Odorous Pescado

 As an adult I have had the opportunity to eat some great food and now living in the Northwest the King Salmon is at the culinary apex.  This is the fish locals and visitors choose and think of when you mention Seattle.  I never had the opportunity to eat fresh fish as a child.  I did however have the opportunity to eat any fish I caught when camping with the family.  I caught mostly yellow belly cat fish and blue gill, not the most appetizing fish and never large enough to actually eat.  I’m not even sure my mom could cook fresh fish if given the opportunity. Let’s leave the cat fish fry to the Cajuns.  Although leery, on my first visit to the great Northwest I quickly jumped at the opportunity to order a fresh salmon dinner.  It took only one bite of fresh salmon to erase the bad memories of canned salmon patties served at my house for dinner.  Salmon patties made from canned salmon!  Imagine the smell!  Imagine the oily, nasty discolored meaty flesh clinging to the inside of the squatty round can, freshly opened with a can opener that has never been washed.  Now before you say, but your mom didn’t have access to fresh fish, I say you are correct.  But listen to what I’m saying, can salmon tastes nothing like fresh salmon.  Add that to the fact that Marie could mess up box macaroni and then she pulls out the salmon patties.  C’mon man!  This could have been my greatest nightmare dinner.  Miles from the front door you had an olfactory sense of the death patties that waited lingering on the dinner plate.  The odor of cooking salmon patties would overcome every distinct smell of my memory.  Worse than liver and onions any day of the week.   The putrid stench of that single patty on my plate made me sweat like Mike Tyson taking the SAT.  I could barely choke it down, second only to canned peas, and never a condiment to mask the flavor or odor.  The salmon patty has taken over my memory right now and I cannot, for the life of me, recall any side dish that may have accompanied it.  Could it be possible that there is no side dish capable of complementing the salmon patty?  If that is so, then why serve these?  Canned salmon should be served to cats with no sense of smell, that live outside in remote parts of the world, or at least another area code.  Marie’s salmon patties would quite possibly be a strong deterrent for prisoners serving short sentences.  The fear of the salmon patty meal would send shivers to any hardened criminal.  Do yourself a favor, if you choose fish for your next meal and you even think about salmon patties, think again, cat food should not be pattyized for human consumption.  You will be better served to heat up the Gorton’s Fish Sticks.

A note from the Easter dinner Sloppy Joes!  They were delicious.  I found that the soy was overpowering, cut it out or back depending on your taste.  Here’s the recipe if you wish to partake:

In a large skillet add 1TBL Olive oil, over medium high heat.  Add 1.5# of ground turkey and season with 1TBL of poultry seasoning, salt and pepper.  Cook until browned and then stir in 1 small red pepper chopped, 1 small onion chopped and 2 cloves of garlic chopped and cook until the vegetables are tender.  In a bowl, stir together 1cup tomato sauce, ¼ cup maple syrup, 3TBL soy sauce, 2TBL cider vinegar, 2TBL brown sugar and 1TBL Dijon mustard.  Pour the sauce over the meat and vegetable mixture and simmer over med-low heat to combine flavors.  Serve on a bun with shredded cheese or favorite topping.

Put on Your Easter Sunday Best

Happy Easter everyone, or is it Merry Easter or hurray for Jesus has risen?  Whatever the case may be, let’s really look at the reasons we celebrate Easter.  First of all, we as parents get to hide shit around our houses and laugh at our children as they try to find the hidden treasures.  Wait, I think we hid something behind the lamp, or is it behind the book?  I hope they find it because I can’t remember where we put those damn eggs!  Speaking of eggs, coloring them is a priceless, messy and time consuming event that always produced eggs that were at best dual colored.  Nothing in our house ever, ever looked like the beautiful eggs on the box of the PAAS coloring kit.  I don’t know about you, but that little wax pencil never did the detail work like suggested.  Our family would boil one dozen eggs and proceed to color them and hopefully find all 12 when morning came.  The joy of peeling a colored egg and eating this for breakfast may have been one of life’s little moments.  Like you were getting to do something that the rest of the world looked at as taboo.  Wash down the egg with a little chocolate, now you’re in business.  Deviled eggs for Easter brunch, yup, every recipe included mayo and mustard, variations beyond that were never realized in our house.  Maybe some salt and pepper.  I love them but, in hind sight (or should I say “hind smell”) they do not love me.  Enjoy your eggs everyone!

The chocolate:  I was one of those kids who would wish for nothing other than a solid milk chocolate Easter Bunny.  What happiness it would bring if only the bunny was solid.  Each year I would be greatly disappointed.  The hollow bunny would rest in my basket amongst the little chocolate footballs, a few Peeps and usually something marshmallow.  Before I could read, deciding if my bunny was hollow or not was by weight.  I would carefully grasp and curl the bunny, was it heavy?  Maybe, curl again, maybe not.  I can’t tell.  At this age I couldn’t differentiate between what should be heavy and what heavy actually was, all I wanted to know is was this bunny solid or not.  If not, disappointment soon would follow and if it was, joy and celebration would ring out through the house.  One good bite off the ear and son of a bitch, disappointment always found my house and Easter basket.  My friends got solid bunnies, why couldn’t I?  I didn’t have a clue about finances or budgets or what a solid bunny may even cost, but I didn’t care about any of that crap, I wanted a giant solid Easter Bunny in my basket!

I’ve eaten one hardboiled egg, slightly tainted with color, one bite of hollow bunny, a couple of little tinfoil wrapped footballs, I ‘m dejected, disappointed, sleepy and now the bad news.  Okay family let’s get ready for church, Sunday Easter Service.  These long and painful celebrations of Christ rising from the dead, yeah, yeah let’s get it over with already.  Now don’t get me wrong I am not the anti-Christ, but I’m a kid and I have more chocolate to eat and Grandma can still come through with the solid bunny.  Our family went to church every Sunday, but on Easter Sunday it was different.  It was longer, there were more people, you know the ones, and they only show up twice a year, Easter and Christmas.  I could handle twice a year, you bet, but no we were there every Sunday, very painful for a kid like me.  Our pastor knew the Easter service was long and painful because during the sermon, every year, he would belt out JESUS HAS RISEN, or PRAISE THE LORD, people from every pew would snap from sleep mode and re-focus on him.  I think the only ones paying attention were the kids because we would be the ones giggling at the sleepers who were awakened.  I couldn’t wait to get out of church, get that Easter suit off and get to some more chocolate and Grandma’s house.

Grandma’s house would be filled with aromas: ham, potatoes boiling, and grandpa’s cigarettes and chocolate… now where is my basket?  Would Grammy come through with the solid bunny?  My mom’s entire family would be there, everyone would bring something, including deviled eggs, my aunt’s chicken noodles and then the feasting would commence.  First let’s get to the searching, let me get to it, I know there is something hidden in this house for me and I need it now.  Disappointment soon would follow the searching, hollow bunnies for all.  I know what you are thinking, I have no appreciation for the hollow bunny, you are right.  Hollow bunnies are worthless and nasty.  Any young male between the age of birth and death will never appreciate the need to manufacture a hollow milk chocolate bunny.  The solid bunny rules and always will.  End of story.  So all of you chocolatiers out there stop making the hollow crap, give us the goods, solid, yummy bunnies.

Now for our Easter meal today; ironically Sue found a recipe for Ground Turkey Sloppy Joe’s and we are trying them out for dinner tonight.  I will update on the success or lack thereof next week.  So enjoy your LONG ASS SUNDAY SERVICE, your brunch with deviled eggs tainted with egg dye and chocolate, solid or hollow I guess it is still chocolate.  Oh yes, make sure if you have kids and you’ve colored eggs, they find all of them.  One more thing, I don’t want to hear about all of you who want to brag about your solid bunny.  You make me angry:)

Deception Sandwich

I was reading an email response to last week’s blog when a suggestion given rang close to my home and past.  A friend of mine was reminding me about the meals of his past, which have been very similar to experiences in the Longstreth house.  Even though his memories come thousands of miles from small town Ohio the similarities are creepy.  His past reminded me of a couple of things of my past.  One I will share with you today and the other I will work on because once I get onto that subject it may take a while.  Thank you Kevin for the memories, may your palate overcome the damage of your past.

This one I tried to replicate years ago, but without much success.  I could never get the right texture or flavors to come through.  I recall eating this on many occasions.  I loved this on soft bread.  We purchased this product from the deli at the local IGA Grocery store, or in the day the Pangles Master Market.  Recalling from memory of smells and creamy smooth texture took me back to days less troublesome.  How this is made, I would wonder.  I couldn’t find it at any deli in Seattle. I would get looks of disgust and nausea after asking if they carried such a product.  Am I some kind of alien?  Is there a ban on this product?  Maybe it can’t me made west of the Mississippi.  Could it be possible that the recipe was lost and could never be replicated?  I need to get my hands on some of this.  I know, I’ll show’em I’ll just make my own!  To the grocery I go!  I have made a list of ingredients: mayonnaise, ham, relish, onion, cheese.  That should do it.  This must be the ingredients for my memory of Ham Salad Spread.  Remember this concoction?  Well I tried to make this from scratch without any direction or recipe, just memory.  I was so close too.  But it was just not right, something was missing or something was not supposed to be there.  Some of you probably already know the ingredient which was misidentified.  I did not.  I was stumped.  But as usual I proceeded to eat my mistake, about 1# worth of mistake.  But I made it through.  I was still bound and determined to make this and satisfy my craving.  This time I was making a phone call.  But who do I call some local grocery deli in Ohio?  Nope, I call Marie, my mom.  “Hey mom, I have a question, I’ve been trying to make ham salad spread, and I’ve tried everything.  Here is the list of ingredients I’ve used without much success, what am I doing wrong?”  All I hear on the other end of the phone is laughing.  Now I’m wondering what the hell is going on, am I an idiot or what?  This reaction, by a mother who has over the years probably contaminated my digestive system hundreds of times, is borderline insulting.  Upon regaining her composure she informs me through additional chuckles that I was so wrong with one ingredient that it is beyond her that I would miss this small detail of HAM salad spread.  “What is it I asked?”  “Oh, Robbie,” she snickered “ham salad is made with bologna.”  “Son of a bitch,” I say “then why do they call it ham salad?”  Boy do I feel stupid, I wonder what tuna salad is made with?  After thanking my mom and feeling very depressed I made a trip to my local grocer and purchased some bologna, returned home and made some of the best HAM salad spread ever.  I’m positive there are many recipes for sandwich spreads available to the public, but be leery, do not try and replicate without first doing some research on the ingredients.  It may save you some embarrassment and 1# of nasty spread to consume.

A Mysterious Meaty Memory

I would be inclined to think that we 40 something year olds rarely serve our children meals of our past.  There are certainly dishes we surmise as staples; burgers, meatloaf, spaghetti, etc.  Think back to your childhood and try to recall that one dish you consumed at least once a month.  Without even a consideration of how it became such an iconic staple of our generation, Americans have been eating them since WWII.  This iconic staple would meet specifications for dinner, lunch and budget.  For me it is clear what this entrée was.  This mixture was as traditional as pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving dessert.  Within my little community there were as many recipes as families, and it was served in every school as a nutritional entree.  Every household recipe had its own unique zest and texture.  The meal, which I am speaking, also led to a major food company to invent a canned product which made it even more economical.  Since its debut in 1969, it revolutionized the preparation and consistency and has been available in grocery stores to this day.  I can honestly say that I haven’t eaten one of these since probably 1985.  This kid friendly staple is known worldwide as, none other than the Sloppy Joe.  Who was Joe?  Why was he considered Sloppy?  The history is unclear as where and who is responsible for its creation, but mothers across the country made this sandwich their own.  My mom was no exception.  Her recipe consisted of tomato paste, ketchup, chopped onion, salt, pepper and of course 1lb. of ground beef.  Thank goodness for Hunt’s creation, Manwich Sloppy Joe Sauce.  This finally gave our family flavors outside everyday recognition.  We knew what we liked and Manwich was superior to Marie’s formula.  Just thinking and writing about this sandwich makes my mouth water.  I can recall the taste in my mouth, the aroma, the bun, and even the texture of the paper plate from which we consumed these handmade delicacies.  I say we bring this back!  Right now, one or four of these sound really, really good.  Maybe tonight I will make them for my family.  Maybe I will go out and get that can of Manwich, brown up some ground turkey, spoon up some sandwiches, sit back, and recall my past.  Savoring every delicious mouthful of seasoned, tomato-y goodness, I will reminisce of good times and family events.  What a vehicle for a drive down memory lane!  A simple bun filled with simple goodness and served proudly on a paper plate.   How could life get easier than that?

An 8 Year Old Vegetarian?

On a rare trip to the drive-in theatre, yes I said drive-in theatre.  You remember the ones; the gigantic screen, large parking lot overgrown with weeds and a never ending row of galvanized pipe with 2 speakers on either side.  These were not Bose speakers.  This speaker is mono tuned with weather resistant materials inside and out, a sculpted metal hanger to hook on a partially rolled down driver’s side window.  We had a station wagon; yup I had to sit in the back.  Do you think I ever heard one word of any movie our family of 6 attended?  My mom would always pack dinner and put it in a cooler.  Usually some kind of cold cut sandwiches, a can of Faygo soda, and homemade caramel corn for dessert.  The movie, I mean the sandwich, which is etched in my memory was the BLT minus the B.  I know I’m special, being the only boy, but why would you feel the need to deprive your only son of meat, especially bacon?  I recall driving to this movie theatre shedding tears of unhappiness and exclaiming child abuse out the rear window.  My sandwich consisted of mayo, lettuce, tomato on cold toast, a vegetarian delicacy.  Whatever!  I was not vegetarian and do not recall any vegetarians in the 1970’s in my neck of the woods.  I was a growing boy, I needed protein, especially bacon, give me all the bacon and give my sisters vegetables, not to stereotype or anything but I needed meat.  I think Bambi was the movie we attended that fateful night.  If it weren’t for the caramel corn, I could have ended up like Bambi’s father.  Bambi’s father dead from a hunter’s bullet.  Rob Longstreth, 8yrs old, dead from parental negligence (lack of protein intake, no bacon) may he rest in peace.

Two Pieces of Fat

There are many scrupulous recipes.  Most of which contain sophisticated ingredients, time consuming prep time or high levels of culinary skill.  None of which has ever been witnessed in our kitchen.  You may even speculate how anything more complicated than a handful of ingredients was ever assembled and presented as dinner on our table.  One can only assume that treacherous waters like these have never been tapped.  Wrong!  My mom would challenge the one dish that took numerous ingredients, time and love.  She would often try to replicate this dish with little success.  Each opportunity would lend itself to disaster, not un-edible disaster, but lacking the required consistency needed to achieve proper texture and flavor.  I may have sparked your interest as to what dish I am speaking.  To quote my dad, “Get out the straws we’re having baked beans.”  Yes, the alarmingly difficult baked bean.  The straw reference indicated that the beans placed on our table would be very soupy.  I am not certain that replicating Marie’s recipe is possible.  She has mastered the recipe to a T, identical every time.  This recipe has never been shared, never taken to the family reunion picnic, pot luck dinner nor has anyone other than my immediate family ever partaken in this delicacy.  With my culinary skill increasing I think I have figured out my mom’s dilemma.  I think I can actually solve the soupiness.  What her recipe calls for is basic ingredients to flavor the beans.  She would start with the can of pork and beans.  You know the ones; about 8oz of beans, 8oz of syrupy mystery liquid and 2(no more no less) pieces of pork fat.  I believe the fat is pork, I personally have never had it analyzed, but I have never tasted it either.  She would then add some diced onion, brown sugar, salt, pepper and ketchup.  Place this mixture into an oven safe cooking vessel and bake; you guessed it 350°, for about an hour.  They would come out of the oven piping hot, bubbly and of course soupy.  Why, you may still wonder?  I will let you in on the secret.  Not once did it ever occur to Marie to only use the beans.  She always used the mystery liquid.  The thought of having the unknown liquid, adding more liquid i.e. brown sugar and ketchup, never clicked the “duh” switch.  If you subtract most of the mystery liquid the beans would have a chance to reduce and create naturally thickened gravy for the beans to cohabitate.  The beans would be much happier and so would the family. 

I don’t usually have time to bake beans.  So I will give you a stove top recipe.  I have no pre-conceived notion that these are traditional baked beans but they will represent a reasonable facsimile.  Take that same can of pork and beans, but take the lid and strain off most of that nasty liquid.  Remove the 2 pieces of fat.  Take some diced onion, about 1 tablespoon, and soften with one slice of diced uncooked bacon in a medium sauce pan over medium heat.  Next add the beans, salt and pepper, 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard, 1 tablespoon dark molasses, 1 tablespoon brown sugar, 1 tablespoon ketchup, couple dashes of Worcestershire sauce and a drop or two of Tabasco.  Cook over medium low heat.  They will begin to thicken, once they reach your required consistency remove from heat and serve.  This dish can be made in the amount of time it takes to fire up your grill and cook a couple of burgers.  Grilled burgers and (baked) beans…what could be a better pairing?  Throw in a cold beer and I’ll be right over.  I won’t even think about bringing a straw.  

Rabbit Ears and the TV Dinner

Yes, I said TV dinner, the 1970’s version of fast food.  Forty five minutes in a 475° oven, yup that fast.  This meal would consist of an entrée, a vegetable, a starch and dessert.  For some reason the manufacturers of these gourmet meals decided to put the dessert compartment next to the vegetable compartment.  Yummy apple crisp with peas; for those of you who have read about my disregard for peas, I cannot begin to explain the horror upon viewing the mixed container of a meal under the tin foil.  Just knowing the repetitiveness of this meal brought on the gag reflex immediately after tearing open and seeing the steaming hot portions of scalding magma.  For those of you, who have never had the pleasure of this meal, let me explain my anguish.  The entrée: some kind of sliced meat covered in gravy of relatively the same essence, usually the largest section of the tin foil tray.  The starch:  typically mashed potatoes, or what resembled potatoes.  They were almost white and somewhat fluffy.  This compartment was also contaminated by the vegetable section and possibly overspills of gravy from the meat portion.  The vegetable compartment, the destroyer of all things contained within the same enclosure; some array of, or medley of, all my favorite vegetables including; peas, carrots and lima beans.  These dreadful tasting nibs of nastiness were planted throughout the tray.  They would form their line of attack and secretly invade across enemy strongholds and contaminate every compartment.  Once you’ve contemplated and taken complete inspection of the forkful, it happens.  POW!  Like a land mine in your mouth, one pea, the orb of death clinging to your tongue like a leech, sucking the existence out of you.  Only a strong determination and stomach would keep me from regurgitating everything back to its original compartment.  And lastly the dessert compartment; this area was selected for the pleasure of each diner.  The final portion there for your enjoyment was usually apple crisp or cherry cobbler as I recall.  This enticing portion cooked with steam trapped under a sealed tin foil lid.  The steam from meat, potato, and vegetable was condensing into tiny drops of miscellaneous flavor; this cooking method, deemed reasonable by the engineers, to cook apple CRISP?  Hardly, this was supposed to be gratifying, something to delight the palate.  By the time the 45 minutes had finished, the compartments had amalgamated into something with one unique smell and taste, one big serving of food of similar taste and dissimilar textures.  My deduction is that this resembled a pot pie with dessert already enclosed.  Excluding only the crust, which is now represented by a sheet of tin foil sealing the tray as one unit?  How could you not be eager about a feast like this?  My recollection can only be surmised like this:

As legend would have it, Sunday nights in the Longstreth house went something like this: pre-heat oven to 475° if it will accomplish this task, retrieve the TV dinners from the freezer, 4 Turkey and 1 Salisbury steak, place in oven regardless of temperature, proceed to the living room and get out the TV trays, turn on TV to the only channel we receive, NBC, and watch The Lawrence Welk Show, get TV dinners out of the oven, take to living room, watch next show, Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, take tin foil container to garbage, wash forks and drinking glasses, return to living room and put away TV trays, watch The Wonderful World of Disney and finally go happily to bed.

  Here’s the way I remember.  “Why do I have to eat a TURKEY dinner?”  My dad’s response, “Because I said so!”  “I don’t like succotash and I abhor peas, especially in my dessert.”  “Tough shit!” his retort.  “Why can’t I use a TV tray?”  “Just use the stool, besides you’re the youngest” my mom would answer.  “Do we really have to watch Lawrence Welk?”  “You are really starting to piss me off, boy” my dad would firmly state.  Knowing that I was on the brink of getting by butt whooped I would state under my breath, “I hate this show, I’m 6 not 66.”  “What did you say?”  My dad would ask.  Into the kitchen my dismay would continue and all my thoughts would now be contained inside.  Why do I always have to dry the dishes?  Why does Jim Fowler do all the dirty work and Marlon Perkins get all the credit?  How come they never show Disney cartoons, it’s always some stupid movie?  Go to bed, and listen intently to my mom and dad open pop bottles and enjoy soda after us kids are in bed.  This is just mean, sob, sob, sob fall asleep.