Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Culinary Smackdown: Battle Bacon



Eggplant to Go brought it back, Chickory designed its rocking' new badge, Grumpy Granny is hosting this week, and I'm playing along because, well, I love bacon. Even though I have, like, no time these days and my brain has been reduced to near mush from the stress and lack of consistent zzzzzzzs. Still, the cooking, it must get done. S.B. will suffer Big Salad, Sandwich, and Breakfast For Supper nights for only so long.

At any rate, my entry isn't all that revolutionary, but it is interesting because the main ingredient is the last lone veggie in the pantheon of veggies that I used to hamster-cheek in protest as a wee Moi that I still look upon with dread. Perhaps, this dread, it is in my genes, because one of my cousins with whom I am close (call me, you bum), also hates 'em.

Yes. Brussels Sprouts. Which to me have always looked like the stunted fetal offspring of regular cabbage and tasted like sweaty gym socks. NOT a good combo. And this is coming from someone who loves Limburger, liver, and tripe. Only not all together on the same plate. I do have standards.

Anyway. There I was in the produce section on Monday and there they were, looking all of a sudden very bright green and cheery and so I thought, well? Maybe bacon would help? And pesto (which I have a surfeit of this year for some bizarre reason—it's like I've suddenly discovered I DO have a gardening green thumb and it goes by the name of basil), definitely pesto.

See? So pretty!

Okay, so how to cook these things. According to various websites, the trick is to bake them in the oven at a high temperature until they are very well browned. Almost burnt. Which gets rid of the sweaty gym socks flavor and heightens the sugars.

So, what the hey, I gave it a shot.

WHAT:

Three large pieces of high quality bacon, the stuff you get from the butcher that's cut thick and marbled just perfectly, fried up until crisp.

3 T. bacon grease from frying

Twelve brussels sprouts, washed and trimmed

1/4 cup pesto

3 T. heavy cream

salt and pepper to taste

HOW:

Preheat oven to 400 F.

Fry bacon in a large skillet. Once done, remove bacon to a plate to cool and discard all but 3 T. of the grease. Add brussels sprouts to the pan and toss until well-coated with the grease. Place sprouts in an oven proof baking dish and bake for 30-40 minutes or until well brown.

While sprouts are cooking, crumble bacon into small pieces and make the pesto: in a Cuisinart or other electric chopper type thingee, place two cups of lightly packed, fresh basil leaves, well washed, a 1/4 cup of pine nuts (or any other kind of nut, really—I used almonds here), one small clove garlic, two ounces of parmesan cheese, and a quarter cup of olive oil. Whiz until desired texture is reached and add salt and pepper to taste.


Add 1/4 cup of the pesto to the same skillet in which you cooked the bacon, add cream and 3/4 of the crumbled bacon slices and cook over medium heat until sauce thickens slightly.

Plate the sprouts, pour sauce on top, and add sprinkled bacon. Serve as a side dish. That night it was ribs with Texas toast.


Seriously, these didn't taste like gym socks at all! In fact, they were quite yummy. Shhhhhhhh. Don't tell my cousin.

Check out all the other entries by visiting Grump Granny's site.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Haiku Mondays: MEMORY

The winner by both Troll declaration and popular vote in last week's Haiku Monday contest, Princess over at Palais de Steff is hosting this week's contest with the theme of:

MEMORY

Pop on over and add to the fun, won't you?

* * *


Stumble-stepped old dog
tilts nose to summer breeze. Sniffs:
tales of glory days.



Friday, August 26, 2011

Project Runway Temporary Snark Station

I'm temporarily hosting the Project Runway Snark Station while our usual hostess, Pam in the OKC, is busy rockin' in the free world. All I can say about last night's show is:

Zehr vill be no dissent amongst zuh ranks!

Well, at least everyone was in agreement that this look rocks socks:

I'd wear it in a heartbeat, even with those flat-ass shoes,
and I hate flat-ass shoes.

But, whoa, Nelly. Were The Heidi and I the only people who thought Anthony Ryan should go home? PTSD back to junior high gym school class, seriously, y'all!

Gag me with a dodge ball.


Unfortunately, Michael, Nina, and that Erin Wasson model girl (eat something!) were all, "Nyet! Danielle simply cannot be allowed to make another thing in silk chiffon, ever!" while Heidi was all, "Nein! Project Runway is cut and dried: one day you're in, the next day you're out!"

Sing it, girlfriend.

What sayeth you, the snarkers?

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Notes From the Road



Dear Bed and Breakfast Owners Throughout the Northeast Corridor,

Just because Benjamin Franklin slept here? Doesn't mean anyone living in the 21st century should.

Signed,
Moi (Too tired to go Road Warrior on any one's asses. Tonight.)


Friday, August 19, 2011

Lexiconification


I'm hitting the road again this Sunday. Philadelphia-thereabouts-bound, in the service of putting one word after the other until I've amassed enough to fill a picture history book on the topic of interest. Before I go, though, I'm scrambling to finish up one project and clear my in-box of the most immediate demands of another.

This latter project has been particularly irksome, a copy editing project for a regional art magazine that pays its writers well, but which doesn't seem to get much in return. At least not for the main features of this issue. Here's what I had to wrangle into some semblance of sense in just two articles alone (Czar, shut your eyes; you've seen these):

“photography studios filled with a cacophony of tools to wrestle the perfect lighting through the lens”

“Zen principles carried out with eerie contemporariness”

“westernized modernizations”

“Kyoto emanating an enticing atmosphere that is serene and calm”

“introspective cave encouraging a reflective inner experience”

And a description of a house as “stone grounding connection to earth at the feet"



With the remaining work, I'm not running into bad phrasing so much as terrible, awful, hellacious word choices. I never thought it possible to actually hate certain words, but, really; I'd like to see us all take a break from using the following any time soon, either in conversation or on the written page. Like, 8-10 years ought to do it. Maybe forever.

Eclectic (I get it, it's unique and quirky. Now, go find another word.)

Synchronicity (I hate it when Sting sings it, I hate it when it's used to describe a relationship, I hate it, period.)

Predilection (There's just something creepy about how this word sounds, like a pervert licking his fingers over a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken.)

Penchant (Because I always pronounce it pen–shaunt in my head and that's just ridiculous.)

Munificent (I'm totally okay if you write "really generous"—really.)

Recherche (Rare, but here's one I can't pronounce at all.)

Magical (Perhaps my most un-favorite word of all time, especially when used to describe a painting, sunset, convergence of body mind and spirit, and/or the sensation you feel when confronted with said paintings, sunsets, and convergences, and therefore my number one choice for banishment from the English language forever and ever, amen.)

Come on, help me compile an anti-dictionary: if you could strike one word from the English language, what would it be?



Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Needful Things



Okay, okay. You can stop flashing those shiny brights at me now. I admit it. You've got my attention. I'm intrigued, alright?

But I have to tell you, I already have a car. And not just any car, but a really great car. A car with good bone structure and incredible handling. It's fast and nimble and smart and even has a terrific sense of humor. And I've had it for so long now, I don't know what I'd do with another one. I mean, do I even have the energy for another car? The outfits? The bank account?

Wait, what's that? Say again?

Ohhhhhhh. I see where you're going with this. It's not like I have to take you home, right? Just one spin around the block should do it, then we both go our separate ways and I'll forget I ever looked deep into your burled wood and leather lined dashboard or heard the sweet growl of your 5.4 liter, V-8, 355 hp, 0-60 in 4.2 seconds engine.

Right?


Sunday, August 14, 2011

Haiku Monday: PACIFIC


Neither hippie nor
holy holds the key. Peace, bro?
Fight the current’s flow.

* * *

Wanna play? Head over to Chickory's Place. She's hosting this week
and offering a fabulous prize.