Gilding the Lily since 2006
Even though we’ve been getting more breaks from the cold and rain (and miraculously, they’ve been falling on weekends), winter typically likes to thumb its nose at us here in the Pacific Northwest, telling spring to go fuck right off. Today is one of those …
Yes, you’re looking at perfectly-roasted chicken sitting atop 3 different starches (orzo and the last of those sweet Nantes carrots and Klamath Pearl potatoes), all covered in garlic-herb gravy. I’m getting really burned out on all the extra hours, the weather is back to shitty …
What a fucking week. I got a sunburn that may warrant a trip to the dermatologist’s office, leaving me with cracking and peeling on my ears and shoulders that feel like I spent a fortnight moving refrigerators. I needed a full recovery day of napping and Nintendo before I could muster the energy to write about it.
Monday was mostly a travel day, but offered a couple of charming joints. Johnson’s Drive-In in Acampo sported a somewhat limited menu (that albeit included an ostrich burger that’s to die for).
Delicious, juicy ostrich – the “other red meat.” Burgers always taste better when lovingly slung by a butch dyke in a do-rag. The drippy ketchup and melty American cheese dumbed it down to the pedestrian levels expected by local folks and the road-weary. Unfortunately, the French fries tasted of days-old oil, but thank god fish isn’t on the menu.
A some-hour drive south brought us to our hotel and a dearth of culinaria. The only store within 15 miles was a Mobil Food-Mart. Fortunately, every little shit town has a joint called “(Some Dude’s Name)’s Roadhouse”. In Kettleman City, it’s Mike.
Tragically, they did NOT have salisbury steak (I was crestfallen), but they did have liver and onions. Topped with bacon! How could I say no? I channeled my inner geriatric and ordered without a shred of irony, with my potato mashed and my salad dressed in thousand island. I don’t take this shit lightly.
The misuse of the apostrophe makes me want to choke someone. Seriously. IT’S NOT POSSESSIVE, PEOPLE!
Other selections included the California-style chicken burger, but since you had to request avocado I wondered what made it California-style. My compatriats had said California burger, steak and eggs, and Heineken. One, a fellow foodie, tried my liver (but failed to share my enthusiasm).
The following day I was trying to ramp down the grease and red meat scene in my intestines, and opted to eat some chips and salsa with some store-bought guac. It’s kinda nice – since they grow so much produce in California, these simple things taste really good. Even the ubiquitous free oranges from the hotel lobby were succulent and chin-dripping sweet orbs of sunshine.
Wednesday I went for the In-N-Out Burger experience. I’m a huge fan of Can Only Find it Here specialties, fast food meibutsu being no exception. Travelling with natives offered a peek into the secret menu, and I ordered a Double-Double with Animal-Style fries. “Animal-style” means coated with gooey cheese, grilled onions, and “spread” (a mélange of ketchup, mayonnaise and pickle relish). “Spread” and “animal-style” are not evocative of fast food, but of something else.
Day 4 was another long one – by then we had covered more than 30 miles of spiny grassland overlaying gypsum and ancient sea floor on foot. Some of the guys wanted to drive a few miles out of the way for a steak at Harris Ranch, and even though I really just wanted to shower and get drunk, I tagged along. Since we looked like we’d been in the sun and dust all day, we were seated in the Ranch Kitchen instead of the nicer side of the restaurant. I took a quick paper towel bath at the restroom sink like a common hobo.
I didn’t take any photos in there, and now I can’t think of any reason why. Shrug.
I had the prime rib sandwich au jus (medium rare) with fries and a green salad, the rest of the crew had tri-tip in either sandwich or steak form, with various sides. The sandwich was delicious, the meat of excellent quality, but the service was gastropodan. It took at least 15 minutes before anyone even acknowledged our presence after being seated, another 15 or 20 before our order was taken, another 15 to see our drinks, you get the picture. This, at 5:00 on a Thursday.
I guess that’s it. I’m home for the week, yay for home-cooking.
Okay, I totally stole the idea from Voodoo Donuts, but it’s so good, how could I not? I was in a stupid shittown grocery store that had maple bars and fried bacon in the deli. Two great tastes that taste great together. [Insert Homer Simpson …
Scott said “it tastes just like the Amish Kitchen back in Columbus!” I’m pretty sure he meant that in a nice way, but I think the actual Amish would think my dumplings aren’t plain enough, and are of sin.
I had some leftover oven-fried chicken from Friday night, and some leftover gnocchi from Saturday, and am in a shitty mood. I needed some comfort food, with gravy.
Thank god I keep chicken stock in my freezer! I had some fancy-ass Klamath Pearl potatoes, some Sweet Nantes carrots, and a bunch of other shit that doesn’t have a gay name. Ooh, I also had a little leftover gravy from fried chicken night. Onions, thyme, that chicken, and those gnocchi. Stick it in a pot with the stock and gravy on low heat until the potatoes are done (well, add the gnocchi last so you don’t end up with lead slugs).
These words make me feel like a total fucking whore. And not the good kind. I never thought I would *gasp* cook something from a mix, but Williams-Sonoma had a box of chocolate truffle bread mix (with real Valrhona chocolate!) on the clearance rack, and …
I bought some chayote. I had always been kinda curious about these weird little fuckers, and finally bit the bullet and just brought some home. I sometimes just buy strange produce and then figure out how to use it after I get it home. I’m …
Simpatica Catering and Dining Hall is one of our very favorite restaurants ever. We eat here every other month or so, and are never disappointed.
Best-looking kitchen in Portland. There’s just something about boys in aprons, lemme tell ya.
The people we were seated with were recent California transplants, not-quite foodies (the prissy bitches passed over half the appies for some reason or another), and Simpatica virgins. They were, however, happy to receive my “Best Of Portland” list. Gah, get a couple drinks in me.
First came the hushpuppies. Tender little clouds of cornbread, crispy on the outside and ethereal puffs of steam on the inside. I enjoyed mine with a squirt of hot sauce.
The Lousiana hotlinks had that uber-savory Viande flavor – a little bit lamb, a little bit pork, and just the right amount of heat, all tempered by a cool, sweet savoy slaw. Even the prissy bitches had to give it up and testify.
The shrimp were gargantuan, and swam in an herbal crab stock reduction, perfect soppage for quality baguette. These were just one more element of my complete undoing.
The Zydeco meat pies were like spicy empanadas with the faintest dribble of creme fraiche to soothe the palate and quell the fire.
A creative take on the fried pickle, these house-made zucchini quick-pickles were a little sweeter than I’d normally prefer (in a pickle), but paired so well with the remoulade that I ain’t mad at it.
After the appies (and my chance to prove that I wouldn’t be a total nuisance) Dave let me come back to the kitchen and taste some of the chrysanthemum that would be featured in the salad. It tasted exactly like I expected: asteraceous. Go ahead and look it up. It’s a real word. Most lettuces are in the Asteraceae family, so why not throw a chrysanthemum in the mix?
Throw in some mache and mesclun and we’re laughin’. The addition of some fat and protein never hurt a bitter green that I ever met, and the chopped egg’s placid character was a perfect compliment to a back-talkin’ spicy crouton.
If anyone ever wants to know the secret ingredient to making regular food taste like restaurant food, this is it: copious amounts of butter.
Jason’s Popeye arms come from his use of what is literally a giant wooden paddle to lull a vat of jambalaya, I just know it. When Greta asked “what’re these stringy bits in here?” about the jambalaya, I assumed it was the mucilagenous starch from okra or somesuch, but upon closer inspection of the next morning’s leftovers-as-breakfast, I realized it was pure ham muscle fiber. The tasso had completely dissolved into the rice. I truly wish I had been able to capture this, but I guess you’ll just have to believe me. (I think some of the mix’s richness was also derived from chicken livers, but this is just an educated guess based on what I tasted.)
Oh, heh, I couldn’t get through more than couple bites of the jambalaya, as I had defiantly championed through the entire appie and salad courses without pacing myself.
One of the hottie sous chefs rolls a chocolate beignet through a dredge of cinnamon sugar.
The beignets were head-to-toe orgasm with roasted banana ice cream, but constituted a Multiple with the addition of salted almonds (my idea – they were strewn about the tables in tiny terra cotta vessels to quell pangs between courses). The non-foodies at our table missed out on my genius, but whatevs.
Can I ever express enough how much I love this place? Saturday, March 15 Cajun Night Appetizers Oysters On The Half Shell with Tabasco Mignonette Fried Pickles Cajun BBQ Shrimp Hush Puppies Louisiana Hot Links Cabbage Slaw Zydeco Meat Pies with Andouille Sausage Cajun Salad …