfect complement to the dogs. At Nathan's you have a condiment bar stocked with mustard, ketchup, relish, and sauerkraut so you can help yourself and design your own dog. The sauerkraut is fresh, crunchy, tart n' tangy. I load down the dogs with mustard and kraut, fill a few small paper cups with ketchup and mustard for the fries, and dig in. First a huge bite of frank, then dip a fry first in the Nathan's spicy mustard, then a dip in the Heinz ketchup as well. A great flavor combo where they balance each other out magnificently, with a root beer to wash it all down."

πολύ νόστιμος!

Pastitsio was on the menu at Chez Allison this evening. Here's the recipe:

Pastitsio

Ingredients

Filling:
1 tablespoon butter
2 lbs. ground beef
1 medium onion, chopped
1 clove garlic
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/4 cup chopped parsley
1/2 cup white wine
1 lb. can stewed tomatoes
2 tablespoons tomato paste

Sauce:
1/2 cup butter
3/4 cup flour
4 hot cups milk
Salt
Pepper
1 cup grated Kefalotiri cheese
2 whole eggs and 2 egg yolks

Pasta:
1 lb. Greek macaroni
1 tablespoon salt
2 tablespoons butter
1 cup grated Kefalotiri (or parmesan) cheese

Preparation

For the filling: Heat the butter in a large frying pan and saute the ground beef and onion until slightly browned. Add remaining ingredients and cook over a medium heat until heated through; allow to cool.

To make the sauce: Melt the butter in a heavy saucepan, add the flour and cook stirring constanly for 1 minute. Add the milk all at once, and stir until the sauce is smooth. Add salt and pepper to taste. Remove from heat and stir in the cheese, eggs and egg yolks.

Cook the macaroni in salted boiling water until soft but firm. Drain and return to the pan. Add the butter.

Butter a baking pan and put in half the macaroni. Sprinkle with cheese and cover with the meat filling. Top with remaining macaroni. Sprinkle with cheese and cover with the sauce. Sprinkle top with the rest of the cheese and cook in a moderate oven for about 45 minutes or until golden brown. Leave for 20 minutes then cut into square pieces and serve.

Gooooood s'ghetti!

A few weeks back, I told AMGE readers 'bout the Belmont Bi-Rite's spaghetti. I said:

The Belmont Bi-Rite's spaghetti won't impress an Italian too much; but it certainly will impress the hell out of anyone who grew up eating Southern-style spaghetti, like my Granny Ruby used to make.

Well, my ami Mr. Jimmy was kind enough to bring me another tub of Belmont Bi-Rite spaghetti for lunch yesterday. After cropdusting my lunch with some red pepper flakes, I dug right in. After marveling at the big hunks of meat in my spaghetti, I said to myself, "This tub o' Bi-Rite s'ghetti is even better than the tub I had once upon a time!"

One of these days, I'm gonna get my arse over to the Belmont Bi-Rite to try the other stuff they serve at their plate-lunch counter. I promise you that.

Belmont Bi-Rite
3116 Belmont Blvd
Nashville, TN 37212
615.292.0253

Wurst und sauerkrat ist gut!

Last night, I took a bit of a swipe at the George Foreman Lean Mean Grilling Machine. Lemme make my position clear on said Machine: I agree with Larry Holmes that it'll dry out a hamburger faster than B. Hussein Obama can change his position on any given issue; however, you can flat cook a juicy boneless, skinless chicken breast on it.

That said, I have another George Foreman cooker in which I regularly cook sausages and pork loins (see above pic). Said cooker is no longer being manufactured by Big George's, well, manufacturing concern. If you take my word on its quality and go lookin' for one, be prepared to give an eBay seller 50 or 60 bucks for a never-been-used specimen. (I don't think I paid more than $25 for mine at J.C. Penny in 2000.)

I didn't have no plans for dinner when I got home 'round 6 p.m. this evening. I put some Georgia Boy smoked sausages in my George Foreman cooker, and I put a can of Kühne sauerkraut on the stove. I've told AMGE readers about Georgia Boy's products before. Now let me tell you about Kühne 'kraut ...

I picked up a can of Kühne 'kraut at the Global Market in Nashville last August. (FYI: the Global Market specializes in foods from the U.K. and Europe). If memory serves me correctly, I used that first can to garnish hot dogs at a cookout in my backyard soon thereafter. I've been keepin' several cans of Kühne-brand 'kraut in my pantry ever since.

Now, you know you've gotten your hands on a can of quality sauerkraut when you see that wine is one of the ingredients. Such is the case with Kühne's 'kraut, which is packed in Riesling wine. Crunchy and tangy (winey?!), Kühne's perfectly accompanies a good hot dog, a hot sausage, or a quality hunk o' pork roast or pork tenderloin. It is good, good stuff indeed.

Beans, beans, good for your ...

I've had a bad last two days. Yesterday, I went to the doctor for a malady that required me taking some out-light-a-light medication; and today I had some problems with my automobile, and I didn't get home until after 6:30.

I thawed some ham meat last night and I soaked some pinto beans today. I had no choice but to cook 'em when I got home. I may have had to wait until 8:30 to eat tonight, but I enjoyed the hell out of this once it was ready:

Culinary quote of the day

"If you don't want your hamburgers to be greasy, you're crazy. ... I don't want no damn dried-up burger."

-- Former heavyweight champ Larry Holmes, on why he dislikes the George Foreman Grill

Amen, champ!

You say it's your birthday

Tomorrow is my Mom's birthday. My Dad's birthday was last Tuesday.

Several weeks ago I promised Mom and Dad that I'd make a big homemade dinner for their birthday(s), and tonight was the night for said dinner.

What'd mes parents want for dinner ce soir? Meatloaf, mashed taters, and macaroni and cheese ... my specialties!

Friends, I wish you'd been on hand to eat a hunk o' this:

Texas Pete is oh, so ... HOT!

I've always been a big fan of Texas Pete hot sauce. Imagine my surprise when I came across a new kind o' Texas Pete in my local Publix Super Market today ... Texas Pete Hotter Hot Sauce.


I didn't really have anything to put my new hot sauce on, so I just turned the bottle up and had a nip. Then I had another nip. And then another. Before I knew it, I'd consumed about one-third of the contents of said bottle of Texas Pete. (Anyone who knows me knows I ain't kiddin'.)

Texas Pete's Hotter Hot Sauce has the same cayenne "tang" of the regular stuff, but it will give a feller's tongue one hell of a kick. I can't wait to find out what it tastes like on a foodstuff of my choice!

Twern't a bad casserole

My mother cooked a casserole tonight from a recipe that she received from a neighbor. It didn't look like much, but boy was it good. (I just wish I'd had my camera with me to take a picture.)

The recipe card my mom received said "Fireman's Casserole." Neither she nor I could figure out what the casserole had to do with fire-fighting; so when I copied the recipe, I called it "beef and tater tot casserole." Check it out ...

Beef and Tater Tot Casserole

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs ground beef
1 cup chopped white onions
1 egg
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can RO*TEL® tomatoes
1 5.5-ounce can green peas
1 cup Italian bread crumbs
3-4 cups frozen tater tots
3 cups mild cheddar cheese
Fresh ground pepper

Directions

Preheat oven to 350.

Mix ground beef, egg, onions, soup, tomatoes, peas bread crumbs, and one cup of cheese in a large mixing bowl. Pour into a deep baking dish and top with black pepper to taste.

Evenly spread tater tots over mixture and cover with aluminum foil. Place in oven and bake 40-45 minutes.

Remove casserole from oven and remove foil. Cover with remaining cheese and place in for an additional 8-10 minutes, or until cheese is completely melted.

Let stand for 5 minutes before serving.

Beer does a body good

I stopped at a local convenience store on my way home today to get me something to chew. I was in line behind a feller who was buying a lot of beer -- two twelve-packs of Bud and a six-pack of Killian's -- and two mousy gals who were buying cigs and diet sodas. As soon as the beer-buying guy exited the store, Mousy Gal 1 told Mousy Gal 2 this (and this is a di-rect quote): "Beer is so bad for you. Why would anybody drink it?"

Well, Mousy Gal 1, this is why folks like, nay, should drink beer:

"There have been a lot of stories lately about the benefits of alcohol, usually wine. But the good news is that many of those great benefits can also be had by drinking the occasional beer. That little bottle of goodness can lower your risk of cardiovascular disease, raise your good cholesterol, and reduce your risk of developing high blood pressure. There are even benefits for the elderly -- with research showing that beer can have positive effects on blood flow, sleep, and urination.

"Beer is fat free, cholesterol free, and definitely what many people consider a lot of fun to drink. Just make sure you don't go overboard, or all those "benefits" are right out the window -- with nasty stuff like liver damage and a beer gut stepping in instead."

Sausage & Stuffing sounds pretty good to me

I get a lot of unsolicited recipes, most of which I discard immediately. Today, however, I got me a recipe from the Campbell Soup Company for a "skillet sausage and stuffing," er, dish. I like stuffing, and I like sweet sausage. I really like hot sausage. Puttin' 'em all together sounds like a good thing to me.

I'm gonna make up a batch o' this pretty soon (stay tuned and you'll here about it):

Campbell's Skillet Sausage & Stuffing

Ingredients

1 lb. sweet Italian pork sausage, cut into 1" pieces
1 lb. hot Italian pork sausage, cut into 1" pieces
1 1/4 cups water *
1 medium onion, cut into wedges
1 small green pepper, cut into 2" strips
4 cups Pepperidge Farm® Herb Seasoned Stuffing

Directions

Brown sausage in skillet, 3-5 minutes. Drain fat.

Add water, onion and pepper. Heat to a boil. Cover and cook over low heat until sausage is cooked through.

Add stuffing. Mix lightly. Cover and let stand 5 min.

*For moister stuffing, increase water to 1 1/2 cups.

Mon père ♥ bratwurst

Today is my Dad's birthday. Last week, my Mom suggested that we should all go out to dinner somewhere, but Pop balked at that idea (he don't like to get out much anymore). Over the weekend, I told him I would cook him something ... anything he wanted. He said okay to that suggestion.

I called my Mom from work today to ask what I needed to pick up on my way home for Pop's birthday dinner. I figured that she'd tell me that I would need to get the necessary stuff to make lasagna, or beef stew, or spaghetti and meat sauce, or meatloaf, or country ribs, or another one of my specialties. I figured wrong.

For his big birthday dinner tonight, Pop requested grilled bratwurst -- grilled Johnsonville bratwurst, of course. I had anticipated spending a couple of hours this afternoon/evening cooking, and all I had to do was throw some brats on my gas grill, fry some onions, and toast some deli rolls (my Mom made some coleslaw and bought a big-ass bag of Lay's tater chips). Ain't it great to have a Dad who's so easy to please?!

I put some grilled onions, yellow mustard, and Sandwich Pal horseradish sauce on my grilled-brat sammich. Oh, it was gooooood. Check it out:

Le taureau rouge n'est pas bon

The French government is looking for any excuse it can find to ban the sale of Red Bull. I say, "Good for them." I've had one Red Bull, and it made me want to wretch. How anyone can drink that crap is beyond me. I think the Frogs are on to something:

"In April this year, Austrian Energy drink producer Red Bull finally gained access to the French market. However, entry was subject to the removal of taurine from its drinks. Instead, Red Bull decided to use arginine.

"Prior to April, France’s food safety agency AFSSA did not authorise the sale of Red Bull’s products due to the lack of knowledge regarding the long term effects of taurine on the human body. However, France had to accept the product’s entry as no scientific evidence on its 'noxious effects' could be brought forward by the competent authorities.

"On Wednesday, France’s health minister Roselyne Bachelot informed the media that France is monitoring Red Bull beverages very closely and as soon as solid proof is provided, the state will ban sales of the energy drink."

In Red Bull's defense, I will say this: I think it's ironic that a nation which prides itself on the number of stinky, unpasteurized cheeses it produces is all head-up over an energy drink that's mostly caffeine.

Lovin' Loretta's chicken 'n' dumplins

One of my all time favorite meals is chicken and dumplins. And by dumplins I mean strip dumplins cooked in chicken broth (like my Granny Ruby used to make), not Bisquick biscuits cooked in cream of mushroom soup.

Earlier today, I was given a copy of Loretta Lynn's You're Cookin' It Country cookbook. I flipped through the book and landed on Loretta's recipe for chicken and dumplins. I told the gift-giver, "I can tell you what's gonna be on the menu at Chez Allison tonight: chicken and dumplins. 'Bout ten minutes later I headed out to my local grocery to pick up a big frying hen.

I was very pleased with how my chicken and dumplins turned out (even though I did forget to stir in the cream). I'm already lookin' forward to eating the leftovers tomorrow night!

Loretta Lynn's Chicken & Dumplins

Ingredients

1 large fat hen
3 garlic cloves, crushed
Salt and pepper

3 cups self-rising flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup water
1 egg, beaten
6 to 8 cups chicken broth
One-half cup cream

Directions

In a large pot simmer the hen with the garlic in water for two hours. Add additional water as needed.

Drain the hen, reserving the broth.

Cut into pieces and discard the bones.

For the dumplings, in a large bowl, sift together the flour and salt. Gradually add the water. Stir in the egg.

Knead the dough thoroughly and roll out onto a floured surface. Cut the dough into strips.

Bring the chicken broth to a boil and drop the dough into the boiling broth.
Cover and simmer for about 10 minutes.

Add the cream and chicken pieces and simmer for 5 to 10 minutes longer.

J'aime le porc!

I have a gas grill and I wouldn't take $1,000 for it. It don't take no time at all for it to heat up, and it can cook a burger or steak that will make you want to write home and/or slap your pappy.

Now, my grill ain't a Hank Hill-style gas grill, i.e., a propane grill; instead, it's hooked up to the local natural gas line. So it is - and always will be - a permanent fixture in my backyard.

I've been having some problems with my grill recently. It'll pre-heat just fine, but then it will go out completely. Since homey don't play around with gas line, homey gets real nervous when he has to keep re-lighting his grill.

I had a pork loin that either needed to be cooked or frozen, so I decided to throw it on the grill tonight. Of course, the grill went out. I decided to just throw the pork loin on the grill and see how cooked-through it would be after about, oh, 30 minutes.

I pre-heated my oven to 300 before I fetched my pork loin from the grill. I fully anticipated - nay, I expected - that it would need some extra cookin' before it could be served. How wrong I was.

There's been a lot of pork products to come off of my grill over the years. The pork loin I cooked tonight is one of the best things -- if not the best thing -- I've ever cooked in my backyard. Not only did it develop an incredible crust whilst slow-cooking for a half-hour, it had juice to spare after it'd rested for 10 minutes.

I bet you wish that you'd been at Chez Joltin' Django to get you some of this:

Go to Stroud's. You'll be glad you did

If I ever find myself in the Twilight Zone having to choose a single meat which I will have to eat for the rest of my life, I will choose pork -- specifically smoked pork shoulder, aka barbeque.  I would dare say that there are at least two dozen people currently walking this earth who've heard me say, "If I could eat BBQ every day, I would be the happiest SOB in history when I die," collectively, 'bout a million times.  And that ain't no exaggeration.
 
I get plum giddy whenever I see a new BBQ joint opening.  Right after Christmas last year , I spied a "Coming Soon: Stroud's Barbeque" sign on a little brick building just off I-24 in LaVergne.  I didn't know a damn thing about Stroud's when I spied the sign, but I said to myself when I seen it, "A non-Whitt's BBQ restaurant close to my home?  I will be eatin' there when it opens!" I did eat at Stroud's just after it opened in March, and, unfortunately, I wasn't real impressed.
 
One of the reasons that I hate the above-mentioned Whitt's is that it is too dry. I can't prove it, but I suspect that the reason the meat's dry is because too much fat is removed from the pork shoulders from whence it comes prior to being smoked. The very first time I swallowed a bite of 'que Stroud's, I thought, "This is just like Whitt's! No fat, and no juice!" And I vowed never to go back.

Well, so much for vows. I had to go to a wedding on Saturday, and the individuals with whom I attended said wedding - mes parents - simply insisted that we stop at Stroud's after the ceremony. My parents ordered up a pound of 'que, and I got me a pulled-pork sandwich. (I wasn't about to turn down free food when offered).

I didn't unwrap my sandwich until I got home ... 'bout two hours later. After I unwrapped it and put it on a plate, I lifted the bun and gave the meat a good stare. Not only was the meat glistening with juice, I could see little bits of smoked skin in it -- neither of which I noticed the first time I ate at Stroud's.


After I'd applied a good dose of Stroud's hot BBQ sauce to my sandwich, I grabbed it with my both hands and took a bite. This is what I said aloud, to no one in particular: "Man, this is some good barbeque!" And it was good, indeed. The meat was smoky and it was juicy and, by God, I wish I was eatin' some of it right now. I don't have the slightest clue as to what Stroud's did to improve the quality of their pork between my first and latest visit, but whatever they did ... I applaud them for it.

Next time you're craving some good 'que, go to Stroud's. You'll be glad you did.

Sloppy Joe ... Slop, Sloppy Joe

During a recent conversation with my ami Josh, I happened to mention that Sloppy Joe sandwiches were a once-a-week feature at the family dinner table when I was a kid.

I told Josh that I had not had a Sloppy Joe in years; and I also told him that I probably wouldn't be eating a Sloppy Joe in the near future 'cause ... this was my exact quote: "There's just something wrong with browning quality ground beef and sullying it with a can of sodium-sauce."

Well, it ain't gonna be too long before I have me a Sloppy Joe sandwich. I just got me a recipe for Sloppy Joes from my buddy Josh, which he says comes courtesy of his grandma. (He also says his grandma's Sloppy Joes are - his words - better than chocolate.)

It'll be this weekend, at the earliest, before I get a chance to try my bud's Sloppy Joe recipe. Rest assured, I'll give you a heads-up on this thang when I cook it:

Josh's Grandma's Sloppy Joes

Ingredients

1 pound ground beef
1 small white onion, diced
1 green bell pepper, diced
Salt and pepper (to taste)
1 can tomato sauce
1/2 cup ketchup
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
Hamburger buns, split and toasted

Directions

In a large skillet, brown meat over medium heat. Drain.

Return meat to skillet. Add onion and bell pepper. Season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring frequently, until vegetables are softened, 3-4 minutes.

Stir tomato sauce, ketchup, and Worcestershire sauce into beef mixture in skillet. Lower heat and simmer until thickened, stirring occasionally, 8-10 minutes. Season with more salt and pepper, as desired.

Spoon onto buns and serve immediately.

I'm coo-coo for burgoo

One of the best dang restaurants on the entire planet is Moonlite Bar-B-Q in Owensboro, Kentucky. The specialty at Moonlite is burgoo stew. What's burgoo, you ask? I'll let the folks at Slashfood tell you 'bout it:

"Burgoo is a traditional Kentucky stew of multiple meats (at least three) and a bounty of veggies simmered down for hours until they break down to a uniform consistency. The standard sentiment is that if you can still make out an okra pod or slice of carrot, keep cooking 'cause it ain't burgoo yet -- but as the dish is usually made in such massive quantities (we're talking GALLONS), most regular utensils will just sink down into the mire. So - what's a burgoo chef to do? Well, many Kentucky restaurants rely on 2x4 studs, and folks at community cookouts and church festivals often use rakes to stir the stuff while perched above on chairs as they tend giant pots set over open wood fires. The flavor and texture are said to be reminiscent of mulligan stew, and my North Carolina born husband swears it's a kissing cousin to Brunswick stew, but the guests at our yearly Kentucky Derby soiree have taken to calling it 'The Liquid Meat.' That is, when their mouths aren't crammed full of the 'goo."

Read the rest here.

UPDATE: Tennessee Crossroads -- my very favorite in-production television program -- did a story on Moonlite Bar-B-Q a few months back. Check it out here.

An honest pint is getting harder to find

I will never forget the time - 'bout, oh, five years ago - when a buddy and I were in a hotel bar in Atlanta. We ordered two pints of Guinness. When it took us both about four swallows each to drink the things, we started examining our glasses. The glasses had half-inch thick bottoms, and the sides of each glass were pretty thick as well. We cursed the bar, paid for our two overpriced beers, and then went to a bar near Turner Field -- a bar that, much to our delight, served Guinness in traditional pint glasses.

I couldn't help but think about that trip to Atlanta when I read this in the Wall Street Journal:

"Some restaurants have replaced 16-ounce pint glasses with 14 ouncers -- a type of glassware one bartender called a 'falsie.' ...

"Two of the world's biggest glassware makers, Libbey and Cardinal International, say orders of smaller beer glasses have risen over the past year. Restaurateurs 'want more of a perceived value,' says Mike Schuster, Libbey's marketing manager for glassware in the U.S. Glasses with a thicker bottom or a thicker shaft help create the perception. 'You can increase the thickness of the bottom part but still retain the overall profile,' he says.

"Dedicated beer drinkers are fighting back, with extra vigilance about exactly how much beer they get for their buck. They are protesting 'cheater pints' and "profit pours" by outing alleged offenders on Web discussion boards and plugging bars that maintain 16-ounce pints, in hopes peer pressure will prevail. And they are spreading the word about how to spot the smaller glass (the bottom is thicker).

"Jason Alstrom, who founded the magazine BeerAdvocate last year, calls it the 'Less for More' phenomenon. 'It's happening everywhere,' he says. He is urging readers and users of his Web site, www.beeradvocate.com, to 'raise a fist and refuse to pay' when served a skimpy pint."

Read the entire article here.

There's giraffe-kabobs, giraffe creole, giraffe gumbo. There's pineapple giraffe, lemon giraffe ...

Considering that I've eaten some crazy crap over the years (raccoon, rattlesnake, alligator, calf's brains, boiled and fried chitlins, mountain oysters, etc.), I don't think I'd have any problem trying me some giraffe meat. Plus, I would not have to worry about offending יהוה whilst satisfying my giraffe tooth ...

"An Israeli rabbi has declared giraffe meat and milk to be kosher, although his pronouncement is unlikely to have observant Jews clamouring to consume the exotic products, a daily reported on Friday.

"'The giraffe has all the signs of a ritually pure animal, and the milk forms curds, which strengthened that view,' the mass-circulation Yediot Aharonot quoted Rabbi Shlomo Mahfoud as saying.

"The rabbi based his ruling on a recent finding by researchers from Bar Ilan University who took a milk sample while treating a giraffe at Ramat Gan safari park near Tel Aviv.

"They found that the milk forms curds as required under Jewish religious law, a finding confirmed by another research institute, the daily said.

"Giraffe meat is also considered ritually pure because the animal has a cloven hoof and chews the cud.

"'Indeed, the giraffe is kosher for eating,' said Mahfoud, who was present when the researchers made their finding."

Reckon what giraffe tastes like? Chicken ...?!

Con-dee-ments!

I can certainly relate to this story (I'm pretty sure my bon ami Mr. Jimmy can, too):

"I collect condiments the way other people collect rare books or unusual stamps. I'm always on the lookout for interesting mustards, regional mayonnaise (the trip out to Lancaster County a few weeks ago introduced me to Duke's), funky hot sauces or ethnic flavor enhancers (that bottle of Kecap Manis is an Indonesian condiment I fell in love with the summer I spent in that country. Dark, sticky and sweet, it has no relation to ketchup and is amazing with chicken and rice).

"The problem with my condiment collection is that I'm also something of a hoarder. The condiments come in, but rarely do they go out again. I dole them out, horrified at the idea of using the more exotic ones up, because what if I can't find them again?"

My kitchen is full of mustards and hot sauces that I've collected during my travels. I don't have anything from as far away as Indonesia, but I did pick up an incredible Mexican hot sauce in Belize a few years back from which I will not eat more than three drops at a time. Because, like Ms. McClellan asks: What if I can't ever find it again?

Oh, did you notice the shout-out to Duke's mayonnaise? I'm tellin' you ... it's the best damn mayo in the whole U.S. of A.

Now Heath this, A Man's Gotta Eat readers ...

Yours truly don't have sweet tooth. Except for the 2-3 Coca-Colas I drink each day, I rarely consume anything in which sugar is a major ingredient. If and when I do have a hankerin' for something sweet, however, I usually head to my local Dairy Queen for a Blizzard -- a Blizzard that's been mixed with a big bunch of bits from a Heath candy bar.

Now, when it's hot outside, there's nothing - and I mean nothing - that tastes better than a DQ Heath-bar Blizzard. It was hot as hell in Nashville today; and since I didn't eat lunch, I stopped at my local DQ for a large Blizzrd with hunks o' Heath. Oh, my, it was good!

All that said, I encourage any and all Blizzard fans to visit the Blizzard Fan Club Web site. If'n you're willing to enter your e-mail address and your date of birth on said Web site, you'll receive a coupon for a free small Blizzard 'bout a week before your birthday. Go on and do the thing ... you'll be glad you did.

My first Litheranian beer

I stopped at my local liquor store today to pick up some white wine for cookin' purposes. I passed the cooler in which high-alcohol beers are chilled, and I did a double-take when I spied bottles of Lobster Lovers Beer. I simply couldn't pass up a beer with such an intriguing name.

I'll be honest: I've never been a big fan of high-alcohol beers. (Not malt liquor-style high-alcohol beer, mind you. I'm talking about the kind of beers you can only purchase in a liquor store.) Every last one I've ever consumed has had a metallic aftertaste. Lobster Lovers is no different. It has a hop-heavy taste with hints of fruit (it is an ale, after all). The lingering taste on my tongue after each swallow, however, was like what I would expect if I licked the inside of an aluminum can.

Cool label ... and I enjoyed the novelty of drinking a beer from Lithuania. But I won't be drinking Lobster Lovers Beer again.

Eatin' a Junior Whopper in Shelb'ville

Long 'bout 11:45 this morning, ma mère -- who was hungry and needed to make use of a WC -- and I made a lunchtime pit-stop at the Burger King® in Shelbyville, Tennessee three-quarters of the way into our journey to Fayetteville, Tennessee (to see my Great Aunt Caroline and my Great Aunt Dorothy).

My mother had a chicken sandwich; I had a Whopper Junior. We split a large order of French fries. Here's my 'pinion 'bout the meal:

I'm not exaggerating when I tell you this: Prior to today, the last time I dined in/consumed food from a Burger King was Fall 1995 -- right before my Best Bud Bruce and I seen Drivin' 'N' Cryin' perform at 328 Performance Hall in Nashville.

Thirteen years since I last ate at Burger King ... and I have to say that I've been missin' out. Sure, the burger patty I ate was on the thin side, but it tasted like something that'd come off a backyard - charcoal - grill. The fries weren't bad, either. Indeed, they were every bit as crisp on the outside, and tender on the inside, as McDonald's much-ballyhooed fast food fries.

I don't eat fast food hamburgers very often. I can tell you this, however, with a great deal of certainty: it ain't gonna be another 13 years before I dine at a Burger King restaurant again. Fo' sho'.