Of late I've been having quite a bit of success with meals I've fixed for Tommy and Mary. Of course, whether I cook well or have my usual near miss, Gia the boxer is right there staring as if she's a closet chef willing to take in all that I can teach (not much). More likely she's just hoping I'll have a catastrophic accident and dump whatever I'm cooking on the floor for her to clean and savor.
Tonight I decided to tackle my favorite piece of meat: the pork tenderloin from Aldi's. Certainly every grocery chain carries the individually wrapped wonderful morsels of piglet. They usually weigh around a pound. But Aldi's sells them for about a dollar or more less than anyone else. Love Aldi's.
Hyattsville has one. So does Germantown. Quality is excellent. Whole chicken frozen at 85 cents a pound. Double stuff cookies that look like and taste like Oreos. Even their own version of Velveeta...the food of the gods. Admittedly selection is a bit limited. So what.
I loved the debate among the city counsel when Aldi's wanted to locate in Hyattsville. One side led by Chris Currie objected mightily. I believe he and friends condemned Aldi's as a "big box" establishment that catered to the least common denominator of polite society. A bit pretentious to be certain. Last time I was in the Hyattsville Aldi's Chris' wife was pushing a nearly filled cart down the next aisle. I pretended not to notice...didn't want her to see me laughing. She sped down the aisle, and whether accidentally or on purpose, made sure our carts never met. Still brings a smile to my pea brain.
Anyway, I've tried to prepare said tenderloin every way imaginable and to date I must say it will not allow me to end up with anything but a tender succulent meal. I've cut it in chunks and served it with pasta and tomato sauce. I've split it and seasoned it with bizarre flavor combinations, seared it and shoved it in the oven. Came out great every time.
For some reason I've been thinking about a Middle Eastern influence. That means cumin as the main seasoning. Cumin is the basis for a lot of cuisines, not just Southwest/Tex/Mex fare. So I got out my trusty gallon plastic bag tossed in a few spoonfuls of brown sugar, a healthy sprinkle of garlic powder, some dried oregano, a couple of teaspoons of black pepper, a bunch of powdered ginger, and a few industrial size shakes of cumin. To that mix I put in about a half cup of apple cider vinegar, a couple of shots (who knows I just poured til it seemed right) of white rum, and about a quarter cup of soy sauce. Oops. Almost forgot the honey. Shake it up. Put in the tenderloin. Seal the bag and put it in the frig (frigidare for those of my generation...refrigerator for the rest of you).
A few hours later I put the porcine chunk into a cast iron skillet heated hot with a coat of oil...not much. The sugar gives it a blackened look. Sear it well on all sides, then put it in a chaffing dish (I guess that's what you call the metal oval shallow pan I found on my self) and stick it in a 475 degree oven for about 15-20 minutes til it's slightly pink in the middle.
While it's cooking, I made potato pancakes: grated potato and onion (3 to 1 in favor of the potato), salt pepper a tablespoon or two of flour and a raw egg. Fry in canola oil til golden brown.
In the pork skillet I poured in some Madeira to free up the browned morsels, then added the marinade. To that bubbling mix I dumped in a healthy chunk of butter and whisked in some flour. Kept adding chicken stock to keep the gravy loose.
Took out the pork...let it sit a few minutes, then sliced it (about half inch thick) and ladled the gravy over each slice. I particularly liked it with a bit of fruit salad. Tommy's only comment was "write it down" (I usually forget what I do to each meal).
I love Aldi's. Did I say that? For the food snobs among us...Aldi's is owned by Trader Joe's.
Oh, Tommy not only kissed my bald head thanking me for dinner, he also handed me his report card that has the notation above the A's B+'s B's and lone C+ "Achievement with Honor." I add this not just because I'm continually proud of him, but to set the record straight for his absentee mother and "Aunt Nasty" who are forever looking for the worst in life. His mother's last communication was "why is Tommy getting failing grades?" He's not. He's doing very well thank you! Did I tell you
he earned and achieved the rank of Captain (company commander) in the JROTC at St. John's? He carries himself like a Marine. Proud, confident and responsible.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Idols and Ikons: Joe P, Ted K, and Newt G
Joe Paterno is dead. Now comes the hypocrisy of the press that Newt Gingrich denounced during his march to victory in South Carolina.
I was listening to Sally Jenkins talk about her time interviewing Joe Pa shortly before he died. She dismissed the pseudo-psychobabble most news and sports commentators suggested was Joe's undoing, namely, remorse and regret for being exiled from his beloved Penn State football coaching chores in the wake of the Jerry Sandusky child rape scandal. (I'm not calling it "abuse" or "molestation." Rape is rape and that's what the issue is all about.) Sally was blunt and down to earth. She posited that the chemo killed him. Joe Pa, she said, was a real man and he would not have surrendered to self-pity. He was too strong for that.
Sally is from Fort Worth, Texas stock. Good people are born and raised ...and some leave Fort Worth.
Sally's dad, Dan, wrote one of my favorite books: Semi-Tough. Very irreverent. Very funny. Blunt in its imagery but really on target. People in the North East, polite politically correct people can't take the Jenkins family brand of honesty or humor. They get offended.
Sally was very direct in her description of Paterno. And she described his take on what he did with regard to notice of the Sandusky depravity exactly as I posited in an early blog. He did his duty. He reported it up the ranks. Joe was not a cop. He was not a prosecutor. He was not a jury, nor a judge. He was not a vigilante. He was not a lynch mob. But the press pilloried him for failing to climb aboard a white horse and hang the bastard from the nearest goal post. To the man and woman, the national media pushed and heaved until the ikon known as Joe Paterno was trashed.
Joe Pa anguished over the plight of the violated and, as any true civil libertarian worth his or her salt, refused to trample the rights and reputation of Sandusky over something he did not see and over which no court had ruled. You can't blame him. McCleary who claimed to have intervened during the infamous shower incident involving Sandusky and a youth is hardly the paragon of truth or courage or character. Except for his interview with Sally and most probably with the writer cobbling together a biography on the man, Joe Pa never got to tell his side of the story publicly. The University silenced him.
Joe Pa did his duty. Unfortunately, those above him in the correct positions to put Sandusky where he belonged were less than men. They were a craven lot eager to show off their clean underwear rather than do their duty.
Sally painted a portrait of Joe Paterno as a stellar husband, father, coach, teacher, neighbor and human. His children she characterized as the sort of folk who make great company, friends, citizens. His home was filled with fun, food, family, and friendship. It was the type Italian family we all enjoy ...until that is when a few coins get tossed certain siblings' way.
Now, Sally's host said the lionization of Joe Paterno will begin. It should never have gone on hiatus. But that's the way the Media treats American ikons and heroes. Sometimes the post-mortem praise is just. Sometimes it's just plain hypocrisy. I give you Ted Kennedy.
If you listened to the commentary during his funeral, you'd think the nation just lost and buried a combination of George Washington and Abe Lincoln with a touch of Winston Churchill tossed in. We didn't. Ted was a farce and a fool. He was without doubt one of the worst legislators to ever disgrace Capitol Hill. He was, to someone's credit, smart enough to hire some impressive people whose ideas and initiatives he took for his own. Ted was a liar, a cheat and a coward whose family money kept him from prison or worse. And for those who are a bit light on history, that money came from supplying illegal hooch to the likes of Al Capone and friends during Prohibition. Plenty of people with more research credentials than I suggest in the strongest manner that family ties from those "good old days" played a pivotal role in getting his late brother elected President. Ted was the type national idol the Bible called "false."
So where does Newt fit into this?
He will be dangling at the end of a true media lynch mob rope by this November. Why? Because if he is true to form, he's not going to transform into a bowl of lukewarm flip-flop spit in an effort to get the media to love him. Unfortunately, a bit of honesty among our public figures is all too rare and a commodity the media just can't stomach.
Ask Coach John Thompson, the father, not the son. Big John is hated by any number of people who hear what they want to hear when he speaks...but who fail to hear or understand the words he speaks. I've heard countless invectives hurled his way by thick-skulled folks who claim he can't stand white folk. Forget for the moment that the mother of his children, his wife, is pink of complexion. I guess that's the hue of "white" folk. I wouldn't know. My father's World War II draft papers characterized him as "olive."
Listen carefully to Coach Thompson when he weighs in on social issues. His intellectual foundation is old school, Catholic school when the nuns taught and we listened. He weighs in against stupidity much like the Biblical tale of a young Jesus flogging folks who turned the Temple into an open market. He's dead right in flaming against the DC public schools for abandoning the athletic talent of its students, and of elected officials pocketing tax dollars earmarked for sports programs. And, don't let anyone play the race card in front of him. If your line of argument against a person or condition is based on skin pigment or ethnic derivation, he won't tolerate it from anyone of any color variation. As he so eloquently pointed out when one prize fighter of African descent was called not black enough by another of similar origins, John T simply called the man a racist. The race card is the last resort of the intellectually bankrupt.
So all I've got to say is Dan, Sally, Newt, John T. keep it up. Call 'em like you see 'em. Let our ikons stand tall but don't hesitate to topple the idols no matter how politically sacred.
I was listening to Sally Jenkins talk about her time interviewing Joe Pa shortly before he died. She dismissed the pseudo-psychobabble most news and sports commentators suggested was Joe's undoing, namely, remorse and regret for being exiled from his beloved Penn State football coaching chores in the wake of the Jerry Sandusky child rape scandal. (I'm not calling it "abuse" or "molestation." Rape is rape and that's what the issue is all about.) Sally was blunt and down to earth. She posited that the chemo killed him. Joe Pa, she said, was a real man and he would not have surrendered to self-pity. He was too strong for that.
Sally is from Fort Worth, Texas stock. Good people are born and raised ...and some leave Fort Worth.
Sally's dad, Dan, wrote one of my favorite books: Semi-Tough. Very irreverent. Very funny. Blunt in its imagery but really on target. People in the North East, polite politically correct people can't take the Jenkins family brand of honesty or humor. They get offended.
Sally was very direct in her description of Paterno. And she described his take on what he did with regard to notice of the Sandusky depravity exactly as I posited in an early blog. He did his duty. He reported it up the ranks. Joe was not a cop. He was not a prosecutor. He was not a jury, nor a judge. He was not a vigilante. He was not a lynch mob. But the press pilloried him for failing to climb aboard a white horse and hang the bastard from the nearest goal post. To the man and woman, the national media pushed and heaved until the ikon known as Joe Paterno was trashed.
Joe Pa anguished over the plight of the violated and, as any true civil libertarian worth his or her salt, refused to trample the rights and reputation of Sandusky over something he did not see and over which no court had ruled. You can't blame him. McCleary who claimed to have intervened during the infamous shower incident involving Sandusky and a youth is hardly the paragon of truth or courage or character. Except for his interview with Sally and most probably with the writer cobbling together a biography on the man, Joe Pa never got to tell his side of the story publicly. The University silenced him.
Joe Pa did his duty. Unfortunately, those above him in the correct positions to put Sandusky where he belonged were less than men. They were a craven lot eager to show off their clean underwear rather than do their duty.
Sally painted a portrait of Joe Paterno as a stellar husband, father, coach, teacher, neighbor and human. His children she characterized as the sort of folk who make great company, friends, citizens. His home was filled with fun, food, family, and friendship. It was the type Italian family we all enjoy ...until that is when a few coins get tossed certain siblings' way.
Now, Sally's host said the lionization of Joe Paterno will begin. It should never have gone on hiatus. But that's the way the Media treats American ikons and heroes. Sometimes the post-mortem praise is just. Sometimes it's just plain hypocrisy. I give you Ted Kennedy.
If you listened to the commentary during his funeral, you'd think the nation just lost and buried a combination of George Washington and Abe Lincoln with a touch of Winston Churchill tossed in. We didn't. Ted was a farce and a fool. He was without doubt one of the worst legislators to ever disgrace Capitol Hill. He was, to someone's credit, smart enough to hire some impressive people whose ideas and initiatives he took for his own. Ted was a liar, a cheat and a coward whose family money kept him from prison or worse. And for those who are a bit light on history, that money came from supplying illegal hooch to the likes of Al Capone and friends during Prohibition. Plenty of people with more research credentials than I suggest in the strongest manner that family ties from those "good old days" played a pivotal role in getting his late brother elected President. Ted was the type national idol the Bible called "false."
So where does Newt fit into this?
He will be dangling at the end of a true media lynch mob rope by this November. Why? Because if he is true to form, he's not going to transform into a bowl of lukewarm flip-flop spit in an effort to get the media to love him. Unfortunately, a bit of honesty among our public figures is all too rare and a commodity the media just can't stomach.
Ask Coach John Thompson, the father, not the son. Big John is hated by any number of people who hear what they want to hear when he speaks...but who fail to hear or understand the words he speaks. I've heard countless invectives hurled his way by thick-skulled folks who claim he can't stand white folk. Forget for the moment that the mother of his children, his wife, is pink of complexion. I guess that's the hue of "white" folk. I wouldn't know. My father's World War II draft papers characterized him as "olive."
Listen carefully to Coach Thompson when he weighs in on social issues. His intellectual foundation is old school, Catholic school when the nuns taught and we listened. He weighs in against stupidity much like the Biblical tale of a young Jesus flogging folks who turned the Temple into an open market. He's dead right in flaming against the DC public schools for abandoning the athletic talent of its students, and of elected officials pocketing tax dollars earmarked for sports programs. And, don't let anyone play the race card in front of him. If your line of argument against a person or condition is based on skin pigment or ethnic derivation, he won't tolerate it from anyone of any color variation. As he so eloquently pointed out when one prize fighter of African descent was called not black enough by another of similar origins, John T simply called the man a racist. The race card is the last resort of the intellectually bankrupt.
So all I've got to say is Dan, Sally, Newt, John T. keep it up. Call 'em like you see 'em. Let our ikons stand tall but don't hesitate to topple the idols no matter how politically sacred.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Of Birthdays & Breast Cancer & Assorted Other Stuff
Yesterday, January 20th, was Tommy's 18th birthday. It was a bit of an odd day for him.
The day started off pretty well. I woke him up with a family joke. A few years ago, before she literally took his brother Johnny and moved to Ohio (without telling him...or me), his biological mother told him he was "too young to have an opinion." I can't remember the incident but that's the way she reacted each time someone disagreed with her point of view. So I slid open the pocket door to his bedroom, turned on the light and said, "Quick, tell me your first opinion!" His eyes opened to barely a squint and he started to laugh.
He turned on the television as he got dressed for school and the cartoon featured was celebrating the birthday of the main youthful character. Later he turned on the radio and not only were they playing his brother's favorite band, but they were playing his favorite song. In the age of rock, the song was ancient - four or five years old. In the kitchen, he opened a gift sent by his Aunt Elena...the only one of three who remembered him or who acknowledges us as part of our parents' family. I wish she and his Uncle Bob could have seen the grin on his face as he showed me their present. Someday I'll devote a post or twelve on this blog to each of them. Needless to say, Bob is a character anyone would value highly as an uncle...or brother-in-law.
Tommy's a thoughtful person. He cares deeply about friends and family. He's not impulsive. So for the past two years, since the death of his brother, Johnny, he's been thinking about how to memorialize him in a very private and personal way.
Let me say this about the family within which I grew up: we always had a house full of alcohol, beer etc. When Michelob was first introduced - in the dark days before boutique and imported beers hit the U.S. shores - dad brought home a bunch. My sisters immediately started using it as a hair wash agent.
My point is that we really didn't drink alcohol but we had it if we wanted it...no questions asked. We also were not much into fads. Dad never had arm ink etc. from the war.
So when Tommy said quietly one day he wanted to get a tatoo of Johnny's name placed over his heart it caused a bit of anguish. Still the thought was one that I could not argue against. He got it. He also got his favorite restaurant meal: tuna sashimi and coconut rum pie at Bone Fish Grill - the direct influence of my great friend David Wills.
So what about breast cancer? My sister Elena is a survivor. David's wife is now undergoing treatment in Houston for the most viral form: triple negative BC. Triple negative means that all of the receptors in a person's body that allow traditional chemo protocols to work are missing in hers.
At dinner, Megan brought up the 30 mile Avon two-day walk for breast cancer being advertised over the radio. Not to be confused with the 60 mile three-day Susan Komen walk being promoted at virtually the same time. Megan and her boyfriend Matt (Polar Bear Plungers for the Special Olympics - as is Tommy) wanted to try the Avon walk. I've toyed with the idea of doing the same with Mary and Tommy. Here's the kicker.
Megan asked a friend who has done the Avon walk and found out (I hope this isn't true but she insists it is) that each participant is expected to contribute via pledges $1800. That's stout! She said if you don't get that much in pledges, the sponsors have your credit card on file and debit the balance from your card! 'Scuse me???? That's not charity. Gave me indigestion.
On another note, the shrimp are growing in Texas. Our demonstration model built on five acres at Port Isabel outside of Brownsville is up and running. We built it at a quarter scale to show the technology (and what we've been doing for the past ten years) so we can get funding to build full size commercial production facilities. We are hoping to build two "greenhouse" modules capable of producing a million pounds of 45 gram and larger shrimp per year. That's U15 or 15 shrimp per pound. Actually we may be producing 70 gram shrimp as we did in South Africa for 3 years once things really get rolling. One aquaculture expert said "You're not growing shrimp! You're growing lobsters!" No they were shrimp for sure...and they taste better than anything being farmed or taken from the sea anywhere in the world.
Our long range goal over the next three to five years is to build enough modules to let us hit 10 million pounds per year. That's a million pounds more than all of the open-pond farms in Texas raised at the height of the industry and Texas back then produced more than 70 percent of all U.S. farmed marine shrimp. Texas' (and the world's) shrimp farming is in a real crash because open pond technology is prone to disease and pollution. Our system is enclosed, treats and recirculates the water so nothing is discharged back into the environment once our grow-out tanks are filled. We have the potential of putting 2000 people to work once we build a dedicated processing plant at the 10 million pound mark. No exaggeration. If you want to see first hand the future of shrimp production fly down to Brownsville. We'll give you a tour.
The day started off pretty well. I woke him up with a family joke. A few years ago, before she literally took his brother Johnny and moved to Ohio (without telling him...or me), his biological mother told him he was "too young to have an opinion." I can't remember the incident but that's the way she reacted each time someone disagreed with her point of view. So I slid open the pocket door to his bedroom, turned on the light and said, "Quick, tell me your first opinion!" His eyes opened to barely a squint and he started to laugh.
He turned on the television as he got dressed for school and the cartoon featured was celebrating the birthday of the main youthful character. Later he turned on the radio and not only were they playing his brother's favorite band, but they were playing his favorite song. In the age of rock, the song was ancient - four or five years old. In the kitchen, he opened a gift sent by his Aunt Elena...the only one of three who remembered him or who acknowledges us as part of our parents' family. I wish she and his Uncle Bob could have seen the grin on his face as he showed me their present. Someday I'll devote a post or twelve on this blog to each of them. Needless to say, Bob is a character anyone would value highly as an uncle...or brother-in-law.
Tommy's a thoughtful person. He cares deeply about friends and family. He's not impulsive. So for the past two years, since the death of his brother, Johnny, he's been thinking about how to memorialize him in a very private and personal way.
Let me say this about the family within which I grew up: we always had a house full of alcohol, beer etc. When Michelob was first introduced - in the dark days before boutique and imported beers hit the U.S. shores - dad brought home a bunch. My sisters immediately started using it as a hair wash agent.
My point is that we really didn't drink alcohol but we had it if we wanted it...no questions asked. We also were not much into fads. Dad never had arm ink etc. from the war.
So when Tommy said quietly one day he wanted to get a tatoo of Johnny's name placed over his heart it caused a bit of anguish. Still the thought was one that I could not argue against. He got it. He also got his favorite restaurant meal: tuna sashimi and coconut rum pie at Bone Fish Grill - the direct influence of my great friend David Wills.
So what about breast cancer? My sister Elena is a survivor. David's wife is now undergoing treatment in Houston for the most viral form: triple negative BC. Triple negative means that all of the receptors in a person's body that allow traditional chemo protocols to work are missing in hers.
At dinner, Megan brought up the 30 mile Avon two-day walk for breast cancer being advertised over the radio. Not to be confused with the 60 mile three-day Susan Komen walk being promoted at virtually the same time. Megan and her boyfriend Matt (Polar Bear Plungers for the Special Olympics - as is Tommy) wanted to try the Avon walk. I've toyed with the idea of doing the same with Mary and Tommy. Here's the kicker.
Megan asked a friend who has done the Avon walk and found out (I hope this isn't true but she insists it is) that each participant is expected to contribute via pledges $1800. That's stout! She said if you don't get that much in pledges, the sponsors have your credit card on file and debit the balance from your card! 'Scuse me???? That's not charity. Gave me indigestion.
On another note, the shrimp are growing in Texas. Our demonstration model built on five acres at Port Isabel outside of Brownsville is up and running. We built it at a quarter scale to show the technology (and what we've been doing for the past ten years) so we can get funding to build full size commercial production facilities. We are hoping to build two "greenhouse" modules capable of producing a million pounds of 45 gram and larger shrimp per year. That's U15 or 15 shrimp per pound. Actually we may be producing 70 gram shrimp as we did in South Africa for 3 years once things really get rolling. One aquaculture expert said "You're not growing shrimp! You're growing lobsters!" No they were shrimp for sure...and they taste better than anything being farmed or taken from the sea anywhere in the world.
Our long range goal over the next three to five years is to build enough modules to let us hit 10 million pounds per year. That's a million pounds more than all of the open-pond farms in Texas raised at the height of the industry and Texas back then produced more than 70 percent of all U.S. farmed marine shrimp. Texas' (and the world's) shrimp farming is in a real crash because open pond technology is prone to disease and pollution. Our system is enclosed, treats and recirculates the water so nothing is discharged back into the environment once our grow-out tanks are filled. We have the potential of putting 2000 people to work once we build a dedicated processing plant at the 10 million pound mark. No exaggeration. If you want to see first hand the future of shrimp production fly down to Brownsville. We'll give you a tour.
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