What's a Southern Boy to Do?

Note: The original text was translated from the King's English to formal redneck jabber. Transcripts of the original text can be obtained at the behest of the author. All elongated vowels and unsubstantiated conjugations are intentional and relevant. Please enjoy.

Lemme ask ya'll a question. Where in all of God's good graces did all this damn ol' snow come from? I'll tell ya'll what: people ain't made for this ridiculousness. As a gentleman of southern distinction I pride myself on worldliness and moral fortitude. But I gotta say this here weather's got me more fired up than a frog in a dynamite pond. It just ain't right. I mean, who am I to question the Good Lord Almighty in any matters meteorological? And yet I find myself pondering His infinite wisdom. Why Dear Lord did you decide to subject your loyal adherents to such adversity? It don't make no damn sense. You surely do work in mysterious ways. I ain't seen such unsure footin' since Buzz Armstrong made that whole big deal 'bout ambulatin' all over the moon. And I ain't even positive that shit was for real. I s'pose what I'm tryin' to get at is despite all your glory I still got cold feet and wet socks. I surely ain't one to question things of any ethereal nature, but you got me all convoluted and perplexed. In summation, Lord I give praise to your majesty, but can we please get a thaw? As you well know I ain't built for this shit...

(picture courtesy of Google and God's wrath)

Barbecue, Brooklyn Style

The Southern Support Group has officially moved from simple food blog to full-on ideology (and yes, there is plenty of bluegrass involved.) We can't count on finding quality soul food anywhere in the wilds of Brooklyn so we'll just have to take care of ourselves. It may seem odd that someone who cooks for a living five days a week would want to spend their entire day off in their own kitchen. What can I say? You don't get to choose your passions. You either accept and embrace them or let their absence slowly chip away at your soul. Plus, the feeling of satisfaction one gets from a friend truly enjoying your culinary creations is not to be taken lightly. As noted in an earlier entry, without some sort of wood burning apparatus it's hard to impart that thick smoky flavor on a cut of meat. Espresso rub is my current solution, in this case applied to a pork butt, topped with blueberry BBQ sauce (a recipe I am willing to devote my entire life to perfecting.)



On the side are smoked gouda corn muffins, and red cabbage slaw with saffron vinaigrette. This was also my first attempt at making both Brussels sprouts, and apple and blackberry crisp. As for the sprouts, there isn't any vegetable i've found so far that isn't better when cooked with bacon and finished with heavy cream. The crisp has a walnut and oat topping. Thanks to Christina, Savannah, and Brett for providing the adult beverages and great company. Here's to the start of a new tradition!

A Cure for Depression...

... or at least deep-seated disappointment. Old man winter hasn't been formally invited in for the year, and yet he continues to knock on the door. Last night the freezing rain that frequently falls on St. Mark's Place began to crystalize. As witnessed by my own two eyes snow intermittently floated on the icy wind at on odd contrast to the almost marble-sized raindrops. Amidst inclement weather I also learned that the Florida Gators suffered their only loss of the season at the hands of Alabama, during the SEC championship no less. All the prayer in the world couldn't help Tim Tebow, whose one-man offense crashed and burned. So long dreams of another national championship. And good riddance to Tebow. All the tears and bible verses in the world won't change what you are: a big fat ball-hog. At least the rain cleared out by this morning leaving a beautifully clear and crisp December day. Perfect soup weather. Pictured above are Tomato Bisque garnished with goat cheese, and a bitch-ass little crybaby.