From Uruguay With Love

Dinnertime in the Belly of the Beast

Meatballs via camera-phone.

Smells Like Prague...

5am camera-phone.

I Get It, You Live in Florida...

... and it's not supposed to be this cold and blah blah whine cry me a river. Maybe this will shut you up. Potato and Chorizo Frittata. I decided to make this week's Sunday brunch a little low key, as going out to do major grocery shopping before noon, in 26 degree weather, with a ripping hangover, is not my idea of fun. Hey Florida, here's a picture from the blizzard of 2009. Do you still want your mommy to wrap you up in a widdle bwankie?

Southern-Style Eggs Benedict

I'll apologize in advance for the absence of a picture. This one looked and smelled so good I completely neglected to document it. This was a take on a classic. A fried annatto and smoked cheddar grit cake replaced the English muffin, pulled pork took over for Canadian bacon, the standard poached egg was far too classy to tamper with, but the hollandaise was dressed up with a little chipotle puree. On the side; Asparagus, a salad consisting of red-leaf lettuce, apples, and walnuts with a blood orange vinaigrette, and enough mimosas and bloody marys to intoxicate an army at noon. Thanks to Christina and Sashley for field testing a recipe I hope to perfect. All the snow and sub-freezing weather in the world can't keep a good brunch down.

Nice Rack

This New Year's Eve Jose and I wanted to do something a little special with our menu. We figured if you charge someone one hundred hard-earned, American dollars and promise them food all night long they would like something a little nicer that some bullshit panino. Alas, the powers that be thought otherwise. The plug was pulled on duck quesadillas, oysters with champagne granita, lobster macaroni and cheese on parmesan wafers, etc. We did however slip one curveball past while the boss-man was in Florida by accepting delivery of fifty pounds of lamb. Take that food cost! Such adorable baby racks, shown here marinating in rosemary, garlic, and olive oil, then seared, roasted, and finished with ginger-mint preserves. We marinated our livers in margaritas from 9PM until 4AM. Thanks to the cheesiest DJ ever for getting the party totally hyped on New York City, and really just partying in general. And a special thanks to the trashed and clumsy Asian girl that busted ass in front of everyone while unsuccessfully trying to get me to dance on the bar with her. Little lady you absolutely made 2009 for me. In light of these and other life-affirming events I have decided to change my resolution from "grow the hell up" to simply "eat more lamb." I think I can manage that.

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.

And For the Breakfast Minded...

... the same meal from the last post retrofitted to brunch specifications. I made a lot. I'll be eating it for weeks to come.