Per the Times: A sweet museum exhibit.

5:07:52 PM    

The ballad of the sad cafe has a British focus, but provides a lament that will resonate internationally.

4:35:05 PM    

Those foodie scofflaws: Illegal Cheeses.

1:02:59 PM    

It's been over a week, and I haven't been back "on blog" to relate the succcess of the barbecue. We had about 40 people who had RSVP'ed yes, and in spite of the rain all but two couples made it. We made due inside in spite of the weather, and the food was no worse for the wear—the cook was a little bit wet and smoky, but that never killed anyone.

My stress over the timing turned out somewhat warranted; I arrived back in Boston at 6:30 p.m. on Friday with a plan to get all of the salads made before going to bed. Unfortunately, I didn't take shopping time into account. After trips to BJ's, ""Wild Oats"", Shaws, Johnny's Foodmaster, and Stop & Shop, I didn't get to work in the kitchen until past 10 p.m. It's become distressingly common that provisioning requires so many stops. This time out, I spent a lot of time chasing poblanos and forgetting the dairy.

Returning from shopping, I took the pork shoulder (a picnic) out of the fridge where I'd asked my wife to put it the night before. Still frozen. Solid. I thought about a quick microwave defrost, and even got it started. I didn't have any guidelines on thawing eight pounds in the microwave—the autodefrost feature laughed at my attempts to enter that figure—and after a minute or three I decided I didn't want to lose that big a hunk of meat to poor defrosting.

After listening to a bit of bitching and watching lots of pacing, my bride graciously offered to make the trek to market for another picnic. I thanked her profusely and came up with a list of seven or eight things that I somehow missed in my whirlwind tour of local grocery establishments, some of the aforementioned dairy still among the missing. Meanwhile, I heavily rubbed three racks of baby back ribs with All Purpose Chipotle Rub, put the chicken in to marinate, and started in on the salad work.

Several quarts of Smokin' Chipotle Slaw and Fresh Sweet Potato Salad later I remembered my 5:30 a.m. date with the Silver Smoker and decided it was time to get what little rest I could. I rubbed up the pork shoulder, finishing with Jake's BBQ Rub (from one of the Schlesinger and Willoughby cookbooks, I think) when I ran out of chipotle rub. Everything went into the fridge and off to bed at 2:00 a.m.

Five thirty came quick, and off I went to get the meat started. I rolled the smoker around the house and into the backyard, then got the fire going in the firebox. I started out with a few hickory chunks, lit up fast with the propane started. Once the smoke chamber was up to temp (about half an hour) I added the meat. It was a beautiful morning for enjoying the peace of that early hour.

Following advice I'd read on the web, I made a stab at heating up the wood chunks in my Smoky Joe before adding them to the firebox, but that just wasn't working for me. I developed a technique where I got the propane going each time I added new chunks, and that worked out just right.

Just before I put the meat in, it occurred to me that I didn't have any sauce to mop with. I ran inside and flipped through The Legends of Texas Barbecue Cookbook looking for something quick and easy. There wasn't anything in there that I had everything for, so I decided to improvise with lard, butter,bourbon, Emeril's Southwest Seasoning (I guess this is the stuff he calls "essence" on the show, in the cookbook he calls it Southwest Seasoning), cider vinegar, Better than Bouillon, and water. I have no idea what the proportions turned out to be, but I just let everything reduce a little together and brought it outside to give the pork a quick mop.

For the next couple of hours, I finished up on the salads. Japanese Inspired Beef and Noodle Salad came first, since I had the Smokey Jr. nice and hot. I didn't follow the letter of the recipe, using the same marinade and dressing but increasing the soba and dropping the greens. The steaks had been marinating while I tended the pork and were ready for the grill. Once they were done, I moved inside to boil soba and potatoes for their respective salads. The Smokey Jr. also let me give my stovetop a rest and roast the poblanos on the grill.

As the day progressed, the weather regressed and the worry began. We feared for the worst as it started to sprinkle rain around 10 a.m., but then it stopped. At this point I was in a pretty good groove: work at the counter for half-an-hour, head out to the smoker to feed it, turn on the propane started, add wood chunks, mop pork. Repeat. And repeat . . . and . . ..

Around 2:30 p.m. the baby backs went into the smoke chamber and I started getting the salads out on the table. You'll notice we haven't talked about the vegetarian option and green salad the I had fretted about in my last post. These were not to be. With the prospects of a low turnout and the likelihood that the sole vegetarian would be by after dinner, I decided to cut my losses and focus on the rest of the food.

From here on out, it becomes a bit of a blur. My wife's grandparents arrived far too early, and I continued to march out to the smoker. More guests, more trips to the smoker. More guests . . . more wood chunks . . . get the new guests a drink . . . check the fire . . . you get the idea. Finally, around 6:30 p.m. the meat seemed ready to go so I sent it inside and had my wife uncover all the salads for dinner to begin. The Brazillian Beer Chicken remained to be cooked, and I did a quick changeover of the coals from the firebox into the smoke chamber for grilling duty. I added some lump, poured on a little vegetable oil—much cleaner than lighter fluid—and popped the chicken on the grill.

Soon thereafter, I learned an important lesson. All of my chicken skins ended up thoroughly charred from the high heat and flames, and the bottom of the smoke chamber grilled bright read and shed all of it's paint. The fire was something out of control, and closing the lid brough the heat inside up so high that I was afraid to leave things as they were. About ten minutes into cooking, it dawned on my. I wasn't quite on level ground, and there was a large pool of pork fat—supplemented by the little bits of vegetable oil I added to the coals—pooled on the bottom of the grill. I was cooking over a grease fire!

When the chicken was cooked through, I could join the party. My wife had put together a plate for me, and everything came out pretty well. I was a bit disappointed in the potato salad, I guess I don't really like raw tomatillos, and loved the beef salad. The pork and ribs were very successful, in spite of the fire having nearly gone out once or twice during the day. Lastly, we retired to the living room for homemade cordials. I haven't blogged those yet. I'll have to do that soon.

7:59:21 AM