My Friday Night

I look forward to Friday nights, there is always a ripple of rebirth and youth in the air, the marking of the end of a stressfully laborious week and the start of a regenerating and coveted weekend. The odd thing is, I never do anything on Friday nights these days, yet feelings of anticipation still hover over me like so much mayonnaise on a club sandwich. This powerful Friday night intoxication stems back a few decades and seems well ingrained in me now.

Back in South Florida my friends and I would gather at a strip of beach known as DOUBLE ROADS and we would toast the Friday night blood red sunset with cold pony keg beer and warm Jack Daniels whiskey, shots pulled from found whelk shells. We would eat wonderfully greasy Wild Boar, butter poached Alligator tail or freshly caught Grouper that had been simmered in rolled foil - cooked on an open air beach fire. In our gastronomic frivolity we would heatedly debate such crucial topics as who served the best conch fritters in town and what was the greatest album of all time. To this day I stand by my answers, THE GREENHOUSE on Singer Island and TV EYE by Iggy and the Stooges (but EXILE ON MAIN STREET by The Rolling Stones is a very close second). It's funny though, I consider the concept of the greatest album to be an objective 'obvious' point and the food question to be quite subjective. Strange that I see one black & white while I see the other as colorful as a edible flower salad.

But all this got me thinking; what would the greatest album of all time "food" equivalent be? Would it be pate de foie gras? Wagyu beef? sliced Fugu? Or something more peasant in nature, like an elementary slab of slow smoked bacon? Would it be as simple as an ingredient or as complex as a prepared dish? Could I nail it down as pat as I did with the album debate? Sadly, no - I think there are just too many variables involved with such a momentous decision. It's a conundrum that is most likely sparking debate over fishy shots of Jack Daniels everywhere this Friday night - and one that poses no forthcoming answer.

Screw it - Weekends are for chasing that food grail with a pitchfork in one hand and a steak knife in the other, not jawing about it. This is a big city with a million opportunities to start a greatest food search. I think I'll let the drug of past Friday nights find a fresh vein tonight and venture out to experience a new flavor.
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My Friday Night Favorite:
Caribbean Heat Conch Meat Soup

Saute in butter/olive oil:
fine chopped stock celery, 1/2 chopped onion, 1/2 green chopped bell pepper, 1 clove minced garlic & 2 TBS chopped parsley
Add:
3 cups Coconut Water*
1 bottle clam juice
2 cups chicken broth
1 TBS lemon juice
24" stalk of LemonGrass cut into 4" pieces
4 dry whole Arbol Chilies
1 TBS chopped Cilantro
chopped heads of 4 Bok Choy
Daikon root - diced into small cubes
1 cup oyster mushrooms
1 TSP crushed red pepper flakes
3 TBS rub + pepper + salt to taste

-Simmer all 40 minutes uncovered then add shelled shrimp and cook 2 more minutes.
Add: small pieces of a fresh raw white fleshed fish, 1 cup cooked chopped Conch Meat (or octopus) and
bring to boil, quickly remove from heat and serve - Garnish with thin sliced lime pieces and parsley.
Be sure to place a whole chili pepper from the pot in each bowl
Even better the next day, so I usually make it on a Thursday.

*To make COCONUT WATER using canned Coconut Milk:
- start with 1/2 cup coconut milk & add spring water (tap water is unacceptable) to equal 2 cups.
thicker flavor: 3/4 cup can milk to 2 1/2 cups water

FAT TUESDAY, SKINNY CHICKEN and HOT JAMBALAYA

It's Fat Tuesday and I have a hankering for all things Creole. Yesterday I made my skinny chicken stew, that means today the anemic bird will hit the jambalaya pot.
What's that now? What's a skinny chicken? Well, It's the rock bottom of the poultry offerings at my local market - the least expensive Chicken in a lineup of three different whole birds.
First you have your name brand chicken, plump and cream colored, free of hormones and broken bones, officially labeled and lovingly Government approved. But not cheap. Next you have the supermarket chain chicken, a fatty swollen gristle of a bird that gives off a perfect hepatitis glow. It is salt water injected, hormone fattened and crudely butchered. It too is officially labeled and lovingly Government approved and costs a little less than the Brand name bird. THEN you have the skinny chicken, a scrawny wretch of a fowl with questionable origins, bones that protrude in impossible ways and a color that resembles a New York Taxi cab. It comes wrapped in kitchen grade cellophane on a gray styrofoam tray - free of pesky information labels and Government grades. It costs about as much as a dented can of peas and smells like a can of warm beans. When cooked any other way than at a slow boil, the meat is akin to gas station jerky - but boil it low and slow and it turns to a heavenly piece of chicken perfection. THIS is the x-rated bird of Colonel Sander's sick dreams! The skinny chicken also makes an unbelievable pot of chicken broth and an even better Fat Tuesday meal.

Which brings me to the star this rant, Jambalaya, the paella of the South.
One pot dinners reign supreme down in Louisiana, and everyone makes a signature jambalaya. I learned the secrets to a good pot of jambalaya while living on the fringe of the French Quarter many years ago. New Orleans locals will tell you that there is no absolute one way to make jambalaya… but there are, as they will firmly enlighten you, many wrong ways. Most of those wrong ways have to do with leaving things out. The worst thing you can do is leave out the holy trinity - I'm talking of course about the trinity of celery, onion and bell pepper, the nucleus of most Cajun one pot dishes. Without this vegetable essence there can be no Jambalaya, no Gumbo, not even Red Beans and Rice.

But what about using canned tomatoes? Sunday's turkey leftovers? Barnacle scrapings from the skiff? All fair game for the jambalaya pot as long as the holy trinity graces the stock and blesses the meal. It's law. And one of the few laws that I make a point to never break - I'm all for radical outsiderness and experimental prowess but some things are best not screwed with, period. The holy trinity is one.

Around here jambalaya was known as the Hang-over pot. Oh, the wonders of the day-after refrigerator clean-out jambalaya. I've been know to make Lobster and sushi fish jambalaya, leftovers from a drunken blind date gone horribly wrong the night before - the date sucked but the jambalaya killed. Enough so that I'd do that train wreck of a date again, just for the excuse of making another pot of the decadent laden treat.

But today it's skinny chicken and fat shrimp, a juicy link of andouille sausage and a bag of frozen okra. Thus the party begins. This is my quick and easy version, a one pot treat that can be handled with ease even under the most severe hangover status. True, purists will argue that the only way to make a perfect jambalaya (given that you already have your Holy Trinity in place) is with a homemade chicken stock. But sometimes it is just not practical to slow boil a pot of chicken and vegetables for half a day - thus the canned broth comes into play. I prefer to use a low sodium, msg free broth - there are several organic 'box' broths out there that have a nice skinny chicken flavor to them. Just follow the core of this recipe and dump in whatever leftover meat graces your refrigerator. Be sure to make up the Seasoning mix and store it in an empty spice jar, it'll come in handy for recipes I'll post in the near future.

Oh, it's gonna be a good day. My neck is laden with cheap candy-colored beads and Dr. John is hexing my ipod. Now all I need is a plastic-baby King Cake and a six-pack of cold Dixie Beer. Laissez les bon temps rouler!


SWAMPY'S 'LEFTOVER MEAT & THE KITCHEN SINK' JAMBALAYA

Damn easy & bullet proof. EVEN BETTER the next day...

In large deep pan (make sure you can add a lid to it later), brown chopped sausage - drain (Andouille Sausage is recommended).
Remove sausage and add 2 tbs. butter and saute minced garlic (3 cloves) and chopped onion (one small) until tender.

Add chopped green and red bell pepper (half a pepper each), diced celery (2 stalks), chopped green onion (about 2) and chopped fresh parsley (3 tbs.) and saute until wilted.

Add spices (cayenne pepper, hot sauce, 3 tbs. 'skeeter' seasoning (see below), 1 tbs. thyme and about a tsp of salt), add 2 medium bay leaves, 2 tbs. lemon juice, 1 can chopped peeled tomatoes, an 8 oz can tomato sauce, stir and cook over medium heat 8 minutes. Check your seasoning and add hot pepper as needed.

Add the browned sausage, leftover cooked chicken (skin removed, cut into small pieces), raw shrimp (shelled), 1 cup cubed fresh raw catfish fillet (NOT catfish pieces or "balls") and 1 bag of frozen cut okra (or 1 can of sliced okra, drained). Add a 14.5 oz. can chicken broth and 1 cup of white rice. Stir, cover, bring to boil and simmer 30 minutes until rice is done.

Don't open the lid during the cooking time and remember to remove the bay leafs before serving. Be sure to put a bottle of Louisiana Hot Sauce table side.

SKEETER SEASONING - THE SEASONING OF THE SOUTH
all dry powder herbs:
3 tbs. granulated garlic (NOT salt)
3 tbs. granulated onion (NOT salt)
2 tbs. celery salt
1 tbs. thyme
1 tbs. paprika
1 tsp. white pepper

HAPPINESS IS A 40 PROOF MELON ON A 90 DEGREE DAY

The heat has made me restless, thirsty and irritable. Not the 'water' kind of thirsty but the Big Daddy Dino kind of thirsty. The 'Fill my glass and let's get gassed' kind of thirsty. Weekends were made for beating the heat and I can think of no better way to bring my cranky, restless, thirsty ass back to an even keel than with a Sunday tango behind the bar. Yes, it's cocktail hour here at the playground - and I think I have a Rum Watermelon itch that needs a scratch.



This was my thing in school, I was the Rum Watermelon guy. If you were having a dorm party, you called me and ordered one. If you were having a protest in the park, you called me and I brought one. If you needed to smuggle alcohol into an event, you came by and we poured one into Planter's Punch bottles. It was what I did. It has been many years since I last made one of these nasty brain bombs - but my ingredient list is still crisp and legible on the back of that stripper's business card and It brought back a flood of memories (of both of them to be honest). For me, there is something playfully exotic about this green and red Molotov Cocktail of a drink that cannot be denied. With excitement, I gathered up the ingredients and had a go at my (once famous) rum watermelon.


If you are following along at home
first gather up what you'll need in advance, last minute store-runs really suck when you have an open bottle of Rum calling to you. I usually start with a nice fat large watermelon - seeds be damned, you won't have to deal with them - this is a drinker, not a chewer melon. 2 Oranges, a lime, an 8 oz can of sliced Pineapple, a small jug of Hawaiian Punch and An island distilled bottle of white Rum (and a couple of extra shots of Spiced Rum) will round out the must-haves on your ingredient list. The Tiki glass (and Flamingo swizzle stick) is just Gravy on the Pork.

Start by cutting a nice soup ladle sized hole on the top of the melon. This is going to be a replaceable top, like a pumpkin at Halloween, so cut it at a slight angle. Scoop out all of the red flesh and dump it into a large 2 Gallon zip lock baggy. Now stomp the crap out of the bag, the idea is to extract the juice from the watermelon (okay, use a juicer if you got it). Now we're ready to make the king of lazy summer drinks.

Pour enough Rum to fill just over 1/4 of the melon core. Next, fill another 1/4 of the melon with Hawaiian Punch and 1/4 with the juice of the watermelon itself. Now squeeze the juice from the lime and the juice from 1 and 1/2 oranges into the watermelon core. Finally pour in the juice from the can of Pineapple slices and stir it all well - adjusting the Rum as needed (here's where I always add a couple of shots.. ah-hum, 3 or 4 shots of SPICED rum to the mix). Slice the remaining 1/2 Orange, cut those slices in halves and dump them in. Do the same with the pineapple slices. Time to seal her up and let her chill. Replace the top and light that old stick of sealing wax you have in the junk drawer - yea, I guess you can use red candles but it won't seal as well - maybe I should have led off with this - now you'll have to go to the store with an open bottle of Rum right there calling to you. Oh well, you'll live. After it's sealed, slap a Rum label on the front (it's just good advertising) and place the melon in the refrigerator to chill 2 hours. Remove, carry it down to a friends house and crack the seal. Ladle it up into Tiki Glasses and and toast to my sweet forgotten stripper friend.



...Face it, I've made a big deal over a small show - because this is just a novelty act, a monkey on a tightrope with two yellow umbrellas and a big red poka-dot tie. But don't let the cheesy carnival facade and the gritty roadside glam of this beast totally fool you, it packs a mean punch (pun intended). Sure, the sweet fruity bouquet plays on the tongue like so much teenager sangria. But it's a fools poker move to let your guard down and begin swilling this kiddy matinee concoction. It'll sneak up on you like a bloody hangnail and hammer you into next week.

So why did I make it? Or more importantly - why the hell will I drink it? Because this drink is my day in the tropics, a gentle offshore breeze and another carefree day in paradise. And like an island vacation, it's time I went. Just for today (and be damned with tomorrow), it's time I went.

Matt and I doing the Rum Watermelon thing in school MANY years ago - notice the high tech 'pour spout' we plugged into the side of the melon!

Beer, Politics and the Budding of America

Yea, I stay on top of current events. In these mid-apocalyptic times it's as important as a forceful flossing after a tasty rack of pig ribs. And like you, I was caught up in the 'Beer Wars' of this weeks 'Beer Summit' in Washington. And I thought "sure", Obama had no other choice but to drink a Budweiser product. It was obvious. Case closed. Then my Neighbor Bob walked up to our (way too low) fence, threw up his fist and said, "Damn Obama, what's he got against the Most American Beer we have, Samual Adams, Huh?" Crap. I hate when politics enters the back yard; it really spoils the 'vacation vibe' I try to maintain out here. So I politely told him to take his hate to the front yard and we'd hash it out. He never showed (probably because I got busy scrubbing the grill grate and forgot all about meeting him, sorry Bob).

But Bob had a point: Samual Adams IS a true American Beer, not only brewed here but it also bears the name of a great American Hero (do I need to say his name again?). And the Boston Beer Company, its parent group, is the second-largest American-owned brewery. But there's a problem--it's a bit pricy. It reflects the middle class, not the struggling man and the daily drinker like myself. It's not found in greasy drive-up taco stands and back room juke-joints. No, the President needed a cheaper beer to fill the void of the classes. But that's not the only hurdle... There's the little problem of the war between the States. North vs South. Yes, it is only spoken of in hushed tones, and like a mutant baby, it is kept locked in the cellar - but yes Virginia, there is a rivalry still festering there - and that's where the the beer choice wars really turn nasty.

Northerners in the East drink their Yuengling & Rolling Rock, and in the West their Sierra Nevada - and in Texas their Shiner Bock, but none of these have any appeal to the Southerners. No sir, they don't want that 'Cold Mountain Water' crap. They refuse to buy into the rhetoric of RedHook, the Hipster duffas brew. They are distrustful of the 'Boston Beer Company' moniker on the Sam Adams label. They shudder at the trendy 'Alehouses' (Pyramid Breweries) and 'Cream Ales' (High Falls Brewing) and 'Hefewiezens'. They just want a good 'ole Red White & Blue cold-ass no-frills, cheap-as-gutter-water and easy-to-find-as-my-shotgun beer damn-it.

Cut through the clutter and only ONE beer can appease an entire Country, and that's Budweiser. It's offered EVERYWHERE. From Alaskan Truck stops to Baja taco stands, From Southern tire stores to Northern chainsaw outlets. It's in 96% of all boat coolers and 50% of all school children's back packs (okay, I made that last statistic up). It dominates the stands at NASCAR and it flows from the taps at Miley Cyrus concerts. It is the athlete's foot of beers, and it's here to stay.

But maybe I'm wrong and its NOT a matter of Social Economic North & South Political Correctness. Maybe the President just chose Bud Light because he's just a Bud light kinda guy. I don't know. But I do know Bob spends too much time obsessing about it.

Budweiser Label from the year Bonnie & Clyde were killed.
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I only do one Recipe with Budweiser Beer, but I do it well.

BUDWEISER BEER STEAK (King Of Pan Steaks)

1/2 can Budweiser Beer
2 TBS Apple Cider Vinegar
2 TBS Fresh Orange Juice
2 TBS granulated Garlic (or 2 cloves minced)
2 TBS fresh chopped Cilantro
1 TSP Dijon Mustard
1 TSP Soy Sauce
1 TSP Worcestershire Sauce
1 TSP Honey
1/2 TSP Sripacha Hot Sauce (I love this stuff)
2 dashes Louisiana Hot Sauce
Black Pepper

- Pour all the ingredients into a pan on the stove top. Heat to a boil, reduce heat and cook 8 minutes, stirring often. Remove from heat and let fully cool to room temperature. Pour into a large plastic Zip Lock Bag and add your steak (a cheap cut will do well, as the marinade will tenderize as well as pack great flavor into it). Now just let it chill in the marinade overnight.
Grill your steak as usual and let the taste-buds do the food dance!

INVASION OF THE MEAT BEES - my red foot wore a yellow jacket

It should have been a simple walk out across the grass just a few feet from the patio (to grab a neighbors poorly thrown doggie ball) and back again before retreating to cocktails and refreshing shade. The Bastard got me before I even got a third step down. The books call him a Vespid pest, or yellowjacket. Here we call them Meat Bees or Mackerel Bees. They sting like a son-of-a-bitch. Jimmy buffet ain't got nothing on my filp-flop blow out this day, the sting site ballooned to the size of a half dollar and felt like a red hot branding iron on an open cold sore. The scary part is he was not alone. I looked around and suddenly saw the grass was alive with these bastards. The were silently hovering less than an inch over the dry grass that was pot marked by fallen & rotting purple Jacaranda flowers. It was the rancid sweet nectar of the flower bud they were seeking, I was a mere casualty of the feeding frenzy. My yard had become a mine field and I never saw it coming.

I had deep concern because Yellowjackets are more than just your run-of-the-mill lawn 'nuisance' bug, Yellowjackets are notorious for their aggressiveness, often grouping in large numbers when provoked and taking farm equipment and machinery 'hostage' when the operator ventures too close to their territory. Just the sound of lawn tools will anger and provoke a swarm of these black & yellow bastards and they WILL attack. Unlike the common house bee, these nasty devils don't die after stinging - they just pull out, turn, and charge you again - often resulting in repeated stings. And it only takes 60-70 stings to kill a healthy human, not a far fetched number when you figure that each hive can contain up to 300 workers on the job at any given time. But wait, it gets worse! Entomologists are now warning of a new far more aggressive species of these bastards making the rounds in Southern California, a nasty North European Yellowjacket that is much more belligerent and quicker to sting than it's American cousin - with or without provocation, it doesn't care. This new strain of yellowjacket is particularly frightening when you realize that it has a hive that can produce up to 6,000 workers a season. There is even a recent case on record where a horse died of their Vespid venom after running into one of these hell-spawned yellow swarms.

So why are they called 'Meat Bees'? Because they eat meat, pure and simple. Actually these devils also feed on sugars, proteins and carbohydrates but most often are found feeding from the carcass of a dead animal or picking at a dead fish at a lake's edge. I've personally had trouble keeping them away from fresh cut Mackerel bait during fishing trips up at Quail Lake. They have been known to attack and kill mice for food, as well as other small animals and insects. But they could also just as easily be called 'Sugar Bees', as they will target soft drinks, beer cans, orange juice and any other sweet based drinks. Many high schools here have reported problems with Yellowjackets, mostly due to the fact school trash bins are littered with soda cans and citrus drink containers (and beer cans from after school activities I'm sure). Or in the case of my lawn, sweet flowers. Yet another reason to hate the Jacaranda tree (because the fact they ruined the paint on my car just wasn't enough).

So what now? Time to build a damn Mackerel Bee Trap, that's what - Follow along now, you may need this someday. I started with a green liter plastic soda bottle (yes, I see the irony), and I cut a large hole into the side of it. I filled the bottom with 6 inches of water and added 5 drops of dish soap to 'slick' the top of the water (The soapy water weakens the surface tension so they quickly sink). I then hung a small can of fish based cat food (with 4 large holes punched in the bottom of it) about 1/2" above the water - a string running from the can to the top of the bottle then tied to a stick should hold the can in place (A hunk of Turkey or Ham can be used in place of the cat food). I then hung this entire contraption from a tree in the yard (after putting shoes on) - The idea is that the Yellowjacket will enter the bottle and start feeding from the bottom of the cat food can - gorge himself on my dime and then fall into the water and sting me no more. That's the theory anyway, time will tell.

Next move? I say a dollop of calamine lotion, a shot of Bourbon and a marinate for my dinner chicken with the GD Sweet Meat Bee in mind. With Honey as a base, I came up with this Grilled Red Honey chicken, perfect for boneless skinless Chicken - be sure to reserve some of the marinade for basting during the grill process, and maybe a tablespoon or two for a nice red (spicy) plate drizzle.


RED HONEY CHICKEN

1/4 cup Olive Oil
1/3 cup Wild Honey
1/3 cup reduced sodium Soy Sauce
1" piece fresh Ginger (minced fine)
1 TBS ground Achiote powder
1 TSP ground Chipotle Chili Pepper

- I chose Achiote powder to give the sauce the nice deep red look of a BBQ Sauce (a reflection of the sting site) and an earthy chili / pepper flavor- I love this stuff, so versatile and very easy to find here in L.A.. Small packages of ground Achiote (packaged in 79 cent EL GUAPO packets) hang from the Mexican spice racks in most major grocery stores - I got mine from Ralphs. The ground Chipotle Chili pepper maybe a little harder to find, but worth the search - a must-have to impart a nice smoky bite to the sauce (and reflect the actual sting in a pleasanter way). I was able to get a 2.35 oz bottle from the Hot Pepper store at the Fairfax Farmers Market (Pacific Natural Spice Brand). The wild honey was locally collected.
The only problem I have now is getting out the back door and over to the grill with a platter of sweet marinated raw chicken without drawing attention to myself... Damn those Sweet loving, Meat eating Bastards!

IF A BLOG FALLS ON A HOUSE IN THE WOODS, IS ANYONE HOME TO READ IT?

- I don't know, could be like kicking sand into a sink hole, this whole Blog idea. What the hell, I figure I'd give it a shot and see where it landed. At the worst I'd have a petty diary of the time spent in the moment - a captured breath of my history as it were. At the best I'll meet a few like minds and learn a few new tricks along the way. It's also an exercise in stick-to-it-ness, can my short attention span go the long haul of a blog? As long as alcohol remains in the house and the spell check continues to correct my dyslexic 'all thumbs' typing, I don't see why not. Thus it begins...

These notes flow from just a little left of the center of Los Angeles, a tiny spot somewhere between "I wish I lived in that beautiful house' and 'lock your doors, we're coming to a stop light'. It's rented which suits me fine (for now) as I'm not the do-it-yourself kinda guy. I once owned and for the last few years I had a broken oven that I never got around to fixing. Mice moved in through the bottom and it soon became a big metal container that held one small cheap wooden mouse trap. I sucked as my own landlord. Now I rent. And I once again enjoy the comforts of crisp food from an oven.

They say Los Angeles is a state of mind, and if true, then I have lost my mind. This is a land without a central nerve system - like a jellyfish in a vat of aloe, it seems to aimlessly exist. Now I don't mean that in a purely negative way, I just mean it feels so displaced and spread out that central social centers and 'main streets' are nothing more than urban legends brought here from other time zones. For the majority of us, gas stations are still required to get groceries and the GPS system is the new Thomas Guide for finding that grocery store. "Down Home" will never apply here....

I have a history of smaller cities - I was born and raised in South Florida, moved to San Francisco (to attend Art School) and later moved to New Orleans for a year and they all had one important thing in common, world class food on every level. I have been spoiled by this past, and I now struggle with high expectations for culinary excellence every time I walk into a restaurant. I know from the thousands of places I've eaten from Florida to San Fran, from taco bars to crab shacks, It doesn't take much to make a flavorful and enjoyable meal. Unfortunately, I found most of Los Angeles to be a huge disappointment in this area, like a truck stop serving year-old frozen 'boil bag' meals, the overall experience of L.A. restaurants had been bleak. But things are changing....

You should have gleamed by now that this is all leading up to a (rambling) food blog. I am indeed a 'food hound' in search of the food high. And L.A. is quickly becoming a Food Hounds' heaven. I've been in L.A. 20 years and it is only recently that I've started seeing a trend of food moving away from the can & cardboard readymades to the fresh and local. Maybe it's the internet with intensely informed readers wanting more, maybe it's the constant influx of young travelers who have developed refined taste buds and expect more from a major city, maybe it's the cable 'Food' shows that have opened home kitchens to the forbidden secrets of the Food Gods... or maybe it's that people just want to get back to simple pleasures like a well crafted plate of comfort food. Things are changing quickly and it's a good time to be a food hound.

I've decided to write this blog as I live my life, an utter mess - cluttered and (seemingly) without direction, but with an underlying thread connecting it all - Food. No grammar checks, no cares. I have stubborn ideas about food and what is good and why, and like all cultural anthropologists, I come with hidden personal biases & influences. But the passion is sincere and the focus true. I hope to dump notes and thoughts here every few days, using this Blog as an excuse to experience new (to me) restaurants and unusual ingredients. I am an avid cook and find myself currently working on a cookbook about the virtues of 'Floribbean' cooking and I plan to post new recipes as well as some old and unusual ones here for interested readers. With hope, this Blog will be a smorgasbord of reviews, ideas and thoughts - call it Culinary Adventurism. and feedback is welcome.
-Kalynn Campbell, Cranky Old Man



Let me start this blog with one of my favorite recipes: Head out to a real roadside Farmers market - the kind held on the edge of an apple farm and Buy a BIG-ass glass jug of raw apple cider - this is the unprocessed, unpasteurized stuff. That's important. Now pour some out so that there's at least a 6" gap between the screw top and the contents and seal it back up good and tight (Hey, just for kicks let's add a few tablespoons of sugar first). Now stick it in your car trunk and forget about it for two months. Drive around with it. Park the car in the sun.... Yea, You know where I'm going with this...