Now there are folks who are wild for these popular mexican tacos, people who hunt high and low for the perfect balance of crispy, sweet, tender meat. Me? I had only watched the meat turn slowly in a handful of taquerias or spent hours admiring this painting while sitting in El Farolito in San Francisco’s Mission District- typically our first lunch stop every time we visit. Not long ago I stumbled across the blog, Denver on a Spit, which seemed to be devoted to tacos al pastor. I read the reviews and the line up trying to locate one near my husband’s shop so we could try them out. Somehow we had still yet to visit any. Then I read Laura Shunk’s review of Taco Mex and was once again feeling the necessity of traveling out East Colfax. And again we had not made time for the journey. But then finally last week I opened the freezer to plan the next meal and pulled out a pork shoulder and decided I’d tackle it myself.

Traditionally, the pork is sliced thinly, marinated, stacked and cooked on a vertical rotisserie just like Shawarma. Apparently this method was brought to the city of Puebla, Mexico anywhere from the ’20s to ’60s (depending on the source) by Lebanese immigrants. The marinade is a mixture of red chilies, achiote, vinegar, and spices and the meat is cooked with a pineapple on top. The enzymes in the pineapple tenderize the meat as it cooks. The outer, crispy bits of meat are sliced thinly onto corn tortillas and topped with bits of the pineapple, cilantro and onions and salsa. It could be nothing but divine.

When our friends moved to Madison they gave us a brand new rotisserie they had been given but never used. We had set it up once for a chicken, noting that the instructions say everywhere to NOT take the “Set it and forget it” slogan literally. How disappointing. I figured this rotisserie was not quite rotating in the right direction, but had to work and set out reading a variety of posts from a Weber Grilling Forum and the Barbecue! Bible Website board (Steven Raichlen’s site). It seemed the consensus was that the pork should be cut in thinner pieces, flattened, marinated, and  then stacked with pineapple slices. At that point some people had tried it on a rotisserie, some had simply stacked it over coals. All agreed that the whole stack should be chopped and tossed lest you miss the best little crispy end bits.

So I set to work slicing and pounding the pork shoulder. Finding a few hunks of pork belly in the mix, I realized I had frozen this shoulder when I bought the meat for the thai sausage a while back. Not wanting to deal with a separate preparation for the belly at this time, I decided to flatten it as well and add it to the mix. I used the following marinade from this site and let the pork soak up the love for another day.

3 California chiles
1 ancho chile
1 guajillo chile
1 cascabel chile
1 chile de arbol
1 bay leaf
3/4 cup orange juice
1/4 cup pineapple juice
1 tablespoon cider vinegar
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
3 teaspoon sea salt
1 clove garlic
3/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon Mexican oregano
(1/4 teapsoon cumin optional)
1/4 teaspoon seasoned achiote paste
1 onion sliced thin
1 onion chopped
1 bunch cilantro chopped
5 pounds boneless pork butt (with substatial fat cap)
2 Limes
1 pineapple, peeled, sliced into 1/2-inch thick slices

1. Combine 5 cups of water, the chiles and the bay leaf in a pot and bring to a boil for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let stand until softened, about 5 minutes. Drain mixture, discard the bay leaf and remove and discard the stems and seeds of the chiles.

2. Place the softened chiles in a food processor with the orange and pineapple juices, vinegar, cinnamon, sea salt, garlic, salt, pepper, garlic salt, oregano, achiote paste and half the onion. Puree until smooth.

3. Cut meat into 4-5 even chunks. Pour the marinade into a large resealable plastic bag, add the meat and toss to coat. Refrigerate 24 hours.

4. Slide meat onto spit alternating with pineapple and onion slices. Cook until pork is ALMOST done to your liking…

5. Shovel some hot coals directly under meat and cook until edges begin to crisp.

6. Slice meat and pineapple off and cut into 1/2 in. chunks. Serve with corn tortillas. Garnish with chopped onion and cilantro. Squeeze a lime wedge over taco before eating ….

I then threaded the meat, pineapple, onions, and belly onto the rotisserie, running out of room with about a third of the meat left. So I decided to try just grilling the remaining meat topped with pineapple.

It took a bit of tending to flip the pork and grill the pineapple, but the results were pretty good. Meanwhile, the rotisserie was busy spinning in what could have easily been a method to forget, but being a nervous sort who follows directions on anything that can explode or burst into flames, I checked on the spinning meat often. I also found it pleasantly mesmerizing and soulful….

Over the next couple hours I checked the meat, reattached some smaller bits that had fallen off and began taking small bits and the occasional pineapple off when it started to char. I also set about prepping the remaining condiments. This involved chopped onion (which I had briefly rinsed to cut the edge) mixed with cilantro, sliced avocado (because eating any taco without avocado feels so, so wrong), a mix of cheese and some salsa. The salsa I made my quickly charring some tomatoes and jalapenos from our garden with a couple garlic cloves. I blended the mixture with lime juice, cilantro, salt and pepper and a chipotle pepper with some adobo sauce. It was smokey and fiery and I thought it would be perfect with the sweet pineapple.

Once the meat was done, we chopped it and the pineapple, tossing together what seemed like a good balance. I had researched tortillerias and found a number of good reviews for a place called Tortilleria Cuauhtemoc on South Federal. As it was just a block from Avanza where I’d be getting the dried chiles and achiote paste, I figured it was easily worth checking out and I was not disappointed. The tortillas were still warm when they were handed over and were just two bucks for a good sized stack. I immediately realized I could never, ever be happy with supermarket torts again- even if we only buy the local ones.

The assembled tacos looked and smelled amazing. And other than worrying I had used too much pineapple juice- thereby making the meat a tad mealy- I thought they were pretty rockstar. Our guests seemed to eat them up too and when I was explaining about my concern with the pineapple juice, one of their kids said, “be better than this? not possible.” And that was worth the efforts.

Another thing I am working on as I eat down pantry and freezer is to try to only add better, new versions of these staples. So last week when I was making this organic wild rice blend, I made triple the recipe and froze the leftover grains. I’ve made wild rice crepes a few times before with various results, and my consensus was that mostly they are a great platform for wrapping around and, thus, giving a culinary boost to, random collections of other leftovers.

Back at the fridge I pulled out some leftover chicken from the roasted beet and grilled chicken salad last night, a few remaining pieces of miso roasted delicata squash and potato inspired by this recipe,  some chopped, raw eggplant and then set about attempting to make a version of these crepes. The main dilemma was that this recipe called for plain old AP flour, which (pantry fail) I somehow had none of, and no buckwheat flour at all. And while I can sit for hours reading about kitchen science, I rarely practice it or retain it purposefully. So I threw in what looked like a good mix of buckwheat flour and pastry flour and hoped for the best, letting the mixture sit and thicken a bit at room temperature.

Meanwhile, I browned the eggplant in a little olive oil then added the chopped chicken, potato and squash, a dollop of veggie bouillion and cup of water and simmered until the eggplant and squash thickened it a bit and all the liquid was gone.

I then started making the crepes. The batter seemed way too thin, but I usually throw out the first crepe anyway so I made a test one and it was great. It held together, had a nice chewiness, a nutty, deep flavor and developed a really nice crust while staying moist inside. Again, people, some other words for moist? I’m feeling a little lazy on the thesaurus front, and that word makes me bonkers.

Once all the crepes were done I put one back in the pan and put several pieces of mexican melting cheese (the kind that comes in a huge tied knot – queso asadero?) along one edge, topped with chicken and rolled up allowing to crisp a bit on the outside and melt on the inside.

I made a fresh dressing of dijon, sherry vinegar, toasted walnut oil, s&p and agave to toss with spinach, arugula and lettuce and topped with the leftover beets from the night before. It was a great reincarnation of several nights of leftovers all rolled up in the best version of a whole grain crepe yet.

We stayed at a farmhouse b&b called Fresh and Wyld about a mile outside town that boasted a large garden, chickens, a friendly german shepherd type dog named Pablo, walking and meandering trails, great views, and a Friday night farm dinner that was packed. Our friends own the Paradise Theatre in town which was central to many of the activities so I was lucky enough to score a coveted ticket to the fashion show that first night and left Ryan to figure out how to get our daughter to sleep in her toddler tent for the first time. This was relaxing for both of us….but it worked out eventually.

Just about everyone in town seemed to show up that first night (mostly in costume) and the show was a wonderful mix of dance, local fashion, an audience participation segment and a little documentary about the designers turning local industries’ garbage into original designs. We continued to see just about every attendee every day after that in a different capacity. The guy playing violin and one of the models were serving up coffee at 8 the next morning (despite having partied after the show until 3 a.m.) and not only were there piles of homemade quiches, breads and pastries, but each latte came with intricately decorated crema. This makes for a slow way of life in this little town, but also gives you time to appreciate the details. We even saw the  violin player and model slash barrista again, this time snuggling and making out, at an orchard on our way out of town. The bartender the first night was also the cashier at the orchard and a mild-looking, soft spoken fellow playing frisbee at the park was the guy wearing gold lame tights in the front row of the fashion show. I’m pretty sure another model strutting her stuff that night had helped cooked our Friday night meal. Everyone knows everyone and everyone seems to be everywhere at the same time. It is all at once charming, cozy, and a little bit creepy in a rather fabulous way.

Each morning we were treated to a lovely breakfast of farm egg omelettes, ham from the neighbor’s pigs, heirloom tomatoes, tender greens and sweet, baked breads. We then set out for the town park to enjoy the little fair with bands, local fashion, a farmer’s market, kid activities and food trucks. And that second night I swapped kid duties with Ryan so he could join our friend in town hopping from bar to bar to listen to all the bands playing that night.

Every time we visit a place like Paonia or Salida, we tend to know the folks that are a central hub in town and everywhere we go people talk to our hosts and hook us up with treats and we fall a bit under the spell of artsy, small town, community, homegrown entertainment and a feeling that you can be or do anything you want. The views are stunning, the weather fabulous, and the drive short enough to remind me how blessed I am to live in this state. But by day three, some reality sets in and I’ve seen those same people each day all doing their different jobs like the door guard and the wizard in the Wizard of Oz and I know I still belong in the anonymity of the city. The big, big city of Denver, Colorado.

But while we were there we took in the small town comforts: slowly riding our bikes down the one, main street, eating some pretty good to great meals at our B&B, basking in familiarity, and appreciating the purity of a community that practices the “eat and drink local” as the normal way of life and not the latest trend.

The day before we took our trip, we had gotten our latest veggie basket and I was worried about all the lettuce, spinach and fruit and whether it would last a few days. I had also received a bunch of beets which, if you’ve known me for any amount of time, is a slowly acceptable, but still rawther difficult experience for me. I have long, long detested the beet and it has only been in the last year that I have tried really hard to appreciate them and find out what many people seem to enjoy so much.

So on the first day back I opted for piling many of the veggies we had onto a pizza crust, scooting the beets to the back of the fridge. But yesterday I took a moment to inventory the fridge and ponder the beet and began in the way I know best- slathering them with oil, salt and pepper, wrapping tightly in foil and roasting in the oven for about an hour and a half. I have to admit that the roasting beet aroma was almost gag-worthy and I was trying hard to imagine a more subtle, less perfumed dirt like taste coming from the beets once they were peeled.

Thinking back to the simple, but fresh, meals we had at Fresh and Wyld, I remembered a breakfast we had of cheesy tomato and caramelized onion eggs, wonderful, roasted fingerling potatoes and an arugula salad with a toasted walnut vinaigrette, I found my inspiration. The last, and first real time I cooked and sort of liked beets, I had roasted them and pretty much masked them with a chunky walnut sauce, blue cheese and an orange balsamic, rosemary drizzle. This time I decided to tone it down just a bit but still practice safe beet eating with a toasty nut, a peppery green and creamy cheese.

I had asked the cheese people at Whole Foods what they would recommend that was not too stinky or funky as Ryan is not a fan. They let me taste a couple sheep cheeses which I thought would be too musky, but the Petite Basque was great. Surprisingly creamy with the slightest hint of funk to balance the sweet beets.

Once the beets were cool I peeled them and was delighted to see some stunning colors ranging from white to orange to a rosy pink. They were beautiful. I cut them into wedges, tossed them gently in toasted walnut oil, s&p and roasted them in a convection oven at 400 for about 15 minutes, flipping once, until they were a bit crispy and brown in spots.

That morning I had marinated some chicken thighs in a mixture of grainy mustard, apricot jam, touch of soy, sherry vinegar, s&p, onions, garlic, sage and thyme. I grilled them and sliced them thinly.

I made a vinaigrette of sherry vinegar, mustard, walnut oil, s&p and a touch of amber agave syrup and tossed some lettuce, spinach and arugula in it. I topped it with the chicken, beets, cheese and some sliced avocado. And this time, the beets weren’t just tolerated but were actually enjoyed. I didn’t make happy, chewing, humming noises or look forward to lunch leftovers, but for what they were that night at dinner, they were appreciated.

I had recently purchased a bag of sweet potato fries at Costco because they are one of my favorite things on earth and so easy. I am not exactly proud of this fact, but it is what it is. Sweet potato fries are fabulous with banh mi of any variety so that was a solid part of my plan.

I went to the store for the bread (I chose a lighter crumb italian loaf than a really chewy baguette), a nub of daikon and some corn. When I got home, I julienned the daikon and carrot and tossed it in a mixture of brown rice vinegar, chili garlic sauce, salt and amber agave. I thinly sliced some jalapeno and washed some spinach and cilantro and set them all aside.

Throughout the day I considered the corn idea. What if I made a spread of some kind for the sandwich? A quick search pulled up information on the grain market and various commodities. Corn jam was another idea…maybe thicken the soup-like base somehow? Also not quite right. A chutney? No- I didn’t want it all chunky. If I was not already having the fries, I’d consider fritters or some crispy, sweet corn thing, but I couldn’t have both. And then, in thinking again about the fries I decided I’d invent some sort of sweet corn ketchup. A thickened, spiced, vinegary dip for both sandwich and fries.

I didn’t want to use any tomato in the ketchup, but figured I needed a rich, umami kind of base. So I pulled out some shallots and a leek (because I had four and had to start using them) and started caramelizing them slowly in butter and oil, deglazing the browned bits with veggie broth about three times until it was a deep, sticky, brown. I stirred in some garlic and cooked another minute. I then cooked the corn in some hot butter and oil until it too started to brown a bit and added the onions back in along with the two corn cobs and a cup and a half of broth. I covered the pan and simmered the mixture throwing in a couple big chunks of fresh ginger.

I removed the cobs, scraping them to remove all the little corn bits and blended the mixture until it was as smooth as I could get it. I considered making it soupier, straining it and thickening it, but I didn’t have time. I put it back in a pot and added some  coconut milk and rice vinegar and black pepper. As it reduced a bit more, the sugars in the corn began browning a bit so I kept scraping the bottom and stirring the caramelizing bits back into the mix. It was sputtering like crazy so I partially covered it until it was a nice, thick, consistency. I stirred in some lime and it was good to go. Intensely deep, sweet and pungent.

Ryan arrived home at this point and grilled the sausage in patties, toasted the bread and put the fries in the oven. We then spread mayo and sriracha on the bread, topped with sausage, and the remaining condiments and dished up the corn ketchup on the side. All the flavors went so well together, but holy hell the jalapenos were hot- and mixed with the sriracha my mouth was totally on fire. I had to fish out the remaining peppers to finish my sandwich and then it was everything I had envisioned.

The next day for lunch I thinned out the remaining corn ketchup with some more vinegar and a bit of olive oil and tossed it into a pile of spinach, cucumber, the remaining pickled veggies and a couple tiny slices of jalapeno. I crumbled the sausage on top and threw in some raw peanuts which would have been great if there were roasted and salted, but they were decent as is. A banh mi salad just without the banh (cake) or mi (wheat or flour) … so, uh, yeah. You get the idea.

I had not cooked a lot with szechuan peppercorns, but when we moved back to my dad’s house in ’02, there was a familiar (and likely ancient) jar of them in the grime-coated spice rack. I twisted off the lid and took a whiff and the potency was shocking. Floral and spicy, that whiff went straight up my nose and into my brain. I braved a tiny taste and my tongue went instantly numb, yet somehow still let in the powerfully perfumed and peppery flavors. At the time we’d been ordering spices from Penzey’s catalog and I recall going to their site to find out about these tiny, spikey, but hollow little balls. Aparently, at that time (and since 1968!), it was illegal to import szechuan peppercorns due to a fear of disease spreading to our citrus trees. How, then, my folks acquired any is a mystery, but I suppose it explains why that one small jar was around for so long.

As I made the french toast I started to think about dinner. When my mind starts crawling around the various ingredient and cooking recesses of my mind, I am reminded of a synapse map, the signals traveling to far reaches, crossing stronger bonds more quickly and easily. The longer I go through this exercise, the more the weaker, less used areas surface. It’s kind of like writing, in a way. Sometimes you have to put down a bunch of simple garbage before you can access the better material. And so, on this day it started with a quick memory of Luna’s “Renee is Crying”:

Salt and pepper squid, and Singapore noodles

I could look at your face, for oodles and oodles

Every time I hear that song I have an instant desire for salt and pepper squid, though I think I have only successfully eaten it once or twice. And I have to say I have no idea what Singapore noodles are, but they sound great! So this was my base. As much as I like squid, they can be a pain in the butt to clean and really touchy to cook. If, for example, you try to make squid with a toddler anywhere nearby, you will probably screw it up. I had been trying to simplify meals (once again) so we could eat before 9:30 or 10 so I pushed the thoughts back a bit and went about my day, coming back every once in a while to ponder.

Around 2 our weekly basket arrived and I pulled out broccoli, zucchini, chard, green onions and a pile of fruit. Broccoli was an obvious choice to go with anything szechuan so that was one decision. And as I’m staring at the pile of greenery I envision jumbo shrimp and that settles it. I went to the store and saw some great looking wild prawns (on sale!) and asked for a pound. And as I’m standing there, my daughter is pointing to these giant, beautiful scallops and the fishmonger says, “oh man, those are SO good. I made the mistake of bringing some to my dad and he called me asking for more, more, more.” “Ok” I say, without hesitation, “give me  four.” I grabbed an orange for the broccoli because I love using the bitter peel and juice and I read long ago that vitamin C helps your body absorb the calcium so I often try to add citrus to broccoli. I assumed I had some sweet brown rice which would round out my simple, easy meal.

I didn’t have time to start cooking until Ryan got home and I filled him in on my plan as I gathered ingredients. At this point I realized we not only had no brown rice (just a baggie with about three tablespoons in it – who saves that?) but no chinese rice, no soba, nothing that really looked like a good platform for my s&p shrimp. I pulled out some fat egg noodles thinking of the garlic noodles from Crustacean in San Francisco we always try to replicate. This is not what I had in mind, but it will have to do. But when I went to pull out the broccoli I saw the zucchini and we decided to make noodles from them and toss them in a black bean sauce.

So once the kid was in bed, we did this:

• Cut the broccoli into tall, skinny trees and cooked in some oil in a very hot wok until slightly scorched. Added in the orange peel for a few tosses, then squeezed half an orange and added a quick bloop of sweet chili sauce and soy. Toss toss toss, into a bowl.
• Cut one large zucchini into thin, fat noodles, salted, rinsed, gently squeezed out water. Meanwhile, cooked sauce in pan: minced onion, rinsed and chopped fermented black beans, garlic, butter, mirin. Poured hot sauce over zucchini, tossed.
• Rinsed the wok, added more oil. Tossed the peeled prawns in cornstarch, fried quickly and removed. Added sliced red jalapeno, slivered garlic, sliced green onion. Toss, toss, toss. Added back shrimp for a few more tosses with the szechuan pepper mixture.
• Discussed eating scallops raw as they looked and smelled so good, but decided to salt and pepper lightly and add to a super hot cast iron pan and barely cook.

This meal was great. Better than I had originally planned. More work and dishes and time than I had originally planned. But what is new?

I had been taking a trip about every month to visit him during the summer of ’02 when he’d been in and out of the hospital, a nursing home, and bouncing back to his standard, unflappable Blair-ness. Ryan and I decided to take two weeks driving and camping our way from SF to Denver, up to his family in Illinois and Minnesota, then back. While we were in Denver a day after a big bbq at my sister’s house, we had dined on leftover rib quesadillas, then went to the (hot) park to play frisbee with my nephew Nick….kind of randomly.

I was not feeling so super awesome having rib quesadillas in my belly, it being hot, and me, possibly, being a tad hungover. We tossed the frisbee in our triangle several times and then one came at me, flapping on the top like crazy. I caught it, thank goodness, because when I inspected the flapping it turned out to be a note. Inside, secured with several pieces of that packing tape with the string in it was a sparkly diamond ring. And the note said, “Hey Bazoo, I was wondering… if you’d spend the rest of your life with me.” I looked up and Ryan and Nick were both grinning ear to ear. I’m pretty sure I said something totally romantic like, “Who’s kidding me?” or “what?!” and I’m sure Ryan was hoping for some squeals or hot and heavy making out. Truth is, though, it is kind of numbingly shocking to be surprised by something like that. Especially with rib quesadillas in your belly. Long story short, I said yes! and we went to Mizuna that night at 9:30pm for a tasting menu with wine pairings and it was great and we stumbled our full, drunk, happy butts home.

Meanwhile, my dad was still in the hospital, but getting released shortly after we were to leave. We couldn’t tell if this was good or bad. But we left it to my sisters and camped our way home talking, of course, about wedding menus the majority of the time home. And once we got back to SF, something had stuck with us. One day shortly after Ryan called me at work and said he thought maybe we should move to Denver and look after my dad. The idea was kind of exciting and kind of crazy. SF is a super amazing city and we had lots of friends and routines and an awesome apartment (which our roommate Bubba STILL lives in for probably next to nothing!). But it was an intriguing idea. Ryan said “you’ll never regret spending that extra time with your dad.” And he was right.

We moved shortly after and set up camp in the apartment in the basement of my dad’s house. I couldn’t possibly waste all my fabulous blog material by getting into all the meal details here, but suffice it to say that many to most meals were spent with my dad and usually by our hand. But occasionally (and often regrettably) my dad surprised us by cooking. Now he was a good cook back in the day. But over time, things got fattier and saltier. He was on dialysis so it’s a mystery to me how he tortured himself with thirst-enducing meals, but he couldn’t help himself. And one day he came home shouting, “Hey Maru! I picked up dinner!”

“What?!” I shouted from upstairs.

“Chicken wings!”

“And what else?!”

“That’s it!”

Sigh.

I had spent a lot of time and effort trying to sneak vegetables into his diet, but on this night I was over it. And he fried the wings in fat and tossed them in salty glop and they became the quotable meal example for that phase of our family dining, “fat fried in fat.” And so imagine the teasing Ryan dishes out yesterday when I tell him I had to get a pile of chicken wings for the football game. I’d say he’s lucky I didn’t pull out the stops with a package of braunschweiger, ritz crackers, queso fundido and poppers. Not having had any form of television for many months did that to me. The idea of sitting in front of tv watching football and eating wings was the best thing I could imagine. I eat what I want….so….I bought 5 pounds of chicken wings and went to it.

I cut off the wing tips and froze them for stock and cut the wings in half, throwing each in a separate bowl. I rubbed one batch with garlic, oil, salt, pepper, cumin and chile powder. The other got garlic, oil, ginger, a splash of sherry and soy. I tossed them and let them sit for about an hour then grilled them until the were nicely rendered and browned.

This was a handy exercise for me as I was made aware that the entire center of our stove’s grill SUCKS BUTT. But I moved things around and enough and got ‘er done. I tossed the chili powder wings in a mixture of butter, sriracha, vinegar and salt and the rest in soy, honey, hoisin, ginger and sesame oil. We packed it up and went to my mom’s house to watch the game and baked them in the oven. Fortunately she had some leftovers and sent me a final picture so you can be cleansed of the raw chicken image.

Ryan really prefers the buffalo style which is why I made both since I’m a sucker (like father like daughter?) for the sweet, salty meat. I tried to get it right, but as he chewed he said “needs Franks” and for the briefest moment I felt like someone all alone in a empty stretch of desert. She who does not know this Franks. I assumed it was an important Midwest thing that I must familiarize with before the next wing adventure next year. I have still not researched it. If you know the Franks, please enlighten me.

And that was my crazy, long-winded story about last night’s chicken wing dinner. Oh- and we did also have carrot sticks AND a salad. So there, Blair.

And these readings would often spur an intense and immediate desire for something cooked or compiled in the kitchen and he’d obey to the best of his abilities. In earlier years he might have even set out to the store for some missing ingredients, but in later years he’d make due….or, God help us, he’d pine for that meal until one of us made it happen for him. “Say, I was thinking, maybe we’d have some crispy sweetbreads or maybe shrimp tempura.” Nothing easy for us ever, though I can’t actually complain about sitting down to eat these inspirations. They were all damn good.

On his own, most meals were either suspended in cream and sherry, battered, fried and tossed in an impossibly sweet and salty sauce, cooked well-done in a tiny cast iron pan, tucked under a melted cheese blanket or involved some form of fall-aparty meat cooked in a pressure cooker to the last breath of its very life. And so, while our meal last night was clearly Mexican in influence (and therefore verboten in the world of Blair) it had many Blair-like roots that had obviously been inherited by both of us.

It all started with me thawing some happy running, grass-fed beef short ribs. Normally lately I’d brown them and then slow cook them with shallots, red curry, coconut milk and some other love and glop it on rice with something green. But as we pulled out our options and started discussing possibilities we ended up with a short rib taco kind of plan.

I think the main steering factor was that we thought we’d make a blackened salsa with some tomatoes, onion, garlic and jalapenos we had (both from our garden and our weekly box). So naturally the meat had to follow something flavorful and taco-wrappable while remaining a good platform for said, spicy salsa. We had sharp cheddar, sour cream and just needed to get corn tortillas (I don’t need to remind anyone of my tortilla making failings, but might ask once again if anyone has an abuela for hire who can help a sister out).

Ryan seasoned the ribs with onion powder, salt and pepper and browned them slowly. Meanwhile we blackened the jalapenos, tomatoes, onions and garlic in my dad’s old cast iron pan. Once charred, we blended them with fresh lime, salt and pepper. Holy crap- it was hot! So I went out to the garden and found a ripe tomato to temper it a bit.

Ryan had reserved some of the blackened onion and garlic and added it to the picked meat with some broth and simmered until it became sticky and glazed. The store had no avocados worth buying, but that would have been perfect. A few cilantro sprigs and a squirt of lime, though, would be a decent match. We made some tacos, sat and ate them making quiet, happy noises, then went back in for seconds. This time we threw the corn tortillas in a pan and topped them with cheese letting it spill out the edges a bit to brown and crispify. Once melted, it was topped with the meat, salsa and some sour cream.  And fatty and meaty and burnt cheese crunchy and fabulous.

We’d be dining on a flattened, roasted crispy chicken. And typically when I think of roasted chicken I think of the Zuni cafe version which prompted me to make a bread stuffing/salad type situation. And also typically when I just think of a distant memory but don’t, say, look up the recipe the restaurant has so graciously published in a book I happen to own, then the meal that ends up on the table is but a distant whiff of said memory. This memory was of a crispy but [insert better word for moist here. no really. what is a better word for moist?] flavorful stuffing with toasty nuts, bursts of sweet currants and I thought, but remembered incorrectly, caramelized onions. I had pretty much everything except the chicken and bread and set out for the store.

Once at the store my mind starting cranking again and I recalled another San Francisco memory involving roasted chicken. I had gone through quite a phase of roasting chickens in our Twin Peaks apartment and it almost always ended up with grilled apricots and an apricot, mustard, rosemary or thyme glaze. As I had just been given several peaches and have a high failure rate at eating all fruit in this house before it rots, I decided I probably should just cook the peaches into a sauce for the chicken. I also needed bread for the stuffing and rather than use currants or golden raisins from home, I bought a whole grain boule with cranberries and walnuts and a fabulously crunchy crust.

One home, I rinsed the chicken, cut out the backbone, cracked the breastbone and flattened me out a bird, spatchcock style (see below for a visual). I had mashed up some butter with chopped garlic, thyme, sage and chives and some salt and rubbed it under the skin on the breasts and legs and thighs, then drizzled olive oil and a little more salt all over the bird. I caramelized a couple yellow onions, then deglazed and simmered with some veggie stock (because, gasp, that is all I had). In another small pot I browned some shallots and jalapeno (both also from the weekly basket), added the peaches (can someone PLEASE tell me how to slice a peach? I cannot for the life of me do it without completely mutilating the poor fruit). At this point I will venture to guess I rubbed the bottom half of my face with my jalapeno fingers before washing them and then proceeded to cook dinner knowing to the full extent of my abilities that I was alive. And sort of burning. Alive. It was…invigorating.

Burning flesh aside, I stirred the peach concoction until it was a chunky sort of jam and took a taste. As I could have guessed by now slighlty numb sensation on my cheeks, this was some hot ass sauce. I like heat, but needed to dumb it down a bit so I added some crazy antioxidant juice I’ve been drinking that had orange, peach, apple and grape juice and seemed appropriate. I also added some balsamic vinegar, dijon and a small squirt of bbq sauce and salt.

I had sliced and convection toasted the bread and now cubed it, tossed it with the onions and broth and some chopped kale and poured it into a greased baking dish. And then, because I could, I topped it with four slices of bacon.

Both the chicken and stuffing went into a smokin’ hot 450° oven. Halfway through I slathered the chicken with sauce and then again about 10 minutes later. I tossed some green lettuce with a simple vinaigrette and we were ready to eat.

Fortunately for both of us, Ryan came home a little early (which is 7pm around here) and set to work making dinner out of the random pile I had taken out of the fridge while I got our daughter ready for bed. Salmon, sundried tomatoes, a handful of cherry tomatoes from our garden, some spinach and bacon. I think I was thinking pasta, but hadn’t even gotten that far and on a normal night I wouldn’t even be able to start cooking until at least 8:30. So I was thrilled to know I would just come downstairs to dinner and it would be a good dinner and I would finish it before 10:30.

By the time I came down Ryan had cooked the bacon, made a sundried tomato aioli, toasted some sprouted wheat bread, caramelized some onions, washed the spinach and had the salmon on the grill. And the kitchen was still relatively in order. Had this been me, every surface would have been covered, many knives dirtied and a bit of chaos might linger in the air. But all was in its place. I helped him assemble our sandwiches and we sat down to eat dinner together at a normal hour and they were hot and spicy and fresh and crunchy and fabulous.

Since then I have improved and elevated the art of Gnarl in forms such as lentils and greens and bacon with an egg and grated cheese, or bean/sausage/kale/tomato glop with toast, but every once in a while I toss care aside and make some old fashioned Gnarl only I could love. Tonight was such a night.

I had a quickly aging zucchini, half a can of tomatoes, a can of white beans, a hard nub of parmesan cheese, eggs and leftover sauteed greens. I cubed the zucchini and browned it with some onion. Then in went the tomato, beans and kale and I stirred until it was heated through and poured it in a bowl. I fried an egg in the pan, put it on top, grated cheese on top and added a healthy dose of pepper and voila. Veggies a la Gnarl Avec Oeuf.