A Little Tongue

 Alright, I lied.  It's a big tongue.  A big 3.5 lb beef tongue.

As Sacramento lacks a decent Jewish deli where I can pick up some pickled tongue, I started pickling, or rather, started brining one last week.  Were it a beef brisket, it'd be called corning, but it'd still be brining.  I made it once before last August and smoked it on a camping trip.  It basically tasted like a really tender slice of corned beef, or as my friend Joe told me, it tasted "legit."

It takes about 5 days to brine this thick cut of beef, and the brine I used is just the simple one that I use for corned beef:

2 l water

225 g kosher salt

50 g sugar

13 g pink salt

3 crushed garlic gloves

1 tbs pickling spice

Heat all of this until everything is dissolved, of course, and place tongue and brine into a container or zip seal bag.

After 5 days brining in a cold spot, rinse the tongue, place it in a pot that it will fit in, cover with water, and add another tablespoon of pickling spice.

Bring the pot to a boil and simmer gently for 3 hours.

As with the first time, it was still a little disturbing that the tongue muscle still retains the tastebud texture after pulling the skin off.

Especially when you get real close to get a good look at it.

This is one of those cuts of meat that I don't use too often and much like butchering up half a pig or deboning a whole bird, I cannot help but think to myself that I would hate if someone was doing this to me: having my tongue cut out, brined, boiled and then the skin torn off.  Kinda brutal, so it's best not to dwell on it.  When it's finally turned into a sandwich all those thoughts melt away though.

A smear of Düsseldorfer Senf and homemade sauerkraut on a toasted roll and ya done.

And it all only took 5 days, 3 hours, and 15 minutes.  An extra hour or two if you want to smoke it.

I Need Schmor

Due to the severe cooling of Sacramento to 86°F today, I needed something to warm the bones.  Naturally I chose to make a Berliner Schmorbraten or Berlin-style pot roast.  It starts with a mustard rub consisting of:

1 heavy tbs dijon mustard

2 tsp granulated garlic

1 tsp each of salt/pepper

2 sprigs of thyme (leaves stripped)

a couple good rubs of fresh grated nutmeg

3 pulverized cloves

 + a 4 lbs rinsed and patted dry beef shoulder roast

= a mustard rubbed pot roast

This is seared on all sides and removed in order to saute some vegetables:

1 med parsnip
1/2 c carrots
1 med onion
2 stalks celery

Once browned, deglaze the pot with the Pflaumengeist (plum schnapps) that you keep in your cupboard.  Then add a tablespoon of potato starch, coat the vegetables, and place the pot roast back in the pot.  To this add:

1 can/bottle of Bitburger or other pilsener (a Berliner Weisse is ideal, but what can you do?)
2 sprigs of thyme
2 bay leaves
1 tbs sugar
1 tbs white wine vinegar (barring that, use your champagne vinegar)

Cover, bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer on low heat for one and a half hours.  Remove the meat and half the vegetables (discarding the thyme sprigs and bay leaves).  Puree the remaining vegetables and stock with a stick blender or however you want to do it.  Then add:

2 cubed red potatoes
5 large button mushrooms

Simmer at medium heat for 30 minutes.  Then slice the meat and plate with the reserved vegetables, potatoes, and mushrooms--pouring the thickened sauce over the meat and vegetables.

Mmm...now eat one plate and give the rest to your neighbor.

Just Giving a Kraut-out

As Oktoberfest winds down to an end in Munich on the 3rd, I was reminded that today is the day for me to pull my sauerkraut from its three week transmogrification on the kitchen counter.  I initially had quite an intractable time with trying to get my cabbage to ferment properly.  After failing about three times, I abandoned the recipe from Charcuterie and contacting my Austrian friend a few months back to get her mother's recipe, which I liked when I ate with them years back.  

The key difference was the amount of salt used.  When I used Polcyn & Ruhlmann's recipe it had quite a bit more salt, which I found out after a little research creates an inhospitable environment for lactic acid fermentation to occur.  I have now successfully made sauerkraut four times now.  Like the vegetables that I have fermented, the cabbage remains crisp, slightly salty, and nicely sour.

How I dun it:

1 large head of cabbage (ca. 5-6 lbs)
4 lbs Granny Smith apples
200 g salt

I stamped down the sliced cabbage, grated apples, and salt in my food bucket with a potato masher.  Lehman's sells a wooden stamper specifically for this task, but my metal coil masher does the job well, and really, what else would I use the thing for?  Making a bucket of mint julep or a giant caipirinha?

After the cabbage and apple is well stamped enough for the salt to leech out the moisture, I tossed the herb and spices below to evenly distribute.

20 g caraway seeds
10 g fresh dill
10 g juniper berries
2 bay leaves

I placed everything in my 5 liter fermentation crock, filled the gutter for the water seal, and left it on the kitchen counter for three weeks.  The sauerkraut now resides in my refrigerator until people take it off my hands.

Allah Limburger You Can Eat!

A pal of mine came back from Saudi Arabia for five weeks last month for Ramadan after spending five months there eating mostly fruits and veg and having hardly any alcohol save whatever kind of scrumpy he was fermenting for himself.

As I had promised him, one day while he was here I prepared Allah Limburger sandwiches he could eat.

The goods...

A loaf of pumpernickel, smoked liverwurst, Limburger cheese, pickles, red onion, blood tongue, and tube mustard. Everything except the pickles, onion, and mustard can be bought from the nice folks at Morant's Sausages.

It's a sandwich, so it's pretty self-explanatory from the photo on how to put it together. Limburger sandwiches usually don't have meat on them, but the liverwurst makes it more Ramadany. We did leave off the blood tongue though. I saved that to eat in my bathtub in the dark later while I hid my shame of liking weird Sülzwurst.

Here's where I cut the sandwich in half.

To be forthcoming, we were both a bit leery about who was going to take the first bite just because of the stench of the cheese but in the end, I jumped in first. I like everything else on the sandwich, so it could only make it better or just make it taste weird. We both agreed the pungent cheese was good, but hardly anyone believed us when we said it was. I should say that they're the ones who stink...so I will.

Ma! Meatloaf!

I had been telling a friend that I had the best idea for the coming Meat Day this weekend and decided to do a trial run of how it'd work out. I'd reckoned the idea of a grilled bacon-weave wrapped meatloaf wasn't the crux, it's just the steps to make it happen. Then I found that the idea's been done. Someone has grilled a loaf of sorts on a grill already. I ran with it anyways for a trial run for Meat Day at the Pansons'.

Weave the bacon.

Work out your favorite meatloaf recipe and platz it in.

Roll and tuck the meatloaf in the bacon-weave.

Then ignite your coals and place them on one side of the grill so that the meatloaf can roast on the other side under indirect heat, dump moist mesquite and hickory chips over the hot coals, grate the kettle grill and set a water cup as to not allow the fire to heat up the grill, and smoke the bacon loaf for one and a half hours...or to...

150°F. Pull it off at 150°F, and allow the temp to rise another five degrees as is the proper rest time for a meatloaf.

Served with meatloaf relish

moist...although I don't like that word in respect to food because food should simply be dun...nevertheless it was...

Well, what'd I done it with?


Soak

1 slice pumpernickel in
1/3 c whole milk

[sorry, I can'T controll the formatting]

Saute the following in oil:

2 med. Carrots
1 med. Bell Pepper
2 stk. Celery
1 med. Onion
3 clvs. Garlic
2 Bay Leaves

After 15 mins. add

2 med. Tomato
1 tbs. Worcestershire Sauce
1 tbs. Apple Cider Vinegar
12 oz. Catsup
Season with s/p.

After 5 mins. the relish is done and needs to be chilled.

Combine 1/2 of the relish with milk-bread to the meats (1 lb. ground beef and 1 lb. ground pork)

Wrap one half of the loaf-meat in the bacon weave and set on the prepared grill. Ronco it with the smoke and it turns out satisfying your Sunday evening friend.

Eventually though, Sunday dinner turns into Monday Lunch:

Remember, if you'd followed what I've said, you still have another meatloaf waiting to be baked in the icebox.

...and the Beet Goes on...

I have a hankering for a nice medium-grilled burger every month or so. Most times, I'll make a late night burger run with the fast food pal, but my monthly craving came this last week, and I decided to do it myself. My next thoughts immediately came to how to dress it. These thoughts involved recalling what Dave...uh...Smith had told me about his time in Australia and how they will put a sliced beet on your hamburger at the Ozzie Burger King for a dollar more. I then went to sleuth what is on an Ozzie burger. Apparently, their eponymous burger offers, in addition to a slice of beet, a fried egg and a ring of pineapple. I had pickled beets that I regularly keep in the fridge. I wasn't going to dress my burger too much beyond that this night. Here's my pickled beet recipe that I use for pickled eggs but works well without the eggs:

8 eggs

1 lb beets (boiled, roasted, grilled, etc.)

1 red onion, sliced

1 c white sugar

3/4 c cider vinegar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 pinch ground black pepper

2 bay leaves

12 whole cloves

1/4 cup(4 tbs) Tabasco (or 6 árbol chilis)

For starters, I prepped everything while the coals started. I only had sesame rolls and buttered them--a practice neglected by many burger joints nowadays that contributes a nice buttery and toasted bun.

I fished the beets and onions from their brine and crumbled the feta cheese I planned on topping the burger with.

To keep the bun from getting soggy from meat juice, I mixed the grease/separating layer with mayo, julienned basil and the homemade scriracha that I make. This smelled and tasted really great. It kept the smooth texture of the mayo, had the floral aroma of the basil, and a restrained zip from the pepper sauce.

Spread on the toasted buttered roll...

Burger laid, the feta crumbled upon, and topped with sliced beets.

The onions then went on, and the finished burger was sliced in half and poised for consumption...

What can I say? The burger was tastey. It was like eating a burger with a zippy sharp start through the salt & peppered ground beef met with a cooling dairy layer and a crunchy, sweet and sour wrap-up. It was good, and I'll say that the beet goes on the next bunned hamburg steak that I eat.

No...I Want It All

I was called a punk ass bitch today for not posting, so whenever I decide to take over a month to not write anything, you know how to motivate me.

I like fruit. My brother likes fruit. He once was punched in the face for calling a guy "the pussy of fruit" after the guy wouldn't let him skate on his quarter pipe: it being a known fact that the guy hated fruit and would freak out if you approached him with a red delicious arm outstretched. Independent of my brother's misfortune, as an 11-year-old (and a 32-year-old), I found it one of the funniest things that my brother has called someone. It also made me think about the quarter pipe owner. The guy really was the pussy of fruit. I mean seriously, how do you not like juicy, sweet, ripe fruit in your mouth?

I can understand not liking some fruit. My mom sent me to school with a persimmon once. I didn't really like it, but when it's one of the only things you have in your lunch, you eat it knowing full well that the only thing to snack on when you get home are more persimmons--might as well eat it now and hope the ones at home disappear. I was questioned about what kind of fruit is was by some classmates and was promptly called a weird fruit. "You know why he likes weird fruit? Because he's a weird fruit!" Clever, am I right? At least I didn't get called "strange fruit." Although the kid was more or less right about my character, I would've rather my mom had packed one of those tiny dwarf bananas or better yet, some kind of regular American looking fruit like some watermelon.

Nowadays though, I seldom buy melons because I hadn't known how to pick out a good one for a long time. Even following the conventional steps of choosing a watermelon--listen for a hollow, heavy for its size melon with a yellow or light bottom--I'll still get suckered by a 60% usable melon. You can probably get around this by just buying a smallish one in the midst of the summer from the farmer's market, but have I mentioned how frugal I am about buying food?

About...let's make it two weeks ago, I was at the discount grocer with a friend and bought an 11 lb. seedless watermelon. It was huge and likely to be mealy in that inner ring where the seeds normally are, but I'd been having ideas about watermelon, and $2.99 was the right price for making uncertain food.

Sure enough, it had that mealy dry ring from being too old or improperly stored. Unlike an apple that you can still cook to release the flavor and moisture, I was sceptical about cooking a watermelon.

I really needed something refreshing to chill me out from recent 100 degree weather. With sorbet requiring time and an ice cream maker, which I'd have to borrow from someone, clean, and return, fruit water sounded the more immediate remedy.

After cutting out the still firm center and outer parts of the watermelon, I was left with about 4 lbs. of melon mush. I tossed it into the blender with about a cup of water, and a quarter cup of fructose. Why the fructose? The co-op ran out of sugar in their bulk bins, so that's what I was left with. I guess it sort of doesn't taste as sweet as regular refined sugar, but it's been working out in all the things I've been using it in.

Once liquefied, I strained it through a sieve and added a quarter cup of Meyer lemon juice. Poured into a glass and spritzed with seltzer, I garnished it with a lemon wedge for the fruitiness. My spirits were so lifted that I sung out in German song.

It made a 2 quart pitcher without the seltzer, and it's also good after the morning run when I don't feel like eating anything but know I have to before I start work.

The following day I packed up the choice middle cuts for a camping trip that ended up getting water logged in the cooler. "Waaahhh..."

Good thing I thought ahead and pickled the rest before leaving. I did two different pickles. The ones below are from a Saveur recipe for Russian pickled watermelon that I'd been eager to use. I don't know how Russian this actually is, so one of my Russian friends will have to chime in here.

The other, I'd been wanting to do even longer: pickled watermelon rind.

After gleaning several Southern recipes online, I prepared them as follows:

Boiled the peeled rinds until tender.

While that boiled, 3 c. fructose, 2 c. apple cider vinegar, 3 cloves, and 1 cinnamon stick are combined and heated until the fructose dissolved.

The sugar-vinegar mixture is then poured over the tender rinds and refrigamated for a week.

The two pickles were both pretty nice but very strongly flavored by the other ingredients. Casual snacking was a bit out of the question for the pickled rinds. Less fructose/sugar might solve that problem though.

Both would work well as ingredients to a salad, and the pickled rind spurred thought about a watermelon rind pie, as it had the texture of a cooked rhubarb and lends itself to other flavors really well.

If I make the pickled watermelon again, I'd cut back on the garlic and bump up the cayenne to suit my own tastes better.

Having now used the entire melon, the next time I'm in the market and I see that watermelon eyeballin' me, Imma lookit it square and let it know that I will have it--I'm gonna have the whole thing. That goes for you weird fruits too.