Ox tail (probably) stew

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So, I’m like 93%+ sure this is ox tail stew. If I’m wrong, it’s beef spare rib stew. Whatevs. I had both in my freezer recently. I actually prefer the spare ribs because they don’t take as long to cook, they’re heavy in nourishing connective tissue (like ox tail), but I get the ribs for about 1/3 the price of the tail from my butcher. Shazam.

The… meat, regardless of what precise section of beast it came from, was rendered fork-tender in a pressure cooker with some Pinot Noir, tomato paste, thyme (right amount), rosemary (too much), mirepoix (carrot, onion, celery), and black pepper.

Cool meat… pull meat (heh-heh… whatever…) reduce stock… (yawn…) sauté vegetables (carrot, onion, celery, bell pepper… garlic, probably…) in fat separated from stock… mix all the shit in the pot and fucking eat it, I don’t know… use your imagination…

God-dammit… if I’m bored writing this shit, I can’t imagine how you must feel reading it… not a single cheap, polarizing joke… Oh, sure, I threw in a reflexive masturbatory reference regarding “pulled meat” up there (that’s actually still mildly risible to me…), but nothing un-PC… nothing the overly-sensitive can really get upset over… sigh… if this is what ox tail and/or spare ribs do to me, I’m going to have to eschew both…

There’s gotta be something potentially offensive… (scrolls facebook…) Oh! Y’all hear about the political riots in North Korea? There was some confusion concerning the “rigged election”, but apparently Kim Jong-un just popped a Viagra…

No pity raughs, prease. That joke was ramer than Kim Jong-un’s rittle dick (rimshot). Hey! That was kinda- no? Damn… What the hell is wrong with me…? What if there really is some correlation betwixt consuming this stew and making weak-ass jokes… must do further research… do not consume in the interim…

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Beef Tongue Sunrise (…oh, it’s a thing, baby! It’s a thing NOW!)

Yeah, so… it’s pretty much just like a savory Tequila Sunrise… only instead of tequila, you have beef stock and chunks of tongue… also, substitute eggs for grenadine… and voila! 

The beauty of our life-giving star peaking over the horizon for yet another journey across the firmament has been romanticized in poetry and song longer than Ted Cruz has been hating gays (when he’s not fellating them, that is), killing people, and molesting children, and that’s a loooooong mutha-fuckin’ time, y’all! 

Now, as alluring as the descriptions may be (…of the sunrise, not- oy… moving on…), this beauty remains largely theoretical to me, as my lazy, hungover ass has never made it out of bed in time to catch this (hopefully) overrated phenomenon, so I’m going to have to take the poet’s word for it.

But, let’s take the verses at face value for the sake of argument, and just assume that bearing witness to the lame-ass sun that everyone sees every boring day of their mundane lives at a lower elevation somehow makes it prettier… Gimme a break. Even if this were true, could it really top the “raw” beauty of a not-really-cooked egg yolk floating in a bowl of hot cow’s tongue soup? I rest my case*.

If you happen to still be reading this inane drivel, this stuff is just the hot version of my Beef tongue Jello shots with poached eggs. Personally, when poaching eggs in soups and stews, I like to separate the yolks, add the whites while the soup is simmering in the pan, pour it in the bowl, then add the yolks so the residual heat just barely cooks them.

*CASE REOPENED: Upon reading my own words (something I should really make a habit of doing more often..) I realize how off-putting this may sound to virgin ears… and really, even if the ears have been fucked… Ummmm… shit… I know I had a point to make about something… Ah! My point is this–tongue, along with much of the ‘weird stuff’ on my page may admittedly sound pretty nasty to the uninitiated, but for those who keep an ‘open stomach’, don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. You don’t hear many people in America raving about tongues, which is a shame, because they’re incomparably delicious and unique.

Well, that’s about all the nonsense I have in me for now… back to responding to my hate mail…

 

 

Beef tongue Jello shots, or: Wait… what?

What do you mean, “da fuck is that shit?!” Like you’ve never heard of beef tongue Jello… Like you’ve never brined a cow’s tongue overnight, threw it in a pressure cooker with some herbs de Provence and garlic for 25 minutes, chopped it up after it cooled, added a quart or so of beef stock to the pan and reduced by about half, strained, added the tongue along with minced shallots and parsley and threw it in the fridge? Pffft… and I suppose you never had a Jello pudding pop as a kid, either…

Above: Many people today seem to forget that long before Bill Cosby was famous for drugging people and raping them*, he was best-known as “that creepy guy in atrocious sweaters always giving Jello to kids”. Hmmm… kinda makes you wonder what was in that pudding in retrospect… 

*allegedly, dammit!

 

Spiced almond brown butter coconut chocolate salty whores

The latest edition of Why Am I Just Now Doing This? involves gently sautéing some almonds in butter, spicing them with cayenne, chipotle, cinnamon, covering with a mixture of chocolate and brown butter, and topping with coconut. I like to think of them as the non-toxic, sugar-free, infinitely better-tasting, adult version of Almond Joy… and, by “adult” I’m referring mainly to the expletives I mutter to myself as I crush through these filthy little sluts because they’re so fucking addictive… Hoooooo, lawdy… I’d be in trouble if I worked with sugar…

Fat Bastard

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Here’s another one that has been hiding in the deep recesses of my archives for a while, so I thought I’d share it before my next photo purge.

Did a 24-hour brine on this bone-in pork (giggity) belly before stuffing it (tee-hee!) with a few garlic cloves and rubbing it liberally (once again–HA!) with Jerk (oh, come on! …laying it on pretty thick with the callow euphemisms at this point…) seasoning (not to be confused with Bitch or Dick seasoning which are similar, yet slightly spicier*).

*All aforementioned spices can also be used to describe sundry venereal diseases (none of your damn business! THAT’S how I know!), and I just wanted to make it clear that it is NOT my intention to evoke the image or idea of GENITALIA infected by GONORRHEA, SYPHILIS, CHLAMYDIA, etc.**

**This is a clearly a patent fabrication, and whomever made it up obviously has a brain infected by Dick seasoning and far too much time on his hands. He should probably invest more time into cleaning his bathroom, and less time into making up absurd terms for V.D. and duping unsuspecting passersby into thinking they’re reading recipe posts.

Beef Heart Cheeseburger

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If you are squeamish or averse to the words “organ meat”, “offal”, “ground heart” and the like, please see below for a stupid yet hysterical meme that still makes me laugh whenever I see it after it has resided in my hard drive for years. If however, on the other more improbable hand, you are acquainted with the level of self-love attainable only through the consumption of bovine valves (and possibly some of the more intense psychotropic substances*), check out this juicy sumbitch here!

As far as I can reckon, the only real reason for a meat-eater to avoid heart and other “odd bits” is because they have a hard time finding them (acceptable), or the “ick factor” (unacceptable, not to mention illogical… although I just mentioned it, so negate the phrase “not to mention” retroactively in your mind and replace with “and” if you’ve made it this far, please).

If the less adventurous eaters among you knew that in addition to a cow’s heart being more nutritionally-dense than the flesh of said beast, it tastes and “feels” like steak… and is indistinguishable from ground beef when similarly prepared in a meat grinder or food processor and conveniently comes with just the right amount of fat… well, we wouldn’t be having this discussion, would we…?

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“Huh? What do lesbians eat? I don’t get it… Is this supposed to be funny?”  Me: “It’s just a… I told you to stay off my page, grandma!” 

 

*ohhhhhhhh, snap… Idea! If anyone has ever eaten a heart burger with shrooms (you know the kind I’m talking about) let’s talk! Takin’ this shit to new heights!

Grounding or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Dirt

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“Mein fuhrer! I can walk!”

Ok, so perhaps this particular line from Peter Sellers’ eponymous role in Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb is irrelevant in this instance, but I just wanted to say it because it’s a funny scene and it makes me happy. No further explanation required, but now I’m in the mood to watch it, so maybe I’ll come back and edit this with a slightly more apt tie-in later…

Segue… looking for a segue…  Got it! In addition to walking, I can also run (no, your mom is a lame-ass segue!), which is what I was doing yesterday at a nearby football field. Barefoot sprints, to be precise. We’ve had a very reluctant Spring here in Ohio, and I have a predilection to cower in my fallout shelter, subsisting on rat carcasses when it snows in April (my nonsensical, discursive way of saying I haven’t had much opportunity to walk barefoot as nature intended this year), but yesterday was the closest thing to a perfect day I’ve experienced in recent memory, so I decided to enjoy the cloud-free skies while getting in a short, intense workout.

After a leisurely jaunt through the woods (this time without that contemptible weight vest of mine), I hopped a couple chainlink fences to the local track. As I kicked off my shoes and began my first 100 yard sprint across the football field, my unshod feet felt right at home as they alternatively struck cool grass, and warm, soft, bare earth. That’s the most appropriate way I can describe the sensation–at home. 

After sprint #10 (ok, so maybe 7-10 were more like runs or jogs… like you’re in perfect shape? Get the hell outta here…) I slowly walked back to the opposite goal post where my shoes and shirt lay, and as my ragged lungs recovered, I lay down next to them, clad only in a hat (to keep my slightly toasted dome from getting any more toasted) and shorts (you know, because I want to expose as much of my dermis to the cool grass and warm photons as I can without publicly exposing myself, if you follow…)

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Artist’s rendering (google search for “grass”) of me were I made of grass (I’m on the left).

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Artist’s rendering of me with hair and tits (on the left again). 

It’s been said said a thousand times in as many ways, but it absolutely bears repeating, as our amnesiac species seems prone to forgetting it at times, especially after a long winter; there is something primally calming, gratifying, and essential about connecting with our Terra Mater (Mother Earth). 

As I lay in the grass relishing every ray of beautiful sunlight, time escaping (because I stopped wearing my watch, and intentionally left my phone at home), my brain reminded me of some of the benefits my body was receiving in that moment, i.e. my flesh connecting with the earth was providing some of the most potent antioxidant effects known to man through grounding or earthing, and my skin was synthesizing the optimal form of vitamin D through the sunlight, and my immune system and microbiome were being bolstered through exposure to bacteria in the soil… while my brain knew these things, my mind couldn’t have cared less; instead, my mind seemed transfixed and seduced by the natural beauty of the grass as I gently caressed and plucked its blades… almost overwhelmed as Mother Nature gently reminded me* of all the beauty and brilliance that will ever be juxtaposed with the onus of hate, death, and destruction we plague ourselves and each other with…

…but, there’s something about laying alone in a field on a sunny day that makes all that “real life shit” melt away…  if only in that evanescent moment…

*”…in the fury of the moment I can see the Master’s hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand…”

Now, if you would please cross your fingers for me while I search Netflix for Dr. Strangelove, because I really don’t want to break out that damn DVD bin… 

P.S.- Join me in July for Damn it… I’m so friggin’ tired of this sun… Go away… I swear I’m stabbin’ the next chipper asshole who asks me “hot enough for ya’?!” 

Bone Marrow & Caramelized Onion Mousse Shooter

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The correct response is, “what the hell is that? …where can I get one?” in that order.

What the hell it is: Bone marrow roasted with oregano and black pepper, blended with caramelized onion and whipped cream.

Where you can get one: Your kitchen, you lazy clod, you. You’d also be well advised to pair it with some tart apple, dijon, and a fat chunk of brie because hey, them love handles ain’t going to maintain themselves, are they?

HA! Just kidding. This stuff is HIGHLY ketogenic, so you can counterintuitively eat to your stomach’s content and watch that ass get slimmer by the day!

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“No T.V. and no beer make Homer something-something”

“Go crazy?”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

Nahhhhhhhh… I’m actually “feelin’ fine”, although “all workout and no play makes Adam bored to death and unmotivated”.

So I’ve done a pretty commendable job at maintaining a regular in-home workout routine centered around a few basic weights, bodyweight exercises, and some stairs… but I know myself well enough to know that it was improbable for this to continue indefinitely and not start to feel like tedious drudgery. I need to inject more funky freshness into my fitness routine like I did in the past with things like climbing walls and obstacle courses. More active living, less exercising. After all, there is only so much monotony a man can take before he ends up frozen in a snowbank  “basking in television’s warm, glowing, warming glow…”

“Urge to play rising…”

 

Who da frick need peanut butter? Cafe mocha brown butter coconut spread

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Yes, that name is a bit of a mouthful, and yes, ‘mouthful’ is a very apropos term when referring to this shit. Also known as “Why the hell did it take me this long to blend brown butter with coconut butter?”, or “Smack Spread”*, contingent upon what mood I happen to find myself in, which always seems to improve when I’m melting a spoonful in preparation of mainlining a hot shot of this “Nubian Succubus Butter” (that’s the last one, I swear…)

As the name implies, this one is a blend of coconut butter, brown butter, flavored with coffee grounds and cocoa powder. The additional fat naturally gives the spread a silken smoothness I’ve never really achieved when making straight coconut butter. I really don’t think I’ll ever make plain coconut butter again…

My kitchen may have appeared as though torn asunder by Nessie after a sale on Loch Ness munchies, but the 5 pounds of shredded coconut provided well over 2 ounces of smooth, velvety butter, and literally minutes of delicious distraction from all the trifling bullshit of my daily life, like that pecker-sucker of a dog of mine burrowing away at the back door to get in as I licked my blender in ecstasy, ignoring his impotent pleas.

*As in the highly-addictive opiate, not smackin’ yo mama, although you may just get the urge to do that as well when this shit is coursing through your veins… but, in a good way, or something…

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By the time Officer Barbrady realized he had been sent on a fool’s errand, effectively trying to guard a pot of warm honey from a hungry grizzly bear, Nessie had made her selection, tree-fiddy, or no tree-fiddy. The poor bastard never stood a chance…

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Once truffled, dese bitches is dusted in coconut, coffee, cinnamon, and cayenne.