Light a Fire

I can't really call myself a writer.  A writer is someone who does it all the time, continuously, slaving, laboring.  This is something I cannot do due to this little thing called income, and I need it.  Working for an airline for 10 hours, then coming home to write is a formula doomed to fail.  You would think that being able to travel around the world on someone else's dime, meeting interesting if not insane people, and just being around travel would invoke stories that would pour out easily on paper, and really, they should.  Mentally, however, the last thing I really want to do after dealing with the day is think.  Drained of all energy and willingness to participate in the rest of the day, I trudge home with my backpack in tow, ponytail unwound, shirt untucked and collapse in my bed.  While staring at the ceiling, I think to myself, "I really should write something, I've got a decent story to tell." But my hands communicate to my brain with the rebuttal, "we ain't jockeying no keyboard, so can all thoughts of productivity."  On my days off, I get the brunt of my writing done, but I procrastinate.  The week of work sometimes extends its tired hand into the reaches of my leisure time, and I move my computer to a good writing nook, only to have it sit there all day while I watch mindless Netflix.

photo credit: comicvine.gamspot.com and no it's not me.

By the way, this is not the airlines fault, it's mine.  There are writers who work jobs and are still able to put ink to paper.  This problem is mine, and if I'm going to be a "writer" (whatever that means) all I need to do is light a fire and do it.  For those of you who have been so kind as to peek in on this little blog startup, thank you.  I'm making a promise to you.  More content, shorter content, fun reads, cooking, crazies, etc.  But know, I'm doing it for me, more than you.

To digress to my passion without not even a whiff of a transition, I came up with my own brine.  No name for it yet, but going through the red tape of copyrights and such.  A previous post gave the basics to this technique that really helps proteins stay moist (hate that word) when putting them to open flame.  While staring at a pork chop in the kitchen last weekend (I tend to do that, it was really a beautiful pork chop), I decided that rather than do the same old boring, delicious thing I always do, I was going to open the pantry and see what mad scientist shit I could put together.

Brian's Bourbon Brine (patent pending, all rights reserved, this brine cannot be recreated without the express written consent of Major League Baseball).

A little bottle of Bourbon - If you fly enough, you know what these are.  If you are a flight attendant, you have a lot of these in your house.
3 cups water
2 cups ice
3-4 center cut boneless pork chops, thick
1/2 cup Kosher Salt
1/2 cup brown sugar
A squeeze of honey (squeeze is a bonafide unit of measure)
Half an orange, grind the rind, squash out the juice (I believe those are also rap lyrics).

Look at the cross-hatching!

Grab a gallon Ziploc bag and stick Babe in there.  In a large bowl combine all of the ingredients and stir until the salt and sugar dissolve.  Throw the ice cubes in there and wait until the temperature gets to around 50 degrees.  Once chilled, pour it into the bag with the pig and seal taking out as much of the air as possible.  Place the bag on a platform during a thunderstorm, and raise into the air through the retractable roof in your ceiling and wait for lightning to strike, lower.  Put pork in the fridge for about 2-6 hours so that all the ingredients can introduce themselves properly. With bourbon in there, this should be no problem.

Remove the party and wash the pork.  This gets the excess brine off, you don't want this to be too salty.  Do not, salt the pork some more, but you can add pepper, or some herbs as a dry rub.  For this one, try rosemary.  Grill on medium high for about 15-20 minutes depending upon the thickness of the pork.  Flip it a couple times.

Done, looks good on a plate, tastes good in your mouth, does nothing for you on the ceiling (I was a really bad cook once).

Standby Salmon

consultantlounge.com

If there is any piece of advice that I, an employee of the evil empire, could bestow on you, the consumer of the seat to wherever, is this . . . don't miss your flight.    Just don't do it.  Set two alarms, pack up your shit, print your tickets, put the kids to bed in a timely manner, go to the airport early, whatever you need to do, because standby is a losing proposition.  When you miss your flight, the rest of the travel experience is basically a gamble at best, and you can't blame us because you were late (although most do).  There are many things to dread working for the airlines, but seeing people at the ticket counter pacing like an angry, unfed lion is probably the worst.  Their plane is now soaring in the clouds with an empty seat, a seat reserved for this very lion who has something to say to you about the current state of his/her affairs.  You see, it's your fault he/she was late and there isn't anything you could say to defer that argument to a sense of rationality.

Lies: These are the ones we hear the most . . .
"I was here on time!"
No, you weren't.  I find it absolutely amazing how lying straight to ones face is so instinctual.  Every time someone throws this little gem my way, a sly smile crosses my face.  I hope upon hope they take this little fib all the way so we can review the film.  I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, I know I was here, and I know this person wasn't, case closed.  However, the passenger is laying all of the cards on the table and saying, "what you got."  I have a straight sir, you have a pair of deuces.

"I was never informed that there was a 30 minute cutoff!"
When it comes to purchasing an airline ticket, the click and done speed of online acquisition is tantalizingly convenient.  Before you go ahead and click "purchase" there is a lengthy addendum that tells you all you need to know about what you are buying.  It is at that time you choose to pass over it and not become informed about all the rules and regulations that go with your consumerism.  Who has time to read all that? There are places to go, people to see, this paragraph takes 10 minutes out of a day from one so popular.  The problem is, it told you to be at the airport an hour and half prior to departure, and that cutoff for printing boarding passes is 30 minutes before takeoff.  It was all there for you to inhale, but you passed over it.  Now, there are no places to go, or people to see, because you are stuck at the airport.

"I was able to check in less than 30 minutes before departure in JFK?!"
If this is indeed true, than you were lucky, very lucky.  They checked you in, figuring, "ah, what the hell, they are not going to make their flight anyway."  Somehow, in less than 30 minutes you acquired boarding passes and were able to breeze through New York City TSA, find your way to gate 101E and get on the plane in a leisurely manner.  Let's not forget that the gate door closes 10 minutes prior to departure, so we are looking at a land speed record.  It just didn't happen.  For those of you traveling international, I have no sympathy for you.  And by the way, Kingston, Jamaica IS an international flight.

"They said . . . " 
There is a beast that haunts the airline industry, a deity who is all knowing in the land of misinformation.  It is called, "they" and "they" tell you all the things you want to hear, despite not one of them being true.  "They" said I didn't have to be here so early.  "They" said my bag was free.  "They" said I could stick a handgun up my ass.  I consider "they" to be no name imps who ruin lives by telling uninformed travelers all the things you shouldn't do when flying.  All ticket counter agents should be awarded a T-shirt that says, "They were wrong!" on the back, so when a passenger begins a sentence with "They said . . ." all we have to do is turn around and point.

I understand that there is this little thing called life that when it wants to, can ruin even the best laid plans.  But you see, when someones car breaks down, or the cab driver never showed up, etc, these people tell you the truth, because it wasn't their fault, it was life.  We are not heartless drones at the airport feeding on your misery.  We do want you to go to that job interview, wedding, vacation, funeral, etc, but you have to work with us.  There is a situation here, you have missed your flight. Where we go from here is up to you.  You can lie, carry on, and blame everyone but yourself.  This isn't helping.  You could say, "you know what, I was just late, it's my fault," and watch my fingers dance on the keyboard looking for any way to get you home.  It's that simple.

Standby Salmon
(foodnetwork.com, I believe it was Bobby Flay.  However, I have amended it so much over the years that its taken on a life of its own.)

What you need:
2-3 dinner sized salmon portions (skin on) purchased that day or the day before.  Try not to freeze salmon, it does something to the texture.
2-3 cedar planks - Fresh Market, Whole Foods have them.  You can get them in one plank or in squares. I chose the squares for presentation.
Dijon Mustard
Brown Sugar
Lemon
Dill
Salt
Pepper

First off, soak the cedar planks in water for at least two hours.  Obviously, this prevents them from bursting into flames when put on the grill.  If you are making salmon jerky, by all means, don't soak them. Take the salmon out and get it to a nice cool temperature, and season with salt and pepper.  Take your Grey Poupon and slather the fish with it, covering the top and sides.  Sprinkle some brown sugar over that and with a spreading knife, even it out.  Chop up some fresh dill (dried works as well, its a strong herb) and sprinkle over that.  Finish it off with some  sliced lemon rounds on top. Place the salmon on the sopping wet planks and place on a preheated grill.

Tip: When heating the grill, leave one burner off.  That will be your cool zone where the planks will rest.  Also, a spray bottle of water comes in very handy, the planks will flame a little.

The grill temp should be somewhere in the 300 degree range when you put the planks in there and close the lid.  Cook for about 20-30 minutes, checking the planks every so often. Now if you are of the impatient sort, and want the damn salmon now, there is a more direct way of cooking.  Crank the grill to med
ium high, and put the soaked planks on the hot grill sans fish. When you smell smoke, turn the planks over and add the fish. Cover and cook about 8-10 minutes.  You are pretty much just pre-heating your plank.

Serve the fish on the plank, and the meat should just leave the skin with ease.  Serve with any side you like, a veggie, a potato.  I chose a spinach and cous cous mix with mashed potatoes.  Grilled asparagus goes well with this meal.

It's not a hard recipe, its simple and definitely a go to.  I'd like to say its on standby anytime I need it. See what I did there?

Best Laid Plans

In everything we do, planning can play a large part on whether something succeeds or fails.  Take air travel, a seemingly easy task requiring a destination, credit card, suitcase and ride to the airport.  There really is nothing to it, however, people are complicated and wish to take the simplest of tasks and turn them into a complete mess. Reading is fundamental, we are taught this in school - Mr. Rogers and The Reading Rainbow have all had something to say on the subject. Yet when it comes to air travel, people just click and hope everything just falls into place. There are some particulars that you may want to pay attention to before you trudge to the airport.  What can you bring through TSA?  How much can a bag weigh before there is an extra fee?  Should you list your infant? Is it OK to make jokes about blowing up the airport? Is this loaded gun ok for air travel? You know, the essentials.

airlinesalert.com tells you what you need to know.

Unfortunately for those who work in the airline industry, people are not even remotely prepared and have no clue what they are doing.  This is embarrassing for the passenger and the bright-eyed, bushy tailed counter agent who has already answered some of these questions threefold before 4 am.  The information is all there for you to soak in, being surprised by baggage fees is really ridiculous.
 
Wondering why you don't have a seat when all you have to do is pick one is not our fault. You wanted an aisle, you should have grabbed one when you bought the ticket. I do understand that there are people out there who are not technologically adept, and might not have flown for some time.  I'll give those people a break if they have a few inquiries.  However, I will not take a incredulous reaction to the things I am telling you.  Yes, we do charge for bags now, no, we may not have in 1956.  Even if you don't know how to use a computer, the person that bought the ticket for you does. Always, always ask questions before you get to the airport.   Our job when you walk in is to get you on the plane, not explain the ins and outs of how the industry has changed, and why its criminal.  It's a business, deal with it.

The same goes for delays.  Weather and maintenance can ruin even the best laid plans, but it is part of the experience.  On the day you fly, be prepared for whatever may come your way.  Remember, you are trying to fly from Florida to California, and be there before noon.  A tall order, requiring a lot of really important, safe things to happen. If one thing derails this trip, rest assured that it's necessary (for the most part).  We are not trying to ruin your wedding, funeral, spring break, we are telling you like it is.  The plane is broken, there is 10 feet of snow in Charlotte, are not bullshit responses we make for the purpose of inconveniencing you.  They are legitimate safety concerns you should be elated that someone is paying attention to.

Simmering down with a neat song by Declan Mckenna called "Brazil"  - where 75 lb bags are encouraged.

I take you from the soapbox diatribe to last night.  A night where I was planning on putting meat on fire in the form of boneless, skinless chicken thighs.  One of my favorite meats to grill, really hard to screw up, and just soooooo tasty.  Easy stuff, some Herb de Provence, salt, pepper and grill for about 5 minutes a side.  Alas, the weather decided that the nights' cooking would be conducted indoors. The rain came, and if you've ever grilled in the rain you found that the fire goes out (that's a stupid thing to say, but, um, I tried, just one time).  Baking chicken thighs is easy, but my original recipe didn't translate too well to baking, it was a grilling thing. So, I made shit up, went with the flow and saw what I had.

Fly by Night Chicken


What you need:
6 boneless, skinless chicken thighs
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tbs worcestershire sauce
1 tbs dijon mustard (pardon me, do you have a Grey Poupon.  Why yes, I always keep some in my car for just this extremely weird interaction)
1 tsp red pepper flakes
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat your hot box to 425, and while waiting for that to heat, start moshing together the other ingredients.  Take the garlic, W sauce, dijon mustard and pepper flakes and mix in a bowl.  Place the chicken in a Pyrex coated vessel with cooking spray and pour the mixture on top.  Bake for 20 minutes, until the chicken starts to scream.  Ok, no, that's morbid.  You just don't want anything pink when cooking chicken. Toss some freshly chopped parsley on top for color. That's it, improvisational cooking, taking lemons and making limeade.

For the side I just took some zucchini and squash, chopped them up with some garlic and sautéed them with some extra virgin olive oil, grind some nutmeg on it during the simmer, fire some parsley on it, season, season, season and you got a colorful side dish for pictures.

Changing your plan can be exasperating, but a part of your mental makeup knows that things always don't go as planned.  Follow that vibe, and everything will be gravy.

Grilling: Brine, Sear and Feel the Burn

A long, long time ago in a career long since deceased, I was a writer for a local magazine.  I won't say the name of it here, because I'm actually embarrassed that I was even a part of it.  When you decide that "quality content" (scantily-clad college girls, butt jokes, scantily-clad college girls telling butt jokes) is more important than the written word, then what do you need an editor/writer for? I don't know anything about photoshopping out skin blemishes.  Anyway, they asked me to write a restaurant review/advertisement for a local BBQ joint, the food was blah, atmosphere, blah, just, blah.  Sitting down in front of a computer to hash out superlatives for average fare was painful to say the least, but I muddled through it and off to print it went.  The BBQ joint was ultra pissed.  It seems that no matter how dishonest you try to write, somehow, true feelings come through on paper.  The piece was deemed sarcastic, and how dare I use "cooking dead flesh," to describe their culinary art.  The restaurant pulled their advertising from the magazine and I was admonished for losing a client.  I was on my way to FOX.

What is interesting is that now, I would have loved to cook there.  It was a BBQ place after all and I love taking dead flesh and throwing it on fire (I'm going to use it till I'm dead).  The "if I knew now, what I didn't know then" saying is in full effect, and I would love to share with you some of the things I have learned, because sharing is caring.

Brining -
Ever get a beautiful center cut pork chop, season that bad boy to perfection, toss it on an open flame, place it on a plate, cut into it for that first bite . . . sawdust, tumbleweed.  Dry as dirt, tough to eat.  If you served this to other people, you have to watch as everyone around you chews for a very long time, unable to say "this is good," for fear of choking to death.  Brining helps meat keep its tenderness on the grill.  What's also neat, is that there is no real formula for it.  Whatever protein you choose, there is a brine for it.

Pork Chops (realsimple.com)
What you need:
4 pork chops (or else you are just drinking brine)
3 cups of water
1/4 cup kosher salt (or sea salt)
1/4 cup brown sugar (how come you dance so good)
2 cups of ice cubes

Stir the water, salt and brown sugar together in a large bowl until it dissolves.  Place the ice in and get the temp to about 50 degrees or lower.  Take the chops and place them in a plastic ziplock bag, pour the brine over it. Stick the swimming pork in the fridge, let it enjoy the water for 2-5 hours.  Done.  You can add any herb you want, you can use stock or broth instead of water or a combination of the two.  There are hundreds upon hundreds of different brines to choose from and even more flavor combinations.  After done, however, make sure you rinse the meat to get the excess off, pat dry, you're ready for some grilling. Go to realsimple.com for more brining ideas.

Searing - 
Whether you are grilling out, slow-cooking, pan frying, searing is important.  It does one job, keeps the juices in.  If you season a protein, the last thing you want is the herbs and spices to be left behind in the vessel you are cooking them in.  Searing creates a crust, therefore, contains the flavor and preserves the tenderness of the meat.  Whenever I cook anything on the grill, I picture myself as a chef at a 2-star diner (aim low, work from there) and put cross hatches on the food.  It creates the illusion of professionalism and hides the fact that the food is undercooked or terrible.  Kidding, it just looks cool.  Fire that grill up on high, it should look like the 7th layer of hell, a little demon will tell you when it's ready.  Place the meat at an angle, not perpendicular, not vertical, but the other one.  Listen to the sizzle for two minutes then reverse the angle, another two minutes.  Take the meat off, and lower the heat to a normal non-hell temperature for the rest of the cooking process.  Let the meat cook on the non artistic side of the meat the rest of the way through.  Follow your cooking guides on whether you want it burnt, thin sliver of pink, pink/reddish with some juice, or moo.

Do the two things above, do not do the things below. . .

1. Drink too much - Love to, have to cook with a libation at my side.  At first, this seems like the only way to cook, but then a line gets crossed and your food goes with it. The glass of wine you are holding (or bottle) will be just fine when you are finished with the cuisine, take it too far, and FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!

2. Oversalt - Every cooking show I've ever seen stresses the importance of seasoning your food.  It is important, but less sometimes is more.  Try to use Kosher or Sea salt for cooking, its better than the Morton chicas' offering.

3. Voting for Trump - Anyone who fails at selling steaks does not get my vote. That and the fact he is a racist dickturd.  (this is as much politics as your going to get on this blog, the term dickturd is patent pending).

4. Chopping while listening to hair metal - it hurts.

Top two, good, bottom four bad. That's cooking analysis folks.

Blood, Sweat and Salmon

Republican Cuckoo

No matter what the occupation, there will come a time when you meet the unreasonable. It happens; there is no way to avoid it. When you work for the airlines that level of ridiculous can be elevated to a level so high, that your only response is a wide-mouthed, incredulous stare.  You can’t say anything, because your mind is still trying to wrap around why this person is losing their shit, and doing it quite well.  This was my FIRST (and definitely, not last) excursion into the bizarre metamorphoses a normally reasonable person goes through when things go off course, in their own mind.

June 2011, it’s hot, very hot.  I had been working the ramp for about a month and was still pretty green. I had the basics down, but still had a lot to learn, loading and unloading, moving equipment around, just getting things done.  Working in an air-conditioned bookstore for 5 years prior to this did nothing for my stamina.   My body talked to the pores and said, “Hey, let’s shoot an absurd amount of water and salt out of every crevice on his body, maybe he’ll stop this nonsense.  And where’s my coffee?!” Let there be sweat, and lots of it. This is an afternoon flight, where the 96 degree heat would slap the hot tarmac; bounce up to 110 and envelope your entire body.  Tack on some humidity and you begin to feel like a wet, damp, warm sweater is covering your head.  So I push the metal cart with the broken shopping cart-like wheel to meet customers who are awaiting their carry-ons.  The metal door slowly creaks upwards, and there are 25 people staring at you hoping they get their precious bag before you drop dead.  I unload, placing each bag carefully on the step while eyes of pity bore their sympathetic glances towards the back of my neck.  The last item of 30 other items, a wooden box with a fragile sticker on it, is placed carefully down with the others, task complete.  I look up, to see a lady looking at me, then the box, then back to me.   Each time her head went back to my saturated mug, the look got worse, angrier, intense . . . scary.  There was trouble afoot.

“You’ve got your sweat all over my cuckoo clock box!!” Enter the wide-mouthed, incredulous stare here.  “This is a priceless heirloom, and your sweat is all over it!!” Far be it from me to inform the passenger that is was their choice to take this precious heirloom, allow it to be shoved into the back of a plane going 500 mph with 100 other priceless heirlooms, and the only “damage” it sustained on this cross-country adventure was some sweat that at the moment was already evaporating. “How am I supposed to give this to my mother with your bodily fluids all over it!!?” My mental response, “You can shove it up her ass,” was quickly shot down by a mini-conference held between my inner monologue and my mouth that decided, really?! Why bring her poor mother into this. Instead, I opted for, “You can take it out of the box.” I don’t think that went over any better, I fired my inner monologue.  After the smoke cleared, smoke that billowed out of her ear canals, she vowed never to fly this airline again due to the inconsiderate and reckless way her clock was handled.  I had lost my first airline customer, I believe the next day I lost four more, but that’s another story.

To transition this story to a salmon recipe is not going to be smooth, but here is how salmon makes me feel, relaxed.  It is an easy fish to cook, it doesn’t take much time, and the results are always satisfying. If had a plate of this dish handy, I would have given it to cuckoo lady and said, “Here, have some salmon.”  It wouldn’t have made her less angry, but just making it kills any and all exasperation.  Cooking is Zen, it cures whatever others ails, start to ail you.

Salmon with Tomato Pesto (it’s not traditional pesto, but tastes just as good)
Recipe: Mark Bittman - "Fish"

What you need:

Photoshopped fish is tasty fish.

Cod, kidding, salmon – two dinner sized fillets with skin on (this goes to the dog, don’t ask)

1 fresh tomato

Salt and pepper (yo, yo, yo, yo, salt and pepper here, it’s in effect)

“Pesto”

1 cup cilantro leaves – take out the stems, pretend its weed

1 clove garlic

2 tbs of olive oil

1 lime

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Take the salmon and salt and pepper the flesh to your taste and liking.  Place on a baking sheet with aluminum foil and leave it.  I like to cook fish when it’s at room temp, so that the cooking times stay true. 

Cut the tomato; take out the gooey parts and the seeds. While doing this, think of your favorite horror flick.

Meanwhile, at the Kitchen of Justice, make your “pesto.” Take the cilantro, the garlic, olive oil and juice of the lime and throw it all in a blender or food processor.  If you don’t have these things, you are lying.  Have you made a Margarita?  It’s that thingy.  Blend it all together until it’s got a little body to it, sans huge chunks.  Drizzle this over the salmon filets and place the tomato chunks you just massacred to top it off.  Stick the whole concoction in the preheated oven for 20 minutes. 

What should come out is a salmon, if not; you’ve completely screwed this up. 

You can see pics of this masterpiece on travelingwithcoffee.blogspot.com

A Start with Hope of a Finish

Much like walking up to a random stranger in a bar and starting a conversation, here is the first entry in my second blog venture.  Is it going to be clunky and somewhat odd, sure, but hopefully by the time we bypass the weather and "what do you do for a living?" you will be going home with me for a nightcap.

A little (very little) about myself.  I'm 45, I work for the airlines and love to cook.  The airline gig has been going for about 5 years now, and the cooking gig has been going for at least 10.  It may be longer for the cooking, but I'm not counting the lemon pepper chicken I used to whip up for my dates.   Basic pan frying with cookery that would do the college kid proud, a nuking veggie with a sauce, seasoned with the finest salt and pepper from paper cartons labeled as such.  I have progressed to the next level, I keep those condiments in little ramekins, so that I can imitate the cable chefs with a dash of this and a dash of that.  Digression is something readers of this blog are going to have to get cozy with.

The moment cooking invaded my mental GPS was actually "30-Minute Meals" with Racheal Ray.  I'm flipping through the channels, fast food grease bag in lap, and stop at this show that promises in just 30 minutes, that I'm going to make a masterpiece of taste and presentation.  My inherent laziness tingled, and just like that, a hobby was born.  Cooking shows like "Top Chef" replaced inane sitcoms, "Emeril Live" booted my ninth viewing of "SportsCenter" for the day and "Hell's Kitchen" . . . well, was turned off.  I just don't think cooking and screaming obscenities is a good mix, even with a British accent.

As far as the airline thing is concerned, its a job, and it pays for this hobby (hence the AIR in the title, am I clever, not even remotely). This profession is teemed with stress and "rhino on the back" responsibility.  After a 50-hour work week, my mind has checked out and convinced my body to come along for the ride.  The light at the end of the tunnel is the next recipe, protein, vegetable or sauce that can be created with a trusty bottle of vino at my side.  The chopping is fine, the music is playing, the measurements are exact and this is how I spend my time off.  

A question any blogger may ask themselves is "What do I hope to accomplish?"  Is this for money?  Do I hope to get a cookbook deal from this? Nope, just sanity.  I would not turn down the untold fortunes of cookbooks, guest spots on "The Today Show," my own kitchen with a camera above my head monitoring my every puree, but really, right now, this is about my piece of mind.  You, my friends, and hopefully new ones, will just enjoy a good read, with a recipe you might actually decide to use.  There will be airline stories, there will be travel stories, but most importantly, there will be food, wine, beer, good times.  This is the start of something good with a hope of a finish.

With all of this nonsense in mind, lets turn the burner on.  In this case, the slow cooker. . .

Schweppes Roast Beef with Sautéed Power Veggie

Yes, its ginger ale.  I'm cooking beef, slowly in ginger ale.  Why choose this recipe for my inaugural post, because I made it today.  That's how fresh I am.    

The Beef:

A 3 lb piece of beef - I have chosen a chuck roast

0.5 cups of flour

1 onion soup mix packet

1 dry gravy packet

2 cups Schweppes (why not Canada Dry? Don't like the word dry in my beef recipe)

1 small onion, sliced really thin

The Power Veggie:

A pound of Kale

3 tbs of olive oil

2 cloves garlic, chop em up fine

0.5 cup of beef stock

Salt and Pepper

2 tbs of red wine vinegar

Cut the onion thinly, make sure you cry while you do it, and place those tear-inducing chunks into your Pam-sprayed slow cooker.  Break out your meat (sorry) and cover it with flour (different strokes for different folks) and place that on top of the onions in the pot of love.  In a bowl, mix the onion soup packet, the gravy packet, the preferred ale of redheads and mix completely until the chunks give up and become a part of the sauce society. Pour that science experiment on top of the freshly powdered beef, close the lid, put on low for 8-10 hours. You know how a watched pot of water never boils, well, a watched slow cooker is just insanity.

Intermission: Listening to S.O.B. by Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats with a glass of vodka and aroma is doing that permeating thing.

At about hour 8 you are ready to consider doing something with the power veggie - Kale.  Is Kale a power veggie? Well, if Popeye ate Kale instead of spinach, Bluto would not be fucking with his woman anymore.  I prefer to get fresh kale, the bagged stuff is cleaned by someone other than me, and I would rather not have sand be a main ingredient in my food.  See those big stems, really pretty green color, get them out of there.  They are tough and not especially tasty.  Stick with the leaves and chop them up - not into tiny bits you psycho, like, you know, course.  Take a saucepan, big enough to handle a wad of vegetable and heat the oil in it on medium high.  Throw the garlic in and cook until they are soft, but not discolored.  Take the heat to high and fire the stock and kale in there, toss, cover, cook for 5 minutes. Take the cover off and stir until all the liquid has disappeared.  Throw some salt, pepper and red wine vinegar in there, mix.

The beef should be falling apart from all the emotional and physical stress.  I would slather a wad of mashed potatoes under this treasure or egg noodles will do.  I'm not going to make homemade mashed potatoes, that is time-consuming, and the pre-packaged ones will work just fine. You have to pick and choose your cooking battles, remember, the star of this show is the meat. You can spend valuable time with potatoes, or concentrate your efforts on the $15 protein, beef should win every time.  

To wrap this up in a fine little blood-red beef bow - serve with a red wine, and stare at your roommates while they eat.  Praise is motivation, and if you stare at them eagerly, they have to say something nice.