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Reluctant Omnivore

A big old steak for a little old girl and just the right asparagus.

A big old steak for a little old girl and just the right asparagus.

I’m an omnivore.  There.  I’ve said it.  It’s true.  Gasp!  Shock!  Horror!  In whatever is left of my lifetime, it is unlikely that I will become a vegan.  Or a vegetarian.  Or a lacto-vegetarian.  Or an ovo-vegetarian.  Or a pesca-vegetarian.  Dairy gives me gas.  Eggs give me gas.  Fish gives me — well, I love fish, but even a seared Bluefin tuna steak can’t hold a candle to a veal chop.  (And is there any Bluefin tuna left for the average person?)

I’m sorry.  I would, if I could, but I can’t, so I shan’t.  I love animals.  Some of my best friends are animals.  I feel really bad about eating them, and I am ever so grateful for them, but I am so weak, and I just love red meat.  It’s the way I’m genetically wired.  I’m an addict, but, I hope, not an abuser.  If I buy meat, I make sure that I eat it fresh or freeze it.  “If I buy meat?”  Who am I kidding?  I eat meat almost every day, except when I realize that I haven’t had meat at lunch and turn it into a “meatless” day. [In that case, I eat popcorn for dinner.]

Long before the Paleo Diet became all the rage, I was a kid who ate a very limited diet of meat, potatoes, corn, and canned green beans.  That was it.  And grape jelly.  (But not together.  That would be gross, although I have had cocktail meatballs in a sauce made with grape jelly, which was weird but not gross.)  I drank milk and ate carbs, but that was it.  My Mother made sure that I had a multi-vitamin every day, because she was so concerned about me.  Our family doctor asked her, “Is Suzanne sick very often?”

“She’s never sick.”

“Well, let’s not worry about her, then.”

I eat beef in all forms, hamburgers, meat loaf, pot roast, tartare, short ribs, stew, Stroganoff, steaks real and “Swiss.”  Or stuffed in peppers or in chili or spaghetti sauce.  Trying to recreate my childhood memory of succulent Midwestern beef, I once dragged the Veterinarian to a Famous Chicago Steakhouse, when we were visiting the Windy City.  My dinner was ruined before it started, when the waiter rolled up a trolley of raw meat as we ordered.  As much as I love meat, I don’t want to smell it raw, under my nose, at the dinner table.  The portions were at least a pound or two each.  The restaurant’s motto must have been “The Bigger, the Better,” because the potatoes were the size of footballs and the asparagus as big as tree limbs.

“How do you prepare the asparagus?”  I asked warily.

“We steam it,” the waiter beamed.

“Do you peel it first?”

“Oh, no, ma’am.  We steam it and serve it just as it is.”

“I’ll have the broccoli,” I replied.  I can eat broccoli raw, if I must.

I love pork chops, especially fried.  Fried pork chops are like eating fried chicken.  You can pick it up, but My Mother taught us to cut off the fat first (always trim the fat).  I love pork roast and ribs (you should try my dry rub recipe) and whole roasted pig and all manner of smoked and cooked pork products, bacon, ham, Vienna sausages, hot dogs, baloney (or bologna, if you want to be picky about it).  I’ll even eat Spam, and I’m not Hawaiian.  There is still no vegetable that can’t be improved by a smoked pork product.  Beans and wienies?  Green beans with salt pork?  Greens and ham hocks?  Sauerkraut and kielbasa?  Brussels sprouts or spinach sautéed with bacon?  Fresh corn chowder with ham?  Canned deviled ham?  A favorite on crackers, which are not a vegetable — technically, even if they’re herbed.

Worst of all, I eat veal.  I’ve eaten veal in Europe, God help me.  I feel really, really bad about the European veal, but I rationalize it because I don’t get to Europe that often, so I can’t be part of the problem, can I?  Plus, I’m 50% Italian with a French great-grandmother thrown in.  Osso bucco?  But, of course.  City chicken?  I’m from Detroit.  Grilled veal chop?  Marinated in olive oil, lemon, and rosemary?  Oh, my!

I do not eat lamb, unless you serve me those cute little lamb chops, and my wine glass is full of a fine red wine to wash the flavor away.  An appreciation for lamb seems to be acquired, or, maybe, it’s genetic.  I’ve never acquired it. You can’t mask the flavor with mint jelly, which I also can’t stand.  And little sheep are so cute!

Like most of my vices, I blame it on The Veterinarian (and he can’t talk back, so, why not?).  He ate everything.  We were enjoying Chick-fil-a sandwiches and discussing the company’s trademarked cows encouraging us to “Eat more chikin.”  I said I shouldn’t eat anything with big brown eyes.

“Get over it.  How old do you think that chicken was that you’re eating?”  He asked me.  I didn’t know.  He told me.  I was surprised.  (Google it.  You may be surprised, too.)  “This is how we humans are designed.  This is what we eat.”  I could tell you more about meat production, but you probably don’t want to hear about it any more than I did.

You can argue with me and send me hate mail, but please don’t recommend tofu, which has the texture of mushrooms, which I won’t eat, either.  I am happy to share my only recipe for tofu:

IMG_5108

This summer, I’ve been eating a lot of skewered steak, because I really don’t ever eat an entire steak by myself. I’ve also skewered chicken, shrimp, scallops, lobster, and fish, and I feel so virtuous when adding veggies like peppers, sugar snap or snow peas, or corn.  I’ve even added cherry tomatoes, mushrooms, and squash, for those who like their food tasteless.  [Really?  What is the point of squash?  To make zucchini bread?]

Lately, I’ve been grilling tenderloin chunks, which were a great buy, because they’re what’s left when you butcher a whole tenderloin into steaks or a nice roast like a Châteaubriand.  [Sudden thought:  I have to tell you about my disastrous honeymoon that was almost saved by a Châteaubriand and Captain Kangaroo.]

I have no recipe to share this week.  I marinate the meat for about an hour, longer if it’s a tougher cut, and about 30 minutes for chicken, fish, and shellfish.  Sometimes I make a little teriyaki (soy, brown sugar, garlic, ginger) or the aforementioned lemon, olive oil, and rosemary (great with chicken) or even just a little white wine, garlic, and thyme (for the seafood).

KabobI love these skewers.  They are short, with two prongs to securely hold the food and keep it from spinning when you rotate them.  They are easy to grill on all four sides.  There is also a “slider-thing-y” that pushes the cooked food off the skewer.

As with all grilling, make sure you preheat the grill and wipe it with a paper towel dampened with cooking oil (hold it with barbecue tongs), so the food won’t stick.  I also saw a tv chef wipe the grill with an onion dipped in oil, which eliminates the risk of flaming paper towel, but I’d be wasting an onion.

My secret technique for grilling with skewers is to place a disposable aluminum cookie sheet under the handles, which keeps them from burning, even if you use bambo skewers that have been soaked in water.

Enjoy this last gasp of summer!


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Let the Grills Begin!

Father’s Day is upon us!  Summer is here and so is the traditional grilling season.  It used to be a novelty to cook outside before the advent of gas grills, when men did most of the grilling.  I remember my dad building charcoal fires and fanning flames.  He would terrify My Mother by shooting lighter fluid from the bottle at coals that wouldn’t catch fire properly.  I saw a man do that with a bonfire recently.  Ah, men.  Always the heart of 12-year old boys.  Gotta love ’em.  smh

Grilling Indoors

One of the reasons that we bought our house in 1981 was its indoor grill.  A modified A-frame, it was built in 1968.  The open brick chimney goes up through the central portion of the house, dividing the living room from the kitchen/dining area.  On the living room side is a raised hearth and fireplace.  On the other side is a built-in grill.  What a luxury in the winter or on a rainy day to build a charcoal fire and grill!  Or, for Thanksgiving or Christmas, to burn a log while we eat.

About 10 years ago, we won a fancy stainless steel gas grill and put it on the deck outside our back door. The charcoal grill is rarely used any more, because it’s so easy to pop out the back door and fire up the gas grill in any kind of weather, as easy as turning on the stove.  If I decide to have Caesar salad with grilled chicken, I just fire up the grill and make my one little chicken breast half.  I wouldn’t bother if I had to make a charcoal fire.

One of my favorite recipes translates especially well to grilling at home, at a picnic, or even on a boat. The chicken transports handily in its zippered plastic bag, and the mess of the marinade is easily disposable.  Anybody can make this chicken.  You can grill it on a grill or in a grill pan,  or even bake-and-broil it.

Here’s what it takes:

1 large zippered plastic bag

1 cup prepared Dijon-style mustard

¼ cup olive oil

2 teaspoons of your favorite hot sauce (I use 1 Tablespoon Tabasco); or to taste

6-8 chicken parts (meaty parts, like legs or thighs; I always use skinless, boneless breasts)

Gas, electric, or charcoal grill; stovetop grill pan; broiler pan for oven

Instant-read meat thermometer

ONE Tablespoon

ONE Tablespoon of Tabasco — you read that right.

In the plastic bag, combine mustard, oil, and hot sauce.  Add chicken parts and securely close.  Shake chicken in mustard mixture to coat thoroughly.  Place on a pie plate or glass baking pan and refrigerate for 2-6 hours.  The pie plate keeps your refrigerator from becoming a mess, should the bag leak, and gives you something to carry the chicken to the grill.

To grill:

Season cold grill or grill/broiler pan with a little vegetable oil.  Moisten a paper towel with a little oil and, holding the towel with tongs, wipe the grill.  Oiling the grate keeps the chicken from sticking.

Preheat gas grill or oven to 350° (convection oven to 325°) OR

Preheat grill pan for 1 minute on medium-high.

Remove chicken from plastic bag (melted plastic is toxic and too chewy, in case you didn’t know) and spread mustard coating evenly over chicken.

IMG_5290Place chicken parts on grill or in grill pan, cover, and grill for 7 minutes.  Turn 1/4 to make the “diamond-shaped” grill marks and grill 3 more minutes.

Wash out the pie plate so it’s clean for the cooked chicken.  Never put cooked chicken on a dirty plate.  (Google:  salmonella)

Turn chicken over, placing thickest part of chicken closest to the heat, but not directly over the flames and grill for 7 more minutes, or until thermometer inserted into the thickest part reads 160° for boneless breasts and 165° for thighs and breasts on the bone.  If it reads less than 160, clean the thermometer and cook the chicken a little longer.  (Again, Google:  salmonella)

Test until thermometer reads 160.

Cook until thermometer reads 160.

Serve with grilled vegetables and potato salad.  Or just a hearty green salad.  Overachiever that I am, in chilly weather, I serve it with toasted walnut risotto and asparagus roasted or grilled with garlic oil.  And lots of crusty bread with dipping olive oil.  And red wine (trust me on this) or a gigantic chardonnay.

Leftover chicken is delicious on a salad or mixed with a little mayonnaise into a salad or diced up in a cream or pesto sauce over pasta.  The possibilities are endless!