This is what a steer looks like after the people who know its people get hungry and descend upon it, brandishing checkbooks.
Herself and I were share owners in this steer, along with a few other folks who were better acquainted with him, and after a quick out-and-back to Crusty County one-eighth of him resides in our freezer alongside a half-dozen quart bags of Pueblo chile. I foresee a synergy between the two in the very near future.*
Thinking about, acquiring, preparing and consuming food helps keep my mind off the ongoing clown show that is American presidential politics. Rick Sanctimonious is getting wiggier by the minute, practically a character in a Monty Python skit about the Spanish Inquisition. And don’t get me started on the RomneyBot 2012. Last machine I saw perform this erratically was a 1996 Ford F-150. It wound up in a ditch, and I wound up back in a Toyota.
* I actually started this post yesterday and didn’t get around to slapping it up until today. Thus the Larga Vista Ranch chile has already become acquainted with the Crusty County beef in the form of a very tasty pot of chili con carne.
You’ll be pleased to know that despite it being February, which sucks, I have yet to eat grease, drink whiskey or buy things.
Instead, I decided to amuse myself with a couple new recipes.
The first, which made its triumphant debut Tuesday night, is a chili con carne in which the carne is ground lamb. And y’know what? Despite its origins in Noo Yawk City and a distinctly minimal approach to tomato products it was purty damn’ good. First time I ever used cilantro stems in anything. Live and learn.
The second, assembled last night, was also from The New York Times, courtesy of Martha Rose Shulman. It involved chicken and chiles, plus a big-ass can of tomatoes to make up for the dearth of same on Tuesday. Alas, it proved a bit sweet for my taste. Next time, fewer red peppers, more chile.
One thing I like about Martha’s recipes is that they normally involve ingredients the average well-stocked pantry already has on hand. I was a little light on chicken and bell peppers for this one, but that was easily remedied.
While I was out scoring bird and bells I swung by the Fine Arts Center and collected a few pounds of Pueblo chile from Doug Wiley of Larga Vista Ranch. I hadn’t known that he was still coming up on Wednesdays despite the farmers’ market being on hiatus for the winter, and there was quite a crowd of Bibleburg foodies on hand to greet him. So now you’ll know where to find me on a Wednesday afternoon.
Last but not least, while we’re speaking of food and the cooking thereof, longtime Friend of the DogS(h)ite Larry T. provides the following. I may test-fly this one over the weekend while Herself is off visiting kin in San Antone.
CycleItalia’s Quick Red Sauce
2 tablespoons olive oil
Half a small onion, chopped fine
1 clove garlic, crushed and minced
1 pinch red pepper flakes
A splash of red wine
1 cup tomato sauce (the better your basic ingredient here is, the better the sauce will be, but the cheapo canned stuff works fine).
Salt and additional pepper to taste
In saucepan over medium heat sauté the onion, garlic and red pepper until just soft, not brown.
Pour enough wine to just cover and let evaporate for a minute or two.
Add in the tomato sauce and stir well, then reduce heat until it’s just bubbling on the edges. Simmer for at least 20 minutes and up to an hour if you have time.
Variation: Pasta all’Arabbiata (Angry Pasta)
To make a spicy version of red sauce, just add more red pepper flakes to the sauce—about ¼ to ½ teaspoon, depending on your taste, and garnish with chopped parsley rather than basil.
Italians do not sprinkle grated cheese on arabbiata — drizzle on a bit of the best extra virgin olive oil you have instead.
Enough about the evildoers already. I quit that part-time job feeding greenbacks to vulture capitalists so I wouldn’t have to be pissed off all the time. And here I am pissed off all the time. What the hell?
Anyway, the Heaviest Snow of the Season® was supposed to hit this evening, so I tore myself away from the computer and went out for a brisk 90-minute ride on the Bike Friday New World Tourist Select, which is next in line for review in Adventure Cyclist.
It was fine — what isn’t compared to watching the making of political sausage in the nation’s capital? — and when I was done I toddled over to Ranch Foods Direct for a few pounds of crosscut beef shanks as the foundation of a hearty vegetable beef soup to gird my loins against frostbite.
Only there weren’t any. Shanks, that is. Loins of this and that they had, and some of them frozen, too. But nary a shank was to be seen.
A young lady asked if I needed assistance, to which I replied in the affirmative. And in less time than it took me to write this post three pounds of freshly cut beef shanks were in my hands and bound for the soup pot. Nothing like doing your little bit of business with folks from the ’hood.
Leftovers — they're what's for dinner. And breakfast. And lunch. Annnnd dinner. ...
Egad. Eighteen degrees with a high of 57 forecast. That sort of thing is a shock to the system. It’s also SOP in Colorado. The trick is finding the sweet spot for a longish bike ride in that temperature range. That, and trying to stay out of the wind.
I’ve been road testing bikes again — a Pashley Clubman and a Bike Friday New World Tourist — but I feel like riding one of my own machines today, maybe the Voodoo Nakisi MonsterCrosser®.
The thing is a tank but it’s become my go-to bike for some reason. The 700×38 rubber suits pavement, gravel and single-track alike, and the low end of 22×26 means I can climb a tree if being chased by an angry reader.
I’ve been trying to stretch the food dollar lately, having bid adios to Los Zopilotes de San Diego. And it ain’t easy, because I dearly love to commit eating.
Pork chops are a fave, and the other day I pulled a pound and a half of same from the freezer to thaw. But I got to thinking that a pork chop disappears pretty damn’ fast, as in during one meal, unless you’re a nibbler, which I am not.
Leftover enchiladas, beans and posole. Much more of this sort of eating and Tom Tancredo will demand that I produce a birth certificate or be deported. Hah! Slipped some politics in there, didn't I?
So I diced a pound of the chops and made a pot of posole, which inspired the cooking of a pot of pintos with chipotle and the assembly of some sausage-and-cheddar enchiladas in red chile sauce. We’re still eating on that mess — in fact, Herself brown-bagged a small container of leftovers to work for lunch.
The remaining red sauce, beans and sausage, meanwhile, will get turned into tonight’s dinner of sausage-and-bean burritos smothered in red with a side of posole and salad.
And that half-pound of pork that didn’t make it into the posole? It was featured in last night’s nuclear kung pao pork with rice. The leftovers from that will be my lunch today.
So there you have it. How to stretch your swine into a fine line, by Chef Dog. Bon appétit.
In hopes of placating La Niña, who has been a windy bitch lately, I spent the afternoon simmering a pot of pintos in chipotle.
While that was going on I made a quick red chile sauce, browned a bit of Ranch Foods Direct’s mild Italian sausage with a handful of diced onion and assembled a smallish baking dish of rolled enchiladas, each containing a couple tablespoons of sausage sprinkled with extra-sharp cheddar. I slathered the lot with the chile, covered the dish with foil and slid the sucker into the oven.
After 20 minutes at 350 I withdrew the dish, sprinkled the enchiladas with a generous handful of Monterey Jack and returned them to the oven, this time uncovered and under the broiler, to brown and crisp the cheese.
By the time the enchiladas were toasty the beans were done. There was some leftover posole in the ’fridge but I said to hell with that and went with a side of shredded red-leaf lettuce and diced tomatoes slathered in olive oil with a little salt and pepper.
No football was harmed in the making of this meal. In fact, no football was involved. Who the hell watches football when he can watch beans and enchiladas?
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