Hellbilly Wisdom

Welcome HogOnIce readers!

2005-02-18T10:59:00.000-05:00

Since I got the link for yakking about rice, here's a quick link with info on the different types of rice:

Read Me! Read Me!

See, I wasn't kidding.

Long grain rice <> sticky rice.

More when I'm not working...

Basic Beef Stew

2005-02-07T13:56:00.000-05:00

This one is for my harpy sisters, who lack both culinary and cultural grace.

Beef stew is one of the easiest most laid back meals to make. All that is required is a carnivorous disposition and a large pot. That and a shitload of time on your hands.

So, prep time - 30 minutes, max. If your slow.
Cook time - 5 hours, give or take an hour.

1 Chuck Roast 2-3 lbs
2 medium onions, roughly chopped
4 ribs of celery, roughly chopped
3 carrots, roughly chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tbls butter
1 cup Red Wine, something dry and spicy, preferably. Argentinean Malbecs fit the bill, usually dry and spicy and cheaper than dirt
2 cans beef broth

Now, you can omit the beef broth and the wine and still have good stew. If you insist on being a cheapy, but want good flavor, use bouillon. Or don't, but I'll insult you.

Cut the meat into 1 inch cubes. Melt butter in the pot. Brown meat.

Add broth, wine, bring to a boil. Add veggies. Cover and reduce to the lowest setting you can on your stove. Sit on your ass for 5 hours. Eat. Swoon.

The veggies are the spices in this case. Incidentally, dearest sisters, the onion/celery/carrot mix is called a mirepoix. Swap the carrot for bell pepper and you have the Cajun/Creole trinity.

Roll the meat pieces in flour before you brown them, and it'll had taste and thicken the stew. Yum.

The red wine adds depth and flavor. Plus, you have the rest with dinner. It isn't snobbery, just tasty. You could use beer, you know. But be advised, the beer will foam like crazy.

So, go forth, make stew. Bring me samples, I'll grade the results. Sister who does the best job gets... I don't know, a week without insults or something.

Operation Fat Bastard - Ouch

2005-01-13T08:57:00.000-05:00

OK, the irate Irish lady had a food craving last night. I was feeling charitable, and I had money on me (rare occasion, that). So I ran to the supermarket.

Now, ordinarily, this would amount to hopping in the truck, and rattling off in my jalopie to Harrris Teeter. Well, the weather was nice, and my bike lock broken. Ergo, I needed some excercise, baby.

So, I ran to the store. LITERALLY. Something new everyday, mon ami. Couldn't run back, cause she wanted beer, and that would have been messy.

Got back, and was told that I had forgotten a critical ingredient. Now had to run back. I got the item. Ran back to the house.

All good so far, right? Yep, having fun, runner's high, blah de blah...

I'm a bloody idiot sometimes, and prone to acts of sheer foolishness. So, naturally, the time had come to have an 'incident.'

I decided that I had progressed enough in my training to take the stairs 3 at a time, instead of my usual two. I don't have long legs for someone of my height, but I am, or so I have been told, 'bat shit crazy.' So I took them 3 at a time. And on the last set of 3, I felt something go loose and snap. Like an overstretched rubber band. Yeah, that was nice.

Ouch.

So, now my right knee is bugging the crap outta me. I'm downing ibuprofen like a junkie with a bottle of percocet. Dull, throbbing pain.

Upside : able to run for much longer distances without tiring. Downside : Damnit that hurts!

Deathburger 3000 | Time to lay off the Pork Fat

2005-01-10T13:14:00.000-05:00

Saturday, while off shopping for new clothes as part of Operation Fat Bastard, I was struck by temptation. The vile, filthy, really really naughty kind. That's right... the most evil of all food cravings. RED MEAT. LOTS AND LOTS OF RED MEAT.

Well, come to think of it, it really isn't that evil or vile. But I can try, right? I can make ground beef really evil if I try hard enough. What about practically being deep fried in bacon grease?

Yep, that'll do the trick.

So, I got a huge baguette, some peppercorn bacon, some extra sharp cheddar, and a couple of pounds of ground beef, and some good Dijon mustard. Grey Poupon SUCKS.

Fry up 4 strips of bacon. In your cast iron skillet, no less.

Mold meat into patties that will fit in the baguette. Make em thick.

Put meat in skillet.

Bacon is very greasy. In my case, there was enough to come up half way on the sides of the hamburger. BWUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Deep-fried hamburger! It's so f-ing WRONG!

Flip after a while, so we can get the other side nice and crusty.

Put cheddar on top, preferably in uncomfortable chunks.

Toast baguette, sliced into hoagie sized portions. If you don't toast, it will get soggy instantly.

Smear on mayo on the bottom, dijon on top. Place deep fried deathburger inside. Top with bacon.

Eat, if you dare.

This tasted great. But an hour later I felt like I was gonna die. I'm still dealing with the gas. Time to lay off the bacon for a couple of days, me thinks.

But, oh, God, was it good goin down...

Operation Fat Bastard

2005-01-05T13:22:00.000-05:00

I promised myself that I would devote this website exclusively to food. However, I am not a man of my word, so, here we go with Fat Bastard updates. Although, to be fair, they do kinda go hand in hand...

Further, I figure that while I am prone to running my mouth, I rarely give testimony. God has changed me, changed my life, and I don't say that often enough. I don't thank Him often enough. I am cantankerous and crotchety by nature, and I really hate it when I don't get what I want. Thus I complain endlessly, even when things are going well. But this is about rebirth, after all. And a man's nature can be changed.

So, brothers and sisters, I have come to TESTIFY! Woo hoo!

I weighed in this morning at 287.5 lbs. For the record, I started this journey at 333lbs, last recorded the last time I went to the doctor, which was around June of 2004. And it all started because of my bicycle.

Now, I have almost always been a big bubba, as they say. Since probably about the 4th grade, I have been overweight. People treat you differently when you're packing extra. And not in a good way. I have never handled that well. It, compounded by other factors that I am not willing to expose to the public eye, had made an impact on every facet of my life. Particularly in how I related to others, and how others related to me. When you are used to being scorned and mistreated, you adapt, and expect that from everyone you meet. It's ugly. And it made me as unattractive on the inside as I was on the outside, too. Even to myself.

Now, I do not know why I started riding my bike to work. I hated the thing, frankly. It was a sore reminder of a failed and painful relationship. I bought it because of her, and only used it because of her. Absent her presence, it was a pointless object. But I kept it, God only knows why.

So, long after I was kicked to the curb, having finally moved back to the fair Commonwealth of Virginia (which is not, despite the advertisement, for lovers). My new apartment was ridiculously close to work, a commute that was so much smaller than the 52 miles that I was used to that I am too embarrassed to say. OPEC's insatiable greed meant that my laziness was costing me money, though -- it was simply too expensive to drive to work. Thus a compulsion manifested that is still unexplainable. I rode my bike. My worthless, hated bike. Not for health, but for money.

Eventually, a month had passed. My eating habits had not changed, but my clothes fit better. I had energy that I had never had before. And I do mean never. I have almost always been one seriously lazy guy, trust me.

Thus, Operation Fat Bastard was born. Being something of a control freak when I am so inclined, and recognizing that such endeavors are doomed to failure when unrealistic goals are set, I divided OFB into three phases. Phase I : to get down below 300lbs by Dec 31, 2004. Phase II : I still haven't figured this one out, sorry. Phase III : Being comfortable in my own body by my birthday.

Phase III also has a requirement for a girlfriend, but I thinks its best if we leave that aspect alone.

The 300 lbs thing came about because it was my understanding that your generic bathroom scale stopped at 300 lbs. I guess Americans aren't quite as fat as the news says they are, ya know? I wanted to reach a point where I could start tracking my progress effectively and cheaply, and I was gonna give myself a good couple of months to get there.

Of course, by Sept I had found a model at Target that went up 330 lbs for cheap. Medical scales went up 500, but they cost an equal amount of money. Dollar per pound I'd guess. Bastards.

I brought the scale home, rushed to my bedroom, and weighed myself. I was expecting to maybe come in on the shy side of 329 or so. I'm new at this remember? I've had zero experience with actively trying such nonsense, ya know. I came in at 322. I was amazed. And so, having achieved such fantastic success while eating whatever the hell I wanted and drinking like a fish, imagine if I dieted? The horror.

Plus, I had a scale. And my latent obsessive compulsive behavior reared its terrifying head. I weighed myself in the morning, and in the evening. I bought a tape measure and began to track my waist and chest size.

I discovered that a pound of fat roughly equals 3,500 calories. I discovered two formulas, the BMR and the RMR, for measuring the amount of calories your body burns just to stay alive. I created a database to track weight and metabolic rate calculations. I'd enter readings every couple of weeks.

I discovered that I was losing 2 lbs a week on average. I increased my exercising. I stopped drinking so much. I took up a granola habit. My hunger decreased, my stomach shrank, I got real thirsty. I felt like I was possessed by a whirlwind. I was positively on fire.

People started treating me differently. I blamed it on weightloss, because that was the only reference I had for how people treated me. I brought this up with a friend, but I was told that my personality had changed too. And, though it pains me to admit it, it had.

Now, eventually, Dec 1 rolled around. I had moved into a new place, with roommates, and simply hadn't the time to obsess about weight. Weather had made regular exercise an obstacle, and living with two Irish-Americans meant lots of booze. So, I was anticipating only a modest loss.

But I hit 298! A month ahead of schedule! I was exhilarated!

With this in mind, I figured I'd settle down for an easy pace for December. Being Christmas time, that meant pie. The weather got worse, and my biking became a once a week at most thing, since I didn't have the proper attire.

I got cranky, and I got sick. Garr, me matie. Garr.

So, Jan 2nd, I weighed myself. 289. I had actually managed to lose weight while eating pie. Ha! Brand new metabolism, baby! HOORAH!

Yesterday, the weather was just delicious (for January). On the bike I was. Eww, it hurt. I was out of shape. Not as bad as back in July, but Lord, the pain. Plus, I was still sick. F-ing cold. But it was good to get back out there. I felt better instantly. Which was good, because New Year's wasn't all that great for me, frankly.

Today I rode into work again, even though it rained, lol. My truck is in the parking garage here, nice and lonely. And I'm on fire again.

If I maintain at least a pound and half a week, less than my present average, I'll hit the average weight zone for my height by my birthday. Plus, it'll only get warmer, so the distances will be greater. When the cold weather hit, I was up to about 15 miles on the weekends. I think I'll shoot for 30 miles by Easter.

All of this because I was compelled to do something I didn't want to do. Which, given my history with God, squares pretty consistently, I'd say. And I'm all the healthier for it, body, mind, and soul.

Needless to say, I do eat the food I write about here. Just not all of it. I stretch it out over days as lunch (which you can do when your daily calorie limit is 2000-2500 and your breakfast is granola). Though there may come a day when I'll have to give up the gumbo, I'll have to admit. I weep for the future, mon ami. I weep. But, for now, I'll just burn.

Unauthentic Gumbo - Recipe Hatred Revisited

2005-01-03T15:02:00.000-05:00

I have had two people ask me for my recipe for gumbo, my mother and a friend from church. And, frankly, it is just bit of an effort not to slap them repeatedly when they do so.

I mean, this is me we're talking about here! To hell with recipes!

I made Chicken Picatta for my roommate once. Mind you, she isn't Italian, but she's pickier than a, well... let's just say she's a woman. Point is, I added onions. Why? Because onions should be added to everything, damnit. "That's not Chicken Picatta," says she, "Chicken Picatta doesn't have onions. You should follow the recipe."

Lookit, it has onions if I SAY IT HAS ONIONS FOUL HEATHEN!

Picatta means sharp - its basically any meat pounded flat, breaded, fried, and served with a citrus based sauce. You could throw in habaneros and it would still be picatta.

But back to gumbo.

My father never made gumbo for us. There is no family gumbo recipe that I am aware of. (Why else would my mother ask for mine?) In my younger years, before I attained the coveted rank of Maître grand d'arrogance, I asked my father how to make jambalaya (my personal favorite dish of all time). He refused to tell me. Could be he forgot. Or it could be he shared my hatred of recipes.

So, in that sense at least, this isn't authentic in any way. The Old Man also steadfastly maintained that gumbo was a Creole creation, and was something we shouldn't keep in our repertoire. Of course, he would still buy it in a can, so it could be he was lazy.

Gumbo is the original african word for okra. Don't know what language or dialect, and don't rightly care either way. I was taught that he wasn't gumbo unless it had okra. Lacking okra, it would have to be gumbo file, topped with file powder (ground sassafras leaves). Okra you can generally find in Arlington, but it'll cost you 5$ a pound, and it's never in quantity. Unless you buy canned or frozen, and, well, blech.

File powder is harder to find than a woman that say yes instead of maybe. You'll drive all over town, go from supermarket to supermarket, yuppie/hippie/earthy crunchy stores like Whole Foods, fancy supermarkets like Harris Teeter (lots of ladies at that one though, mon ami. Lots of ladies. Yum), to the 'gourmet' markets (like Balducci's). And you may, should the Almighty be so graceful, may, I say, find file powder.

And, not to get off on a rant here, but why is it the 'ethnic' section of the supermarket is really the hispanic and chinese section? And just how obscure can it be these days to want a can of chilis or a tortilla? I live in a major metropolitan area and I haven't seen -- except at Harris Teeter -- a white person in WEEKS. We Cajuns are few and far between, bubba, and it don't get much more ethnic than that, does it? I want my file and gator meat!

But back to gumbo.

At Balducci's, back when it was still Sutton Place Gourmet, the good Lord was kind enough to allow the store to stock a couple of meager and outrageously expensive containers of file powder. So, I started to work on the concept.

I generally make gumbo once or twice a month, diet and expense account willing. Ingredients vary, based generally on my mood and if I can find real Andouille (hint - not at Harris Teeter). It's pretty simple. The proportions are up to you. Recipes are only really nessecary in baking, because there it's all about biology (yeast) or chemistry (baking powder/soda). With gumbo, which is really just soup (I'm being honest!), it ain't all that complicate, ya hear?

So, here follows my basic recipe for gumbo.

Roux
Trinity
Water/Broth/Stock
Meat
Okra
File

Well, there you go. Enjoy.

Oh, that wasn't good enough?

Ok, here's what I did for New Year's Eve.

I went to Giant and bought one of them roasted chickens, whole. I used the breast meat for sandwhiches (with some nice crusty french bread and mustard). The rest I took off the bones and set aside in the fridge.

I then put the bones and skin into a stock pot full of water. I brought the water to a boil, then dropped it down to a simmer. I added some garlic, don't remember how much, and a tiny amount of dried basil. I left this on the stove for pretty much an entire day. Strain at the end to remove unpleasant reminders of dead animal. Fresh chicken stock.

But back to gumbo.

3 tbls Butter
3 tbls Flour
1 cup onion (chopped)
1 cup celery (chopped)
1 cup bell pepper (chopped)
4 cloves garlic, chopped, minced, smashed, I don't remember
Left over roasted chicken meat
1 Package Kielbasa, sliced
1 tbls cayenne pepper (powdered)
Salt & Pepper to taste

Melt butter. Add Flour. Cook roux on medium to medium high heat, stirring until it's a good dark brown. Mmmmm, yummy.

Add trinity. Lower to medium to medium low. Cook down until till the onions are kinda clear. Or until you're bored, up to you. Its a seasoning base, remember. We want it to sweat and make everything taste beautiful.

Add cayenne and salt and pepper.

You can brown the sausage in a seperate skillet if you don't like high quantities of UNCLEAN PORK FAT in your soup. I do. Throw the sausage in the pot.

If you follow my wonderful example, add more time to this stage to cook the sausage. Mmmmm, yummy.

Add garlic.
Add pulled chicken meat. Stir.

Add chicken stock. Bring to a boil. Roux won't thicken until it hits a boil. It won't thicken much at all if you made a dark roux, but it sure will taste good!

Let it simmer for about 30 minutes to whenever you like so all the flavors can mingle.

But in a bowl with rice. Or pasta if you're a heathen. Sprinkle with file powder.

From The South End of A North Bound Camel | Lord Jesus Save Me Now!

2004-12-29T17:48:00.001-05:00

I'm home from work today, and have at last been plowed under by the horrors of winter time. I feel like, well, read the title...

And this morning, around 11, having at last managed to fling myself from my bed, I made way to the grocery store. A long and perilous journey, this was, as I walked across the street, and entered the Giant, directly across from my house...

Colds for me mean one thing, and one thing only. Chilis. And some sort of meat. So, two things really, but I don't count very well. It's just something a programmer never does.

So, anywho, I think you can best call this Cajun Pot Roast with Roasted Potatoes. And that's an estimation mind you. I do know that my brother cried out to his redeemer when he took his first bite, but "Oh God" is a little dramatic for a recipe title, wouldn't you say?

You'll need:

1 Chuck Roast. I didn't pay attention to how big. It was on sale for like 6 bucks. Sue me.

1 Can Beef Broth/Stock
1/2 cup chopped onion
1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped green bell pepper
3-4 cloves garlic, chopped
4 strips of chopped peppercorn bacon.
2 tbls Olive Oil
1/2 cup of Orzo Pasta
Oh yeah, a crap load of tabasco. Because we're going for SPICY!!!!!

Also,
5 Potatoes

Put olive oil on pot on medium heat. Add bacon and render down. When the bacon is cooked, add the trinity (onion, celery, pepper). We want a good browning going on here - fusion of UNCLEAN bacon grease and standard cajun flavoring. You will weep, I promise you. And not because of the onions.

When you're satisfied, throw in the garlic. Cook for about a minute or two, we don't want to overcook the garlic, because that's just unpleasant.

Remove the contents of the pot to a plate or some other container. i.e. set aside

Turn burner to medium high. Brown the chuck roast on all sides, or rather, as best as you can manage, because its not exactly easy to handle inside the pot...

When we've got a good char on that puppy, add in the beef broth/stock and the trinity/UNCLEANpork/garlic made earlier. Pump in as much tabasco as you can handle, wuss. Turn burner down to low. As in as low as she'll go and still cook it.

Now, sit on your ass for 4 hours.

When hour 4 arrives, peel or wash the potatoes (up to you). Chop into eights and toss with some olive oil, salt, pepper, and minced garlic. Lay out on a baking sheet and bake in the oven for 1 hour at 350`.

At 4 and a half hours, add the orzo to the pot and stir. The smell should make you want to cry.

When hour 5 arrives, prepare to swoon.

Pull out the meat and shred with a fork. Add back to the pot. Now, take out the taters put them in the pot. Stir.

Put in bowl. Eat. Mop up left over goodness with crusty french bread. Praise the Almighty. For cows, for taters, for Cajuns, for your roommate being away so you can eat bacon, and, as perverse as it sounds, for being sicker 'en snot. Why else engage in such extravagance?

P.S. - On a side note, this whole thing cost me 7 or 8 bucks. You should always stock onions, celery, bell pepper, garlic, and pasta. So I only paid for the meat ($6-7) and the can of stock ($1).

Also, I still feel like what comes out of the south end of a north bound camel, but now I'm at least a little chipper, ya know?

Now, where's the 'tussin?

Lunch Today - Eggs and Gorgonzola

2004-12-28T13:55:00.000-05:00

Food born out of laziness is rarely a bad thing, unless you're one of those guys who thinks the four food groups are beer, pasta, white sauce, and red sauce. In that case, have another beer, and goto another blog.

So, I'm lazy, on the lamb from work, and here's what I put together:

Slice a sandwich sized chink off of a loaf of french bread.
Fry up three eggs over easy.
Crumble some gorgonzola.

Sice sammich bread in half, toast. Butter. Splash with tobasco.

Throw the eggs in. Cover eggs in blue cheeze. Enjoy.

I like the quickies.

All Brown Pies Are Not The Same | How to Convert a Tater Hater

2004-12-23T13:30:00.000-05:00

Your average Sweet Potato Pie is a Pumpkin pie without the mushy texture -- or so I have been told. The truth is a little different, of course.

I once performed an act of kindness for a woman at work. As a reward, I was presented with the merest sliver of her mother's "famous" sweet potato pie. My astonishment was twofold - I had no idea people made pies out of sweet potatoes, and second, it was mighty tasty... And didn't taste like candied yams. It was subtle and, dare I say it, nuanced. It was the culinary equivalent of being kissed by an angel. It was pie as a religious experience. Sadly, I was denied the recipe. And denied a bigger slice to boot. Big meanie.

An idea was planted, nonetheless, and years later came to fruition.

So, for Thanksgiving, my sister, uncouth heathen that she is, requested candied yams. Now, being something of a royal shit, I couldn't just make candied yams. One, because I hate them, and two, because it just was beneath me. It just wouldn't do,you see. But candied yam pie? That has potential.

What follows is the recipe I concocted, or at least as much of the recipe that I could remember. I am no fan of the recipe concept, you see. Too many directions.

Anyhoo, this is what you'll need:

2 tbl Maple Syrup
1 tbl Bourbon (I used Jack -- on account of not wanting to waster the Maker's Mark on pie)
3 tbl Praline Liquor (I get mine from Schneiders of Capitol Hill)
Sweet Potatoes (2 large ones should do)
1 Egg, slightly beaten
1/3 Brown Sugar (plus a little more for sprinkling)
1/4 regular sugar
1/3 cup of water
1 tbl butter
Mini Marshmallows
Pie Shell

I cheated and used a frozen pie shell. I'm lazy, what can I say. Make one from scratch if it turns your toes.

Bake the sweet potatoes in the oven for an hour at 400', or until fork tender. Set aside to cool. We'll come back to them. Go ahead and turn off the oven.

Half way through the sweet potatoes' baking cycle, get out a small pot and pour the 1/3 cup of water in and bring to a boil. Add the brown and white sugar and stir to mix. When the sugar dissolves and you get a nice syrup going, add the maple syrup, bourbon, and praline liquor. Add the butter and stir until it is melted and mixed. Set aside to cool.

If you have a frozen pie shell, now would be a good time to thaw.

Peel and mash the sweet potatoes. If you have a hand mixer, or, lucky you, a stand mixer, feel free to whip the taters for a lighter, fluffier pie.

Once we have the potatoes at a consistency you fancy, stir (or whip, natch) in the syrup made earlier. Now add the egg to bind it, so we don't have tater puree pie.

Bake for an hour at 400'. 10 minutes before the end, take it out and sprinkle with the mini marshmallows and more brown sugar. Stick it back in to finish for the last ten minutes, or until the marshmallows look golden brown and tasty.

Très savoureux, mon ami.

Feel free to modify the recipe(suggestion) as much as you like.

I made two of these. One I gave to my sister, and another that I took to a church gathering of sorts. There I encountered a man who was steadfast in his hatred of 'brown pies.' I begged him to try the pie (which was actually more of a reddish color really), and upon relenting, he discovered that his hatred of brown pie was foolish and silly. The pie was a flat out hit. Even the house full of Seventh Day Cultists loved it.

The Praline gives it a Pecan Pie flavor, and the Maple Syrup gives it a little 'Hey Now!' And the bourbon is in there nuance, baby. Enjoy.

Cornbread - Ain't Nothing Wrong With That

2004-12-17T13:13:00.000-05:00

This one's for my sister, the one shacked up with the cooky Seventh Day Adventist (those who have trouble keeping the 10 commandments but try very had to keep the other 628 or so).

Anyhoo, on with the show...

One must always have a cast iron skillet. Failing that, you must admit to yourself that you are not a foodie. Go here and look. Isn't that a thing of beauty? I have two. The one I grew up with (#1), and the one I was given when I became a man (#2 - The Deuce).

Now, when my family moved down south, the Old Man decided that he didn't want to take the skillet with him. Why? God only knows... the Old Man has never made any sense. Now, his odd mental processes notwithstanding, the point is I made off with the black beauty. And its been baconlicious ever since. I haven't even unpacked the Deuce. Call me crazy.

This is why I couldn't - and you shouldn't - be shacked up with some religious zealot. I need my cheap, ancient cookware smothered in pork fat. That's right. The Demon PORK. Evil, isn't it? Just screams heart attack. Just screams UNCLEAN. UNCLEAN PORK.

Not to get all, you know, biblical or anything, but if you actually read the Bible (the book of Acts), there's this whole bit about St. Peter having a vision about eating unclean food (re: PORK). And if St. Peter can do it, I'm sure a certain house full of weird cultists who can't keep their pants on can too. But that's just my opinion. And that of the Catholic church. And a goodly number of Protestant churches. And maybe even the Greeks. Jews and Muslims don't count. No, Tim, they don't.

Right, well, I had an... inclination to perform acts of excess. Like making cornbread in my PORK FAT FILLED skillet. Now, the Old Man used to make cornbread with cheese and peppers, so, knowing I can always do better than my father, I decided to take it a step further.

I made a test run with shredded Pepper Jack cheese, just to reacquaint myself with the patented cornbread in the skillet technique. Thereby burning the shit out of the cornbread cause I had the skillet on too high. See what drinking gets you?

Now, charred crust in hand, I was able to determine proper cooking time and temperature. And in the end of experiment #1, I learned two things : 1) Turn the burner down, moron, and 2) More Cheese is ALWAYS BETTER.

So, experiment #2. Or, when the Reformed Vegetarian is away, the BACON COMES INTO PLAY.

With the fan on high, so that a certain Irish lady wouldn't kill me, and burner on medium, I fried up some chopped UNCLEAN BACON made from UNCLEAN PORK. Once the UNCLEAN BACON rendered, I added a can of chopped chilies. (I use fresh, but I'm often inebriated. And lazy). I then swirled the chilies around to soak up some UNCLEAN PORK FAT. Having achieved this act of UNCLEAN evil, I mixed the cornbread batter. How? By following the directions on the corn meal packet. Its cornbread, not ettoufee'.

Right, well, I added the cheese, in chunks this time, and stirred real good like, and threw it the skillet. Only to discover that the UNCLEAN PORK went to the sides of the batter. So I had to stir it a little to get the UNCLEAN bacon to mix better. I let it sit on the burner a little to set the crust, and threw the whole thing in the oven to, as it is said, git er done.

Then, about 5 minutes before it was done, I put butter and chopped up pepper jack on the top. And my cholesterol shot through the roof.

And I just wanted to thank my nephew's father for inspiring this act of evil.

DOGMA - It's What's For Dinner!

Death and Rebirth : Fire Sucks

2004-12-17T11:55:00.000-05:00

NullSkull.com is kaputs. My life is now meaningless, once again. Blah blah blah, blah blah, blah blah blah blah.

i.e. Welcome to my new digital home, or at least, my free space until I get a server in a flame retardant suit. Of course, since I never posted to NullSkull... not much a difference, eh? Well, that's just the French in me, I suppose. Gave up the battle before it began.

Now, on to food.