Kentucky Fried Birthday, or Food is the New Golf Punk and Other Stories

AEB Sweet Tea

We seem to have forgotten Michelle's birthday altogether last year. Can't exactly recall what the mix-up was, but her birthday clearly wasn't significant enough to warrant mention in the pages of this very blog.

We got back on track in 2007, though. Months ago Michelle told me that the "only thing" she wanted for her birthday was a batch of MO-style ribs. I was all too happy to comply, and as the blessed event came into view we decided to turn the occasion into a little party, a little party with a Southern theme to it, a Kentucky Fried birthday.

This is the menu we devised:

1 punchbowl of AEB sweet tea (pictured above), hooch optional
1 large bowl poor man's caviar
1 large bowl tidewater cole slaw
1 casserole macaroni & cheese
24 pieces of AEB fried chicken
4 racks of MO-style ribs

We sent out invitations, and, sure enough, a dozen eager guests turned up on the appointed night.

Under the influence of our fortified sweet tea our conversation roamed far and wide, from the impending provincial election here in Quebec, to whether food is the new golf punk. I kid you not. I can't even remember how, but at some point the phrase/cultural phenomenon "golf punk" came up. Most at the table weren't familiar with the phrase, so I went ahead and tried to describe that moment sometime in the mid to late '90s when golf punk was some kind of "thing." Maybe it was just an ugly nightmare, but I think there was even a golf punk magazine at some point there. Anyway, as it turns out, our friend A. had recently met with the editorial board of an L.A.-based culture rag to talk about a food piece he was working on. Apparently during the meeting some guy from the magazine turned to A. and, in a rhetorical flourish worthy of Sex and the City, asked, "What is it with food these days? Is food the new golf punk?" We all laughed, decided, "No, thank god!," and dug deeper into our Southern spread.

When we'd eaten and eaten well we moved on to the after-dinner entertainment, a rousing round of our very favorite game, a game that we'd tentatively titled One Linerz some months ago, but which we since have had the good sense to rename The Favourite Game because, frankly, it is, but also as a kind of loving tribute to "Laughing Lenny" Cohen, whose oeuvre came into play on that particular night. "How do you play?," you ask. Good question. Since we're not providing you with any other recipes this time around, might as well provide you with the recipe to a game that has a lot of similarities to Balderdash, but which we find endlessly more entertaining.

The Favourite Game

First, you need a goodly amount of witty people. You also need a fully stocked set of bookshelves. By drawing straws, playing rock-paper-scissors, arm wrestling, or some other means, you pick someone to go first. This person goes to the bookshelves and selects a title. He or she returns to the group and presents the selected title. The book is displayed to the crowd and they're told whether it's a fiction or non-fiction title. Then the presenter reads some material off the back of the book or from the dust jacket: a brief description, a blurb, some biographical information about the author. Not much, just enough to give the contestants a feel for the book, its author, its style.

When the mood has been set, the contestants are asked to take a pen and a piece of paper and secretly compose what they believe could be the book's very first sentence (from Chapter 1, that is). While the contestants are busy scribbling away, the presenter writes out the actual first sentence from said book. When each of the contestants has composed their contribution (5-10 minutes is quick enough to keep the game moving at a fair clip) the presenter collects the compositions, reads through them to his or her self to become familiarized with them, shuffles them, and then reads each of the first sentences in a credible and impartial tone of voice, including the actual one. When the presenter has read all of the possibilities, he or she will probably have to read through them one more time so that the contestants can really wrap their heads around them, especially if the contributions are good.

Each contestant must then try to guess which one of the possible first lines is the real one from the actual book. Each contestant who successfully identifies the first line of the chosen book gets one point. But contestants whose sentences are mistakenly chosen by other members of the group get a point for each time their sentence was chosen. The presenter is ineligible from scoring and takes pleasure solely from having chosen the book in question, from presenting it to the crowd, from collecting the contributions, and from reading each contribution out loud to the contestants.* In other words, it's good if you can identify the voice of an author to the point that you can successfully determine which sentence is actually taken from the book in question, but it's much, much better to be able to pen a sentence that fools one or more of your fellow contestants into selecting it. The real skill here is in forgery (and actually, now that I think of it, F is for Fake would be yet another appropriate name for this game).

Note: strictly speaking, this isn't a "drinking game," but we've found that alcohol, although technically a depressant, can stimulate the creative juices necessary to serially compose the kinds of apocryphal texts needed for a lively soirée.

Books selected on this particular occasion included Death in Venice, Beautiful Losers, Libra, The Anaïs Nin Reader, Labyrinths, Classic Crews, and Philosophy in the Bedroom. Imagine the possibilities.

An earlier session, some months ago, ran the gamut from American Country Cheese to Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung.

By the time we finished playing it was already 1:00 a.m. (on a school night!). We moved back into the kitchen, awarded each of our guests a chicken-'n'-rib prize pack, bid them some fond adieus, and called it a night.

aj

R.I.D. to A. and L. for introducing us to The Favourite Game.

* As long as you play The Favourite Game in full rounds everyone at the table will be on equal ground in this regard.

How we celebrated our second anniversary

Do we go out? Do we stay in? If so, what do we make? What kind of event do we hold? Are we talking brunch? Lunch? Cocktails? Dinner? What exactly is le concept?, as people sometimes put it around these parts.

For us, the Summer of 2006 was synonymous with barbecue. We caught the fever right at the beginning of the summer and our temperature continued to run high for months. In fact, technically, we caught the fever before the summer had even actually begun, and it lasted right through the season and into the fall. We had it so bad, we envisioned GSFC events right up until the end of October. As it turned out, however, the one weekend with great barbecue potential (bright sunshine, blue skies, and unseasonably warm temperatures) was the weekend of Puces Pop when we were otherwise occupied and we never had another opportunity to take it to the streets. So when we started to toss around ideas for our anniversary party, we beat around the bush a little, but all we really wanted was some more barbecue. And with the weather being what it's been (not real pretty, exactly, but mild at least) we even got an opportunity to bust out the gas grill one last time so we could do things properly (well, as properly as you can do things with a gas grill).

We wanted to do something special, so we got it into our heads to invite a shady musical ensemble known only as The Secret Choir to perform, to give our barbecue the feel of a real Sunday gathering (something we'd wanted to do for our final GSFC bbq of the year), but their bass was away on business. So we placed an open call to any and all "sanctified singers" that might be hiding amongst our invitees*, made some gospel mixes as a back-up, and started planning our menu, figuring we'd let the food hog the spotlight.

We trotted out all of the classics from our first North Carolina-style barbecue for this particular event--Eastern North Carolina Pulled Pork Sandwiches, A.J.'s Tangy Piedmont Cole Slaw, Down East Baked Beans, and our smoky Not Quite All-American Barbecue Sauce--but in order to mix things up a little, and because we were going to be operating out of the comfort of our own home, not toughing it out in some public or semi-public space, we tested out a few new recipes. The result was a Sunday barbecue bonanza.

fig. a: MO-style ribs

MO-style BBQ Ribs

2 full racks of 3/down pork spare ribs [the term “3/down” refers to the weight of the rack. In this case, it means a slab of 10 to 12 ribs that weighs three pounds or less]

rub (1 cup):
2 tbsp salt
2 tbsp sugar
2 tbsp light brown sugar
2 tbsp freshly ground cumin
2 tbsp freshly ground black pepper
2 tbsp chili powder
4 tbsp paprika

basting sauce (2 cups):
1 3/4 cups white vinegar
2 tbsp Tabasco sauce
2 tbsp sugar
1 tbsp salt
1 tbsp freshly ground black pepper

Preheat your oven to 180º F. Rub the ribs with your Missouri-style BBQ rub and allow them to come to temperature (partially, at least), about 1/2 hour. Place the ribs on a large baking sheet and put them in the oven for 3 hours. There’s no need to flip the ribs or disturb them in any way. You’re cooking them at a very low temperature and getting the rub to do its work.
Remove the ribs from the oven. At this point you can either let them stand for a while, cover them and refrigerate them (for anywhere up to 2 days), or slap ‘em on the grill immediately.

When it comes time to grill, you want a very low fire and you want to continue to slow-cook them until your patience won’t hold out any longer. Ideally, a light crust will form over the ribs and you’ll notice caramelization begin to occur. 1/2 hour over your lowest flame should produce excellent results.

If you like your ribs “wet,” coat them with you basting sauce just before removing them from the grill. If you’re a “dry,” as I am, just serve them with your basting sauce on the side.

Serves about 5 people as a meal, or about 20 as a special surprise.

[Based on a recipe from Chris Schlesinger and John Willoughby's The Thrill of the Grill.]

In our case, I heated my gas grill on high until my smoking apparatus filled with water-soaked hickory chips began to give off its hickory perfume. Then I turned down my fire to the very lowest setting and placed my two racks at the outer extremities of my cooking surface, to minimize any chance of overcooking. I let them do their thing for 1/2 hour and then went out to check on them. They’d formed one of the nicest crusts I’d ever seen on home-barbecued ribs.

I brought them into the kitchen, tore off a “test rib” for Michelle and myself, dabbed on a little of the basting sauce, and we sampled the goods. Unreal. We gave each of our 20 guests who stopped by a rib as a surprise. I felt like I was distributing candy.

fig. b: fixins bar

Poor Man’s Caviar
2 15-oz. cans of black-eyed peas
8 scallions, chopped
1 green bell pepper, finely diced
1 red bell pepper, finely diced
1 large tomato, cored and diced
1/4 cup cilantro

dressing:
2/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/3 cup red wine or sherry vinegar (or a combination of the two)
1 pinch dried herbs, such as basil, oregano, and thyme (or a combination of these)
1 tiny pinch crushed red pepper flakes
salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Tabasco sauce

Drain the peas well and place them in a large bowl. Add the other dry ingredients. Mix the salad dressing. Add the salad dressing and mix thoroughly. Season to taste. Add a healthy dash or two to the salad, if so desired.

Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for a minimum of 3 hours and preferably overnight, to allow the flavors to mingle properly. Serve cold or at room temperature.

Makes 8 cups.

I think I was the only one at our barbecue who'd ever even heard of Poor Man's Caviar prior to Sunday. The recipe above is adapted from one we found in Kathryn Eastburn's "The Sacred Feast," the Saveur article that had been one of the inspirations behind our first GSFC barbecue. The original called for a 16-oz. bottle of store-bought Italian dressing. I didn't have any problems making barbecue sauce with Coca-Cola last June, but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to buy a bottle of commercial salad dressing. Plus, just because this was a "caviar" dish, I really didn't feel the need to teach those black-eyed peas to swim. I made my own dressing, and I cut the volume in half. It turned out great, with just the perfect amount of dressing.

Sweet Tea à la AEB

Place 4 orange pekoe tea bags in a large jug and fill it with hot water out of the tap. Allow the tea to steep outside overnight. The next day remove the tea bags. Make a simple vanilla syrup by adding 2 cups sugar and 1 vanilla bean to 2 1/2 cups water. Bring to a boil and cook until the sugar dissolves. Add the syrup to the tea to taste, but we found that this amount of syrup was just the perfect amount for our massive 5 L jug. Serve straight or with a slice of lemon. Tastes pretty good with a little bourbon, too.

fig. c: Huguenot torte

Huguenot Torte

3/4 cup ground pecans
3/4 cup ground English walnuts
1/2 cup ground black walnuts
2 medium apples, peeled
4 large egg, at room temperature
1 large egg yolks, at room temperature
1 3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
16 perfect pecan halves
Sugar
2/3 cup cream

Prepare two 9-inch cake pans by lightly greasing them, lining them with waxed paper or parchment, greasing the paper, and lightly dusting with flour. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. and put a pan of water in the bottom of the oven.

Mix the ground nuts together. Very finely chop the apples with a knife. You should have 1 3/4 cups. In a warmed electric mixer bowl, beat the eggs and egg yolk on high speed until doubled in volume. It may take 10 minutes or more. Slowly add the sugar while beating and continue beating until the volume is tripled. The eggs should be very thick and light in color. Don't be afraid of over-beating. Sift the flour over the egg mixture. Sprinkle the ground nuts over all, followed by the apples. With a large spatula, fold the mixture together rapidly but gently, being certain to bring all the elements from the bottom of the bowl up into the mixture. Divide the batter between 2 cake pans and bake in the middle of the oven for about 25 to 30 minutes, or until the top is golden brown and the sides have begun to pull away. Do not push on the meringue like top, or it may cave in. Place on a rack in a draft-free place and let cool completely.

Lightly toast the pecan halves while the cake are in the oven. While the pecans are hot, quickly dip them in water and then roll them in granulated sugar until they are lightly coated. Let them dry on a rack. The cakes must be perfectly cool, or the heat will melt the cream. Invert the pans to remove the cakes, discarding the paper liners, and turn the cakes back over again so that the crusty top surface is in its original position. Place each cake on a serving platter. Using an electric standing mixer, fitted with a whip attachment, whip the cream with some sugar until stiff and place 8 dollops of the cream evenly around each cake. Garnish each bit of cream with a sugared pecan and serve with a shot glass of bourbon neat.

[Adapted from a recipe in Hoppin' John's Lowcountry Cooking: Recipes & Ruminations From Charleston and the Carolina Coastal Plain]

fig. d: sweet tea & bourbon bar

This is one of my favorite desserts (the fact that I supposedly have some Huguenot blood on my maternal side** may have something to do with this), but Michelle had never heard of it. She was a little worried when it finished baking because it wasn't much to look at (like many of the best Southern dishes, desserts included, it's a little on the homely side--wonderfully so), but when she finally got around to testing it out, she was very pleasantly surprised. Meanwhile, Patrice was so impressed he promptly decided to work on a version for Le Chou. If you've never tried it, you really must. It forms a meringue-like crust up top, while below the torte remains soft and spongy and the nuts and apples combine their flavors in a way that's wholly unique and utterly delicious. And if you think the shot of bourbon is purely superfluous, you're wrong.

Postscript: It's now been three days since our barbecue, and any and all leftovers are long gone, but a faint scent of hickory smoke continues to linger in the air, which gives off the uncanny sensation that you've stepped into a fully furnished, all-mod-cons smokehouse. Every time I come home that gentle hickory wind just makes me hungry.

aj

*Apologies to any and all we weren't able to extend an invitation to, especially all of you sanctified singers we might have missed. We much prefer throwing inclusive events, but, hey, c'est la vie...

**Believe it or not, while Protestant sects were later barred from entering New France, the early history of Quebec was somewhat more tolerant (how else to populate such a remote land?), and a Huguenot presence settled there in the early 17th century. When the tide turned later in the century, much of this population, including some of my ancestors, apparently, was quickly converted to Catholicism. Huguenot Torte is a product of the proud Huguenot population which settled in Charleston, SC following the Edict of Fontainebleau in 1685. I'm not sure if anything similar was ever made in Quebec.