So, Neko! Let me tell you what I did yesterday...

This post is dedicated to the memory of my dear friend, Neko Hamlett.

Neko and I first got to know each other in 1999. I had just recently been hired by American Roamer (now Mosaik Solutions). Neko had long been a friend of the president of our company, and was just asked to join the team as VP of sales. It didn't take long for Neko and I to discover that we had a lot in common. We both loved darts (He was good at it, and I was good at making him look even better at it.), a good beer and a cigar (I didn't even know I had a passion for these until Neko introduced them to me. In fact, Neva says I was fairly virtuous...until I met Neko. I sure owe him a lot!), talking about how proud our wife and kids made us, and smoking (food)! It took a little while before we discovered the grilling part. One day I mentioned that my family loves for me to smoke our Thanksgiving turkey. Shortly after that, we were emailing before and after each holiday to find out what the other was going to smoke, and how it turned out. Neko went to be with our Lord during the Labor Day weekend in 2008. I was smoking a huge mess of ribs that weekend, and never got to tell him about them. I still love smoking meats (as well as all the vices he so wisely passed on to me), but there has always been something missing on holidays like Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day; holidays that require the use of a grill. This Memorial Day holiday I decided, what the heck! I might not receive a direct reply, but there is no reason for me not to let Neko know what I cooked for the holiday. So, Neko! Let me tell you what I did yesterday...

I hadn't smoked anything for quite some time. I've been itching to though. Plus, I needed to empty some space in the freezer. It didn't take long to decide I needed to smoke a turkey AND a boston butt. The next dilemma was figuring out what device I was going to smoke them on. Was I going to pull out the trusty Chargriller and smoke these the old fashioned way, with charcoal and wood chunks? Or was I going to crank up the Sawtooth pellet grill and slow smoke these items on the back deck? Both methods have their advantages. Nothing gives a good smoke ring and crust on a pork butt like smoking the old fashioned way. And you have to use the old methods if you want a smoked turkey that has that gorgeous mahogany skin. But...you have to really be prepared to dedicate your day to the grill. It is important to keep the smoke and temperature consistent, if you want your meat to come out just right. That's kinda hard to do if you have a lot of other things going on in your life that day.

Making life easier is what the pellet grill is all about. Other than occasionally checking the pellet level, these grill/smokers are about as "set it and forget it" as grills can be. You don't get the mahogany color on your smoked turkeys with a pellet grill, but that mahogany color comes at a price. While the turkey meat is juicy and flavorful, the skin gets so full of smoke it becomes acrid, and leathery. With a pellet grill, the smoke flavor of the turkey meat is still there, though as part of the background harmony, rather than the lead. However, the real treat with a pellet smoked turkey is the crispy, yummy skin. Who can argue with a turkey that looks like this?

 I thought about doing the pork on the Chargriller, and the turkey on the Sawtooth. My wife made some smart comment about me running back and forth between grills all day. I certainly did not want to create any unnecessary exercise for myself. That is NOT the purpose of a holiday. The pellet grill won!

The night before the great smoking event, I prepped my turkey. This year I found a commercial brine on clearance, that looked pretty good. It was mainly kosher salt, black and pink peppercorns, rosemary, and thyme. The next day, the real preparations began. I had to mix up a dry rub for the pork. Now, I live with a family of wusses (myself included). When we eat barbecue, we would much rather sink our teeth into something sweet and smokey, rather than spicy. My dry rubs have a tendency to be heavy on the brown sugar, and lighter on the salt and pepper.  This time my dry rub had brown sugar, smoked kosher salt, garlic salt, cumin, white pepper, dried red bell peppers that had been ground down completely, and finally, some dried tomato flakes that had been ground down. As you can see below, The tomato and red pepper gave the rub a nice red coloring.

Before rubbing the butt down, I mixed a bottle of pear hard cider and half a cup of vinegar, and injected all over the butt.

Next, I dried the turkey, oiled the skin, and sprinkled smoked salt and coarse ground black pepper all over the bird. Then, it was out to the pellet grill that was set on low/smoke which kept the temperature around 150 degrees, and produced ample smoke. It was a tight fit, but I got both pieces of meat, as well as a pie plate filled with water, herbs from the brine, and an apple, for moisture.

I kept the Sawtooth on the low/smoke setting for a couple of hours. I then cranked it up to medium, which got the grill to just above 200 degrees. This still produced a good amount of smoke, but kept the butt and turkey both at a good rate of cooking for producing moist and tender meat. For the first six hours, I sprayed the turkey and pork butt with a mixture of pear hard cider, vinegar, and water. After six hours, I turned the Sawtooth up just enough to get the temperature to 250 degrees, and started spritzing every half hour. After nine hours (just in time for supper) I had the golden brown turkey pictured earlier in this post. The pork butt needed another hour and a half to finish.

Neko, I don't want you to think we were total carnivores last night, without a hint of vegetables on our plates. As you can see below, I had a green vegetable...as well as some Loaded Potato Salad.

So, you've never had Loaded Potato Salad!?! Well! All you have to do is boil three pounds of red potatoes that have been sliced into decent bite sized chunks. While those are boiling (Don't forget that Anne Burrell says to always add enough salt to the water that it tastes like the ocean!), mix together a cup of mayonnaise, a cup of sour cream, one pack of ranch dressing mix, half a pound of crispy bacon all crumbled up, a half cup shredded cheddar, and about six green onions finely chopped. Stick the dressing in the fridge to cool. Once the potatoes are boiled til fork tender, drain and allow to cool just a bit. Mix them with the cooled dressing. If you can make the day before, it is better. That gives the ranch flavor some time to mellow a bit. It ain't your mother's potato salad, but it sure is good.

By the way, did you see the pink on the turkey meat in that picture. That's smoke! Once that bird hit the table, it didn't stand a chance. I was afraid things were going to break out into WWIII over the drumsticks. Fortunately, some last minute diplomacy prevailed.

Don't worry. I haven't forgotten about the pork butt. Here is a picture of the finished product.

The bark isn't as dark and thick as it would have been with the Chargriller, but it was far from being a disappointment. In fact, I had some of the pork for lunch today, with my left over potato salad. All I can say is I am glad my office has a door on it. That pork resulted in some sounds that some might deem inappropriate for an office setting. I am definitely going to have to use the hard cider as an injection again. I don't know that I could pick out the pear flavoring, but there was something about the cider, that made this meat scrumpdillyicious.

Well, that's pretty much all there is to say about my weekend, Neko. Something tells me you fixed them one heck of a barbecue on the other side of those pearly gates. One day, you'll have to tell me all about it...

Happy St. Fergie's Day!

What the heck is St. Fergie's Day? I can't believe you would ask such a question. Surely you have heard of St. Fergie, and are wholeheartedly celebrating his feast day! Well! Bless your heart! I guess I'll have to tell you the legend of St. Fergie.

__________

The Legend of Saint Fergie

Many centuries ago, when the Romans still occupied Britain, there lived a young lad by the name of Ferguson. Ferguson had many dreams of becoming a person of importance. Perhaps a warlord, or king. Or maybe even a bishop in the Christian church. That seemed to be all the rage these days. Ferguson had a best friend named Patrick. Really, Patrick was Ferguson's only friend, so he got the title of best friend automatically. Patrick was an alright kind of guy, but he had a knack for stealing the limelight just when it seemed things were going well for Ferguson.

One fine summer day, Ferguson and Patrick were walking down the path to the local pond. Ferguson turned to Patrick and said, "Paddy. I can't wait until tomorrow."

"I know, Fergie," Patrick replied. "I'm so jealous. I can't believe that tomorrow you'll be on a ship sailing for Rome. What are you going to do when you get there?"

"I think the first thing I'm gonna do is sit down and have a giant bowl of Fettucine with the Pope. I'm gonna tell him 'Siri,' thats short for Siricius, you know."

"Is it now?" replied Patrick.

"Siri, I'm getting pretty tired of boiled beef up there in Britain. How about you send some pasta, and maybe a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese home with me. You do that, and I guarantee the number of converts will double in that area!"

"You've gotta be kidding me?"Patrick said incredulously. "I've never heard anything so ridiculous."

"Paddy," said Feruguson, "why do you always have to be harshing my mellow?"

The conversation continued on, but that isn't really important. A couple of days later, as Patrick was sitting outside of his hut, celtic raiders from the Isle of Ireland pillaged the village and took him as a slave. As they hauled him off, his father, Seamus cried after him. Then he looked over at Colin, the father of Ferguson, and said, "At least your Fergie escaped this fate."

Colin replied, "Fergie who?"

Patrick was herded with many other boys his age onto a ship, and thrown into a holding cage below. As he looked up from stumbling into the cage his eyes fell upon his best friend, Ferguson. "Fergie! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on your way to Rome."

Forlornly, Fergurson looked at Patrick and answered, "I know. I got to celebrating a little too hard the other night. Not only did I lose all of my money, but I missed the ship to Rome."

Patrick could only look at his friend, Fergie, shake his head and sigh.

Several years later, Patrick and Ferguson were still slaves, acting as shepherds for an Irish warlord. While out in the fields one day, Patrick and Ferguson were discussing an opportunity that had arisen that would allow them to escape and return to their homeland. A ship was docked at the nearby port, and it was headed for London. From there, it would just be a few days journey by foot back home.

"It's agreed," Patrick said. "We'll meet at the great oak at the bend of the main road when the moon is at it's peak."

"Sure!" replied Ferguson. "Now run along, Paddy my boy, and get our things gathered up!"

As Patrick ran off, he turned around and yelled, "Be careful, Fergie! There are some mighty dark storm clouds on the horizon!"

Ferguson continued tending the flock of sheep as the sky got darker and darker. Soon the rain began to pour down. Ferguson decided to leave the sheep and go ahead and head to the great oak tree. AFter arriving, he hunkered down and began to wait...and wait...and wait...

Finally, Ferguson decided he needed to see how high the moon was (Yes, he is really going to check the moon in the middle of a downpour. Did I ever mention just how dumb this guy really was?). He stepped out from under the great oak, and looked up into the sky from whence the torrents of rain were originating.

BAM! ZOT! Ferguson was toast.

Not too much later, Patrick came up to the great oak. He was having a hard time seeing anything since there was no moonlight to illuminate the path. He hoped Fergie would get there on time, despite the lack of a moon. Strangely, Patrick noticed a smell of cooked meat coming from somewhere. This was making him very hungry, but he knew he had to keep his mind focused on the escape. Presently, Patrick realized Fergie might not come at all. He was just going to have to leave his friend. As he gathered the belongings, he made a mental note to learn more about roasting meat. Somebody was having a fine dinner tonight.

As Ferguson slowly opened his eyes he could hear a constant ringing in his ears, accompanied by the chirping of little birds. Then he realized that daylight was piercing the cracks between his eyelids. "Holy &#$%^!" (That's ancient Gaelic for "Oh! My Lord!" Honestly!) "I hope I haven't missed the boat!"  With that, Ferguson slowly rose, and started towards the port, slowly gaining strength as he recovered from the shock of the previous night.

Ferguson ran and ran until he could see the ship. It was still docked! However, just as he reached the ship, the gangplank was raised, and a loud blast emitted from the smoke stack. Brokenhearted, Ferguson looked up and saw his best friend, Patrick waving from the deck with a leis around his neck, and sipping on a mimosa. Ferguson ran to the ticket agent and asked him, "When's the next ship to London?"

"That would be two days following the next full moon." was the reply.

"How much is a ticket?"

"That would be $25, sir."

"$25 dollars!?! I don't have that type of money! I'm a slave!" Ferguson suddenly realized that was probably not the best piece of information to divulge at the moment.

"I've got a ship," spoke a deep husky voice behind him. "and it will only cost you a Thomas Jefferson."

Ferguson rolled his eyes as he turned to speak to the man behind him. "They don't make two dollar bills anymore!"

"I'm talking about a nickel, you dumb@$#!" (That's Norse for "Silly little man!")

"Oh. Sorry." Ferguson apologized. "I'll be glad to board your ship." Ferguson couldn't help noticing that there wasn't much too the vessel. It looked like a giant row boat, with a sail in the middle.

"Say hello to your fellow shipmates!" bellowed the sailor, as he gave Ferguson a hearty slap on the back. " This is Erik, Lars, Olaf, Bjorn, Frank, and Goober. Just grab you an oar, and let's get going. Time's a wasting!" With that, they pushed off and set sail. "By the way," the man said. "My name is Lief, Lief Erickson. We're going to America!" Ferguson did not know where America was, but he had a funny feeling it was going to be a very long time before he got home.

The voyage took six years, but during that time they stopped in New York, catching a performance of Cats on Broadway, as well as spending some time in New Orleans, celebrating Mardi Gras, and learning how to make jambalaya. Along the way, Fergie befriended a giant python named Perthy. Finally! they made it to London. After several days journey, Ferguson began to recognize the rolling green hills of his home. His first stop was the birthplace of Patrick, his friend. Ferguson knocked on the door. A much older Seamus came to the door. "Fergie, my lad! How are you?"

"Doing well, Mr. Seamus. Is Patrick in?"

"No, me boy. Patrick left a few months ago, headed back to Ireland. Said he had a vision, or something like that."

Ferguson's heart sank with the news. "Oh. So sorry to bother you."

"No problem at all, Laddie. Make sure to go see your father. He's been pining for you all these years."

Ferguson walked down the lane to the little cottage he had spent many of his childhood years wishing belonged to his dad. Then he walked behind, and knocked on the door of the little shack that was home. "I told you I don't want to buy one of your dag blasted vacuum cleaners!" Boomed a voice from within. Suddenly the door opened and Ferguson's father, Colin, stared him in the face. "Well! Out with it! What do you want to sell me?"

"Nothing," Ferguson replied. "It's me. Fergie. Your son!"

"Fergie who?"

After some time, Ferguson earned enough money to catch the next flight to Dublin International. Once he landed, he was surprised to see his friend, Patrick waiting at the gate for him.

"Fergie, my friend!" Patrick cried as he gave Ferguson a great bear hug. "I thought I would never see your face again."

"You're looking well, Patrick." observed Ferguson. "What have you been up to?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just converting the odd pagan to Christianity," Patrick said with the wave of a hand. "Oh! I almost forgot. I made bishop."

Presently, the two friends were walking down the lane towards the village where they had been enslaved so many years before, when a small girl came running up.

"Father Patrick! Father Patrick!" she called out, as she approached the two men.

"Calm down, my child," Patrick answered, as the girl caught her breath. "What is it you wish?"

"Father Patrick. I just don't get this whole trinity thing. How can God be three things?"

"Let me handle this one, Patrick," Ferguson said as he kneeled to the little girl's level. "You see, Princess, God is the Father. However, because he is all powerful, he is also his own son."

"So God's father is himself. Really!" The girl rolled her eyes. "I can't wait to hear the rest."

"God is also a ghost!" Ferguson exclaimed with a sense of excitement in his voice.

"So...God's dead."

"No! No!" Ferguson cried out. "He is a LIVING God!"

"But you just said he is a ghost," replied the little girl. "So which is it? Is he a God or a ghost?"

"Yes!" replied Ferguson.

The little girl looked up at Patrick, and whispered loudly, while acting like Ferguson couldn't hear. "So, who is this freakazoid (Irish for "Sweet little man") you picked up at the harbor!?!"

Patrick knelt down and picked a clover from the side of the road. "See this little shamrock?" he asked the girl. "God is like this shamrock. The shamrock is one plant, but it has three distinctive parts. In the same way, there is only one God, but he has three distinct manifestations."

"Oh." exclaimed the little girl. "That makes sense. Let me go tell Mum and Dad." With that, she turned and skipped off.

"A shamrock! Really!" Ferguson retorted incredulously. "You tell the girl that God is like a friggin little weed, and you expect her to figure out the Trinity!?!"

"Yes."

The two walked in silence until they reached the great oak tree. "Ahh!" sighed Patrick. "Do you remember this spot, Fergie?"

"Oh! I remember the spot, alright." Ferguson curtly replied.

"I can still remember the wonderful smell of roasted meat,"Patrick exclaimed with his eyes shut and taking a deep breath.

"Uh, Patrick."

"Yes, Fergie."

"That was roasted Me."

Patrick looked at Fergie for a couple seconds. "Oh." The two companions continued walking to town.

As they entered the town, masses of people ran out to the street tossing thousands upon thousands of shamrocks on the two travelers. "Blessed is he who explained the Trinity!" they all cried out. Ferguson simply slunk his head down and grumbled. Once again, Patrick stole the show.

Patrick and Ferguson decided to stay overnight at the local inn. As Ferguson sat in his bed, he thought about his entire life. Every time, things were getting ready to look up for him, there was Patrick, ready to steal the show! The longer he thought about it, the angrier Ferguson got. Ferguson knew that he had to take control of the situation, or forever live in the shadow of Patrick. Then it struck him. Ferguson had an idea so brilliant it could not fail. Perthy! Ferguson opened his satchel and pulled out his old friend, Perthy the python.

"Perthy, old buddy, old pal!" he said with an excitement in his voice that had not been there for years. "You are my ticket to fame!" At daylight Ferguson would sneak and loose Perthy upon the streets of the village. Snakes had never inhabited the isle of Ireland. The people would see this creature as Satan himself, and there would be Ferguson to save the day! Ferguson the Magnificent would forever live in the legends of Ireland! Ferguson blew out the candle by his bed, and laid his head down, satisfied with the scheme he had conjured.

As Ferguson slept he started to hear voices in his dreams. They were voices of terror. The voices were screaming about a horrible beast. Something about Satan visiting the village.

Oh, crap! (That's Irish for "Oh, Crap!") Ferguson suddenly realized those voices weren't in a dream. They were coming from outside his window. Ferguson bolted out of bed, and grabbed his satchel. Upon opening it, he realized Perthy was not there. Ferguson ran out of his room, down the stairs, and out the door of the inn. There was Patrick running after Perthy.

"Remove thyself from this village, foul beast of Hell!" He cried out with indignation. "Be gone with thee, oh Satan!"

Suddenly, there was a loud bang of thunder. BAM! ZOT! Perthy was toast.

"Nooooooo!" screamed Ferguson as he came running up to the still smoking lifeless python.

"But Ferguson," replied Patrick. "It was a beast from the otherworld. It had to be vanquished."

"You idiot!" yelled Ferguson. "I was supposed to vanquish the snake! All my life you have stolen the spotlight from me. For once, I had a foolproof plan. I was going to be the star! Don't you ever sleep late!?!"

"Fergie, my poor friend, Fergie," Patrick said, shaking his head, with pity in his eyes. "You always were a day late, and a dollar short."

"All hail Patrick the snake killer!" The crowd cried out. The church bell began to peel. "Ireland will never suffer the evil of snakes again!" the people cheered.

"You fools!" Ferguson cried out, as he grabbed a stone from the road. "Ireland never had snakes before!" With that, he threw the rock at the wall of the church. Suddenly, the crossbeam holding the ringing church bell snapped, and the massive bell came flying out of the tower.

SPLAT! Ferguson was a pancake.

The crowd went deathly quiet, as they all stared at the arms and legs extending out from underneath the bell.

"All hail Fergie the blessed!" someone in the crowd yelled out. "He stopped the bell from killing us all!"

"All hail Fergie the bell killer!" crowd joined in.

"Father Patrick. Father Patrick." Patrick looked down to see the little girl tugging at his robes.

"Yes, my dear."

"You know that freakazoid didn't really stop anything, don't you?"

"Shut up, you little brat!" (That's Irish for "Bless you, my child.") Patrick's staff swiftly made contact.

WHACK! The little girl was flying.

__________

There you have it. The legend of St. Fergie. I promise, every bit of it is true. I suppose you are wondering how to celebrate the feast day of St. Fergie. Well, fortunately, you have the Great Food Junkie to set everything straight for you.

The feast day of St. Fergie is always the day after that of St. Patrick. After all, that scoundrel, Patrick was always stealing Fergie's thunder. Since Patrick was kind enough to point out for us that Fergie was always a day late and a dollar short, one always celebrates St. Fergie's day by eating the leftovers from St. Patrick's day. After all, it would be heresy to actually spend any money in celebration of this venerated saint.

I suppose you are wondering how the Great Food Junkie celebrated the feast of St. Fergie. Well, we had a nice roasted pork tenderloin (in honor of St. Patrick's obsession with roasted meat), along with some fried cabbage. Let me tell you, it was awesome. It is amazing how sometimes the simplest foods make the best meals. For the roasted pork tenderloin, I just took a 2lb tenderloin, rubbed it with a mixture of salt, pepper, garlic powder, and powdered thyme. I let it refrigerate overnight, browned all sides in a skillet, then placed in a baking dish with 1/2 inch of water. The tenderloin baked covered at 350 degrees for 55 minutes. Wow! it was fantastic.

For the cabbage, I fried a pound of chopped bacon until it was very crisp. Then I sauteed an onion in the bacon fat for 5 minutes. I added 2lb cole slaw mix (shredded cabbage and carrots), the bacon, and salt and pepper. I let that cook covered until the cabbage was tender. Now, doesn't that look good.

So, the next time you celebrate St. Patrick's Day, please...I beg of you...don't forget to celebrate the feast of St. Fergie, patron saint of those who are a day late and a dollar short...

...and little kids who don't know when to keep their mouths shut!

So, What goes well with pork loin...that I actually have?

Apples!

Let me start off by apologizing for the lame title for this post. I was so proud of the meal I cooked Saturday, that I knew I wanted to blog about it. Unfortunately, in the ensuing days, I was not able to come up with a title for this blogpost that I really fancied. So! Since you got this far, you obviously got past the title. Thanks for not holding it against me, and refusing to read my ramblings.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I got up Saturday morning. (I know. that in itself is pretty amazing.) I was facing another four hour shift of grilling hot dogs, hamburgers, and smoked sausages for the Boy Scouts. (I think I now qualify as an expert on those items.) I also knew that there was only a minutely slim possibility that someone else in my family was going to start supper that evening. Therefore, I had to do one of those scary things, and plan ahead. I looked in the freezer, to see what could be put in the slow cooker. Behold! I still had a 2.5lb pork loin just waiting to be cooked. I nuked it in the microwave (on defrost). After all, any good chef would take all possible opportunities to add gamma rays, nuclear radiation, and all that other stuff to their food. That's what gives our dishes that special "glow". Remember that smoked salt I wrote about in another blog. Well, I sprinkled that and some black pepper on the loin and seared it in a skillet until all sides were nicely crisped.

Woohoo! Now I had a partially cooked lump of meat. That's really going to bowl the family over. What to do? What to do? Then my little eye spied a bag with some apples in it. It just so happened that this bag had one of those proverbial rotten apples getting ready to spoil the whole bushel (well...the other five). I took out Mr. Rotten and gave him the heave ho. Then I used the apple corer/slicer on the others. I did not peel the apple. People in my family quickly learn to enjoy fruit and vegetable skins. I hate peeling, unless the skin is just inedible. I then found some baby carrots, and craisins. Craisins are the neatest things. They're just like raisins, but made out of cranberries. The neat thing is they don't go bad...ever....never! That's right, folks, we actually have a food product that could potentially outlast the cockroach population of the world...without the use of preservatives. I mixed all that together with some granulated sugar, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and just a little ground sage. I then put all that stuff on top of the pork loin. Heck! Even raw, this dish was starting to look good.

Fast forward about eight hours. Now we have a slow cooker full of pure heaven.

Oooo, Doggie! supper was gonna be good tonight. There was a problem though. With all that sugar, I still didn't have enough starch! (Calm down! I'm just kidding!) I had some potatoes that were starting to sprout some little vinelets (baby vines, for those of you who don't like me making words up). I decided we needed to have some Potatoes Anna to go with our pork roast.

Potatoes Anna is a fancy sounding name for a classic French peasant dish. It is quite literally just sliced potatoes, salt, pepper, and butter. Don't let that whole peasant dish thing disappoint you. That just means it is the food of the people. Go back to the Middle Ages and you basically had only two classes, aristocracy and peasants. Trust me, you and I would have been in the peasant class, and quite proud of it. They had better food. The peasants were the workers, and those cooking, knew they had to make the food hearty and tasty to provide the nutrition to keep the workers healthy. The other good thing about peasant food was that it was much less likely to contain hemlock or arsenic. Those aristocrats had a nasty habit of trying to kill each other off.

Anyway, Potatoes Anna is just good plain peasant food...and one of the tastiest ways to cook potatoes. It really is quite simple to fix. You basically slice six to eight potatoes as thinly as you can. Once again, they are supposed to be peeled. Once again, I didn't peel them. I find the best cooking dish for these is a good cast iron skillet. Melt a stick of butter. Brush the inside of the skillet with some of the butter, then cover the bottom with a layer of potato slices. Brush that layer with butter, then sprinkle with salt (Use kosher, if you have it. It provides little bursts of flavor you can't get with table salt.) and pepper. Lay down another layer of potatoes and repeat with the butter, salt and pepper. Continue to do this with the rest of the potatoes. If you have any butter left over, drizzle it over the top of everything. You will end up with something like the dish pictured below.

Place some foil over the pan, and put it on a med/hi burner. Cook until you hear sizzling. Continue cooking for about five minutes. You will then transfer the dish to a 425 degree oven and bake for 20 - 25 minutes. Pull the foil off and press the potatoes down with a spatula. Bake uncovered for an additional 25 minutes. You should end up with something like this.

Crispy on the outside. Soft and buttery on the inside. You are supposed to then place a plate over the top and flip, so you can see the nice golden brown bottom. I had just spent four hours flipping burgers, and another two hours cooking supper. (I know! So much for saving time by planning ahead. I also baked a loaf of bread) I was not about to expend my last bit of energy, trying to flip a frickin' twelve inch cast iron skillet. The family would just have to imagine how golden brown it was on the bottom.

Needless to say. We ate very well that night. There wasn't a shred of pork left, and every belly was full. It was worth the effort, but the next day, I let the funny lady at China Royal cook for me.

That's Christina. I am NOT wearing a frilly pink sweater!

OoLaLa! Lasagna!

As you know, I am really into comfort food. Fortunately, I have a very broad view of what the term "Comfort Food" encompasses. Comfort food, in my humble opinion, is quite simply food that makes you feel good. It reminds you of home, and reminds you that the world really isn't going to h*ll in a hand basket. In the summer, that could be a dish as simple as a ripened tomato, sliced and sprinkled with course ground salt and fresh ground pepper. In the winter, it could be a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup, or chicken and dumplings. Every once in a while one comes across one of those dishes that transcends the seasons. It represents everything that a comfort food should, and is just as desirable in the heat of summer as it is in the chill of winter. One such dish is lasagna.

Lasagna! If there ever was a king of comfort foods, lasagna would certainly be a contender...if not outright champion. Nothing seems to say comfort like a giant serving of noodles, meat sauce, and both gooey and creamy cheeses, all layered on top of each other. Lasagna seems to be one of those comfort dishes though that appears to be daunting to many cooks. However, it really is easy to make. I think what makes lasagna so daunting is the fact that when it is a success, it is truly amazing. However, when it is a failure, it always seems to be a spectacular failure. There rarely ever seems to be a lasagna that is just OK. This past week I got a taste of both.

I found myself suffering from an insatiable craving for lasagna this week. I can often go months at a time without suffering from these cravings, but when they do hit they hit with a bang. I thought I would get to satisfy these cravings on Wednesday. The wife and I were at the store, looking at the frozen lasagnas. Please don't freak out. There are actually some very tasty frozen lasagnas. Of course there are some that end up on the other end of the spectrum as well. The problem with frozen lasagnas, is that if you are not accustomed to eating late at night, these are out of the question. They simply take too long to cook. There are some smaller ones that can be microwaved, but most of those fall closer to the disaster end of the scale than the amazing success end. Anyway, we ended up eating spaghetti and meatballs.

The next day, I thought my prayers had been answered. The mother in law had hosted a Christmas dinner the night before and served two frozen lasagnas. One was a meat lasagna. The other was a five cheese lasagna. Miracle of miracles, she had over half of the five cheese lasagna left over, and took pity on me. That night I could hardly wait for the leftover lasagna to heat up. Beep, Beep! The oven timer ended. I pulled out the lasagna and began to salivate. It looked really good. Then I took a bite. Mmmm! A very bright and tasty tomato sauce followed by the creamy texture of...

Dry wall spackling! I took another bite. Yep! Definitely spackling. I looked over to my left. The look on her face said it all. She was preparing to put up some drywall as well. I like ricotta cheese as much as the next guy. That was NOT ricotta cheese. Like I said, there is no inbetween. This was definitely a spectacular disaster. My insatiable appetite for lasagna had yet to be placated.

Now it is Sunday. The wife and I are finishing up on some Christmas shopping. We have to stop by Kroger to buy a gift card. I convince the wife to let me buy the ingredients to make a lasagna. Everyone should really try to make a home made lasagna at least once. We try to eat healthy for the most part. We aren't always successful. Okay! We are less successful than I would like to admit. One of the ways we try to be good is by usually cooking with ground turkey or chicken. However, tonight my wife found a pound of ground pork marked down for quick sale. We decided to blend that with a pound of ground chuck. Now I happen to be somewhat impatient with some cooking, as well as cheap. I don't have the time to make a home made marinara or spaghetti sauce. I also think it is ridiculous to have to spend five dollars or more on a simple jar of sauce. Heck! Spending two dollars on a jar of sauce chaps my hide. What do I do? I buy a one dollar can of Hunts spaghetti sauce and fancy it up with some basil, salt, pepper, fresh garlic, and cinnamon. Don't worry. You don't need to get your glasses subscription checked. I really did say cinnamon. Give it a try some time. Just a small amount can really add a truly inspired note to your next pasta dish.

Anyway, I won't bore you with a long drawn out story about baking a lasagna. I don't have a secret family recipe for lasagna. My family is as white Anglo-saxon as one can get. Not a drop of Mediterranean blood to draw from. As a result, no secret family recipe for lasagna, handed down from generation to generation. I simply took the recipe on the back of the Barilla no-boil lasagna box, and modified it to my own liking. I am happy to say that there was nary a small morsel of meat left over. That entire dish of lasagna disappeared in no time flat. So, without further adieu, here is my recipe.

Jim's Meaty Lasagna

Ingredients:
4 cups mozzarella
15 oz small curd cottage cheese
1/2 cup parmesan cheese
One jar or can of your favorite marinara/spaghetti sauce
1 - 28 oz, or 2 - 14 oz cans petite diced tomatoes with juices
1 tsp cinnamon
1lb ground pork
1lb ground chuck
2 eggs
1 package of no-boil lasagna noodles

Brown pork and chuck in a skillet, seasoning with salt, pepper, and dried basil. Drain off rendered fat. Add the spaghetti sauce and diced tomatoes with juice. Stir in cinnamon. Heat to a simmer, seasoning to taste.

Mix together cottage cheese, 2 cups mozzarella, parmesan cheese, and eggs.

Spray a 9" X 13" baking dish with cooking spray. Spread one cup of meat sauce in bottom of dish. Cover with a layer of noodles. Spread 1/3 of cottage cheese mixture, followed by meat sauce, and one cup of mozerella cheese. Do two more layers of noodles cottage cheese mixture, and meat sauce. Add the final layer of noodles, last cup of meat sauce, and final cup of mozzarella.

Loosely cover with foil, and bake for 45 minutes at 375 degrees. Remove the foil and bake an additional five to ten minutes, until cheese is bubbly, and just starting to brown. Remove from the oven and allow to rest up to five minutes before serving. Serve with garlic bread.

Bon Appetit!

Four layers of gooey heaven!