This is my blogchalk:
United States, North Carolina, Carrboro, English, Paul, Male, 56-60, All Music, All Food.

Subscribe to this blog in Radio:

Saturday, February 22, 2003

Okay, Rayne, I went ahead and put the Chile para Naranja into the already simmering carnitas. This was going to be a secret concoction, since I had never even heard of carnitas until K Pasa !? spoke of her experimental, sometimes Braunschweiger-eque, excursions into the world of simmered pork. I get by with a little help. Liz brought over some corn tortillas which ought to do an adequate job of containing this stuff when it is done. Ernesto got me started on this. The idea of a citrus marinade seemed appealing. So I skinned a lime and an orange, added a chopped jalapeno and just a smidgen of Worcestershire. packed it up with the pork up in a container that I vacuumed out with the FoodSaver and just let it sit 40 minutes. The meat is a fresh picnic ham, defatted, deboned, then cubed. While it marinated, I simmered the bone in some chicken stock. After the meat was browned, I added the stock, some crushed coriander and, later (thanks again, Rayne) some cumin and the Chile para Naranja. This is somewhat reminiscent of eastern NC barbecue, slighty acidic, no tomato. When it is almost done (total simmer time = 3 hours), I'll caramelize a few tablespoons of dark brown sugar and toss it with that before it goes into grilled tortillas. Wish I had a little salsa to throw on top. 6:07:31 PM    comment []

Anyone have an idea what this stuff might be used for? Google returns only two hits on Chile para Naranja. Here are the ingredients: Paprika, salt, white pepper, arbol chili. citric acid. Liz says it might make a decent goulash, though the arbol chile would be a bit strange. 3:19:54 PM    comment []

The TV just erupted with an oogah horn and a computer-generated, vaguely Ashcoftian voice saying another tornado has been spotted in Granville County, safely north of Carrboro. Did you know that the safest place during a tornado is a central room away from outside walls? Preferably, you would go to a closet and shield yourself defensively with blankets and pillows. Never, I repeat, never go to an outside window. I turned off the TV and am listening to Wait Wait Don't Tell Me as the world continues its handbasket trajectory. 12:36:36 PM    comment []

Tornado Alert! Just five days after our ice storm, we have high winds, hail, and a sumbitchin' tornado headed at us. I love Carolina, but sometimes she tries my patience. Just a few moments ago, before hearing the warning (it's an honest-to-God tornado, spotted on radar and visually, headed our direction) I looked outside and saw a freakin' hummingbird checking out the feeder. What the hell is a hummingbird doing here in February? Go south! 12:14:20 PM    comment []

Braunschweiger: The Prequel   Bruno was pre-Nordic, a sturdy lumbering man content with rabbit fur, who liked walking aimlessly on riverbanks. Unlike Ludolphus his father, a civil man with a weakness for architecture and Gallic wine, Bruno was more a man of the forest. The small creatures of the forest, however, did not congregate in his presence as they might for Orpheus. Instead, they fled in terror because Bruno was a man who knew no song other than the thump-thump-thump of his sturdy oak club crushing the skull of a fellow forest-dweller. They understood instinctively that the elongated wood he carried was not a lute.   As Bruno lumbered through the forests, he kept his eyes set on the horizon, jaw firm, and face tight to expose as little skin as possible. Skin that was not covered by hair (Bruno had never shaved) would have to be covered with fur. When your only purpose is to walk in lines, straight as possible, one learns to respect frostbite in the season following the falling leaves. Bruno had thus far escaped its stinging touch, where digits and limbs turn first white, then red, then black before they drop off. Ludolphus had despaired of teaching him Euclid’s geometry beyond the pristine simplicity of a straight line, but had instilled one deep message from Hippocrates, that thou must cover thy skin when the ground is white.   Bruno’s mind was thus untroubled by thought. He had, however, literally stumbled upon one great truth. Walking along riverbanks, simple as it might seem, had its pitfalls. One day, whilst lumbering on the right bank of the mighty Oker, his left foot slid in that black muck that always seemed to accumulate near the waterline. He noticed that the waters moved slowly in this season, perhaps contributing to the bank’s sludge. He put his right foot in the water, which was not that chilling. His eyes looked to the sun, which, in this season, rode along the horizon in the direction Ludolphus had told him was “South”. He removed his foot from the water and inserted the other, then repeated the pedal baptism. As best he could, he shook his feet to dry them.   The exhilaration of the moment stimulated Bruno’s otherwise unoccupied mind. A question rose slowly from the medulla oblongata to the frontal lobes. At first, it sounded like “Urga! Urga!,” but then the tones gradually modulated into what another friend of his father had called a “question.”   Why is the water warm when the sun is in the south?   The answer was not with Archimedes, another of Ludolphus’ strange imaginary companions. There was no good reason to discard his furs and run to the village screaming strange words. No, the water was not moving, neither up nor down, as he inserted his feet. Since the water was moving slowly horizontally, as evidenced by the sludge on the bank there must be warm springs underneath that kept the still water warm.   “Oker-Pokey!” said Bruno, but he still did not remove his furs and run to the village. He did look toward it and observed that his glance formed a yet another straight line.   “Straight…. street!” he exclaimed, and the curious and brave animals keeping an eye on him ran directly to the village when he picked up his massive oak club and commenced lumbering.   Ever after, the village became known as Brunonis vicus. Well, not quite ever after, but the name adapted, evolved, much as the forest creatures did to compensate for the mighty club of Bruno. The village became a city, Brunswick, and finally Braunschweig, renowned for the residents’ ability to convert pigs’ livers and snouts into an edible spread - which is quite tasty on seedless rye with a bit of bumpy mustard. 4:55:13 AM    comment []

Congratulations to this week's new Slogger 10K club! Maxine will join within hours and Playing is gonna try to make it before Salon's walls some tumbling down, the world ends, or another night club burns. But for now, let us rejoice, let us be merry, let us join in singing Lili Marlene. Keep your socks and powder dry! Don't waste a round on the rats in the trench, just stomp 'em! (edit: please don't stomp on Pesky!) 3:30:39 AM    comment []