So, I did what I always do when faced with an overabundance of ZERO internet access. I make mischief. Because sometimes finding humor in the darkest times is the only real survival skill one needs. Oh, and people to help you do the ridiculous. In this case, my daughter in law, Ashtyn and her sister Madison. Also, in the interest of total transparency, most of these pictures were taken in late 2020 or early 2021 during the actual covid pandemic, and during that time that Target went way Little House on the Prairie retro. But time and life got in the way and I never got a chance to do my target dress challenge post. So here it’s been repurposed and I think to excellent effect. The last bunch of pics are a preview from my recent wedding, but also reminiscent of a long ago time, but with more taste and some fashion sense…Despite Frontier internet doing the most to put us back on the frontier, like our great great great great pioneer ancestors, I do really intend to simply make light of an irritating situation.

I mean I shouldn’t be super bothered about the lack of Internet access right? You know—the very reason most of us choose to move to rural areas in the first place is to avoid much of the technology noise and constant electronic stimulation in the city.

I wasn’t getting into the city very often, and tended to do much of my clothes shopping online or at the little boutiques in my small town. Imagine my confusion when I was at Target then, and came across….the ill-effects of a purchasers sense of humor?

These dresses are a joke, right? There is absolutely no way they were serious about selling these dresses as actual daily attire? That women would wear? In public? Was there a Holly Hobby fetish that I hadn’t heard about? Please God, No…..Because I have serious childhood fashion trauma that I am still recovering from there…..

But they were all over the women’s department. Multiple colors. Multiple lengths. Short sleeves. Long sleeves. Empire waists. Drop waists. THIS WAS A PURPOSEFUL ATTACK ON WOMEN’S FASHION. An attack on the female form. NO, you will not show your ankles. Nor your wrists. Nor your collar bones. There will be nary a hint of feminine shape evident between your neck and your feet (which will be covered with boots). What monster decided this was what we should be wearing in the 2020s?

My next thought was that whomever the buyer was had probably already been sacked. Right? But apparently not, because more of the same was back for the next season….but somehow, more awful. Drop waisted, puffy sleeved, solid pastel colors. Both seasons looked like something out of my childhood, but like they made us sew them ourselves in Home Ec class….

Surely I cannot be the only one that noticed?

As it happens, I wasn’t. A few weeks later, #TargetDressChallenge started trending on social media. Firstly, I felt vindicated that I wasn’t the only one that had been taking creeper shots of the Target mannequins and posting them on Facebook with snarky comments.

Secondly, I thought maybe the popularity of the dresses, even if people were buying them just so they could relentlessly slate them on social media, might have saved a lucky Target buyer his/her job.

Thirdly, well, got dang, if we’re making a game of it, I’m all about it….Let’s go!

So naturally, I went and bought three assorted dresses off the clearance rack………

…..and our story begins here.

It was August 22nd. Chrissie Lee had just returned from the Mercantile, where she had picked up 3 new frocks, one each for herself, and her two “sisters”. Ashtyn Marie and Madison Kate had been up on Hudson Farm since 10AM, tending the chickens and horses because, well….that’s what you do when you have chickens and horses. They had no idea what Chrissie was up to when she handed them their parcels and said “get dressed girls, we’re goin’ out”. I mean, what else do girls do when they get all gussied up and looking their best? Girls have to meet boys somehow, am I right? Yeah, well, I meant outside.  To work in 100⁰ heat because without the internet, there was no TV, no computer, no Tinder, no Match.com, no Food Network, and no cell phone service without wi-fi calling, because that’s how rural we are…For God’s sake, 4 days without internet and we’d gone completely feral. Breezed through our sourdough and sun salutation era a few years ago, and our chicken rancher era was in our rear view. 

Keep in mind though, this is pandemic times. We weren’t hitting the club in bodycon dresses and high heels. No no no. Frontier knew what they were doing, and Target came in clutch with the assist.

Target was really thinking ahead on these. Like, they were roomy enough that you can tend your garden in them in complete comfort. I mean, maybe not as comfortable as say, cut off shorts and a tank top, but you are relatively free to move around a lot inside the amply cut garment. And we were going to need every bit of that, because without internet, there was no HEB curbside, no grocery delivery, no Favor, and no Doordash. If one can’t get groceries delivered to their doorstep and under an hour one must obviously go grow their own.

I mean you can really get in there and work that hoe. Even though it’s men’s work, and they should be doing it.

There might be more of them around too, if we were in cut off denim shorts and tank tops, but Target has this thing figured out, right? Speaking of hoes in the garden, Chrissie Lee was showing a bit too much leg, don’t you think? Hussie.

Target also figured out that with the pandemic toilet paper hoarding, there would be a run on ramen noodles, spaghetti hoops, and probably real food, too. So the dresses should be roomy enough to allow for hunting and other methods of provisioning of meat. And the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and we know that menfolk like meat. Lots of meat. MEAT. Plus, sometimes when you live rurally, you just don’t want to drive 45 minutes into town for milk and eggs. Mostly that. 

Well if company’s coming, we have much more to do…To cook all the chicken, and eggs, and raccoon and vegetables from HEB our garden, we will need firewood. A lot of firewood. Plus we need firewood for the long, long, 3 day long winters we get in central Texas, when the temperatures can hover around 42* .

We need to bring in all the crops. The corn, wheat, soybeans. And cut the hay for the horses. Lookout fellas—-crazy women drivers behind the wheel of a tractor.

The days..they felt like years. What had been happening in the world outside? Is there World Peace? What absurdity have the Kardashians got into lately? For God’s sake, what has everyone been eating for dinner every night? Without Instagram, we don’t even know what everyone has been wearing every day. I KNOW. It really is unfathomable.

With all the excitement of Frontier gifting us with the service we have been paying for years, a proper Hoedown is in order, yes? I mean, since we can now order fancy dresses and suits from distant artisans, hats from a millinery in far away San Antonio, and you know, set up online invites and RSVPs.

Thanks Frontier. You’re the best!

So anywho, thanks to Frontier, for making us reflect on yesteryear and life before high speed internet…well, life before any internet actually. Thanks to Target for providing in advance and without knowing complicity, some tragically perfect attire for the photos in the first half of this post….the second batch are from my recent wedding, which I hope to write about before I turn 75.

Fingers, long and thin.
Lythe, and graceful.
Deep nail beds that
make for long nails,
even when they’re cut short.

I used to watch her work
Deftly chopping, peeling
Kneading, measuring a pinch
With just her fingers,–

Watching my Granny cook
Was magical.
Growing up beside her
In her tiny kitchen,
I learned how to say
“I love you ” with cookies.
I watched how she made smiles
Out of plates of fudge,
And that the proper cure
For any sick friend
Is a pot of homemade soup.

When I was 14,
she took my hands in hers
And said
“you’re hands are always hot…you have healer’s hands”.
I didn’t know what she meant then,
But I envisioned faith healers
And nonsense.
I thought for a moment she’d gone mad.

Now I know she was saying
“Chrissy, you have my hands”

Sometimes now I watch
My own hands at work
In the kitchen.
A lifetime spent building
Tactile memory,
They just know what to do.
A pinch of this, a dash of that.

A teaspoon measured
In the center of my cupped palm.
My fingers know the dough
Is just hydrated enough,
The apples are juicy enough
To require just so much flour tossed
With them, to make a perfect pie.

They’re my hands,
but they surprise me still.
I marvel at them.
For I know they are also hers.
I watch them dance, gracefully
Through hand-cut, herbed dumplings
And biscuits I’ve known by heart
For thirty years,
Perfectly choreographed
Moving to the rhythm
Of recipes that once lived in her heart,
Passed down to her granddaughter
In an old tin can
Full of clippings from boxes, jars
And magazines, and in her Granny’s hands.

For my Granny, Neva Lee Knight Gough who I miss every day
Chrissy, 2023

I read about your recent offer to compensate Roger Waters for using Pink Floyd’s song “Another Brick In The Wall” for a new ad, and I just had to wonder if you don’t live in an alternate universe. I guess Roger wondered the same, and I was glad to see that all that money of yours couldn’t buy a song.

Then I wondered some more…Do you even know what that song is about? It’s about thought control. And it is even more relevant now than it was when it came out in 1979.

For the last 30 years, the American brain has been slowly deprived of the ability to think critically. You’re too young to know the difference, so let me paint you a picture.

Mainstream media used to report the facts of a story—just the actual facts— and let us decide how to feel about it. Now they tell us what to think, and we have to sift through all of their “spin” to locate the facts of the story.

Academia that teaches the youth of today teaches them WHAT to think instead of HOW to think. When I was a kid, we were taught critical thinking skills. We would be given a topic—abortion for example.  One week we would have to argue for it. The next week we would have to argue against it. Not only did we learn to think critically, we learned to respect the opinions of others, anticipate and prepare for objections, and learn why we won’t always be right and why that’s ok. Too many of today’s youth are ill-prepared for real world discussions, because they have been conditioned that there is only one correct way to think, and any other way is wrong, offensive and may even cause them actual physical harm.

Nanny state politics. No need to elaborate.

But the reason the song is more relevant now than it was in 1979 is because of people like you. Over the last decade or so, with the advent of social media and the ease and speed at which information is spread, we have access to more information more quickly than ever before.  You (and others like you) have appointed yourself Czar of online truth, detector of good versus bad science, slayer of online bullies…..except you’re not. When it comes to filtering out news  and information, you are taking it upon yourself to decide what information is right and what is wrong for free Americans to consume I have defended your right to do so to many people screaming about censorship and their right to free speech, blah blah blah….not because I think you should be censoring anyone, or anything, but because I understand the law, and what the Constitutional provision was protecting….but your arrogance and audacity in limiting the free exchange of information, no matter how absurd that information may sometimes be, is appalling.  If a grown adult wants to read the modern equivalent of a National Enquirer hack piece, who are you to deny him that? I mean, my GOD, you allow thousands of people who believe the Earth is flat to congregate and discuss their absurd belief.

And your practices designed to combat hate and bullying are laughable.

You’re using bots to do what people should do. And Bots don’t understand context.

Bots don’t understand tone.

Bots don’t understand situational relevance.

Bots take jobs from Americans that need them, Mark.

And because of how you employ them, bots often miss the plot entirely.

I am a political centrist. And one of the nicest people you will ever meet. That’s why all of my friends laugh (first) then get pretty mad to learn that I’m serving my second 30-day sentence in a row in your Facebook Orwellian slammer.  Hoosegow.  Big House.  The food here is terrible. I’d expect more from a man with your means, Mark. Truly disappointed in the arrangements.

Also, I’m still waiting for my conjugal visits from Jason Bateman, Ryan Reynolds and Bradly Cooper…

I thought it would be fun to all walk through my lengthy rap sheet (or is it wrap sheet) together, shall we?

Read along, Mark, I’m guessing you don’t know how utterly absurd your business processes are..

EDIT: July 10th…I’ve been placed on a 30 day probation today for a meme I posted on August 30th of last year. Nearly a year ago.

How ’bout that mug shot though? Obviously a hardened criminal. I’m thinking of getting some little “F’s” tattooed under my eyes, like teardrops…maybe my inmate number across my lower back….My recidivism isn’t my fault, Mark. I’m a victim of my circumstances. I DIDN’T CHOOSE THE THUG LIFE. THE THUG LIFE CHOSE ME.

Reasons my friends have served time in the Clink:

*Telling someone they were GULLIBLE——THIRTY DAYS!!!  (BONUS: while serving this sentence, someone on your crew went back in his history a few years, found something else they didn’t like, and smacked him with another 30)….Bullying Mark. Quintessential bullying. That’s what happens when you give small angry people more grants of authority than they ought to have.

*Saying moms were a GODSEND!!!

*My sister, who is a song writer, for saying “white trash”…..She had typed the lyrics to Reba McIntyre’s song “Fancy”, which includes the line “I might have been born just plain white trash, but Fancy was my name”……Song lyrics, Mark. But WAP from Cardi B…..We ok with that, huh?

Absurd Mark.  Absurd.

Why do I stay Mark? Thank you for asking. But I think you know the answer. At present, you sort of have a monopoly in the social networking world (does this violate the Sherman Anti-trust Act? Anyone? Anyone?)

I’d leave if I wasn’t responsible for planning my reunions. And if I wasn’t keeping in contact with most of my friends here.

Look, the only reason most of us stick around right now is that there are no real viable alternatives. But that won’t last. You’re going to tick off the wrong-up-and-coming tech nerd. You’ll put him in jail one too many times for something entirely too stoooopid. It’s not a matter of If Mark, it’s a matter of when. And he’ll build the next big platform that’ll knock you off your smug, sanctimonious little arse.  He may be cooling his heels right now in your lock-up, even as we speak.

Tick tock Muther Zucker. Tick tock.

1 box Vanilla or yellow cake mix
1 cup melted butter
4 eggs
1 8oz brick softened cream cheese
2 t. Vanilla
3 C powdered sugar

Filling:
See below

Topping
2 cups sweetened whipped cream (or whipped topping if you must..gross, but whatever)
2 cups coconut chips, toasted until golden

Make cake layer.

Preheat oven to 325*
Place rack on second lowest position.

Beat all ingredients together just until well incorporated. Spread evenly into a prepared (greased and floured/ sprayed) 10″ springform pan.

Bake for 1 hour, covering with foil if necessary to prevent overbrowning the last 20 minutes.

Remove to cooling rack. Remove ring after 20 minutes. Allow cake to cool 2 hours before preparing the filling. It will collapse a lot. That is normal.

Easy filling:
Large package instant coconut pudding mix
2 cups whole milk
1 8oz brick cream cheese, softened.

Beat cream cheese until smooth. Add milk and pudding, beating for 1 minute. Allow to set up for 5 minutes. Pour filling over cake. Top with whipped cream and toasted coconut.

Homemade filling:(more effort, but way better)

4 large egg yolks
1/4 cup (30g) cornstarc h
1  14 oz can full fat coconut milk
1 cup half-and-half
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup sweetened shredded coconut
2 T. butter
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 teaspoon coconut extract

Whisk together egg yolks, sugar , salt and cornstarch in large saucepan. Mix in coconut milk and half and half. Bring to a simmer over medium heat.When thickened, remove from heat. Mix in butter, vanilla and coconut extract. Pour into the  depression in center of cake. Chill for 2 hours, top with whipped cream and toasted coconut.

Serve chilled or at room temperature.

Often.

And with the full knowledge and support of your ‘rents, in case you get pulled over.

It was mission critical. It didn’t suck to be me. But I digress.

Where was I going with this?

Ah yes….Schnitzel, as I would find out much later in life, had ZERO to do with wieners, and I have all kinds of questions about how the hot dog chain got its name.
What Schnitzel really is, is a traditional German and Austrian dish. A cutlet of meat (beef, veal, pork or chicken), pounded thin, breaded and fried, and served with gravy. If that sounds familiar, it’s because you just figured out which Texas hill country settlers brought us what we know now as chicken fried steak. There are differences, of course. German Schnitzel ( Schweineschnitzel) is most often made of pork and is alternately called Jaegerschnitzel. True Viennese (Wiene) veal schnitzel is Wiener Schnitzel, and is protected by law as such in the same way that only sparking wines from the Champagne region of France can legally be called Champagne.

The word Schnitzel refers to the cooking method used, which basically involves pounding your meat into submission (don’t feel bad…your meat enjoys such treatment), breading it in crumbs, frying it, and serving a gravy over it.

Traditional gravies included red wine gravy, mushroom gravy, brown gravy, and even a sauerbraten style gravy that gets a sweetness from crushed ginger cookies. Das weird.

In Texas, settlers found beef to be more abundant, and local tastes to be less adventurous. Hence was born the Chicken Fried Steak with Cream Gravy. And there is no substitute.

You’ll find CFS both breaded in crumbs, or dredged in seasoned flour, although the crumbed version is more authentic to the origins of Schnitzel.

Also, I am frequently asked about what the difference is between chicken fried steak & country fried steak. Simple. Chicken fried steak refers to meat that is fried in deep fat, such as Fried Chicken would be. Country fried refers to anything fried in shallow fat in a skillet. Proper southerners fry everything in a cast iron skillet.

You’re a daisy if you don’t.

Ingredient notes:
For your meat, choose thin sliced ribeye or sirloin, veal cutlets, boneless pork chops or chicken breast. Pound thinly, to no more than 1/2” thickness *

For breading options, you may use bread crumbs, panko (my choice), crushed saltines or crushed pork rinds for a KETO friendly breading, or the flour/egg/flour method for the fried chicken type of breading. **

Use any frying oil you like. I like peanut.

CHICKEN FRIED YOUR WAY

4 6-8 oz cutlets of your choice* (see above)

FIRST COATING:
(double this if you are doing the flour/egg/flour method)

1 C flour (use almond flour for keto)
1 t. Salt
1/2 t. Pepper
3 large eggs, beaten

SECOND COATING:
2 C coating/crumbs of choice**
1 t salt
1 t pepper

Oil for frying 1/2” deep in skillet, or to fill your deep fryer.

GRAVY:
1/3 cup flour (use almond or coconut flour for keto)
2 cups milk or half and half
2 t salt
2 t pepper

STEPS:
Set up your breading station. Place the flour coating in a shallow dish. Next to that, place beaten egg in a shallow dish. Closest to your hot oil, place your 2nd coating in a shallow dish.
Dip your cutlets in the seasoned flour, covering completely. Shake off excess.
Dip in beaten egg, allowing excess to drip off briefly.
Then dip into your second coating.
( If you’re using the seasoned flour as both your 1st and 2nd coating, pack as much flour onto the cutlet as possible in this step, to create a nice crust.)
Carefully place in hot oil.
If skillet frying, fry until golden on the bottom, about 5 minutes, then flip and cook the other side until golden.
If deep frying, fry for about 10 minutes, until golden.
Place on a wire rack to drain and cool while you make the gravy. Do NOT drain on paper towels. This causes the breading to soften.

MAKE YOUR GRAVY:
After removing meat from skillet, whisk the flour into the hot oil until smooth. Add milk a 1/2 cup at a time, whisking until smooth each time. It will be very thick at first. This is normal. After adding all the milk, if it’s thicker than you like, add a little more until it’s how you prefer. Then season to taste with salt and pepper.
Serve your steak with a little gravy.

Your CFS should be served with mashed potatoes, and green beans cooked with bacon and onions. You could serve it with other options, but why would you? Ain’t nobody got time for that nonsense.

Like before, I didn’t go anywhere in particular. Just, away. From writing. Which is odd, because I quite enjoy it.

In my defense, I’ve been extraordinarily busy for a few years. I moved—twice. I’ve been running my own food business (food truck, catering, wedding cakes, etc..), and I was working elsewhere.

Plenty of fun things happened for me to write about in that time. But today, I am going to talk to you about Extra Cake, and about the far more exotic Roof Cake.

You see, in my house, Extra Cake is an absolute necessity. Extra cake is the, well, EXTRA cake you make when you are making a cake for an event. The cake that is designed to run interference between your children and the cake that you have been commissioned (read: paid) to make.

In 2006, I made a cake for about 400 people to celebrate the anniversary of the opening of the local office of the company for which I served as the Human Resource Director.  I had been employee number 2 in the local office. I and one of my recruiters sat on the floor, with our laptops on folding chairs, and began recruiting nurses and customer care employees to staff a disease management call center. A year later, with close to 400 employees, we celebrated.

The cake I made was 6 feet long and 2 feet wide. A huge sheet of almond cake with cherry vanilla buttercream frosting. The night before, it waited patiently on my dining room table.

I came down the next morning to discover two stripes down the entire length of the side of the cake. Each stripe about as thick as a six year old’s fingers, and all the way through to the cake.

On a completely unrelated note, my six year old had cherry vanilla buttercream frosting all over his face and shirt. When grilled, he blamed the dog. You know, the one with no fingers.

This was the first of several unfortunate and mysterious incidents wherein cake, or components of cake, disappeared without reason or explanation. I then began to employ the dummy cake. The decoy. The Extra Cake that would distract the, ummm, dog, from stealing cake meant for a work function, a client, or a friend’s nuptials.

The Extra Cake has worked beautifully. In fact, in ten years of employing this diversionary baking tactic, only one legit cake has fallen victim to the, ummm, dog.  ( I am still trying to figure out how the dog was able to reach that particular cake, perched on top of my 7 foot tall kitchen hutch. Or how he was able to slice a large portion out of the three layer, iced confection, with near surgical precision. You know, without the previously stated fingers, or opposable thumbs.)

But, I digress.

One of my oldest childhood friends, Carla, was staying with me earlier this year, and she had come to enjoy the nearly constant presence of Extra Cake. It was she that was with me the day we discovered the existence of Roof Cake.

Roof Cake appears to have started out as Extra Cake, before some sort of evolutionary metamorphosis took place.

Some weeks prior, I had been working on a wedding cake for a friend’s wedding. It was a four tier, naked cake. The bottom tier was an Earl Grey tea cake, with grapefruit marmalade filling. The next layer was Green Tea with plum filling. The next was Hibiscus Tea cake with Orange, and the top was Lavender with Honey. All barely iced with Vanilla Bean buttercream.

Of course, to protect the wedding cake, the diversionary Extra Cake had been deployed. A three layer, oval Earl Grey cake with vanilla buttercream filling and frosting. It worked as intended, with the now 18 year old, who had finally learned to stop blaming the dog, accepting this offering to the cake-thieving Gods to leave the wedding cake alone. I walked past his room the night after making it, and saw the cake—THE WHOLE CAKE—sitting on his night stand, fork sticking out the top, cake partially consumed.  I told him to make sure to put it in the fridge when he was done with it. Eye rolling ensued. “Yeah, yeah. I know”

Several weeks later—4 weeks is my best guess—I happened into his room (I try not to enter it as a rule—it smells like dirty gym socks and other gross boy-child smells). I placed some folded linens in his closet and saw the cake. Still with the fork sticking out the top. Not much progress had been made since I had last seen it. And now it had entered into an advanced stage of metamorphosis. A petrified cake, if you will. I screeched at the boy throw that thing in the trash.

So anyway, one day I arrived home from the store, and saw what looked like a cowboy hat on my roof. Even in Texas, that’s weird. Really.

I mentioned it to Carla, because we had been hearing some noises coming from my roof lately, and were trying to decide if raccoons had made their way into my attic, or if squirrels were capable of much larger noises than previously thought. Or if he chupacabra. Yeah, yeah. I know.

She and I both went to the front of the house and got as close to the thing as we could, and both agreed that although it looked like a hat, that was pretty improbable. (On a side -note, if it was a hat, I definitely needed to know what man was walking around my roof, and did he possess enough reason to be there so as not to get shot….#CountryProblems)

Then I decide that maybe, somehow, it’s part of my chimney that a raccoon has drug out whilst making himself home in there. Bastard.

So I grab a ladder and put it against the shed in the back of my house. It’s the easiest way to access any roof space, and It’s only about 4 foot jump over to the roof of my back patio from there. I get on the shed, jump to the house roof, and climb up over the top to the front.

I approach the hat, close to the front edge of my roof, and I discover that it is, in fact, the remains of a partially eaten, three layer, oval-shaped Earl Grey Tea cake with Vanilla buttercream frosting. Still attached to the cake board. Still with a fork sticking out the top. Because apparently, walking 80 feet through the house to the trash can is harder than opening one’s window and chunking the cake onto the roof (a feat which took impressive upper arm strength, given the distance and trajectory).

Carla and I decided that NO WONDER critters wanted to reside in and around my roof, what with the presence of Roof Cake and all.

*************************

So, the Roof Cake was Earl Grey cake, which is my favorite cake, especially for weddings. The hints of bergamot and citrus are subtly enough and the sand color is a nice canvas for all sorts of uses, if you’re doing cupcakes or naked cakes with it.

Each layer of the wedding cake I mentioned was a different tea flavored cake, and I used the same recipe for each tier, simply subbing in the dried leaves or tea required for each.

Earl Grey Tea Cake

Makes a 3 layer, 10 inch cake

• 5 cup All Purpose Flour

• 2 cup Cake Flour

• 4 tsp Baking Powder

• 2 tsp Salt

• 3 cup Milk, very hot

• 8 Earl Grey Tea Bags

• 8 tsp Vanilla

• 2 cup salted Butter, softened

• 6 cup Sugar

• 8 Eggs

Filling: 10-12 oz jar orange or lemon marmalade

Frosting: vanilla bean buttercream recipe of your choice. I use a Swiss Buttercream, because I don’t like the cloying sweetness of American buttercream.

Preheat oven to 350*

Line three, 10″ round cake pans with parchment, and spray with non-stick cooking spray.

Mix together flours, baking powder and salt, and set aside.

Place tea bags in hot milk and let steep until milk has cooled to room temp. Dispose of tea bags.

Beat butter and sugar together until creamy. Add in eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.

Add in 1/3 of the tea and 1/3 of the flour mixture, mixing just until combined. Repeat with the second third of the wet and dry ingredients, and finally with the last. Finally, stir in the vanilla.

Pour batter into prepared pans. Bake at 350* for 45-50 minutes, or until a toothpick stuck in the center comes out clean.

Allow to cool for ten minutes before inverting onto cooling racks to cool completely. Then, divide the marmalade between the layers, stack the layers neatly, and frost as desired.

I can’t say I had writer’s block. I knew exactly what I wanted to write about. I just wasn’t feeling it. I wasn’t feeling the love I usually have for writing, for creating recipes, for enjoying food. I needed an emotional reset. I needed to fall in love again with those things. A recent trip to New Orleans did that for me. Reset my heart and mind, reinvigorated me, made me fall in love.

We all have places that we go to that for reasons– known or unknown to us– we are drawn to. Places that we fall in love with, and don’t ever want to leave.

For me, New Orleans is such a  place.

I am really not sure I can really articulate why. There are so many things about NOLA that I should find unappealing–things that many people are often unable to look past—that should make my reasons for loving it such compelling reasons that I could go on and on about it in clear and certain terms.   But I can’t.

Men and women often fall in love with someone who they never expected to. People with different religious convictions, political beliefs, socioeconomic status, or even people they might not have found attractive under other circumstances. Chemistry is sometimes undeniable, even when the logic doesn’t add up. That’s love.

New Orleans is a beautiful woman with a dark side.   A sweet Southern Belle, with a Jezebel’s soul. A hooker with a heart of gold. You get the picture, right?

Yes, there is a crime problem there. Even outside of the police department. Pickpockets are rampant, shootings are common, and vagrancy seems to be pandemic.

The job market and economy are still lagging from the whole Hurricane Katrina mess, so the socioeconomic climate is a tad heavy on the low side.

And let’s not forget the city was built below sea level. If you live in NOLA, and your house gets destroyed in a hurricane, you WILL be chastised, perhaps even have your sanity and IQ called into question, by people who will keep reminding you of that fact.

The city has a blood alcohol content of .38… NOLA has the most lax alcohol laws in the country. You can walk out of a bar with your adult beverage, and walk right into another bar with it. At literally ANY time of day, there are drunk locals stumbling into you on the street. In The Quarter, there are inebriated students and football fans passed out on the cobblestone or piss drunk in doorways. Every morning, the streets are hosed down to remove the booze, barf and urine from the night before. AHHHHHH, the smell of THAT in the morning.

Then there’s Bourbon Street and The French Quarter. You’ll either love The Quarter, or you’ll be horrified by it. This area could be described as a red and black corset with G-string and thigh high stockings. In fact, don’t be surprised when you see people walking around wearing exactly that. Some of them might even be women. It’s either a good thing or a bad thing, depending on your perspective. It’s where our Southern Belle expresses her naughty side.  

Like the saying goes —Laissez les bon temps rouler!! It means “get ready for some seriously weird shit on Bourbon street”. It MAY also mean “let the good times roll”.

Bourbon Street the morning after

But once you get past all of that, you’ll be mesmerized. The architecture is breathtaking, from the tiny little shotgun houses, to grand Antebellum and Victorian mansions. I’ve never been elsewhere where the architecture has stayed so true to the history and heritage of the place. It literally feels like a step back in time. A beautiful, nostalgic trip in a time machine.

I was creepin on these people’s homes

Akin to the architecture, are the cemeteries. YES, THE CEMETERIES. Because NOLA is under sea level, you don’t see in-ground swimming pools, or in-ground burials. Because they would float up out of the ground, the dearly departed are laid to rest in above-ground crypts. These cemeteries are known locally as cities of the dead, as they do look like rows and rows of tiny old buildings. Famous voodoo queen Marie Laveau is buried in one such graveyard, Saint Louis Cemetery #1. Crypts are creepy. But in a beautiful way. That’s right. Beautifully creepy repositories for the dead. It’s a thing.

Beautifully Creepy repositories For The Dead

Nextly, the food is off the chain. OFF. THE. CHAIN. Unless you are some sort of pod person, or not, in fact, human, you’ll be intoxicated in the morning by the smell of beignets frying and coffee and chicory brewing. Whether you prefer raw oysters and gumbo at a run-down shack across the tracks (aren’t those always the best??), or Redfish Pontchartrain prepared by a 5-star Michelin chef at a world-renowned restaurant, you can easily have it.   And you’ll love it.

There you have it. Pretty buildings, awesome food, and beautifully creepy repositories for the dead.

Not enough reason?

I told you.. I can’t properly articulate it. Beyond the pretty houses and the best shrimp po-boy I’ve ever eaten, it’s chemistry. It has a vibe to it that sings to my soul…A palpable energy that feels a lot like being in love. For some people it’s chocolate, for me it’s old southern architecture, creepy and beautiful old cemeteries, and chicory with my beignets.

On my recent trip, I had the pleasure of meeting someone who had worked in a capacity that made him the most prefect tour guide one could ask for. Nope, I’m not telling you who he is, because when I go back I need him available to show me more. Here are some of the interesting things I learned from him, and places I got to see:

The several semesters of formal French I took in high school and college? Cela ne signifie rien. (It means nothing). Or at least very little. The words may look familiar, but the pronunciation is something else altogether. Burgundy Street, for example? Pronounced Bur-GUN-dy. Chayote squash, also known as Mirlitons: in traditional French, pronunciation SHOULD be MER-letons. But in Cajun French, it’s Mill-itons. No, I don’t know what happened to the “R”. But far be it from me to question this phenomenon. I’m one of the people who properly pronounce the Austin St, Menchaca, as MAN-shack.

There are many best po-boys in NOLA, but the truly best one is at Parkway Bakery and Tavern. What about that bread, y’all? I can’t even describe in words what that bread was like. As I sat by myself, enjoying the most amazing sandwich ever, everyone sitting around me was heard murmuring “it’s that BREAD”, and “oh my God…The bread”, and “that bread, doh..”…….New Orleans is heavily Catholic, so I am pretty sure that it really was manna from Heaven…At any rate, I took an extra one with me on my way home, so my family could taste it, but I ate it on the drive. SorryNotSorry.

Would YOU share this sandwich?

The little row style houses that you see all over are called shotguns. There are singles and doubles, as indicated by one or two front doors. If they have an addition built on over the back half, they are called camel backs.

Double shotgun

We also went to this little bar that looked right out of a movie. Sitting outside the door was the most adorable, quintessentially NOLA bouncer I could have imagined. An older man on a chair sitting by the steps. His name was Eddie, and he had on a Dallas cowboys ski cap, so I immediately fell in love with him. Inside, a single long room, with one row of tiny tables along the windows, and one long bar with bar stools running the length. Everyone seemed to know everyone. I met a local pitmaster of some renowned, and challenged hi m to a throwdown…Maybe next time?

I chatted up so many locals over the weekend, from all walks of life. I found all of them to be gracious, and warm. So many interesting stories.

I left NOLA in love. With the food, the people, the vibe, the architecture. And with writing once more….I’m glad to see you all again!

Gumbo is the most quintessentially Cajun dish around. A dark roux based broth, brimming with seafood, or chicken or really any other meat you wish. Cajuns will eat just about anything. Squirrel gumbo is a thing. Possum and alligator have made their way into more than one pot too.

But for Pierre’s sake, don’t put any tomatoes in your gumbo. We are making Cajun (Acadian) gumbo. The French didn’t eat tomatoes, because tomatoes are members of the nightshade family and were thus thought to be poisonous.  If you put tomatoes in your gumbo, you are making a Creole dish. Feel free to do so, but please don’t call it Cajun—it’s a personal affront to the Cajun people.

Gumbo isn’t difficult to prepare, as long as you observe a few key preparation points.

Mis en place—it means “putting in place” . This is what you see chefs doing on TV—having all of their ingredients measured, cut, fully prepared and ready to go in at the appropriate time. They aren’t doing that on TV because of filming issues, they are doing it because it insures you don’t forget ingredients, and are ready to add the ingredients at precisely the right moment. This is particularly important in making gumbo.

Start a large pot of water boiling at the same time you start your roux. Boil at least twice what your recipe calls for. Always better to have more ready than necessary, just I case. It is very important that you add boiling water to the roux when it is time. If you add water that is too cool, your roux (flour and water) will separate, leaving an oil slick on top of your gumbo. Gross.

Do not burn the roux. The roux must be treated like a baby. Attend to it continuously, and do not take your off of it. It can take 45 minutes to get your roux to the right color. It can go from the right color (between the color of peanut butter and chocolate), to burnt, very quickly. Once you burn your roux, there is no saving it. You must throw it out and start all over. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Gumbo

• ¾ cups butter
• ¾ cups vegetable oil
• 1 ½ cups flour
• 5 quarts water
• 6 stalks celery, sliced
• 1 large onion, finely chopped
• 2 large green bell peppers, seeded and chopped
• 2/3 cup chicken base, or chicken bouillon
• 3 teaspoons ground black pepper
• 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• 2-3 pounds meat of your choice**(see below)
• 1 bunch chopped green onion
• 1 pound cut okra
• Salt to taste
• For serving: steamed basmati or other loose white rice, Louisiana hot sauce or Tabasco

Place the water in a large pot and turn it on medium high heat. Once it starts to boil, leave it be. Keep it boiling until you need it.

In a 6-quart cast iron or other heavy bottomed pot, add the butter and oil, and heat over medium heat until the butter has melted. Use a whisk to mix in the flour, whisking until there are no lumps. Using a wooden spoon or wooden spatula, stir your roux continuously. It will start a creamy color, and will slowly turn golden. When it becomes the color of peanut butter, be ready. As it continues to darken, it will turn the color of a brown gravy—this is perfect. If you let it get to the color of chocolate, you’ve gone to far…See pictures below for assistance.

Just getting started

halfway there

Wait for it, wait for it…

All in…

When the right color is achieved (see above), add your chopped onions, celery and peppers, and stir. Cook and stir for a few minutes, until the mixture is hot and mixed well.

Using a large (1 quart) measuring cup, add 1 quart of boiling water to the pot..The mixture will bubble and pop vigorously, as if you’ve just dropped water into hot grease—because you have. Stir briskly to incorporate. Then add another quart of water and stir. Add in one more (the third) quart of water and stir well. At this point, the gumbo base should be thick, almost like a gravy. Using your measuring cup, add up to another quart of water, a little at a time, to achieve a nice heavy broth.

Add the chicken base and black pepper, stirring to incorporate.

Place a lid on the pot, and simmer for about 30 minutes.

Now add in your choice of meat, and simmer until proper doneness..For seafood, 5 minutes will suffice. When the meat is cooked, add the okra and the green onions. Allow to cook for another 5 or so minutes.

Taste the broth, and add salt if desired.

Serve over rice, with nice crusty French bread for sopping up the sauce and a cold Abita Amber to wash it down.

Ready to roll…

Now, turn on some Grayson Capps and make believe you are sitting under a cyprus tree somewhere in NOLA…..

**I made a seafood gumbo today, using a pound of catfish, a pound of peeled shrimp, and a pound of scallops. Other popular variations include:

• Chicken and sausage (Andouille sausage in traditional, but any sliced smoked link sausage will do); cook chicken pieces in the broth, then remove the meat from the bone and shred before returning to the pot
• Any combination of seafood (crawfish, shrimp, fish, crabs, scallops, oysters)
• Shrimp and sausage 

My BFF Lance. My cousin Evan. My quasi-cousin Jennifer. And it was supposed to be the day my first born came into the world.  But he had his own ideas, and arrived two weeks early.

But most notably, today is my Granny’s birthday.

My Granny was a babe

My Granny—Neva Lee Knight Gough— would have been 87 years old today. But instead, she died ten years ago, and left a hole in my heart that will never heal.  All of my grandparents are gone now, and of course, I loved them all.

But my Granny and I had a special bond.

My Beautiful Granny–at 14 (YES, 14!)

She used to hold my hands in hers—my hands were always very hot—and tell me that I had healer’s hands, that my hands were hot because I had healing energy that passed through them, and that it was a special gift.  I didn’t really understand at the time what she meant, but I grew to understand as I got older.

She wasn’t talking hocus pocus kind of stuff. I wasn’t going to touch someone and have their cancer go away.  Although, if you have muscle aches and pains, my hands are always hot enough to soothe them. Like little heaters they are.

But I think what she meant was this: at the essence of me was a nurturer, like herself. Like she before me, I thrive on touch, and caring, and wanting to make everyone better. Whether through holding and rocking a sick child, nursing an injured person or animal back to health, or preparing a pot of soup for a sick friend, our hands stay busy at the command of a servant’s heart.  I am forever rescuing or saving someone or something, in little or big ways, just because it’s how I do.

Since her passing, I still feel her presence sometimes in the kitchen.  It’s sometimes so strong, I actually think I feel her hand on my shoulder, and hear her whisper my name. Maybe it’s just because she died ten years ago, and left a hole in my heart that will never heal.  Before you think me crazy, let me tell you that a few years ago, others heard it too.

It was Christmas day, and I was preparing the family Christmas meal—the thing my Granny had done every year up until she was too ill to do so. I was in my mom’s kitchen, by myself, cooking away. At that time of year, I always feel her presence more—like she wants to make sure I get it right, and this year was no exception.

My mom’s kitchen is galley style—long and narrow, with an entrance at either end. My sister and her husband were sitting at the far end, just inside the dining room. I turned to walk out the other end, to go do something….as I turned the corner out of the kitchen, I heard a very firm, deep whisper “Chris”, over my left shoulder. Feeling certain that my sister or brother-in-law had just called me, I turned back in to the kitchen going toward them….just as my sister was coming my way saying “what was that?”  “I just heard someone say your name…”

I almost lost it then and there, and it makes me cry like a baby, because I fully believe that in that moment, my connection with my granny was so strong, that someone else actually witnessed it.

I think that sometimes, when our loved ones pass, a part of them stays behind for those that need them the most.

When she died ten years ago, and left a hole in my heart, I did her eulogy.  It was the hardest thing I have ever done, but I had to do it.  I thought the best way I could honor her today on her birthday, was to share with you the words I shared on the day we said goodbye to her.  The hole will never heal.

I didn’t save it—it wasn’t even written down. But I had been preparing it for a few years, from the day I knew I would lose her sooner than later, so it’s never really left me….

Just before I stood to ascend the steps to the pulpit, I thought I wouldn’t be able to do it after all—I wouldn’t be able to speak any intelligible words through my grief. But then something weird happened—they wheeled in her casket, draped in a silk cloth, and placed it at the front of the church.

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I want to thank all of you for coming to honor my Granny.  I also want to ask that those of you that have been friends with my Granny and Pop for so many years, please don’t forget my Pop now. He’ll need your company more than ever.

For those who don’t know me, I am Chrissy..the oldest grandchild.

When my Granny started getting sick a few years ago, I knew this day would come. And I knew that when it did, I would have to stand up and speak about her, because no other person had as much impact on who I am today than my Granny.

Yet a few minutes ago, I didn’t think I could do it….didn’t think I could face you all and utter words that you could understand, rather than sob. But then they brought her in, and the instant I saw she was in here, it was like a burst of the Holy Spirit filled me, and I knew it would be okay. It is so like my Granny to do that—to make something so palatable.

Anyone that knew my Granny knows she was always in the kitchen, showing her love in one way or another with food.  Ninety-eight percent of my memories of her, were in the kitchen—any kitchen—doing for others.  I learned from Granny to show love for others through food.

Many of you in this room were annual recipients of a big plate full of fudge, and divinity, and fruitcake.  Starting in November, her house would come alive with the smell of cloves, and cinnamon and ginger, and the sounds of mixing and chopping and stirring and pouring.  We grandkids always got to lick the bowls.

If you were sick, many of you received homemade vegetable or chicken noodle soup. If you were lucky, a loaf of homemade whole wheat bread to go with it.  Of course there was always extra for her grandkids, served warm with generous lashings of butter.

All of the Incarnate Word Sisters in here benefited from her cooking skills year after year, at your Pounding Party, and Christmas Party, and many other events at or benefiting the convent.  I always remember her making eggnog—-real eggnog with bourbon in it—and stirring in the whipped cream. I marveled at it, but could never drink it.

For her kids and grandkids, we got our favorite meals for our birthdays..Chicken a la King for me, Mexican Spaghetti for my Pop. Chop-Chop for my dad.  Good report cards and other achievements were similarly recognized.

My grandparents were not wealthy, but she gave so much of her heart to others. I never remember seeing her cross, or angry, and she had this laugh that would make everyone in a 100 foot radius laugh out loud.  It was loud, like a Mexican mariachi yelling “aye, aye, aye”, and it was filled with unabashed joy.

The Native Americans have a saying that goes:

When you are born, you are crying,

And the people around you are laughing.

You should live your life so that when you die

The people around you are crying, and

You are laughing

And my Granny did that. Every single day of her life.

So I know that today, she is sitting at supper with Jesus, and knowing her, she probably prepared it.

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So that was it…Those were the words I said about her, when she died ten years ago, and left a hole in my heart that will never heal.

When I want to feel even closer to her, I make one of her dishes….Here are some I have shared with you before. (Click the picture to be taken to the recipe)

Salmon Patties, with the requisite peas, and ketchup.

Comfort Food!–Mashed Potatoes and Hamburger Gravy

Chicken N Dumplin’s, Fluffy Style

Beef Vegetable Soup

Seven Minute Frosting

But as I was pondering an article about the importance of plating to the dining experience, and how I showcase my culinary creations, I couldn’t help but correlate that with how a person presents oneself to the world.

Even though we would like to believe that people are judging us by our actions, they judge us by our appearance long before that. This is especially true in the workplace, where your appearance has tremendous impact on your getting promotional opportunities, good performance evaluations, etc.

As a Human Resource Director, it has been a large focus in my career to manage the recruitment function.  I have seen some pretty odd behaviors from applicants over the years.

One young man came for a call center job interview wearing plaid flannel pajama pants and fuzzy bunny slippers. He figured since the work didn’t involve seeing customers face to face, he could wear whatever he wanted. But all we could see was a guy that couldn’t take a job seriously, and was more interested in cuddling in his jam jams all day. Needless to say, he was not hired.

When interviewing a guy for a manager position at a small retail store, he showed up in flip flops and board shorts, coated in Hawaiian Tropics tanning oil, and dropping sand everywhere he walked.  I mean, I know we grew up in a beach town, dude, but at least shower before your management interview. Maybe?

I interviewed a girl for receptionist position at the Psychiatric and Drug Rehab facility where I was the Director.  She came in with blue hair and nose rings.  Since a large number of our patients were drug addicted teens, and many of them sported that same look, it would not be appropriate for their first impression at the facility to be someone whose look might affirm their own bad life choices.  I did hire her, but required that she use a natural hair color, and remove extreme jewelry. She was glad to comply.

Several years ago, one of my Human Resource peers—I’ll call her Yvette– had been trying to land a promotion in the Fortune 12 company where we worked.  After a few failed attempts, she approached our supervisor and asked her feedback.  Afterwards, she came to me and said:

“When I asked Donna for feedback on missing promotions, she told me I needed to get my gold cap removed. Can you believe she said that to me?”

I thought about it for a second, and said “actually, yes, I do.”

You see, Donna was, sadly, right.

Yvette had gotten the gold tooth in college, as a status symbol.  Not too dissimilar from kids who get unusual or excessive body piercings, tattoos, or dye their hair blue.

We all do fun, crazy, or otherwise wild things in our youth, as a way of affiliating with our peer group. But as we move into adulthood, and seek professional advancement, these remnants of our wild and wooly days have to go. You will not be taken seriously at the age of 30 if you are still rocking tongue rings and purple hair.

Or a gold grill.

Except for maybe at some really socially progressive technology firms, or Joe’s Gym, you aren’t going to find too many CEOs, VP’s or any other high-ranking company officials sporting tattoos, bolts in their ears, or purple hair. Doesn’t mean they don’t have them, or never did, but they know to cover them up now.

I am not saying it’s right to judge someone because of how he/she looks. But it IS human nature to do so.  Just as a peahen will choose to mate with the peacock that exhibits the most attractive tail feathers, humans also judge worthiness based on appearance.

Your look conveys a message about who you are, even if it isn’t an accurate message.  It’s that message that will speak loudest, and speak first, to anyone meeting you.  Your look is the first, and often the only impression you get to make.

You may be a wonderful human being and the salt of the earth, but if someone interviewing you for a job can’t get past the bolts in your ears and the tongue piercings, it doesn’t matter, and you won’t get the job.  Same goes with saggy pants and backwards or flat brimmed baseball caps.

Why not?

Bolts in the ears and tongue piercings are largely associated with a counter culture that involves drug use.

Sagging pants and backwards ball caps are associated with gang culture.

But again, does it really matter why not? The bottom line is that although you cannot be refused employment based on your age, race, gender, etc, you ABSOLUTELY CAN and likely WILL BE denied promotional opportunities, and maybe even employment, if you look like a circus freak.

This applies in all aspects of human life.  If a girl is looking for a mate, and she wants an old fashioned southern gentleman like her daddy was, she should probably be sporting a look that such a gentleman might himself be looking for.

Time to dye the purple hair back to brown, and remove the tongue piercing.  Trade the combat boots in for pumps, and lose the black stud dog collar in favor of a string of Mikimoto pearls. Or else she’s most likely to attract the boy with the Mohawk and the black leather vest, with a chain connecting his right ear with his right nostril (who, by the way, could also be a lovely human being).

I’m. Just. Saying. Like attracts like. It’s a thing.

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The same principle applies in the kitchen, and on the dinner table.

If you are a culinary professional, a food blogger, competitive chef, or just a passionate foodie, you know it’s an absolute truth that “you eat with your eyes first”.

Even a soccer mom looking to impress her husband’s boss at dinner knows she wants the meal to look nice just as much as she wants it to taste delicious.

How you present the meal is as important as what it tastes like.

Today, I want to share with you one recipe—a dessert. Basically, it is a brownie with fruit sauce.

It tastes great, I promise.  But I am going to show you ways to plate the dessert so that the appearance matches the flavor, and turns “Brownie with Fruit Sauce” into “Gateau Chocolat Avec Deux Coulis”.

Don’t bust my chops on that last bit…It’s been 20 years since I used French on any kind of basis.

Uber Dense Fudgy Brownies

Ingredients

• 1 cup strong coffee (may use port wine, or chocolate stout beer too)
• 2, 12 0z bags semi-sweet chocolate chips
• 2 cups salted butter
• 3 cups sugar
• 6 eggs
• 3 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 ½ cups  all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon salt

Instructions

Preheat oven to 350F.

Line a 9X13″ baking pan with parchment paper.  Spray sides and parchment with non-stick spray

In a sauce-pan over medium high heat, bring the liquid of your choice to a boil, and boil until reduced to about 1/2 cup.

Place chocolate and butter in a large microwave safe bowl, and place in the microwave. On medium power, heat for 3 or 4 minutes, stopping every 30 seconds to stir.  Whisk until very smooth.

In a large mixing bowl, or in the bowl of your stand mixer, beat the eggs, sugar and vanilla just until well creamy and smooth.  Slowly beat in the chocolate mixture and the reduced coffee/wine/beer.  Stir in the flour and salt just until combined—do not beat.

Pour mixture into prepared pan, and bake for 40 minutes.  Cool for an hour before placing in the refrigerator to chill.  Cut into small, pieces, about 24 per pan.

These are good at room temperature also, but must be cooled completely before cutting.

Raspberry Coulis

• 1 package (10 oz) frozen raspberries
• ¼ cup water
• ½ cup sugar

Boil for 3 minutes, until sugar is completely dissolved.  Press through a fine mesh strainer to remove seeds.

Apricot Coulis

• 6 apricots, rinsed, quartered, seeds removed
• 1 cup sugar
• ½ cup water

Bring all to a boil in a medium saucepan.  Simmer slowly for 10 minutes.  Puree in a blender or food processor.  Press through a fine sieve.

Okay, so if I’m just serving up some brownie with fruit sauce to my kids after some Sloppy Joes, here is what they get…

Brownie with apricot sauce

Brownies, topped with fruit sauce.  Not pretty, but very tasty.

Now what if we place some of the apricot coulis in the bottom of the serving dish, and place a few dollops of the raspberry coulis on top….

Now, take a skewer, and draw it through the red drops.

Hearts!

Some artfully arranged mint leaves add a pop of green.

Whipped cream provides a nice clean canvas for additional color.  In this case, I crumbled up some freeze dried strawberries.  They add a nice pop of color and a very potent burst of berry flavor.

In this one, I placed apricot coulis in the dish, and drizzled the raspberry coulis in rings.  Used a skewer to draw through the rings to the edge creates a pretty spider web effect.

Grated dark chocolate provides another visual and taste option.

Top off with a freeze dried strawberry, and voila….

Gateau Chocolat Avec Deux Coulis

10.  It is February, you’re A/C is running. In fact, you’re A/C runs every day, except for 12 minutes in early January.

9.     You see a snake. Your first thought is whether it would make a better belt or hatband.

8.     The Larry Joe Taylor Music Festival is on your bucket list.

7.     You consider RC Cola and Moon Pie haute cuisine

6.     You plan your wedding for the one weekend toward the end of October between dove season and whitetail season, because you want the groom to be there too.

5.     You have memorized every rule, of every stage of the drought restrictions. You are watering at midnight. You share a beer with your neighbor whilst doing it, because he is also watering his lawn under cloak of darkness.

4.     You know how to pronounce: Manchaca (Man-shack), Pedernales (perd-n-Alice), and San Antonio (San Antone).

3.      Three words: Friday Night Lights

2.      Your waitress asks you what you want to drink. You order a Coke. She asks you “what kind”. You tell her “Dr Pepper”. Neither of you think that’s weird.

1.      You eat tacos for breakfast. Every. Single. Day.

Yeah, tacos.  Not the crispy, corn shelled tacos that most of you know as tacos.

I think those of you north of the Red River may call these breakfast burritos, but you’d be wrong.

A breakfast taco is any number of breakfast ingredients served up in a big soft, fluffy flour tortilla.  Not one of those flavorless discs from a package either.  You have to make breakfast tacos on bona fide homemade flour tortillas.  If you don’t make them yourself, then at least have the decency to stop by a Mexican restaurant and pick up some of their in-house made tortillas. Preferably they are made by a little old Mexican lady in the back, somebody’s abuelita, who may or not sport a mustache and sideburns.  For some reason, the best flour tortillas are made by little old Mexican ladies with excess facial hair.

Or, you can use my recipe, HERE

Anywho, once you have procured the tortilla, you need to figure out which fillings you want to use.  For the uninitiated, a typical taqueria will offer some of the following options:

For Beginners/Yankees:

Egg (huevos) only (I think only toddlers and Scandinavians eat this; maybe only the latter

Sausage and egg—this means cooked crumbled breakfast sausage

Country and Egg—this means sliced smoked sausage links, chopped and fried

Bean and Cheese—refried only. Duhhh.

Chorizo and Egg—this refers only to red, Mexican style chorizo, crumbled and fried

Bacon and Egg

Potato (Papas) and Egg

Weenie and Egg—gross. Often misspelled “Winnie”, like Christopher Robin’s stuffed bear.

For Intermediate/Midwesterners/West Coast Denizens and Non-Texan  Southern Residents

Picadillo—ground beef cooked with potato (or not), peppers, onion, garlic, spices, etc…It’s what most people serve in a crispy taco shell topped with lettuce for lunch. Recipe HERE

Carne Guisada—beef chunks simmered until tender in a rich gravy; Mexican style beef tips. Easy crock pot recipe HERE

Trash Can—bean, eggs, potato, cheese, bacon or sausage

Machacado—eggs with tomatoes, peppers, onions, and small bits of carne seca (dried beef)

Migas—eggs, tomato, peppers, onions, and crushed corn tortilla chips

For Texans, Andrew Zimmern, and other Culinarily Insane Folks

Barbacoa—the slow cooked and shredded meat taken from a cow’s head. Smoky and unctuous. May or may not include the brains. Frequently offered only on the weekend, and hailed as a hangover remedy. I like barbacoa, as long as it doesn’t contain the brains, which make it excessively greasy.

Lengua-Cow tongue, usually cooked until tender and sliced. I understand that it is good, but I cannot get past the appearance, so understanding is all I will ever do.

Tripas—not the tripe (beef stomach) it sounds like it should be, tripas is actually the cooked small intestine of a cow. The same stuff used to make menudo.  I can’t eat either. Something about the digestive system and what it carries and to where. Just. Can’t. Do. It.

Chicharones-the fried fatty skin (pork rinds) of a pig; often fried with eggs. This is good. The same porky goodness of pork belly. Mmmmmm. Pork.

Notes to consider:

Cheese goes on all of it

Remember, these are just SOME of the many choices.  Investigate the menus and experiment.

A la Mexicana means the dish will have tomato, onion, and pepper mixed in (as in eggs a la Mexicana)

All will come with some sort of red or green hot sauce.

Like our New Mexican brethren to the West, many of us will eat our tacos “Christmas style”..with some of each.

Be careful of the green sauce.  In some taquerias, it will be milder than the red, and made of tomatillos. But in some places, it will be finely ground jalapeños, and little else.  You best ask if you are a tenderfoot, lest your face spontaneously combust.

I am including my favorite three breakfast tacos.   The first one is a really, REALLY  gringa version, so if you are less adventurous, start here.

Gringa Migas   Makes about 16 tacos

• 1 pound pork breakfast sausage (such as Owen’s)
• 1 doz eggs, beaten with ½ t salt
• 1 bunch (about 8) green onions, chopped
• 2 cups coarsely crushed tortilla chips
• 2 cups shredded cheddar cheese

In a large skillet over medium heat, crumble and cook sausage until done.  Pour off most of the fat, if necessary, leaving about 1 tablespoon. Pour in eggs, and cook, stirring constantly until almost done but still moist.  Add in the onions, and cook until eggs are done.  Add in chips and cheese, and stir well, until the cheese is melty.  Serve on tortillas for tacos, or simply on a plate as a main dish.

Pork in chili verde

Pork in Chili Verde  Makes about 16 tacos

This is my favorite taco. Ever. A life changer.

• 3 pounds pork loin (roast or boneless chops), cubed
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 teaspoons salt
• 3 cups salsa verde, recipe HERE

In a large covered pot over medium high heat, heat olive oil.  Add meat and salt, and stir to combine.  Cook until any liquid has evaporated, and meat has started to brown.  Add salsa verde plus one cup water. Stir well, reduce heat to low, put cover on pot and simmer slowly for about an hour.  Remove lid, and cook off any excess liquid (remaining sauce should be about as thick as the original salsa).

Serve in hot fresh tortillas.

Brisket a la Mexicana

Brisket Tacos a la Mexicana Makes about 16 tacos

• 3 pounds smoked brisket (leftover, or purchase an already smoked one from the grocery)
• 1 small onion, sliced
• 1 green bell pepper, sliced
• 1-3 large fresh jalapenos, sliced
• 1 large can Ro-tel tomatoes and green chilies, diced

Cut brisket into thick slices or large cubes.  Place all ingredients, plus 2 cups water in a large pot with a lid.  Bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce heat to low, cover and simmer slowly for 2 hours. Remove lid, and raise heat to medium.  Cook down until liquid is reduced and thick, about 20 minutes.  Using two forks or a potato masher, break the brisket up into shreds.  Serve on tortillas.